Eyes Ever to the Sky (A Sci Fi Romance) (The Sky Trilogy) (3 page)

He closed his eyes and pushed for a memory. Anything lurking behind the cobwebs in his brain.  

Slowly, an image of a grassy field appeared in his mind’s eye. Excited for even a wisp of memory, he strained to see the blurry image. Something solid rose from the grass— large, concrete and cylindrical, like a silo. Was he looking at a farm? Something from his childhood? He tried to push the vision outward, stretching it in his mind, but the vision fogged and died.

He opened his eyes, a headache pounding behind them. Whatever he'd seen, he could sense its importance. That place called to him. He needed to find it. He closed his eyes again, searching for the memory, but nothing appeared, just a steady, unsettling void. The headache pounded harder and he was exhausted. He let his eyes shift to the overlapping leaves above. He couldn't keep them open. 

The earth rocked beneath him, a giant boom cracking through the quiet. His sat up. Around him, the birds cawed and thrust themselves into the air.

This was bad.

Hugh bolted upright. He was sprinting toward the sound before he could think.

A rift in the trees appeared and Hugh skidded to a stop. It was as if something had crash-landed from above. The hairs on his arms stood up as he looked at the snapped and splintered tree trucks, the burning branches, the ground plowed in a quarter-mile scar of dirt and debris. A sick feeling crept up his throat. In the middle of it all sat a twenty-foot wide crater. 

Sweat broke out across his back. His breathing quickened. He stepped toward the crater, his heart pounding. Would someone… be inside it?

Hugh took a few uneasy steps until he was at the edge, the mounds of displaced earth squishing between his bare toes. He leaned forward, held his breath and peered into the hole.

Empty.

He stumbled back. How did he feel about finding nothing? What had he expected, someone inside just like him? Someone who could answer his one million burning questions?

He dropped his head. All he wanted was to stop feeling so utterly alone. 

His eyes on the ground, he noticed something he'd overlooked, long scratches dug deep into the grass at the edge of the crater. It was as if something, some animal, had clawed its way up and out. How had it climbed out so fast? Hugh bent down and touched a finger to the claw marks. They were huge.

Branches thrashed on the other side of the crater. Hugh stood upright, fear pumping. Deep in the tree cover, a shadow bolted away. Hugh couldn't make out features, only size. It was big. Grizzly bear big.

As he looked, the shadow stopped. Hugh didn’t breathe as the shadow swiveled. Eyes blinked from the distance. Large, red and angry. Hugh stumbled backward. What kind of animal had red eyes? Away. He had to get away.

He turned to run. Voices sounded from behind him; the locals must've been coming to check out the crater. When he looked back, across the wreckage, the shadow was gone.

But not for long
, Hugh thought as he bolted the opposite direction, his heart hammering into his throat. Whatever it was it had scented him. It would be back. 

CHAPTER F
OUR — CECE

Tuesday 10:15 a.m.

Cece pulled at the strings dangling from her jean shorts in frustration. Her shorts, cut from some jeans she’d outgrown, were worn and ratty. She grabbed her work shirt off her bed and eyed it. With Lizzy’s Ice Cream stenciled on the pocket, the Pepto Bismal pink tee was the newest shirt she owned. No money for new clothes, not when the propane had run out a week ago. Cece yanked another string dangling on her tan thighs. Maybe when she got her first paycheck she'd have a little to spare for something new. She sighed and checked her ponytail in her mirror. Probably not.

A glance around her room told her it was satisfactory. The hand-me-down floral bedspread was tucked military-tight around her mattress which sat directly on the floor. Her closet, doorless since she'd inherited the room, showed her clothes hung up in neat rows by color and season. The vanity she sat at was a thrift store purchase from Mama two birthdays ago. Though the varnish was chipped and peeling, she loved the antique. She straightened the hairspray can next to the rest of her make-up and turned it label out. Time to go. The circular pink princess clock she’d been dying to replace said she was running late. 

Standing, she touched a finger to the folded paper square in her pocket. Mama couldn't find her rescue list. Plus, Cece liked having it with her, a security blanket with a few names of her scattered family members embroidered on it. Family she hadn't seen in years. Family who hung up on her.

