A Clear Night Sky

PROLOGUE

“Close your eyes,” Dad says as we step out onto the porch on the slightly breezy summer evening. I let him guide me outside, slowly taking my hand and ever so gently pushing me by the back.

“Okay, open them,” he tells me, after what feels like hours, instead of seconds. I slowly open my eyes and let the beauty of the night fully surround me. I lose my breath and cannot believe the sight I am looking at.

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” I whisper, “I’ve never seen the sky like this.” As we stand there admiring the stars, Dad points to his favorite spots: each planet that can be seen through the telescope shining brighter and larger than usual, the collection of stars forming a spoon-like shape named the big dipper, a shooting star that happens to speed across the sky at just the right moment.

“Becky,” he addresses me, in the name only he calls me, “things will not always go your way in life. They may get tough, and you might lose sight of who you are or what you are doing. But the sky and the stars will always be there. I will always be there. You just look up at the sky and know it will all be okay.” We smile at each other, and I cannot ever imagine that things could be any different than this beautiful summer day with Dad.

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I hear my alarm go off, but stay in bed, not quite ready for the day to begin. I close my eyes again, ready to ignore my alarm for as long as it takes for me to get a little more sleep in. Just as I take a deep sigh and roll over in my bed, I hear the door creak open and feel a pillow punch me in the face. “GET UP!” My daughter, Lucy, screams as loud as a five-year old can. “We’re going to be late!” She jumps on top of the bed, and then on me, simultaneously hitting me with the pillow and stepping on me.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting up. Just give me a minute.” Satisfied with her work, she immediately drops her pillow, jumps to the floor, and runs out of the room. I get up, throw on some clothes, and walk into the kitchen, ready to start breakfast.

“Lucy! Jake! Breakfast!” I scream, hoping that Jake is already awake just as Lucy is.

Sure enough, Jake comes sauntering into the kitchen with bedhead hair, pajamas, and a mouthful of the worst breath I have ever smelled. “What happened to you?” I joke, although I do not think he is really in the mood yet for comedy.

“Mom, I just woke up, geez,” he replies, as unenthusiastically as I expected.

“Sorry. Eggs?” I offer to him, as he nods and grabs the plate I prepared for him, scarfing it down. Lucy joins him at the kitchen table, looking exactly the opposite of her brother: fully dressed, hair done, teeth brushed. She must have gotten that from her father, because her preparedness and early morning alertness definitely did not originate from my genes.

“Where’s Dad?” Jake mumbles through his eggs, as if he could read my mind that I was already thinking about Jack. I look at them sweetly, guilty that they are going through such a hard time because of me.

“Honey, you know that we’re taking some time apart. He’ll pick you up from school later.” They both sigh deeply, and I feel that stab of guilt once more.

Jack and had I told them last week we were separating. “A trial separation,” we told them after sitting them down on the couch in the living room. “It’s just to see what things are like when we aren’t together.” I had braced myself as I slowly looked over at our two beautiful children, both looking like they were on the verge of tears. “We’ll set up a schedule—you’ll get to come visit me and I’ll pick you up from school some days, but for now you’ll be living with Mom.” Jack explained, as my heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest. Jake quickly got up, stumbled over toys in the room and sprinted up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door shut once he got there. Lucy crawled into Jake’s lap, letting tears freely flow down her face. Jake and I looked at each other, knowing this would be a lot harder than we already thought it would be.

I am pulled back to reality, where my kids are both looking at me, waiting for more eggs. I scoop more onto both of their plates and let them eat while I continue to get ready for my day. I drop the kids off at school, and by some miracle, am relatively on time with my schedule for the day. As I drive, I let my mind wander back to Jack. The separation was mutual, we had agreed. We loved each other, and wanted to make it work, but at some point things just changed, and it didn’t make sense between us anymore. We had met when we were young, merely sophomores in college. We had fallen hard and fast and had gotten married after six months. It just made sense, we had agreed. We had always been like that: agreeing on both good and bad things, always on the same page. It was hard being without him, but it was just something we would all have to get used to, one day at a time.

I bring myself back to the present, as I park at the library and head to work. I greet Monica, the librarian at the front of the building, and walk to my office tucked in the back of the library, one of my favorite places in the world. I never saw myself working as a librarian when I was younger since I never much liked reading. But when they offered a job at a desperate time, I took what I could get, and I have loved it ever since. The quiet calmness of sitting in my corner of the library, meticulously going through books page after page, soothes me on the most hectic of days.

I get to work, taking a pile of books, marking down their titles and authors one by one, until I get to a book about stars. I close my eyes and my mind quickly takes me back to a particular summer night with Dad on the porch. I can still smell his strong soap that he has used ever since I was born. I notice the wrinkles starting to develop around his mouth and the way his strong arms pointed to the sky. I take a deep breath and can still smell the breeze of the summer night, reminding me of better times. I open my eyes and feel a stab of guilt once more. I have not spoken to Mom or Dad in years. Not since I decided to marry Jack in college, when I got pregnant and dropped out junior year, never finishing my degree. They never walked me down the aisle, met my children, or even Jake for that matter. They did not care who he was or that he loved me. They thought I was too young for all these “adult” decisions and did not want to be involved in helping me with them.

