As Far as the Stars

As I lean over and give Leda a stroke, my hand brushes Christopher’s bare forearm; electricity shoots through my body.

I notice Christopher’s cell light up; it’s been charging through the cigarette lighter. He grabs it and starts scanning through news pages. His breath goes jagged and he starts jiggling his leg.

I should ask him what’s going on, but I’m not ready to take in anything else right now. I want to get back on the road and drive. Focus on getting to the wedding. And anyway, if Blake’s turned up somewhere and is waiting for me to pick him up, he’ll call me.

I switch on the ignition and look across the road. It’s late so there aren’t many cars around. I pull out onto the road, do an illegal U-turn and then press down on the accelerator.

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_99c6f653-73e7-53c7-a3ed-78dddabcce2b)

21.30 EST 1-81

My eyes are burning. After the adrenaline of the past few hours, it’s like my body’s gone into some kind of shutdown mode.

I look back at the road. A few seconds later, my eyes close. My eyelids are heavy and it takes all the energy I’ve got to blink them back open.

‘I think I need to take a break,’ I say.

Which is the last thing I want to do right now. I’ve got over 500 miles to cover before I get to Nashville – and, because of the eclipse, the traffic’s going to be really bad as soon as people hit the road tomorrow morning.

So, I should keep going.

But if I don’t take a break, I’m going to crash the car – really crash it this time. And then I’ll never make it to the wedding. If that happens, Mom and Jude won’t forgive me. It’s one thing our unreliable brother not showing up, it’s another for the always-show-up-no-matter-what-little-sister (the little sister who’s meant to walk in front of Jude scattering the petals of Mom’s heirloom roses) bailing.

I look over at Christopher. His eyes are closed so I guess he didn’t hear me.

I lean over and shake him gently.

He rubs his eyes and yawns.

‘We’re stopping for a break,’ I announce.

I notice a Mobil sign by the next exit and flick the indicator.

‘Can you lend me a bit more money?’ I ask. ‘For some gas?’

I swallow hard. I hate having to ask him, but I don’t have a choice. Well, I do have a choice. I could use the emergency credit card. But like I said, I’m not ready for Mom to find out where I am. Plus, she’ll get the email alert and then she’ll call and I’ll feel like I have to pick up and I’ll try to make up some excuse but she’ll hear it in my voice, that something’s wrong. I’m a crap liar.

‘I’ll pay you back.’

‘Sure,’ he says, getting out his wallet.

Once we’re parked and I’ve filled up the car, I take Leda to a patch of grass for a pee and then put her back in the backseat of the car.

‘We won’t be long,’ I say.

I noticed a sign in the window advertising coffee. It won’t be Starbucks but I’ll take anything to keep me awake.

I start walking away from the car and Leda yelps. And then she totally guilt-trips me: cocking her head to one side and looking at me with those big, black glassy eyes of hers.

She’s still shaken up by what happened earlier, when I nearly rammed us into an oncoming truck. The blood on her ear has dried into a crusty brown. I know she’s wondering where Blake is because the only reason we ever go to Dulles airport is to collect Blake. And I know that she doesn’t want to be alone. But what am I meant to do? There’s a big No Dogs Allowed sign outside the Mobil store.

She lets out a low, mournful whine.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Okay.’

I look over at Christopher and get an idea.

I open the boot, pull out a fluorescent yellow sash that Mom put in there along with a whole load of other safety stuff and tie it round Leda’s belly.

She starts whining again. Then she wriggles around under the sash like she’s got fleas.

‘It’s this or you stay in the car,’ I say.

Leda keeps snapping her head round and biting at the sash.

I clip on her lead and hand it to Christopher.

‘She’s yours,’ I say. ‘Look like you need her.’

‘Sorry?’

‘She’s your service dog.’

‘She is?’

‘Yep.’

If you think I’m a bad liar, try watching me act. It’s not pretty. I flunked every theatre class I took at school. Blake and Jude sucked up all of Mom and Dad’s artsy genes.

‘Okay,’ Christopher says, taking the lead.

I like that about him. That he kind of goes along with things without asking too many questions. That he stays calm. And trusts me.

‘You’d be good to have on a space mission,’ I say.

‘What?’

Did I actually say that out loud?

‘Oh, nothing. Just that you’re cool.’

He raises his bushy blond eyebrows. ‘I’m cool?’

‘Yeah. You are.’

I grab my telescope from the back seat, Christopher gives Leda’s lead a tug, and we head into the store.

The guy behind the counter looks at Leda and you can tell he’s about to say something, but then he sees Christopher and closes his mouth again. Christopher totally rocks the service dog thing. He pats Leda on the side and says, ‘good dog,’ and makes it seem like it’s totally normal that he’s bringing an animal into a no-animals-allowed place.