Eyes Ever to the Sky (A Sci Fi Romance) (The Sky Trilogy) (2 page)

Cece stood up, careful to avoid a bowl of bloated Cheerios in sour milk. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Mama shook her head, her eyes locked on a designer handbag displayed on the screen.

“Did you take your pills?”

Mama nodded, her mouth open, mesmerized as a woman slung another purse over her bony shoulder. In the TV light, Mama’s eyes looked sunken, her skin translucent. How much weight had she lost this time? Ten pounds? Fifteen? Cece looked away, pain tightening her chest.

“Dream of those firemen,” Cece added, hoping for some flicker of her mother inside the shell.

Mama gave her a weak, tight-lipped smile. Then her head sunk back onto the couch cushion and nearly disappeared.

Heavyhearted, Cece stepped over the piles in the hallway. With a glance back to Mama, she turned into the bathroom, clicked the door shut and opened the medicine cabinet. She held the orange pill bottle up to her eye. Seroquel XR prescribed to Luisa Acha. She pressed her palm down on the white cap and the child safety lock opened with a soft pop. Cece dropped the pills into her palm.
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen... Shit.
Mama had not taken her pill today. Cece slipped the pills back into the bottle and sighed. Back to smashing them into applesauce.

Walking back to her room, Cece shot one last glance toward the living room, flickering in blue light. She smelled Marlboro Ultras. Her mother had lit another cigarette.

Resolve stirred in her. She shut her bedroom door and dug out the little piece of paper tucked in her pocket. Opening it, she eyed the name and phone number, penned in secret, scrawled into the lined paper while Mama was down the street visiting Ms. K. If Mama knew…. She silenced the nagging dread. It didn't matter if Mama freaked. How long before they were evicted? How long before someone called Child Protective Services and they dragged Cece to Children's Village? How long before they both died in a burning pyre of their own making?

She pulled out her cellphone and dialed the number with trembling fingers. She had to call. They needed help.

Cece pressed the phone to her ear until it throbbed.
Please, please, please pick up. 
With her other ear she listened down the hall for Mama. 

“
Hello?” said the voice on the end of the line.

Tingles broke out over Cece's arms. She cupped her hand over her mouth and spoke quietly into the phone. “Hello? I'm, ah... I'm looking for Beatriz Acha.”

The voiced sighed, low and female. A good sign. “I haven't gone by that name in years, but yeah, this is Bea. Who is this?”

Cece's pulse quickened. Her eyes flicked to the door.
“This is your niece, Cecelia.” She paused, a pit forming in her stomach. “Do you…remember me?”

“
Je-sus
,” Aunt Bea said. Cece could hear her shift the phone. “Cece, God, how you doing? I haven’t seen or heard from your
mami
in, what is it, ten years? How old are you now?”

“
Fifteen,” Cece said, a small smile breaking over her face. “It's been a long time, Aunt Bea.”

“
It sure has.”

Someone shouted in the background on Aunt Bea's end. Cece listened as Aunt Bea pulled the phone away from her mouth and said, “Go downstairs. I gotta take this.” Cece pictured a husband or a boyfriend, handsome and rich.  Aunt Bea’s voice came back in Cece's ear. “So,” she said slowly, “is everything okay? 

Cece felt that pit again, only now it had multiplied. “Not really. It's my mom, she's… She needs help.”

A pause. “Does your ma know you're calling me?”
             

Cece picked at her tank top strap and swallowed. “No, but I— ”

“Cece, honey, I can't get into this again. I tried to help your ma once, but…” She paused and blew out a breath. “No, I promised myself not again.”

“
But, she
needs
you.” Cece gripped the phone as if she could hold Aunt Bea on the line with force. Down the hall the couch creaked as Mama shifted. This was not going at all like she'd planned.

“
Then have
her
call me. Listen, do you want to come here? Is it that bad? I could send you a bus ticket.”

Cece shook her head. “I can't leave Mama.”

