Rewrite the Stars Read online

  Gulls flying nearby honked and reminded her of her first trip across this mass of water. She clung tight to her mother’s hand. It was like something she’d never experienced. This wasn’t your typical subway ride underground, where all there was to stopping you from plunging forward is a steel rod with thousands of prints on it. No, this was fresh air, just like she was breathing right now. Just like she did ten years ago.

  “Mom, do you think there are dolphins in the water?” Claire had asked, looking up at her mother. Her baby-fine brown hair blew in the air. She remembered that white boho shirt her mom was wearing, too. It was her favorite. The sleeves puffed out like clouds in the air as it whipped by them out on deck.

  “I’m sure there might be. Shall we go to the edge and watch for them?”

  Claire skipped over to the white chipped railing and poked her head between the open gaps. All that could be seen was the white spray of bubbles pushing against the side. She smiled as a few droplets jumped on her face.

  There were no dolphins that day, nor any other trip they had taken to the Prescotts’ summer house. Despite the missed majestic sighting, the trips were no less than enthralling. The magnitude of the house—the fact that there were rooms with actual walls and more than one bathroom in the dwelling, not to mention a full-sized stove and refrigerator in a kitchen that didn’t share space with a hot water heater on the counter—was amazing. And the kids she played with during her times there were some of the best memories of all. Mallory was so much fun. And even though they had barely anything in common as far as upbringing, they still knew how to rock the Barbie world and swing high on the tire swing tied to the oak out back. Colin was another story. Shy at first when Claire began going to the house, he slowly came out of his shell and spent the summers playing tricks and schemes, treating her no differently than his pesky sister, Mallory.

  Claire began to see land and shoved the strap of her bag up on her shoulder. The boat idled back and began to sway with the waves that were just created by their wake. She grabbed the broken handle of her suitcase and stepped closer to the railing, watching the men on the dock prepare to pull in the large vessel. All the cars began to start their engines and Claire knew it would take another fifteen minutes to wait her turn to walk off. Melanie said she would have Mallory pick her up at the port. She was suddenly nervous about seeing her old friend. Maybe it was that her mother wasn’t there with her. This would be all new this time. A bedroom all to herself, no one to look at and gag when they passed the slimy oysters on the half shell at dinner, and no one to listen to the breeze blow in the window at night and tell all the hopes and dreams of their future. A knot began to form in the pit of her stomach as she walked alongside the railing toward the exit ramp.

  Instantly, she saw Mallory. She stood outside of the baby-blue Thunderbird, waving her arm. She wore a most gorgeous wide-brimmed summer hat. Claire cowered, hoping to fade into the background. The vomit on her shoes paled in comparison with the faded sundress she wore. The dryer in the apartment building was merciless to cotton—spinning the fabric in one cycle to age it five years. Or had it been five years that she’d been wearing this same dress to the island?

  “Claire! I’m so happy you made it.” Mallory leaped toward Claire and squeezed her into a vise.

  Claire one-armed her summer friend and held her breath until her ribcage was unclasped. She stepped back when Mallory finally released her. “Mallory, you look beautiful. I love your hat.”

  Mallory placed her hat back onto her head and smiled. “Thank you. And look at you. You’ve only become more pretty, my friend.”

  The thing with Mallory was that even though she was raised with nannies and cooks, she never let it go to her head. She loved Claire as though she were a sister. And never saw the difference in either her clothes or her lack of proper etiquette.

  “I wish. I feel as though I’m getting old and soggy.”

  Mallory threw her head back and laughed. “Soggy? You silly. You’re just now blossoming. I bet it’s the constraints of school having lifted from you. You’re a woman of means now, Claire. And it shows. Look at that smart hairstyle you have.”

  Claire felt her hair. Stray hairs had flown from the barrette and were waving next to her ears. She tried to weave them back into order. “I just wanted to keep it from slapping my eyes on the ferry.”

  “You didn’t ride inside? I can barely take the smell of old fish and salt in the air when we have to take our turn on it.”