She pushed the thought away and tucked a folded copy of
Psychology Today
under her arm. She'd managed to snag a whole stack from the recycling bin at school. She'd read all of the articles on bipolar disorder at least a dozen times, thinking maybe if she could label and quantify Mama, she could fix her.

She walked down the hallway to the living room. Mama was the wheezing lump on the couch. Cece climbed over piles into the kitchen, selected the cleanest looking bowl and poured Mama's cereal. With a glance over her shoulder, she pulled out one of Mama's pills and crushed it between two spoons. The milk seemed to absorb the powder instantly. As for the taste? She'd have to wait and see if Seroquil went well with Cheerios.

She nudged Mama awake.

“
Hijo de puta
!” Mama muttered, her eyes dilating as she took in her daughter. “Cecelia! Good God.”

“
Mama.” Cece offered her the bowl. “Take this. I gotta go.” She glanced to the clock. She'd have to pedal like mad.

Mama glowered at the cereal. “What's in the bowl,
mi amor
?”

Cece shuffled her feet. What would Mama do if she tasted the pill? “Nothing.”

Mama eyed her. “You know where liars go,” she said, reaching for the bowl.

“
To the fires of eternal hell. Thanks for reminding me. How do you think Satan feels about bright pink?” She pointed to her shirt. “Will it clash with the everlasting flames? The instruments of torment?”

Mama frowned. “Cecelia!”

“Okay, okay. Just take the bowl already. I'm late.” She pushed it into Mama's hands.

Mama sat up and cupped the bowl in her lap. After one spoonful, she twisted up her mouth. “Ah, the milk is bad.”

Cece shook her head, trying to keep calm. “I just checked the date. It's good for two more days. Listen, get some sunshine today. I just read an article that said a vitamin D deficiency can cause depression.”

Mama ignored her, pointing at Cece's t-shirt. “What job is this now?” she asked, reaching for the box of cigarettes on the couch arm.

Cece chucked the box over her shoulder and pointed to the cereal bowl with a shake of her head. Mama scowled, but began eating.

“
It's the ice cream place, remember? Fer got me the job. I'll scoop 'til I droop.”

Mama frowned. “That Jennifer. Why she wanna dress like a boy?”

Cece pulled an empty Marlboro pack from a crack between two couch cushions and folded it between her hands. “Fer doesn't dress like a boy, Mama. She has her own… style.”

“
A boy's style.”

“
Mama!”

Mama shrugged. “Okay, okay. I just don't want to see it rub off on you. You have a nice figure.”

Cece tried to cover her blush with a scowl. “I gotta go.”

Mama pretended not to hear. “Why I never see boys over here? You could use a
novio
. What happened to that boy… that Allen. Allen, wasn't it?” The spoon trembled as she lifted the Cheerios to her lips.

“
His name was Elliot.” Cece pressed her hands together. How long did it take Elliot to break up with her after his surprise visit to her house last fall?  Cece still remembered the embarrassment on his face when she'd opened the door to her trailer. How his jaw dropped when he saw the garbage-filled foyer. No boy would ever come here again.

Cece got up and walked to the door, gripping the knob with white knuckles. “We just park in the alley and have loads of unprotected sex, okay?”

Mama pointed a stern finger. “Cecelia Maria Consuella—”

She cut Mama off by opening the door. Sunshine spilled in, lighting the dark trailer momentarily. “Look, don't worry. I'm a heterosexual virgin, the perfect Catholic, alright? Now I'm going.” She stepped out the door before Mama could stop her. Someone had to make the money around here.

“Love you,
mi amor
,” Mama hollered as Cece shut the door.

“
Love you, too,” she muttered. “Don't burn the house down.”

“
What up, mother trucker!”

Cece whirled to find Fer perched on her bike in the driveway, a cigarette dangling from her lips. To Cece, Fer was a teenage beauty: full red lips, creamy white skin and round cheeks that were always pink in the middle. Most people, however, focused on Fer’s gender-bending attire. Her purple hair, the dye fading into a periwinkle-gray, was pinched into a messy ponytail. Her pink Lizzy’s Ice Cream shirt was baggy and sported stains across her ample belly. Her boy's skater shorts drooped past her knees.

