Chasing Stardust: A Novel By Erica Lucke Dean - 3

The Jean Genie

Grandma parks her ancient Cutlass in front of the house just as the first glow of morning crests the horizon. It takes both of us to help Jeanie out of the car without bumping the cast holding her leg together.

“G-Lo, your car is gross. I need to be disinfected.” Jeanie glares at her Nissan still parked in the driveway and snatches the crutches out of my hands. Even high on pain meds, irritation oozes from her pores as she hobbles toward the house. “I can’t believe neither of you know how to drive a stick shift.”

I stab my key into the lock a little harder than necessary. “I would’ve asked someone to teach me if I’d known you were going to fall off the roof.”

“Fall?” Jeanie growls, balancing on one crutch as she teeters on our front stoop. “I didn’t fall off the roof.” She points at me with her bandaged hand. “You pushed me!”

My mouth falls open. “Did not!”

“Did, too, and I have the broken bones to prove it.”

“Let’s not argue over who did”—Grandma Lola wipes the smile from her lips—“or didn’t push who off the roof. There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you both.” Her eyes dart toward Jeanie. “I know we’d planned to go together, but since Jeanie won’t be in any condition to travel for the next six weeks, maybe I should—”

“I’m going.” The words bubble past my lips before I realize the weight of what I’m saying.

“Honey, your sister needs someone to—”

“You stay with her,” I snap, suddenly angry with everyone for taking my choices away. From Mom keeping her diary secret, to Jeanie ordering me to pack a bag without bothering to help me understand her reasoning. She read Mom’s damn diary. She knew why. Even Damian, for thinking he gets a vote as to where and when I start school. I’ll be damned if I let another person tell me what to do. I swing the front door open and step inside. Today is the day I take control of my own destiny. “I want to go.”

With the words fresh on my lips, I realize how true they are. And not because I’d do almost anything to avoid playing Jeanie’s personal nurse while she recuperates. Or because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep for close to two years. But because, for the first time since Mom got sick, I have a sense of purpose.

I’d be lying if I said I understand why Mom wanted her ashes spread across the country, but if I have any hope of understanding how she felt at the time, why she asked us to make this trip, I need to read her diary in the places she wrote it. And maybe . . . just maybe . . . I need to start living my life for me for a change.

Jeanie snickers. “Good one.”

“I’m not kidding.” But the terrifying realization slowly sinks in. I may be more than a little unhinged for even considering something so bold.

I’m doing this by myself.

“What? No!” Jeanie’s left eye twitches—from pain meds or panic, I’m not sure. “You can’t go!”

“Yeah, I really can.” Straightening my spine, I gaze at my sister, refusing to back down. “Listen, I know I wasn’t on board with the whole ashes thing from the beginning, but you said it yourself. This is what Mom wanted. And by the time you’re cleared for travel, it’ll be too late.”

“But . . .” Jeanie trips over her own tongue as she struggles to spit out the words. “You can’t drive stick, remember?”

“I have Mom’s car.”

Her eyes go wide and she gestures toward the dark shadow parked in the driveway. “You mean the piece-of-shit Explorer that hasn’t been serviced since Mom got sick?”

The thought of driving Mom’s shitty SUV beyond the town limits sends a bead of sweat racing down my spine, but I won’t let Jeanie talk me out of it. “It works fine.”

“For grocery runs maybe, but you can’t drive it across the country! The whole electrical system shorts out at least once a week, and the damn thing leaks more fluid than a Dollar Store diaper. It’s only a matter of time before it heaves its last breath and leaves you stranded by the side of the road.”

“You’re the one who drilled into me how important this trip was to Mom. It took me long enough, but I finally get it.”

She lets out a primal shriek before turning toward Grandma. If not for her broken leg, she’d undoubtedly stomp her foot like a three-year-old in the throes of a temper tantrum. “G-Lo, tell her she can’t go!”

Grandma presses her pot leaf key chain into my hand, then folds my fingers around the huge wad of keys and squeezes. “You can take my car.”

“W-What?” Jeanie sputters, her mouth hanging open like a giant flytrap. “Compared to your car, the Explorer looks new! How that fossil even starts, let alone drives, boggles my mind.”

“Don’t hate on the Betty.” Grandma pats Jeanie’s unbandaged hand, guiding her toward the sofa. “She may be old, but she runs like a dream.”