  “Ah, it was so nice and refreshing. You forget I come from the armpit of the subways for transit.”

  Mallory bit her lip. “I only meant that on our trip here it was a bit unsavory. I’m sure it was delectable for your travel.”

  “It was.”

  “Well, let’s get going. Mom is pacing back and forth, waiting for you.”

  “Me?”

  Mallory flung Claire’s suitcase in the backseat and stared at her hand. The broken handle must’ve scratched her. It always did Claire. “Um, well, you and Colin.”

  “Colin? He’s here?” She looked toward the ferry. A few stray people were wandering off it. “I didn’t see him. Then again, I was outside. He’s coming home this summer? I thought…”

  “No, he’s not here, here. He’s coming later. And yes, he’s finally coming! After four years away in London. He’s coming home!” Mallory’s smile beamed.

  Mallory and Colin were close. They should be; they were twins. He was older by one minute and five seconds. He never let her forget it. They did most everything together. When one went on a trip, the other went with them. Except to London. Colin got accepted at Oxford, but Mallory didn’t. Although it didn’t seem to bother her that much. She loved painting and wanted to go to the University of New York. Her father, James Prescott, didn’t make a big deal about her major just as long as his princess was in the United States and safely tucked away only minutes from their home. Although she insisted on living on campus. He got over it during her junior year.

  “I guess everyone’s pretty happy. I can’t believe he never came home to visit. Is he moving back? Is this only a visit?” Claire sat on the white leather seat and smoothed her dress.

  “Bite your tongue! He’s moving back. You know, that rascal wouldn’t come home the entire time he was in school? We finally broke down and all went to see him over Christmas.” She closed her door and bowed her head, realizing she’d said something inappropriate.

  “I know. Your mom left early to come and see my mom. She said you were all in London.”

  She turned to Claire. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, Claire. I didn’t realize it was that dire of a situation with your mom. I just thought…well, I’m sorry.”

  “I know, Mallory. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Was the service…was it okay?” She bopped her head. “What am I saying? I just feel bad I didn’t come. We were still with Colin. Mom didn’t—”

  “It was fine. Only a few attended—it was small. People from her work. A couple from our apartment building. It wasn’t extravagant. And your mom was wonderful in paying for everything.”

  “I’m glad it was nice.”

  “Now let’s go.” Claire squirmed in her seat. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting hot.”

  “Let’s go!” Mallory put the car in reverse and the dirt beneath the tires crunched. The girls rode to the house, singing a song on the radio while Claire held out her arm and let it sway in the wind.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Melanie met the girls at the front door as they laughed across the yard. Claire noticed how different her mother’s best friend looked, now ten years later than the first time she met her on the same set of stairs. Her hair was less perfect, lips were less sculpted in red color, and the pant set she wore today paled to the summer dress she wore back then. Claire thought Melanie was a model from a magazine that day. Years and heartache had taken it out of Melanie Prescott.

  “Claire, come
here, love. You look beautiful today.” Melanie held open her arms and squeezed the girl.

  “Hi, Melanie. I’m grateful to be here.” She talked over the shoulder of the charitable woman.

  Melanie pulled her away and stared in her brown eyes. “Dear, I’m so elated you came. I must admit, I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “I had a couple moments of indecision, but I’m here now. And I’m happy.”

  “Wonderful.” The woman looked at her daughter, holding the soft satchel of Claire’s. “Mallory, go ahead and take up Claire’s things, would you, honey? I’m going to see that she gets some refreshments from her trip.”

  “Okay, I’ll put them where you stayed last year. We have so much to catch up on.”

  Claire’s knot tightened. She shared the room with her mom last time. It would seem so odd, the bed so large without her. It was as if Melanie knew what was streaming through her head and pulled her toward the kitchen.

  Frieda was clanging pots and stooping to see in the lower cabinets. She stood and smiled at Claire. “It’s nice to have you here again, Claire. Was your trip okay?” She twisted her crooked fingers, rubbing out the stiffness.