Cece frowned at the curling smoke. “Surgeon General says smoking kills brain cells. That,” she said, pointing to the cigarette, “is why you got a 15 on your PSAT.” She leaned down and spun the lock on her bike chain that was hooked to her porch railing.

Fer shrugged and squinted into the smoke curling around her face. “I plan to live hard and die naked under a Victoria Secret model. Besides, I was copying off you, genius. Now enough with the chit-chat. Move your ass cause we're late. If Lizzy's in she'll have her panties in a bunch fo sho.”

Cece pulled her bike up, a thrift shop Schwinn with a cracked banana seat, and threw her leg over. The rusty gears groaned as she righted the pedals. “Sorry. Mama was giving me a lecture.”

“
The stay-a-virgin-til-you're-thirty routine?” Fer took a drag on her cigarette and blew a few smoke rings out of her puckered lips as she pedaled around.

Cece shook her head as she began to pedal. “Something like that.”

Fer spit the spent cigarette from her mouth. It dropped to the sidewalk in a spray of sparks behind them. “Parents, man.”

Cece pedaled harder as Fer stood up on her bike to pump. They rolled over a busted speedbump and kicked into high gear. Ms. Kaminski's cockier spaniel, Harley, howled and charged his chain. Then he slunk through a gap in the missing skirting around the trailer and eyed them suspiciously from the shadows. Ms. K came out on her porch in a flowered bathrobe, her veiny calves showing below the hem. She leaned over her metal porch rail and waved as they rode past. “Cece, can you walk Harley?” 

“Yeah, Ms. K., Tonight. Can you check on Mama this afternoon?” Cece leaned back on her seat and craned her neck to hear.

Ms. K nodded, her curled white hair bobbing. “Sure, honey.” She waved again, her saggy underarm skin (what Fer affectionately called her “bat wings”) flapping.

A few feet up, Fer called over her shoulder. “Move your meat!” She shot Cece a look.

Cece waved at Ms. K and pedaled like mad.

A couple of Kool-Aid-mustached children sitting on a plastic climber called to them as they neared the main street. Cece waved as her knees flashed up and down, up and down. They zoomed past Mr. Harris’ dilapidated double-wide that he shared with about fifteen cats. Cece wrinkled her nose at the urine smell as she pedaled under his open window. Three cats, clustered around a dish on the porch, turned to watch her pass. The house next to his was abandoned. The wooden porch had separated from the trailer and leaned at a dangerous angle. The siding was bowed and warped, making the whole house look like a bulging can ready to explode. Two-foot high grass swayed in the breeze, hiding a computer monitor and a printer. Tattered curtains fluttered out of the broken windows like a cartoon haunted house.

No boy would ever come home with her. Not if she could help it.

“I mean,” Fer said, picking up the conversation where they'd left off, “your mom gets knocked up when she's, what, seventeen, not even married? And she expects
you
to keep it in your pants?”

“
Stop,” Cece said, keeping her eyes on the cracked sidewalk as they veered past the sign that read Hidden Woods Mobile Homes
and out of the park. The main road shimmered in the summer heat. Cars rushed past in a steady stream. One corner held a liquor store, and opposite that sat a four-pump gas station with a 7/11 inside, both in sorry shape.

Fer scratched under an ample boob, wobbling a little. “Not your fault your ma got knocked up. I mean look at my dumb-ass mother. How many dudes has she brought home this month?”

“Fer,” Cece said, her voice as taut as a wire, “STOP talking about it. Just drop it, okay?”

Fer shrugged. “Jesus. Okay. Sorry.” Then she stood up and pedaled as fast as her beat-up Huffy would go, her body shifting side-to-side.

Cece kept pace, but stayed a few feet back. Why did it bother her so much when Fer talked about Mama? Everything she said was true. And Fer had it bad with her mother's alcoholic boyfriends. But at least Fer knew her father and saw him on holidays and long weekends. Fer had her brother, Shaun, and loads of aunts and cousins. Sure, they didn't get along, but at least she had them. Cece didn't even have a photo of her father. She thought of the piece of paper pressed in her pocket, names of Aunt Bea and Abuelo written in her looping scrawl. Mama needed help. She was only getting worse.