“I'm sorry. I really am. I just…” She paused, her voice hitching. “I can't do it. Not again. I love you,
cariño
. Be good to your ma.”

Cece held the phone to her ear. “Aunt Bea?” The phone clicked. Gone.

Cece dropped the phone on the bed and stared at it, dejected. After all the digging it had taken to find Bea's number, she really thought this call would be it—the call to reunite her shattered family and get them out of the mess they were in. It was over so quickly her head spun. She picked up the phone and dialed again, her fingers trembling. It rang three times and then went straight to voicemail. Cece didn't leave a message.

She pulled the weathered piece of paper from her pocket and scratched a line through Aunt Beatriz. There was only one more name on the rescue list, her abuelo.  No matter how much she scrounged, she could not find a number for her grandfather in Bolivia. Her eyes rested on the photo wedged under the mirror frame. It was the last time she'd seen him, eight years ago when Mama had felt well enough to fly them to Bolivia. She remembered the thick wet air when they'd stepped off the plane, the smell of Abuelo's aftershave as he pulled her to his chest in a giant bear hug, his hand around hers as he led them to his black sedan. Just before they'd slipped in, Mama had snapped this photo: she and her abuelo, arms around each other's shoulders, matching smiles and the dry, grassy plain behind.

Now he was just a distant memory.

Beside her, the tired A.C. unit hummed diligently, pushing cool air over her bare arms. She hugged herself and stared out her window into the dark street. Who would save them now? 

CHAPTER TH
REE — HUGH

Tuesday 9:37 a.m.

Hugh lay stock-still in the crinkly leaves as the dog waddled toward him. A basset hound (if his addled brain served him right) lumbered through the underbrush and blinked at him. The brown and white dog with droopy jowls and long floppy ears licked Hugh’s cheek once. It panted into his face, the pink crescents of skin showing underneath its drooping eyelids, then it went back to sniffing the dirt around his thighs.

The dog park had come alive with activity early this morning. Hoping proximity would jog his memory, Hugh had hidden in the woods next to the crater where he’d awoken. His memory hadn’t returned, but the patrons and their four-legged friends had, filling up the grassy areas and woods. Hugh had tried to leave, only to find neat backyards, children playing in little plastic pools or gray-haired ladies weeding their gardens. They wouldn’t appreciate him strolling naked past their rhododendrons.

Naked, hungry and alone, he'd decided to wait until dark to leave. Now, with the mosquitoes biting his tender regions, he wondered if that was his best idea.

The basset hound nosed Hugh’s hand. He ran his fingers through the dog's soft coat as its tail
thwacked
a steady rhythm.

“
Hey there, boy. Whatcha doing, huh?” Hugh scratched under the dog’s chin. A long pink tongue curled through his teeth as he panted. Hugh nuzzled his face into the dog’s back and his heartbeat steadied.

A shrill whistle cut through the trees. Hugh tensed. The dog turned.

“Come, Roxy. Come on, girl,” a man's voice called from the path.

She's a girl
, Hugh thought, as Roxy pulled away and waddled toward her owner. From his hiding spot, he watched the dog leave, feeling empty.

I should just get up and ask for help,
he thought, but something held him back. It was as if an alarm blared inside him every time someone came near.
They'll hurt you
, the refrain shouted.
Don't trust them.
So, he stayed hidden under a prickly bush, feeling miserable.

By noon his stomach seized and cramped. Creeping through the woods, he found the treeline and stared desperately into the backyards. To his left, three children ran squealing through a sprinkler while their mother reclined in a lawn chair with a magazine. To his right, a wide green lawn led up to a large two-story house. A television flickered in the dark interior. Didn’t these people go to work? Feeling desperate, he stalked the shadows until he came to another house with a large wooden porch. The garage door was ajar. Inside, a big white refrigerator glowed like a lighthouse.

His stomach churned. Did he dare?

