Chasing Jupiter (13 page)

I sighed and stuck my hands in my pockets.

“You know what I thought of today?” Cliff tucked the covers under his chin and pulled his knees close to his chest.

“Hmm?” I flipped through the pages of
Peter and Wendy
. Where did we last stop? It had been a busy week, and I’d only had time to read to him once or twice. There didn’t seem to be time for anything lately. I hadn’t seen Mrs. Greene in over a week, and I’d only run into Frank once or twice in the past ten days.

“We only have one more month before school starts. Today is August eighth. Soon it’ll be September.”

I halted. He was right. “I guess the summer’s almost over, huh?” It was a sad thought. Fall meant the end of peach stands, sweltering afternoons, and all the other things I had started to consider normal.

He nodded. “And we still haven’t built our rocket.”

I patted his knee. “Yeah, well, we’ll do that soon. As soon as we have fifty dollars, I’ll get Frank to drive us into town so we can pick out all the supplies. We’ll get it done before September. Promise.”

“Okay.” Cliff snuggled under the blanket. “You ended with chapter eight.”

“Oh, right.”
How does he remember that?
I cleared my throat. “Chapter Eight. The Mermaids’ Lagoon.”

Cliff recited the Spanish numbers softly to himself while I read. “Uno, dos, tres …” Every now and then he’d look up and laugh at something I read.

Grandpop Barley had already fallen asleep and was snoring in
the chair by the door. I tried not to think about the struggle it would take to drag him up the stairs.

When I finished the chapter, I closed the book firmly and rubbed Cliff’s forehead. “Sweet dreams. Are you ready for the peach stand tomorrow?”

He nodded. “I think we’ll reach fifty dollars.”

“I hope so.” Ruffling his hair, I turned to Grandpop Barley. “Okay. You. Up.”

T
he Saturday afternoon sun felt hot and muggy overhead, beating down on our backs. I fanned myself with a piece of paper, squinting to keep the sweat out of my eyes. Noon had already come and gone, and I was starting to think anyone who was planning on buying pies had come by already. We’d already sold five, so there was only one pie left anyway. No use in waiting around for who knows how many more hours to make a measly two dollars.

How much have we made anyway?
The money jar was sitting next to me on the ground. I untwisted the cap and pulled out a bundle of cash. Flipping through it, I counted ones and fives silently.
Twenty, twenty-five, thirty … one … two, three, four! Thirty-four dollars!

I jumped out of the lawn chair and did a little happy dance.
Thirty-four dollars! Cliff is going to be over the moon!
I smirked.
Or maybe over Jupiter
.

I took the stand down in record time and sped up the driveway with the money in my pocket. A wide smile stayed plastered on my dirty, sweaty face.
We could have that rocket by this time next week!

Cliff was sitting on the front steps with his chin resting in his hand. He looked up and frowned when he saw me. “Juli ran away.”

I froze, halting midstride. “What do you mean?”

He shook his head. Lopsided curls fell across his forehead. “Juli’s gone for good. She left this morning. All of her stuff is missing.”

My body felt numb.
What? How could … Juli would never do this
. I raised a finger to my pulsing temple, brushing past Cliff. “I don’t believe you.”

I shoved open the screen door. “Mama! Dad! Cliff says …” Once again, I was stopped in my tracks. “No.” My voice cracked. “It’s not true.”

“Scarlett.” Dad sat up when he saw me come in. They were both sitting at the table holding hands. Mama’s face was streaked with tears. “Did you notice what time Juli left this morning?”

My mouth felt dry. “Um, I …” I gulped. “I think she left about nine this morning. Mrs. Greene was picking up some pies, and Juli drove by in her car. I was going to wave, but she didn’t look at me, and I was sure … I
am
sure that she’ll be back. She’ll be back, right?”

Right?
The word echoed in my head, unanswered.

Dad looked up at me and said in a low, shaky voice, “Can you go upstairs and see if there’s anything left on her side of the room? We need to find out where she went. Just look for … anything.” He bent his head and massaged Mama’s hands. “We can’t bring ourselves to go up there again right now.”

I backed out of the room; my head was spinning. Taking the steps two at a time, I flung open the bedroom door and stared. The room was half empty. Juli’s bed lay deserted, stripped of its sheets and pillows. Her side of the closet was vacant. Her posters and pictures were missing from the wall.

A lump formed in my throat.
No. Juli would never do this. She would never just … leave. Without telling anyone. Without telling me
.

A picture flashed through my mind: Juli, looking out the front window of her car while dust swirled around me as she drove past earlier that morning. I’d glanced at her, but I hadn’t really
looked
. Had she been crying? Was she mad? Was there something she was trying to tell me—to signal to me—that I’d been too blind to see?

I knelt on the floor and looked under her bed, searching for
clues. Nothing. I looked in the closet, under the window, in her old chest of drawers. After ten minutes of searching, I rocked back on my heels and sighed. It was time to face the facts. Juli had left and taken everything with her.

