Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 29

Space Oddity

First thing the next morning, I glance at a photo of Mom standing in what looks like the Upside Down, surrounded by inverted mountains and shafts of otherworldly light, and a hard shudder runs through me.

“ You’ll love it! ” G-Lo said, but I’m beginning to think we have very different definitions of the word love .

July 15

After bailing on St. Louis, Mom suggested we sign up for a guided caving expedition on our way to Kansas City. My stomach rolled into a ball, clenched itself tight, and it didn’t let go the whole time we hiked the path to the first cave. The shallow opening carved into the rock face barely seemed big enough for a woodchuck, let alone a human. I was sure I’d get stuck, and the next person dumb enough to crawl in would find my favorite pair of Vans at the end of my rotting bones. As I crept along the damp earth on my knees and elbows like a slug, I couldn’t stop wondering what was crawling around me in the dark. Every wispy web had me imagining the spider who built it. Every time I thought we were almost there, the walls closed in a little bit more, making my heart flutter like the flapping of tiny wings. And then it wasn’t my heart at all . . . it was hundreds of leathery black wings clinging to the earthen ceiling above me. When we finally reached the end of the narrow passage and spilled into the open cavern, I could’ve sworn I’d dropped into the pages of Treasure Island . The musty air smelled like old coins and fresh grave sites, and the light dancing off the crystals reminded me of the disco ball at prom. Best. Trip. Ever.

I stow Mom’s diary and climb behind the wheel of the Betty with my heart lodged in my throat and an Egg McMuffin sitting like a stone in my stomach. I’d always heard Missouri was the “Show Me” state but I had no idea about the labyrinth of caves.

A wave of Pavlov’s claustrophobia sweeps through me at the mere thought of crawling into a dark cave alone. Or with a handful of strangers—doesn’t really matter either way.

Where the hell is Dash when shit starts to get real?

Fresh anger spikes my blood pressure to the redline. He’s probably cashing all his new checks and preparing to follow in Daddy’s footsteps. Traitor.

Shoving Dash out of my thoughts, I take the next exit and follow the road signs to Satan’s Butthole or whatever the hell the place is called. After circling around for over a mile, I park next to a brown Jeep wrapped with a cheesy “Bat Man Caving Adventure” ad and wait for the next guided tour to start. If Mom had only been as vague with the caves as she’d been with the campsite, I might’ve skipped it altogether, but no. This time, she had to be specific. And thanks to Google, it’s as if she drew me a freaking map.

Once again, I fill my pockets with Mom’s ashes and then shove her urn and diary back into my tote and store them in the trunk with my backpack. I already know there won’t be enough room to drag anything but my phone with me.

One look at our guide, and I regret my decision. “Bat Man” obviously thinks he’s clever wearing a black shirt with a giant yellow bat signal emblazoned across his chest, but I’ve had my fill of phony superheroes on this trip. The overgrown twelve-year-old corrals me and a half dozen middle-aged spelunkers, takes our money and stashes it in his khaki cargo pants, then passes out the safety equipment and leads us to the cave. Just like Mom described, the opening isn’t much bigger than a medium-size dog door.

Whispering a silent prayer for my favorite jeans, I drop to my knees and follow the Shrek look-alike in front of me into the hole. With any luck, if his hulking frame gets stuck, I can make my escape before anyone even notices. No one would blame me for bailing if there’s a great big dude wedged in the tunnel ahead of me.

Unfortunately, Shrek is pretty quick for his size and puts quite a bit of distance between us, leaving me alone in the dark. I guess his pallid complexion should’ve been the first clue that he spends a lot of time in caves. Pushing down panic, I crawl forward, chasing the glow from his headlamp while dampness soaks into my knees. Every inhaled breath tastes like our basement after a heavy rain. Memories of playing hide-and-seek in the dark with Jeanie keep me from completely losing my mind. If I concentrate, I can almost see the boxes of Christmas decorations and half-empty paint cans.

In front of me, Shrek pauses and rips one before quickly crawling forward with a snicker, effectively Dutch-ovening me.

My gag reflex kicks in and I dry heave in the tight space. “Thanks for the warning, asshole,” I mutter to myself.

“Everyone still with me?” Bat Man’s voice bounces off the walls from somewhere ahead of us, making it impossible to tell how far away he is.