Hugh scanned left, then right. The children and their mother had run inside for a potty break, leaving the littlest, a three-year-old with damp yellow curls, on the lawn. As he watched, she tripped on the hose and skidded into the grass. She wrapped her dirt-flecked arms around a red knee and began wailing. Her mother would be back in seconds. The only time was now.

Hugh sucked in a deep breath and sprinted toward the refrigerator.

The sunlight lit up his naked body as he bolted out of the shadows. The breeze sent shivers down his limbs. Glancing left, he saw the little girl was turned away and to his right the green lawns stretched, empty of people. He skidded to a stop at the door frame, gripped it and peered in. The dim garage was silent except for the electric hum of the refrigerator. He slipped inside, the cement cool under his bare feet. A shiny black SUV took up the whole left side. His eyes raked over the tool bench and the pegboard covered in hammers and wrenches. Wall shelves bulged with soccer balls, buckets, terracotta pots and cans of paint. Two carpeted steps led up to the house. His eyes tracked to the gleaming white fridge and his stomach flip-flopped. He strode toward it.
Please, God, let there be food.

He was five steps in when he heard movement inside the house. Humming. Someone was headed this way.

Hugh’s eyes flicked between the door and the fridge. To be caught was disastrous, but he
needed
food. When would he get another opportunity like this? He sprinted to the fridge and yanked it open. The door rattled wide, cold air rolling out at his bare legs. His eyes racked over rows of beer and pop cans. He grabbed a few sodas, but where was the food?

He shot a glance toward the house door. There was food just inside, but the cheerful, off-key humming was still headed his way. If he went in, he'd have to fight for it. No matter how hungry he was he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He groaned and stepped back. 

Something caught his eye in the bottom drawer, a blurry brown package inside the crisper. He yanked it open, his heart pounding. A package of hot dogs! Hugh nearly shouted for joy. With the package cradled to his chest like an infant, he turned.

The door between the house and the garage cracked open. Humming spilled through as the woman pulled open the door. Heart thumping, Hugh tore across the garage.

He nearly tumbled over a backpack at his feet. Fabric peeked out the opening. Clothes.

Snatching the bag, he bolted out of the garage and into the yard. The dry grass pierced his feet as he tore over the lawn. He eyed the deep, shadowed woods. Only a few more steps until safety.

“
Wook
, Mama,” a little voice yelled behind him. “He naked!”

Hugh shot a look over his shoulder. The little girl, wet curls clinging to her pink cheeks, pointed a finger at his bare backside. The mother gasped and dragged her daughter toward the house. Would she call the police? Hugh sprinted into the woods, ignoring the stabs of sticks and branches.

About a mile away in a sun-dappled clearing, Hugh skidded to a stop. Nestled between pines and maples, he put his hands to his knees and took gasping breaths. Slipping the backpack off, he pulled out the plump package of hot dogs, his mouth watering. He tore the package open with his teeth savagely. Meat juice slid over his tongue and his stomach seized. He sucked down eight dogs, barely stopping to chew. When they were gone, he belched and patted his stomach. Satisfied. For the moment.

He pulled open the backpack and dug into the contents. Inside he found a white t-shirt with the words
Made in Detroit
circling a wrench-wielding worker. He pulled the t-shirt over his head. It was a tight fit, but the soft fabric stretching across his chest relaxed him. He fished out a pair of shorts next: light blue, nylon and far too short. He sighed as he tugged at the women’s shorts. They clung to his thighs and groin making him look like a sporty cross-dresser, but at least he wasn't naked. He dragged out a pair of women’s running shoes, but couldn’t pull them over his heels. Barefoot for now.

Hugh stretched out on the carpet of pine needles and laced his fingers behind his head. Blue sky peeked between shifting patterns of green as the wind stirred the branches. The birds chirped to one another. Hugh nestled back and soaked up the serenity. He watched a Chickadee hop into a nest with something clutched in her beak. Her babies peeped anxiously.

He'd proven today he could survive. He was healthy and strong. He had brains. And he would remember who he was. Wouldn't he?