In one last-ditch search, I found a note under my pillow that had been folded into a tiny rectangle. I opened it and smoothed out the wrinkles. There was a short sentence written in Juli’s messy scrawl:

My stomach sank. Slowly trodding down the stairs, I debated what to tell Mama and Dad. If they knew she had gone with her boyfriend, they would be enraged. Sparks would fly … Voices would rise …

I shuddered.
But, on the other hand, I can’t let them think she’s stranded somewhere in the world with no money and no home. At least Ziggy makes a decent amount of money with his band, so we know she’s not starving
.

I set my shoulders. I would show them the note. Juli would come back to Georgia soon.

With trembling hands, I passed the piece of paper to Dad. Better to let him read it first. Then he could break the news to Mama.

Dad grabbed the note so fast it almost cut my hand. His eyes squinted in concentration on the few words. He placed the paper back on the table, and a grim look settled on his face. He straightened and pushed back his chair. “She’s gone with her boyfriend.”

“What?” Mama’s eyes bulged. She lunged for the note, as if hoping it would say something different if she read it. Her eyes skimmed the page before she collapsed in a sobbing heap on the kitchen table.

I rushed forward to rub her shoulders. “Shhh, Mama, it’s okay.
I’m sure Juli’s fine. She’s probably feeling bad already, and she’ll be back tomorrow like she always is. Just you wait and see.”

Dad headed for the hall closet. That closet was never opened. Ever. All of us Blaine children were strictly forbidden to open it, and it was only to be unlatched in the case of a robbery or wild animal. Terror gripped my stomach.
That can only mean …
I jumped up. “What are you doing?”

Without glancing at me, he opened the door and pulled out a long rifle. With a cool flick of his hand, he dusted off the barrel. “I’m going to hunt down that scoundrel. He drives a yellow Volkswagen, right? Easy. If they’re driving that thing, I’m sure they haven’t left the highway.” He grabbed a case of bullets and made a beeline for the door.

“Bill!” Mama shrieked, lifting her head. “You’re going to end up killing Juli!”

He shook his head, pulling on his boots. “I don’t know who that girl thinks she is. I’ll tell you what, she’s going to get the punishment of her life. She is never leaving this house again!” The screen door slammed behind him.

I felt helpless, caught in the middle of a perilous spider web I didn’t belong in but from which I couldn’t escape.
When did things get so dramatic? What’s even going on?
“Dad!” I ran out the door, racing toward the truck.
Gosh, he walks fast
. My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. I skidded to a stop in front of him. “Don’t. Just don’t. Someone could get hurt,” I gasped.

Dad turned, a glint of steel in his eyes. But as he looked down at me, the look softened into an expression I could only call pitiful sadness. His grip on the gun loosened until it eventually dropped in the dirt. He turned and shoved his face against the car door so I wouldn’t see the tears running down his cheeks.

I picked up the gun and carried it into the house to put it back in
the closet. Mama sniffled from the table. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered. “It’s like losing a child.”

Cliff was still sitting on the front steps, watching it all. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up. “Come on.” My voice sounded hoarse, even to my own ears. “Let’s go find Grandpop Barley and go for a short walk. I think we could use it.”

“Scarlett?” Cliff’s voice sounded uneasy. He poked at my elbow, trying to get my attention. “I thought of a knock-knock joke.”

I jerked my head out of my cloud of problems and tried to listen. “Yeah?”

He kicked at a rock on the side of the road. “Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?” I tried to make my voice sound light. Happy.

“Wee otter.”

I made a face like I was ready for a really funny one. “Wee otter who?”

“Wee otter give Mom and Dad the money.”

I froze.
Where on earth did that come from?
I glanced at him to see if he was serious. He stood there watching me, no trace of a smile on his face. I cleared my throat. “What do you mean?”

Cliff shrugged and lowered his eyes. “They need it. We have thirty-four dollars, and they don’t really have anything.”

“That’s not true,” I said automatically.

Cliff took a deep breath and sighed. “I just think it might help them.”

I started walking again, sneaking glances of Cliff out of the corner of my eye every few steps. This wasn’t right. Cliff was the baby. The odd one. The kid who didn’t care about anything but Jupiter and Spain and stacking his cans in rows.

So why did it suddenly feel like he was the grown-up and I was the child who needed chastising?

My blood pounded. “No. We aren’t giving that money to Mama and Dad. We worked long and hard to earn it.
I
worked long and hard. I won’t let it go wasted.” My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

Cliff sighed again. “Whatever you say.”

Feeling cold and lonely, I wrapped my arms around my chest.
Why should I feel lonely? I’m with Cliff and Grandpop Barley, right?
Or, actually, just Cliff, now that I looked around. I straightened. “Cliff, where’s Grandpop Barley?”