I add my “here” to the chorus and keep moving. We must be close to the open cavern by now. The shadows looming in the small space make the low ceiling look like a mouth full of jagged teeth. Come on, Shrek! Use your jet propulsion and crawl faster before the cave eats us both!

As we reach the end of the tunnel, the opening widens enough for me to go from a low crab-crawl to my hands and knees. Finally, I climb to my feet as the cavern opens into a massive cathedral of draping rocks. The walls remind me of melting candles. Overhead, the glittering daggers hang like yellowed fangs, dripping water from them like slick saliva, conjuring images of a hungry T. rex.

Bat Man corrals us into a loose circle and rambles on about stalactites and the types of crystals forming them, but I have a mission to complete, so I wander off in search of the place Mom stood in her picture.

When I find a spot closely matching the photo, I hold out my phone to catch a selfie, but my arm isn’t long enough to get the stalactites behind me in the shot.

“You need some help?” Bat Man holds his hand out with a smile. “It’ll look a lot more impressive from farther back.”

“That would be great, thank you.” I hand him my phone and strike a pose, imagining what Dash would say if he were here. Something appropriately nerdy about Superman totally taking Batman in a fight, I have no doubt.

You’re not thinking about Dash, remember?

“Yeah. Who needs a stupid superhero-obsessed man anyway?” I mumble. “I don’t need to be rescued! I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own.”

“Uh . . .” Bat Man holds out my phone to me, his smile faltering. “I’m sure you are. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No! I didn’t mean you.” I take my phone, fumbling and almost dropping it in the dirt. “There’s this guy, and he, uh . . . he didn’t actually say I couldn’t do it. In fact, he was always super supportive. Until he wasn’t. Then he totally betrayed my trust, and it’s not like I can forgive him for that, right?” I can almost see Dash rolling his eyes. “It’s so weird.” I let out a breath. “After everything he did, I still miss having him around. Even though I don’t need him to be here, I really sort of wish he was.”

After snapping a photo and spreading Mom’s ashes at the historic Memorial Hall in Kansas City, I close the book on the Midwest leg of the tour and hop back on the highway, letting GPS plot the course to California. I know I won’t make it in one night, but I have every intention of driving until I can’t keep my eyes open.

Two tanks of gas and at least a dozen unanswered calls later, my phone vibrates from the passenger seat again. I glance at the screen, my snarky inner voice refusing to let me get my hopes up. It’s not him. It’s never him. I ignore several more calls from Jeanie, a few from Damian, but not a single one from Dash. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Not that I want him to call me. I don’t. But he hasn’t even tried to apologize for single-handedly ruining my life. And I’d really like to know why.

The urge to call him is overwhelming. Fear of accidentally dialing his number has me answering Jeanie’s latest call instead. I quickly fill her in on my recent exploits and G-Lo’s explosive revelation.

“Do you think maybe . . .” She lets her thought trail off, but I know exactly what she’s thinking.

I’ve been asking myself the same damn thing.

Was David Bowie actually Mom’s father?

I gaze into the horizon as I collect my thoughts. “If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I would’ve said not a chance, but today? You didn’t hear G-Lo talking about that night. I don’t know anymore. Her story was pretty convincing.”

“She’s old.” Jeanie snorts. “And after more than fifty years of smoking pot, she probably can’t remember everyone she slept with.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I mutter under my breath.

Jeanie lets out a knowing sigh. “Oh, Zoey . . .”

“I shouldn’t have come, Jeanie.” My voice cracks. “I should’ve waited for you.”

“Tell me you didn’t actually fall for the serial killer.”

When I don’t answer, a bark of nervous laughter echoes through the car.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Shut up.” I choke back a hollow laugh of my own. “He wasn’t a serial killer. Just a serial liar .”

Jeanie’s laughter dries up, and she uses her “Mom” voice on me. “What happened?”

Despite my better judgment, I tell her everything.

After an unexpected show of sympathy for my wounded pride, Jeanie cuts to the chase.

“I haven’t seen a single picture of you online, Zo. And not a single rumor about Mom or G-Lo on the internet or in any of the grocery store tabloids. Trust me, with you gallivanting all over the country, I’ve searched your name multiple times a day to make sure you weren’t lying in a morgue in the middle of bum-frigging Egypt. I would’ve known if there was even a whisper of a story about you out there.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Doesn’t mean the pictures aren’t floating around out there . . . just waiting for the worst possible moment to show up on my social media feed.”