I do not let myself think about Mom and Dad for too long, and quickly get back to work, enjoying the silence of the library, especially in my little corner. I take a quick break for lunch, then head back to work. Just as I am finishing my day, my boss, Maryanne, comes to my desk.

“Oh, hi, Maryanne I was just about to leave for the day.” She looks at me sadly and tells me to take a seat. “Is everything okay?” I ask, unsure of what is going on.

 She takes a deep breath and begins “You know we are low on funding and have had some trouble with our budget.” I tell her that, yes, I know the library is short on money, which is why we scrapped the idea of expanding the children’s area and kept things as they were. 

“Yes, that is true,” she agrees, “but we also have to make even more cuts, that’s how bad it is,” she says. She continues telling me I am a valuable part of the library staff, but due to the budget cuts, she is going to have to let me go. I do not really know what to say and feel angry and hurt that I have to leave a place I love because of the circumstances. Instead of doing things I know I will regret later, I tell her it is fine, pack up my office, and leave. I remind myself that Jack is picking up the kids, and decide to head back home, pour myself a glass of wine and binge-watch some TV.

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When I finally get home, my mind starts to race. What am I going to do? I think to myself as I watch the characters on the screen. Where else am I going to find a job? I do not have a college degree, and there are few jobs that I can get that I would actually enjoy doing. How will I support myself and my family? Should I go back to school? I close my eyes for a minute and let myself relax. Just as I am starting to feel at ease about things, my phone rings. It is an unknown number, but I answer anyway.

“Hello?” I answer, hoping it is a telemarketer and I can get back to my show.

“Rebecca?” I hear a familiar voice say. A familiar voice that I have not heard in years.

“Mom? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she whispers, sounding on the verge of tears, “it’s your father.”

 I take a deep breath and ask her what is going on. After ten minutes of talking, I learn that Dad is in the hospital, and I have booked a flight for tonight. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say to her, and although she does not respond, I know she is nodding on the other line. I call Jack and tell him what is going on. He promises to keep the kids with him for the next few days, and I promise to call him as soon as I land and know what is going on.

The next morning, I land on time, and take a cab to my parent’s house, drop my stuff off, and head to the hospital. I find my way to Dad’s room and slowly knock on the door, seeing both Mom and Dad through the little window. Mom turns at the sound of my knock and comes to the door, clearly happy to see me while also being horrified at the current situation of Dad in the hospital. I step in and take in the sight: Dad’s eyes closed, tubes swerving in and out of his small body, his skin a slightly yellowish color, instead of its usual darker color. Mom and I do not waste any time: we both apologize, I tell her about the kids and Jack, she tells me about what happened with Dad. “He’s not conscious right now,” she tells me, “and they aren’t sure how long it will be before he wakes up--if he does at all.” She barely finishes the sentence without choking on her words. I hold her in my arms while we both stand there crying, staring at the one person that connects us.

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It is starting to get dark out, and Mom and I have both been at the hospital for hours. She tells me to go home and get myself settled in, but I refuse to leave Dad and she does not fight me on it. I tell her I am going to go outside and get a breath of fresh air. She nods and turns back to Dad, holding his hand just like she has for the past few hours.

I walk outside the entrance of the hospital, thankful for a moment to myself. I try to fight the urge to look up at the beautiful night sky and stare up at the stars, because I know it will only lead back to what are currently painful memories of Dad. But I cannot fight it anymore, it is a reflex. Despite the noisy sirens and people milling about around me, I close my eyes and slowly turn my head to the sky, opening them as I take in the night. I find Dad’s favorite spots: the big dipper, the occasional shooting star, the brightest stars I can find.

I take a deep breath, and think back to what Dad used to say on those beautiful summer nights on the porch: Things may get tough, and you might lose sight of who you are or what you are doing, but just know things will be okay. The sky will always be there for you, and so will I. You can always look up at the sky and know that things will be okay. I let the tears flow down my face and drop onto the gravel below me. I look up into the sky and see the brightest star I have ever seen. Things will be okay, I tell myself, just like Dad used to say.

I gather myself together and head back to Dad’s room, where there seems to be a commotion. Oh no, I think, I left him for a couple of minutes and now he is gone. He will never meet my children or know anything about my life because of our stupid fight from so many years ago. But just as I lose all hope, I walk around all the doctors and nurses in the room, and eventually to Mom, who is staring at Dad. I turn to Dad and I see those big brown eyes that I see every time I look in a mirror. Dad turns his head to me slowly and smiles. “Becky,” he whispers, and I burst into tears.