Eyes Ever to the Sky (A Sci Fi Romance) (The Sky Trilogy) (15 page)

And, oh God, he was sweet. He’d made her macaroni, cleaned her dishes. She’d noticed his eyes on her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Would he try anything in the dark? Slip into her bed and press himself on top of her, run his hands over her? Her body coiled and uncoiled at the thought. She knew nothing about this strange boy and yet, some deep part of her yearned for him to crawl into her bed, to taste his mouth, to feel his hands in her hair, on her neck, lower.

Cece rolled over again and pinched her hands between her knees. She should just go to sleep. Based on his quiet wheezing, he was already out. His life for the last few days had been a nightmare. And not knowing his own identity? She'd thought about the mystery of her torn-apart family. Hugh put her life in a whole new perspective. 

Finally, fatigue settled over her charged limbs.
Hugh
, she thought as she drifted away.
Where have you been all my life?

***

Cupboards banging in the kitchen woke her.

Mama’s making breakfast,
she thought, rolling over.

Mama!
She snapped upright.

A breeze filtered through the open window, already hot like a breath on her face. The AC Unit lay on the floor. The sleeping bag, and the boy who’d been in it, were gone. Was it Hugh in the kitchen making breakfast? Cece jumped out of bed and ran out of her room.

As soon as she heard the Latin music blasting from the tiny kitchen radio, she knew Mama was home. Relief flooded her, but also a thick worry. What state would Mama be in? Cece's nose picked up the smell of burned meat and something else. Cleaning supplies? Cece barged into the kitchen, one hand shielding her eyes from the light streaming in. Mama stood at the stove, flipping over blackened strips of bacon. Hot grease crackled out of the frying pan as she poked at the charred meat. The kitchen looked rearranged, not necessarily cleaner, just moved around. She spotted bags of old clothes and records shifted from one spot to another. Mama had cleared off the kitchen counter and wiped it clean, but the counter's contents were in a pile on the floor. This was typical. When Cece was younger she’d try to help her mother clean up by dumping whatever she could lay her hands on in the trash. The minute Mama realized she was throwing items away, she'd slapped Cece's arm. After that Cece had stayed out of Mama’s cleaning escapades, no matter how much she hated the mess.

“
Mama,” she called. The music thumped from the yellow CD boom box on the counter. One blown speaker buzzed. She tried again. “Mama!” Still nothing. Mama swayed her hips in time to the upbeat tempo. She was wearing a bright orange skirt and one of Cece’s tank tops. From behind, you might’ve thought she was a teenager with her stick-thin frame and bright clothing.

Cece stomped over and slammed her hand on the radio's power button. The music stopped, leaving the sound of crackling of bacon behind. Mama spun around.

“Cecelia, I’m making b
rrrr
eakfast.” Mama rolled her Rs merrily on the last word, waving her hand over the smoldering bacon, seeming not to notice the charred smell.

“
Mama, where were you all day yesterday? Where did you sleep?” Cece set her fists on her hips. Here she was again in the roll of the parent. Cece walked over and snapped off the burner. The glowing orange coil dimmed. The bacon continued to crackle.

Mama swept around the kitchen, pulling out a carton of milk, boxes of cereal, donuts. She held out the donuts. “Bear claws. Your favorite.” She pushed them into Cece’s hands.

As Mama faced her, Cece's mouth fell open. Mama looked like a twenty-dollar hooker. Her face had been coated in layers of heavy make-up, now dripping in smears of red and beige. Mama’s ponytail had sprung several leaks that hung limply down her face. There was either a bruise or a hickey on her neck.

God, she couldn't do this alone. She needed her family.

“Mama, listen to me, I need to ask you something.” This might not be the best time to ask about what cousin Ben had said, but the question had slowly been smoldering in her mind for hours. If she waited to ask any longer, her brain might catch fire. And from the looks of things she had no time to waste. “I know you don't like talking about it, but it's time you called Aunt Bea. Whatever happened between you two—”

“
Beatriz!” Mama spat the name, throwing blackened bacon on a paper towel. “I not talk to that
puta
until she apologize.” She waved her spatula like a sword.