“Did you ever stop to think maybe he was telling the truth?”

“What happened to ‘he could totally be a serial killer, ditch him before you end up as a statistic’?” I do my best Jeanie impression.

“I know.” She groans. “I did say that. But hear me out. If he was going to kill you, he would’ve done it in the middle of the forest and blamed it on the bear.”

“No. He slept with me instead so he could sell me out to the tabloids.”

The silence stretches between us, and I keep waiting for a snarky response that never comes.

“How can you be sure he was the one who sent the reporters?” My sister poses the question as if challenging me to a freaking duel.

Since when did Jeanie climb on the Dash Hammond bandwagon? And why am I so damned desperate to join her there?

I heave out a breath, but it does nothing to release the tension holding my muscles hostage. “The fact that anyone knew we’d be there at all means someone told them.”

“But he denied it, right?”

“So?”

“So maybe he was actually telling the truth!” she insists.

For several long seconds, I stare at her name on my phone display, almost convincing myself I answered a wrong number. No such luck. My sister has simply lost her ever-loving mind.

“Jeanie, we were swarmed by reporters shouting my name and asking things no random stranger could’ve possibly known.” I drag my lower lip through my teeth, still tasting him there nearly two days later. “Would you have given him the benefit of the doubt?”

“I don’t know.” She lets out a long sigh. “But the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. He already had your trust. You’d already told him everything. So why risk losing the exclusive by blabbing to anyone else?”

Swirls of doubt float through my vision like black smoke, clouding my thoughts. “He didn’t want me to know he was selling me out?”

“And how well did that work out for him?” I can almost hear her arched eyebrow. “You really just hopped on a bus and left him there?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s some stone-cold shit, little sis.”

I groan and shift in my seat. “Why are you suddenly trying to convince me Dash is a good guy?”

“Because not one of those pictures showed up online or anywhere else. And if a guy’s gonna go to that much trouble to sell you out, he’s not doing it for nothing.”

A nagging wisp of doubt spirals around me, gripping my throat until my voice comes out in a faint whisper. “It’s only been a few days.”

“Be real, Zo. It takes less than thirty seconds to post a picture on social media.”

“Maybe.” A flash of something resembling hope punches me in the gut, and it takes me a whole second to catch my breath. “Or maybe they’re waiting to drop a bomb.”

“Zoey, listen—”

“You’re wasting your breath.” I refuse to get sucked into Jeanie’s unsubstantiated theories and allow the hairline cracks in my heart to split wide open.

Jeanie growls. “You can be so stupid sometimes.”

“I’m not stupid!” Her words sting, but I refuse to let her hurt my feelings. She just doesn’t get it.

“You really jumped off a train trestle?”

“I really did.” My lips curve into a smile. “Are you bummed you didn’t come? We could’ve jumped together.”

“Screw that!” She laughs. “I’ve had my fill of falling from heights for the rest of my damn life.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Oh, I do.” Her tone softens. “But it’s okay. This was your turn to be first.”

“Thank you,” I murmur. “For letting me go.”

“Don’t mention it, sis. So where to next?”

“My next official destination is Santa Monica. I’ll probably stop somewhere to sleep, but other than that, I’m driving straight through.”

“That’s one hell of a long haul. You can’t tell me Mom and G-Lo didn’t stop anywhere between Kansas and California.”

“They did the typical touristy stuff: Dodge City, Santa Fe, Flagstaff, Barstow. Nowhere worth revisiting as far as I’m concerned. It’s not like I’m planning to spread her ashes in any of those places.”

“Did you say Flagstaff?” Jeanie’s voice vibrates with excitement.

“Yeah, why?”

“I was flipping through G-Lo’s Groupie magazine, and apparently there’s some big Bowie tribute concert in Flagstaff Saturday night.”

“That’s like”—I check the date on my phone—“tomorrow night, Jeanie.”

“I know. You should totally go.”

“Even if I could somehow make it on time, I don’t have—” Before I get the word tickets out of my mouth, I remember G-Lo’s press pass buried somewhere under fast-food wrappers in the back seat. In the span of a few seconds, a really bad idea begins to take shape. “I think I have a plan.”