  “It was. Well, except for a sick little boy I had to sit next to.”

  Melanie gasped and grabbed her mouth. “I’m so sorry. Oh my goodness. What happened?”

  “No, it’s okay. He got a little sick. I felt sorry for him.”

  “Frieda, please get Claire an iced lemonade.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Claire hated when Frieda waited on her. She felt so uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if they were in a restaurant. This was a home. Frieda was like a grandmother. She would have much more preferred getting the glass and opening the fridge herself.

  “I’m sure Mallory told you Colin is coming today.” Melanie’s smile beamed when she said it.

  “Yes, she did. I know how happy you must be.”

  Claire noticed Frieda’s smile as she set down the glass of floating pulp. Frieda had a soft spot for that boy. She remembered seeing the cook slip Colin extras after everyone left the table. That boy had a wooden leg. His father was stern about Colin meeting the weight requirements of wrestling. And everything else in his life. No wonder the guy never came home for visits. As pesky as he was to her when they were younger, scaring her around every corner and pulling her hair, he was taunted by his dad relentlessly.

  “We are all happy. Believe it or not, James has been humming all morning.”

  Claire sipped her drink and smiled—that was hard to believe. James Prescott knew what music was, let alone it came forth from his pinched lips?

  Melanie got up and fixed the kitchen curtain edge. She grabbed the tablet by the sink and audibly went over the list. “We can pick up the lobsters at the market before we get Colin, Frieda.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry I forgot them. I’m just hoping the pot is in the other pantry.”

  “You can’t find the lobster pot?”

  “It’s here. I’ve just got to remember—”

  “I’ll pick one up, don’t worry about it.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  “You know how Mr. Prescott is. It’s just as easy to get one than discover we can’t find it.”

  “But I only put it away last summer. I’m sure it’s here.”

  Claire finished up her drink and walked toward the back window. The sun glistened off the water in the distance. “Melanie, I think I’ll go out and feel the sunshine, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, dear. I don’t mind. We leave for the ferry in another hour or so.”

  Claire walked to the back door and pushed it open. When she stepped off the third step, she slipped off her shoes and strutted through the grass toward the dock. Birds in the distance sang and the warm air enveloped her. She made it to the wooden boards and felt the heat on the soles of her feet. Quickly she scampered to the end and sat down, pushing her dress underneath her. Off in the distance, she saw the buoy that rocked back and forth. It’d been there for years, the white paint faded from not getting a fresh coat for the past three summers. She imagined swimming to it now. The water would feel so cool against her skin.

  Leaning back on her elbows, she closed her eyes and listened to all the little sounds: The lip of the water falling on the shore. A far-off gull circling for fish. And the tiny boat in the boathouse, rubbing the edge of the poles it was tied to. Heat burned through her and she felt alive. New York was another life away. Mr. Mitchell was no doubt sucking in oxygen, hoping the elevator worked that day. Pam was probably schlepping chicken and giving snide remarks, and here Claire was. Living in the elements, soaking everything in.

  “Hey.”

  Claire must’ve dozed off after she laid down. She put up her arm to shadow her brow. It was Mallory. She rose up. “Hey.”

  “I was yelling for you. Were you sleeping?”

  “I must’ve been. I’m sorry.”

  Mallory sat down. “No big deal. It’s just that we’re getting ready to leave.”

  Claire’s teeth clenched. She did not want to leave this spot. Didn’t want to get in a car with the Prescott family and go to the ferry for a homecoming where she would feel like a fifth wheel. No, she would just stay right there. In her perfect moment. Maybe she would even get to fall asleep again. Lord knew she combated insomnia since her mother left the earth. That last half hour spent on the dock was nirvana.

  “Um, I think I’ll just stay behind. I feel funky with all the travel and the kid who spat up on me. I’ll just get a shower and be ready for dinner if y’all don’t mind.”

  Mallory took a deep breath. “I would stay, too, if it weren’t Colin.”