“And smells like a nightmare!” Jeanie’s death glare isn’t nearly as scary with her eyelids drooping.

“Smelled like fries and ancient tacos to me.” I swallow my laugh.

Grandma shakes her bony finger at me, but there’s no heat in her expression. “Those tacos were from yesterday.”

“Do you even hear yourselves?” Jeanie says, the fight fading from her voice. “Joking about Zoey driving your ancient death trap across the country? That’s . . . you’ve both lost your minds!”

“Come on, Jeanie.” Grandma grabs her elbow and helps her sit. “The sun’s coming up, and your pain meds are probably wearing off. I have a spliff of Sour Diesel with your name on it. A few puffs of that, and you won’t even remember you have a sister.”

For every shirt I stuff into my backpack, Jeanie pulls out two.

“Stop packing.” Her voice cracks, warning me how close she is to losing it.

“Why?” I close my eyes, reminding myself I’m doing this for Mom. We wouldn’t even be having this argument if Jeanie hadn’t told me about the diary. But now that I know, I can’t un know.

“Because maybe you’re right.” She fidgets with her crutches. “Maybe we should spread Mom’s ashes under the big tree. She loved that tree.”

Ignoring her, I go back to packing. “That’s the Percocet talking.”

“Maybe . . . but damn it, Zo. I can’t let you drive across the country by yourself!”

“I don’t need your permission. I’m more than capable of making my own decisions.”

“Well, this is the dumbest decision you’ve ever made. Mom would never forgive me if anything happened to you out there.”

With a sideways glance at my sister, I go back to shoving clothes into my bag. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

“You don’t know that.” She lets out a frustrated growl, then snatches the bag out of my hands and drops it to the floor. Balancing on her good leg with both crutches tucked under one arm, she reminds me of a beat-up old Raggedy Ann doll. “You may be an adult on paper, but you’re not exactly street smart.”

I scoop my bag from the floor and place it on the bed, out of her reach. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I won’t be spending a lot of time on the streets.”

“As your older sister, I . . . I forbid it!”

“Nice try.” I laugh. “I’m still going.”

Jeanie juts out her chin. “If Mom was still alive, she’d never let you go.”

“ Mom begged us to do this. Remember?” I say the words through gritted teeth and cram my favorite jeans into my already-stuffed bag, stretching the seams as far as they’ll go. “Yesterday, you ordered me to go, now you want me to skip the whole thing? Make up your mind. I’m getting whiplash.”

Red blotches stain her cheeks, and she presses her lips together until they pale from the strain. “Because yesterday I was going with you. We’re supposed to be doing this together. That’s what she wanted.”

Memories of Mom planning one last trip to the beach for the three of us before she died hit me like a gut punch. “She wanted a lot of things.”

Jeanie’s fingers tremble as she picks at the Band-Aid on the back of her hand. “Zoey, please. Be reasonable.”

“ You’re the unreasonable one.” I glance from the scrapes and bruises on her arms to the cast on her leg. “You can’t travel like that.”

Her shoulders deflate, and she nods. “So we wait.”

“Until when? Next summer when you’ve accumulated enough vacation time at your new job? Four years from now, if and when I finally graduate college? There’s never going to be a perfect time. Maybe . . .” A sliver of guilt works its way under my skin, and my mouth goes dry as I fumble for the right words. “Maybe it’s my turn.”

Jeanie’s attention snaps back to me, and the used Band-Aid flutters to the floor. “Your turn?”

“To be first. You’ve always been first. Born first. Graduated first.” Read her diary first. “You didn’t have to share her with anyone for the first two years of your life. The only time I got to do that was when she was dying. You read her diary. You already know everything there is to know about her. Give me a chance to have her all to myself for a little while. To say goodbye to her the way she wanted us to.” Tears blur my vision as my gaze locks on hers. “Please let me do this.”

The silence stretches between us while I wait for her to say something. Anything.

“Jeanie?”

A single tear streaks down her face, and she roughly swipes it away with the back of her unblemished hand. “Fine. You win. Go.”

“Really?” I hold her gaze, waiting for her to change her mind, to put up another compelling argument.

She sighs. “I still think you’re crazy for doing this alone. But if you’re determined to risk your life, I can’t stop you.”

“No.” I give her a watery smile. “You can’t.”

As if she knows how close I am to bursting into tears, she switches gears. “What about your muscle-head boyfriend? What does Damian think about you going on a road trip by yourself?”

