Bring Down the Stars

“I told you what I told you in confidence,” I said.

“I know,” Weston said, his smile falling away. “And I know it’s a whole lot of bread—”

“Don’t make jokes,” I said. “You know how hard this is. To be this grateful and this uncomfortable at the same time.”

Weston’s angular face softened. “We weren’t going to leave you to deal with it alone.”

“That’s what Connor said. But it feels like a payoff. I know that’s a terrible way to look at a gift like this, but it’s the truth. Like he’s guilty and so he’s trying to buy me out of being frustrated with him.”

Weston’s voice was low and heavy. “He wanted to help you. That’s all.”

Is that all you’ve done, Weston?

I studied his face—his ocean eyes—as if the answers to my doubts and confusions were written there. The only thing I could grasp was the surety that he’d never hurt me. It didn’t seem possible.

“Thank you,” I said. “For opening my water bottle.”

I watched him, hoping he would get my meaning. I didn’t want debt of any kind between us, two scholarship kids.

He smiled and it was like the sun coming out after a cloudy day. “You’re welcome.”

We stood together, watching the party. Ruby joined Connor’s group and had them all laughing within moments. At one of the wrought iron tables, Paul gently wiped a dollop of mustard from the corner of Miranda’s mouth. She ceased her arguing with her daughters and smacked a kiss on his lips.

Weston’s smile was small and sad as he took it all in. A goodbye smile, I thought. And I hated it. Hated every passing second that brought us closer to our goodbye.

I moved closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, the backs of our hands brushing.

We stood that way for a long time.

Fueled by an endless supply of food and alcohol, the party didn’t end until nearly ten at night. The Army unit supervisor would pick Connor and Weston up at six a.m. to take them to the airport. Only Ruby, Weston’s family, and I were staying over at the Drake residence to see them off.

The guests trickled or staggered out, giving Connor tearful or back-slapping hugs goodbye. Miranda cupped her son’s face in her hands. “Good night, baby. I’ll see you in a coupla hours, okay? For God’s sake, someone better wake me if my alarm doesn’t go off.”

She planted loud kisses on his cheeks and hugged him.

“Okay, good night, Ma,” he said.

Paul Winfield shook Weston’s hand. “Good night, Wes. See you in a few. I’ll make sure Miranda’s awake.”

The Drakes went up to bed, leaving Ruby, Wes, Connor and me alone.

“Let’s go out,” Connor said, a slight slur to his words.

“Go out where?” Weston asked.

“This is our last night of freedom,” he said. “I don’t want it to end yet.” His eyes widened. “Hey, let’s go to Roxie’s.”

Weston frowned. “The roadhouse? On Route Ten? That’s like an hour from here.”

Connor fished out his phone, peering at it blearily. After a few moments, he crowed triumphantly. “It’s only a forty-minute drive. Come on, I’ll hire a car. It’ll be fun.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “They have pool tables. I can show you off.”

I glanced at Ruby.

She shrugged. “I’m down.”

Connor beamed. “Wes?”

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you want.”