Page 12 of The Sun and Her Star

Well, Ithinkit’s corn. The only corn I’ve ever seen is the popped kind.

I’ve lived in a penthouse at the top of a casino in Las Vegas for my entire life. Lately, it feels a lot less like home.

When Papa and Artemis were here, it was fun. Now, it’s just either really quiet or, when Maman gets sad, really loud and she hits people. She got really sad on my birthday, and she hit me so hard that time that I called Tante Isabel. She brought me here so Maman can get better.

I run my fingers along the chipped white wooden post of our front fence. Being here, even when all I did was stand on the porch, has been so great.

I love the fresh air, the quiet, and most of all that I can see all the stars.

I miss Artemis and Daddy, too. But they left so much of themselves behind that everywhere I go, I feel like they’re with me. Daddy in his books and Artemis every time I look at the moon.

I was worried that being away from home, not smelling Daddy’s cologne in his closet, or not being able to sleep in Artemis’s bed would make them disappear from my dreams. But they haven’t.

I brought my most special books for Graham today. They both belonged to Artemis. One is on Greek mythology, and the other is a book of poetry she loved better than anything else.

The poet, Rumi, is from Iran, like Maman. Artemis used to say that one day she was going to open a museum dedicated to him. She’ll never get to do it. But when I grow up, I’ll do it for her.

I hike my backpack up onto my shoulders and pick up my pace. I can’t wait to show Graham the books. A buzzing near my head makes me scream and jump. I swat at my ear and neck and wipe the sweat that coats my fingers off on my shorts.

The air here is thick and humid. It feels like being trapped in a bubble full of all of the sun’s energy and all the moisture in the air. I long for a cold drink and maybe reading in the air-conditioned sunroom at the back of the house. But not as much as I long for the grand adventure I’ve got planned today.

I smile when I think about the boy with the dark blond buzz cut and eyes the same color as the swirly gray granite boulders that dot the hillside here.

Papa would like him.

He’s so tall and strong and really nice. And he didn’t get mad when I almost made him fall.

He’s brave, too. He walked where there were snakes just to make sure I got my stuff, and he pulled me out of the lake.

He’s the cutest boy I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen lots. Sometimes in the hotel’s lobby, or on the magazines that Maman has littered all over the house. But I’ve never seenanyonewho looked like him.

He listened to me when I taught him about the sun, and he got so happy when we talked about books.

And today, we’re going to sit and read together.

I didn’t mean to fall off the side of the cliff yesterday. But, it turned out to be a lucky thing because I met Graham.

I hurry down the white gravel lane. The sun is high and hot. It burns the backs of my calves and arms as I head toward the woods that edge our house and that lead to the lake. I pull my baseball cap low onto my forehead to spare my face as much as I can.

I’m wearing my white high top Keds with two pairs of socks and avoiding piles of brown leaves just like Graham told me to.

I step into the woods and sigh at the immediate break from the punishing sun that the thick covering of trees offers. The air’s not so thick here either, and I take a deep breath and try to cool down. But, I can’t ignore the buzzing, humming, and chirping of all the bugs and birds and whatever else lives in the trees.

I force myself to think about happy things. Like, that when I get to the lake, Graham will be there. The pile of books in my backpack shuffle and jostle. I hope he likes them. I walk past a pile of leaves, and when it shudders, I scream and start to run. I burst out of the woods and stop to let the sun warm my face and chase away the gooseflesh that’s covering my arms.

As I get closer to the lake, the damp, leaf-covered ground rolls into a dry grassy patch which in turn yields to the sandy shore of the beach. Graham is standing near the lakeshore. He’s wearing the same light blue shorts and white T-shirt he was wearing yesterday.

“Hey,” I call out to him. He looks up at me, his hand over his brow to block out the sun and grins.

“Hey, you’re late,” he says as I walk up to him.

“Sorry, I was writing a letter to my dad and lost track of time.” I shrug my backpack off one shoulder and riffle through it while it balances on my thigh.

“I thought you said he died,” he says like it was the strangest thing he’d ever heard. I glance at him, and he’s frowning at me.

“I know he’ll never read it. But I just wanted to write to him today. I felt like talking to him,” I say and smile because I want him to stop frowning. When he doesn’t, I hold up the slices of cake in my hand.

“Look what I brought.”

---