I almost forgot about Damian. If I tell him now, he’ll only try to stop me. Maybe I’ll text him when I get to Cleveland. Then again, maybe I won’t.

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. He can’t stop me any more than you can.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She grips her crutches so hard her knuckles whiten. “How will you eat? Where will you stay? You don’t have any money.”

“I have money.” Several years’ worth of birthday and Christmas money in the bank, courtesy of Dad’s guilt. “And a credit card.”

“And no job to pay it back.”

I sear her with a glare. “Stop trying to talk me out of going.”

Defeated, Jeanie lets her crutches fall and then flops onto my bed. “I hate this. Really, really hate this.”

“Grandma Lola was only seventeen when she ran away to be a freaking groupie. I think I can handle a two-week road trip.”

“That was the seventies.”

“Exactly.” I chuckle. “The most dangerous serial killers of all time wandered the earth back then.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s safe now.” The vein in Jeanie’s neck pulses. “You could get raped. Or kidnapped by sex traffickers. Or come face-to-face with a serial killer no one’s heard of yet.”

“Oh my God, stop. Have a little faith in me. I’m not a kid anymore, Jeanie. I’ll be careful. I won’t talk to strangers. I won’t drink anything I don’t open myself. I’m not gonna get kidnapped, killed, or raped.”

Grandma Lola pokes her head into my room, spinning a pair of shiny, black-and-white-striped Lycra undies from her pointer finger. “Not if you have these.”

“Magical underwear?” I snicker, eyeing what looks like a hybrid between shapewear boy shorts and a Victorian swimsuit.

“No.” She laughs and tosses them to me.

I catch them in midair, surprised at how heavy they are. “What are they?”

“They’re anti-rape pants.”

“Oh, great!” Jeanie fights her way out of my mattress like an upended turtle, rocking back and forth for momentum before launching herself to her good foot. “She’ll just get murdered. That’s so much better.”

“Are they clean?” Cringing at the thought of wearing someone else’s underwear, I hold the thick fabric away from my body.

Grandma scoffs. “Of course they’re clean. They’re brand new. A friend of a friend picked up a pair for me in Europe a while back as a gag gift. I never even tried them on.”

“So they’re . . . a joke?” I study the underwear, trying to figure out the punch line. They’re heavy, as if lined with steel cables. “Do they shock you when you put them on?”

Rolling her eyes, Grandma marches toward me and snatches the panties from my hand. “No, they don’t shock you. They’re a legitimate protection device. Look . . .” She flips them around, and with a few clicks of her fingers, demonstrates how to unlock the waistband. “It has a secret code built in so only the wearer can remove them. They’re knife proof, scissors proof . . . hell, they’re practically indestructible. You’d need wire cutters to get them off without the code. It’s printed on the tag, so don’t lose that. Trust me, your virtue will be safe in these.”

Grandma winks as if she knows my virtue was lost in the back of Damian’s mother’s Suburban after the homecoming game senior year.

With a shrug, I stuff them into my leather tote-slash-purse. “Thanks, Gra—”

“Cut the grandma shit, already, will ya?” She pins me with a glare.

“Yeah, sure.” I cringe, surrendering to her preferred moniker. “ G-Lo. ”

“Thank you.”

I snicker at her victorious smile.

“Laugh it up, sis.” Jeanie props herself on her crutches, tears clogging her throat as she hobbles toward the door. “Go ahead and wear your fancy superhero panties if that makes you feel safer, but when shit goes south, don’t come crying to me! It’s a big world out there, Zo. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

At the crack of dawn, with Jeanie and G-Lo trailing me like a pair of lost kittens, I load my overstuffed backpack, a lightweight blanket, and my favorite pillow into the back seat of G-Lo’s car and then toss my tote into the front with Mom’s ashes, her diary, and—thanks to Jeanie—enough food to feed an army.

Jeanie’s blue eyes lock on mine. “Are you sure?”

Am I? I don’t know anymore. The farthest I’ve driven alone was just across the state line, trailing a school bus filled with football players, in what may as well be a past life at this point.

“I’m positive.” I offer her a confident grin.

“If you insist on doing this, can we at least rent you a car from this century?”

“That’s not really in the budget.” I tug at the bottom of my frayed shorts, unraveling them a little more.

“Oh, please.” G-Lo rolls her eyes. “My car has been carting me around for damn near forty years. I think she can survive the next two weeks.”