Cece backed away from the flying bacon grease. “What can be that bad? She's your sister. Your blood.” Cece gripped Mama's arm. “I haven't heard your side of things, but—”

“What you mean hear
my
side?” Mama stopped in mid-swing, her eyes slowly fixing on Cece.  “What
other
side have you heard?”

Cece tried to look innocent, her face flushing. “Nothing. I mean, no ones.”

“Did she call you?” Mama stepped closer, eying Cece dangerously. “Did my lying sister call you?”

“
No.” Cece shook her head slowly. “Ben did. Her son.”

Mama slammed her spatula on the counter as a string of Spanish curse words flew out of her mouth. She picked up a plate and smashed it on the counter. Shards of ceramic sprayed out, slicing through the air near Cece's face. Mama reached for a dirty glass and raised it to throw. 

Cece grabbed for Mama's arm. “Stop!” she screamed. Mama’s eyes darted around like a toddler's with ADD. Cece shook Mama’s arm. “Look at me!”

Mama stopped, her brow furrowing. “Cecelia, don’t raise—”

“Mama! Don’t interrupt. You are manic, okay? Out of control. You need to get back on your meds. I don’t get paid for another week and a half. Do you have any money? I can go to the store and ask the pharmacist for some sample packs or something.” Cece pressed her hands to her cheeks. God, how had it come to this?

Mama shook her head, anger leaving her face, a wild smile replacing it. “I don’t need that poison. I feel wonderful. I was out all night, saw some old friends. We went
dancing
.” Mama threw her arms out and did a twirl, her skirt swirling in an orange bloom around her.

Cece shook her head. “You are not alright. It might feel alright now, but this always ends badly. You remember when C.P.S. came last time?” Cece's windpipe felt like someone was squeezing it.  “You want them to take me away?”

This wasn’t some bluff. Last time Mama was manic she’d been caught shoplifting and the cops had come to their home. They’d threatened to take Cece to Children's Village and put her into foster care if Mama couldn’t get it together. Luckily, the store didn’t press charges and Mama was able act normal every time the social worker came to inspect the house. This time if they came back there would be no home visits. They would just take Cece.

Mama shook her head rapidly. “That won’t happen. They can’t take you.”

Cece dropped her mother’s arm, feeling very tired. “They will. They'll take me if you don’t stop.” She turned and shuffled back to her bedroom.

“
Mi amor
,” Mama called after her. “Breakfast?”

Cece didn’t look back. “I’m not hungry.”

***

Cece blew in the door at Lizzy’s at 10:45. She’d be early every day from now on, no matter what Mama did. Now more than ever she needed to keep this job.

Fer trailed in behind her, sweating and puffing, her cheeks blotchy red. “Jesus, you pedal fast. I think you’re taking those LiveStrong bracelets too seriously, Lance.”

Cece smirked. She put her keys in one of the little cubbies by the back door. Then she walked over and started washing her hands in the metal sink.

Fer pulled up beside her. “So, what happened to you last night? I sent you, like, a billion texts and blew up your Twitter. You going Amish on me? Shunning all technology to make your own aprons or some shit?” Fer poked her in the ribs. She was trying to make Cece smile. The sentiment wasn't lost on Cece, but she couldn't force a smile today if she used pliers.

Cece flicked her eyes up to Fer and shrugged. “My battery died.” It was a pathetic lie and they both knew it. Cece dropped her eyes. She'd never lied to her best friend before, but Fer would never approve of a strange boy sleeping on her floor.

Fer studied Cece’s face, narrowing her eyes. “Huh. Well, I wanted to know what you thought about murder
numero tres
. Everybody said Harelip Harson was a creeper, but I still can’t believe he’s dead. My mom’s having a conniption fit. She slept with her .45 under her pillow last night. I told her she was gonna blow a nice hole in her brain stem before the killer could even get near her, but she didn’t—”

“
Wait, what? What murder?” Cece’s head was spinning. Third murder? Harelip Harson? That was the nickname students gave the weird parking lot security guard at their high school. Mr. Harson drove around the school in his rusty Ford Escort giving kids tickets and chasing down skippers. Now he was dead?