He turned halfway and pointed. Standing at the end of Ima Nice’s driveway was Grandpop Barley. He stood beside the mailbox staring at the house with a sad hunger in his eyes.

I hurried to his side. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Ima …” Grandpop Barley turned to me, looking confused. “Is she …?”

I followed his gaze to the house. All the curtains were closed. No car sat in the driveway, and no lights shone softly from inside.

I scrunched my forehead. “I thought you knew that …” I cleared my throat. “Grandpop Barley, Mrs. Nice passed away last week. Pastor Greene said she had a stroke and was sent to the hospital. She never made it home. The funeral was a couple days ago, but I don’t think anyone really went.”

Grandpop Barley’s face crumpled like a paper ball. His body collapsed against the mailbox, and he began staring at the door in silence for what felt like hours. His face was unreadable—an eerie combination of pain and confusion. Finally, he turned to me. “There was a funeral?”

I swallowed past the prickly lump growing in my throat. “Yeah, but we missed it.” Looping my arm in his, I drew him to his feet and away from the driveway. “Come on. We’ve got to go home now.”

We followed Cliff back to our house, but none of us spoke a word. Instead, the silence hung over us. I could feel it in the air— a heavy blanket of sadness. Sadness for Juli, sadness for Grandpop, sadness for Mama and Dad …

I squeezed Grandpop Barley’s arm, desperate for a way to make things better. “What do you think of an extra serving of peanut butter after supper, Grandpop? I’ll bet I can talk Mama into it.”

He didn’t answer, staring blankly ahead at the road before us.

Grandpop Barley didn’t eat any supper. His extra-large spoon of peanut butter remained untouched, along with his potatoes and bread and beans. He stared at his fork, his face scrunched in misery.

Mama and Dad didn’t notice. Probably because they didn’t eat either. They glanced at each other from time to time. Occasionally, one of them said something to me or Cliff. But for the most part, they just sighed and blinked back tears.

The sound of my clanging fork resonated through the dining room. After a few bites, I pushed my chair back and wiped my mouth. “May I please be excused?”

Mama nodded, half-heartedly motioning for me to take my plate to the kitchen. After clearing my plate, I led Grandpop Barley upstairs for his bath. He stared at the walls as he walked. Not blinking, not speaking. Barely even breathing.

Chills ran up my spine at the deathly calm look on his face. This wasn’t Grandpop Barley. Not the one I knew, who argues and grunts and complains incessantly. “Grandpop Barley? Do you think—”

But I never got to finish my question. Because, in the blink of an eye, Grandpop Barley was falling toward the floor. He took down framed photos with him, flinging his hand across the wall. Glass
shattered as each picture crashed to the ground. I could only scream and duck. The noise of breaking glass and Grandpop’s deafening shouts rang in my ears.

When I opened my eyes, Grandpop Barley was writhing on the ground. His arms were outstretched like he was reaching for something he couldn’t grab. “She’s coming,” he moaned. “I just know she’s coming. She wouldn’t leave me!” His breath shortened until he was gasping. “Not like this.”

I jumped up and leaned against the railing. It let out a loud creak and I pulled away, shivering.

“Scarlett! Grandpop!”

I looked down and saw Mama and Dad standing at the bottom of the steps, looking horrified. Mama lunged toward me, but Dad held her back. “There’s glass, Vida,” he said, his voice harsh.

There was glass. Everywhere. Small shards were embedded in Grandpop Barley’s face as he rolled around on the floor. Blood trickled down his pale white cheeks.

I pushed myself against the wall as Dad ran by me to kneel by Grandpop’s side. My chest rose and fell, but it didn’t feel like any air was getting in. I clenched my fists and immediately winced in pain. Unfolding my hand, I saw why: little bits of glass were stuck in my palm, glistening in the lamplight. My eyes squeezed shut. Never before had I felt so scared.

Scared that our family would shatter, like the glass frames. Scared that Grandpop would hurt himself, or one of us. Scared that things wouldn’t be “okay” anymore.

I looked down and saw Cliff standing at the bottom of the steps, behind Mama. Tears welled up in his giant brown eyes. The same tears that were reflected in my own.

After he pulled all the glass out of Grandpop Barley’s skin and helped him to his room, Dad stood at the top of the steps, his eyes
lowered. “Vida, help your father wash his face.” He glanced at me and Cliff. “Scarlett, let me see your hands.” After he inspected them and cleaned out the glass, his gaze fell on the railing. “And stay away from that until I fix it. No need for anyone else to get hurt.”

I didn’t go to bed. At least not to sleep. I sat on my floor for over an hour, lost in the silence and darkness of my room. When I couldn’t stand sitting there any longer, I pushed my door open and stood at the top of the steps. I could hear Mama and Dad’s voices, drifting from their room. Mama was crying, and Dad was speaking softly.