Jeanie heaves out a heavy sigh. “Then drive carefully, for Christ’s sake. Stick to the highways—no back-road shortcuts. Don’t talk to strangers. And whatever you do, don’t eat gas station hot dogs or sketchy vending machine sandwiches.”

“Why the hell would I eat vending machine sandwiches?” My stomach gurgles at the thought.

“Just trust me. Don’t do it. Here . . .” She hands me her AAA card and a handwritten list. “I added you to my membership, just in case. And I jotted down all the best places to stay in each city. They’re in the nicer parts of town but they won’t break your budget—and since you’re not twenty-one yet, I weeded out the ones that have age restrictions.”

I open my mouth to ask how long that took her, but she shoves a wad of cash into my hand.

“And take this. It’s not much, but it should cover your gas for a while, even in that rolling fossil. Don’t spend it all on snacks, okay?”

“I won’t.” I stuff the cash into the front pocket of my shorts. The emotion in her eyes brings tears to mine, and I blink fast to keep them from falling. I almost tell her I changed my mind. That I don’t really want to do this all by myself. That we can wait until her leg heals, until she has vacation time, until the pain of losing Mom doesn’t fill my every thought and threaten to crack my chest in two. Instead, I whisper a quiet, “Thank you.”

She swipes a hand under her nose, covering a sniffle. “You’d better text me pics of everything you do.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m serious, Zo. I want pictures of every meal you eat, every bed you sleep in, every damn place you go. If I can’t be there, I want to feel like I am. Promise me.”

It finally hits me what she’s giving up by letting me go, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “I promise.”

“I’m glad I’m not going. Really. It’s too damn hot for a road trip. It’s supposed to be in the nineties all week. That’s some crazy global warming shit, right there. Better you than me.” She tears her gaze away, focusing on anything but my face. “Now, go, before I change my mind.”

“She’s right, you should probably get going.” G-Lo checks the time on her phone. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”

Before I can wrap my fingers around the door handle, Jeanie pulls me in for a quick hug.

“Please don’t get killed.” Her hot breath fans across my neck as she sobs out the words.

“I won’t.” I squeeze her a little too hard, then let go and climb behind the wheel of the Betty. Sucking in a deep breath laced with the stench of stale tacos, rotten milk, and Sour Diesel, I slide the key into the ignition. After a few tries, it finally cranks, and the growl of the engine rattles my bones.

G-Lo dips her head through the open window and flicks her eyes to the dash. “Don’t trust the gas gauge. Once it dips below half a tank, start looking for a gas station. If you let it get down to a quarter, it’s probably too late.”

“Got it.” I cringe, hoping I don’t forget that tidbit along a dark, deserted highway.

“Oh, and . . .” She lets out a nervous laugh. “The blower doesn’t work unless you run the wipers. And they’re temperamental. You might need to give the dash a good whack if they don’t come on right away.”

Great.

I force a smile. “Anything else?”

“Uh . . .” She leans in and taps the instrument panel. “Ignore the check engine light if it comes on. It’s glitchy.”

A dull throb pulses behind my eyes, and for a split second, I rethink the entire trip. “Maybe we should have someone look at it before I go?”

“You worry too much.” G-Lo pats my cheek, then presses her glossy red lips to the spot. “This old girl will take good care of you. I’ve been driving her without a problem since before you were born.”

“ Oh-kay. ” I laugh, but it comes out a little hysterical. “Take care of Jeanie. Make sure she doesn’t have an aneurysm worrying about me out on my own in the big bad world.”

“Leave your sister to me. I’ve got plenty of weed to keep her happy.” G-Lo winks, then backs away from the window.

“Don’t tell me that.” I chuckle, buckling myself in.

“And, Zoey, I know you said you have money, but if you run out of cash out there, let me know. I can always wire you some the old-fashioned way.”

I roll my eyes. “It isn’t 1972. Nobody wires money anymore.”

“I’m well aware of what year it is, but a lot can happen on the road. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Now who’s worrying too much? I have Venmo and Apple Pay, and if I need cash, I have my debit card. I’ll be fine. Really.”

“If you say so.” G-Lo thumps the hood and barks out a raspy laugh. “Go on, now. Get out of here.”

With a quick wave and a silent prayer, I pull away from the curb. Visions of Mom keep me moving forward, but by the time I reach the turnpike, I’m running on pure adrenaline. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I have no doubt it’ll be an adventure.