  “What’s wrong?” She saw the pinched lips on Mallory’s face.

  “Just your normal dad complaints.”

  If only Claire had one. Her biggest dad complaint was she had no clue who he was. Her mother never divulged too much when it came to the sperm donor. For all Claire knew, that’s all he was. Bridgett Ashton told almost everything to her daughter, except who her father was. It had gotten to be a daydream of Claire’s that maybe he was a famous rock star. Her mother was such a groupie to bands. There were pictures in the photo album of tons of concerts she’d gone to when she was younger.

  “What did your dad do?”

  “Oh, it’s his outlook on Jason. You know, the same ol’.”

  “Jason? Mallory, don’t tell me you’re still seeing him?” Claire spun around and clapped. “You two are so cute. Last summer, I’d sit and imagine one day I’d be that lucky. Oh, I’m so happy for you.”

  “Yeah, well, I wish Dad felt the same. They just got back from visiting the McClintocks, down the inlet. Jason went to spend time and hopefully get on Dad’s good side. He said he was belittling the whole time. Gosh, I just wish Dad would realize this is the guy I’m going to marry. Lay off, you know?”

  “What?” Claire grabbed her chest. “Oh my gosh, Mallory! I’m elated for you. I didn’t realize he was even here. You’re getting married?” She searched her friend’s hand for the ring.

  “Yeah, well, he hasn’t asked yet. He’s sort of scared to death of Dad. He knows there’s no way he’ll give his blessing.”

  “Why? He’s such a nice guy.”

  “A nice guy without a degree. He graduates next year.”

  “So?”

  “We want to get married this summer. Nothing fancy, you know? We just want to be able to live together. His parents are super traditional.”

  “This summer?”

  “I know. We’ve already ditched that dream. Dad wouldn’t hear of it. But even after his school is over, Dad won’t be any nicer. I know him too well.”

  “Why? I don’t get it. He’ll have graduated and have a degree.”

  “He’s going into social work. He wants to make a difference. You know, something that Dad thinks you only do by how much money you can stuff in a bank?”

  Mr. James Pr
escott was very staunch. Claire wondered at times how this family even hooked up with him. All of them, including Frieda, seemed so much nicer than him. Maybe he was in the beginning. Maybe something happened after the “I do” that made him bitter, hard to approach, and as though he had a stick stuck in his butt. She was sure he must’ve been different one day before.

  “He’ll be fine. Eventually. He’ll have to be. It’s your choice.”

  “Just keep telling me that, will you?”

  The girls looked off in the distance. Melanie was waving her arms and calling out. “Well, Mom is ready. I’ll tell her you’re staying.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure. I hope the people at the dock is ready for the freak show that’s about to show up. I know Mom is going to kiss Colin and make a fuss over him, Dad will pound him on the back, and Frieda will no doubt cry.”

  “Frieda’s going?”

  “Yeah, Mom told her to. She wants a parade there, it seems.”

  “Well, have fun.”

  She jumped up and fluffed her dress. “I’ll try. You enjoy the peace.”

  Claire smiled and stared toward that buoy again. Tempting as it was to get in the water, she got up and strolled back to the house to take a shower and wait for the parade to circle back around. She was glad she brought three books to keep her company. Nothing like visiting the same week the prodigal son returned. Why was it that she decided to come, again? Even Frieda was going? Claire watched in the distance as Mr. Prescott stood, hand on hip, waiting to close the door of the house. Frieda scurried out, bent over from years of hard work. She was such a genuine person—someone Claire could relate to. She’s what Claire imagined Mrs. Claus would look like if she were real—silver threaded hair, always pulled back, tightly wound in a bun at the nape of her neck. But Frieda’s wrinkled face and hands told the story of a less privileged life than of a toymaker’s wife. Claire had only seen her in about three different changes of clothes since she’d been coming there: a few different earth-toned shirts, with either a long, dark skirt or pair of pants, depending on the severity of heat they were having.