“
Didn’t you hear? What the hell were you doing last night?” Fer crossed her arms over her boobs and narrowed her eyes.

“
I...uh, went to bed.” A cold sweat had broken out across her back. Three murders. What was happening?

Fer tossed a strand of purple hair out of her eyes. “It was all over the news. They found Harelip—”

“Stop calling him that.” Cece braced her hands against the wall. She stared at the cracked cement and tried to breathe.

“
Sorry. They found Harson under his bed.” Fer leaned in close and whispered. “Said his throat was ripped out.”

Cece pressed her hands to her ears. “I don’t wanna know,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s awful.”

“Totally. What the hell is happening? First that homeless dude, then the gas station attendant and now Harson. If you ask me, it’s the meth heads. My brother knows a few of them and they're psycho as hell.” Fer ran her hands under the tap and splashed some water on her neck. “One thing’s for sure. No riding home alone like you did last night unless you want to be famous.”

“
Yeah.” Cece's mind was off with Mama who was prone to wander and do impulsive things. And Hugh alone in the forest. Sure, he was big, but what chance did he stand against a serial killer meth head? Unless...he had something to do with it. No, she refused to believe the boy who'd slept all night on her floor could be a killer. Not possible. Her hands trembled as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. Work. She needed to focus on work.

By mid-morning a hazy scrim of clouds hung over the sun. Cece gave the excuse of emptying the garbage and headed out to the dumpster. A cursory glance into the shadows told her Hugh wasn't around. Cold prickles ran up her arms as she turned and walked through the dark alley. Couldn’t serial killer meth heads lurk in alleys, too? Yes, she believed they could.

She was turning to go back inside when a figure came striding up, overloaded with half a dozen mismatched canvas shopping bags.

“
Mama!” Cece said, her heart pounding.

Her mother whirled and locked her eyes on Cece. She tottered forward on oversized high heels that clomped maliciously on the pavement. Her face spread into a delirious smile.

“Cecelia, I went shopping. I bought you the prettiest dress. It’s blue with a sash.” Mama shook the bags toward Cece. “Try it on.”

Cece stepped out, hoping against hope that no one was close enough to hear. She peered into the bags. Clothes, shoes and purses bulged from at least six overflowing bags. Cece gripped the bag with white knuckles. “Where did you get the money for all this?”

Mama ignored the question, dropping half her bags and pulling out a blue dress. She pressed it to Cece’s chest. “You look beautiful.”

Cece tugged the dress down and stuffed it in the bag. “Where are the receipts? How much did you spend?”

Mama tugged at Cece's shirt. “Try it on. Try it on. I want to see it on you.”

Cece batted at Mama's hands and dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “You stole them again, didn’t you? That’s why there’s no receipt. Why they’re not in the regular bags. Jesus.” She leaned against the wall, the bricks baking into her back.   

Mama’s face fell. She took a clomping step forward, pouting. “I just wanted you to have something nice.”

Cece nodded, feeling the anger deflate like a punctured balloon. Mama was sick. This wasn’t her fault. She'd reread the
Psychology Today
feature on Bipolar Disorder again this morning and impulsive shopping was a classic symptom. 

“
I’d tell you to take the stuff back, but then they’d probably press charges.” Cece gripped Mama’s arm and looked deep into her eyes. “Just please, please,
please
, stay out of the stores.”

She nodded. “You’re gonna love the blue dress.”

Cece threw her hands up. “Mama!”

“
Okay, okay,” she waved her arms in defense. “I see you at home.”

Cece nodded, blowing hair out of her eyes. The sweat-drenched strand didn’t budge. She watched her mother clomp down the street, feeling wrung out. As she turned and walked back into the ice cream shop, a shadow darted away from the door. Cece narrowed her eyes and caught a glimpse of a blond ponytail as it disappeared around the corner. Michelle.