Seeing Stars Read online

  Stars... a dream... only a dream.

  She shoved the pillow away. There might be stars outside, beyond the electric lights shining down on the resort, but not here, not in this bed with her. She'd slept alone, with Blake a figment of dreams, when only hours earlier she'd been caught close in his arms, outside the door of this condo.

  "Tomorrow," he'd said as he lifted his head from a shattering kiss. "Tomorrow the salmon bake is at my place." He'd threaded his fingers through her hair, his voice low enough that she felt its vibration more than heard the words. "Afterward, I'd like you to stay."

  "Stay?" For a moment, she imagined that he meant forever.

  "For the night. Shall I pick you up at three tomorrow afternoon?"

  "I'll drive myself. You'll be busy getting ready for the salmon bake."

  She'd gone to bed after he drove away, had lain there with her mind empty of everything but his touch, his lips, the way his body felt against hers, the way she imagined it might feel with the barrier of clothing removed... the way he'd touched her on that balcony, then danced with her afterward, every dance, as if there were no other woman in the world.

  Impatiently, she pushed the tangled sheets aside and left the bed, the fantasy memory of his mouth on her breasts in dreams. Too much, too complicated.

  Had Lydia felt like this, that year in high school, being romanced by Blake McKenzie? From the outside looking in, Claire thought Lydia's life had been pretty straightforward that year. But what could anyone know about another person's life?

  She went into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stood under the pounding spray. Closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like if they'd just made love, if she'd come to the shower and now, as the water beat down over her breasts, he'd slipped in behind her, his hands, his mouth...

  Stop it!

  She grabbed a bar of soap and lathered herself, but the foaming bubbles felt sensuous on her breasts, her belly, her thighs.

  She wanted him, wanted him too much. She could feel it in her body, the heated swelling that ached for completion. At the dance, on the balcony, she'd wanted him to tear her dress aside, to love her completely, to brand her and make her his... had wanted to give herself to him so deeply that no other man could look at her without knowing that she belonged to Blake, only Blake.

  She hadn't understood about lust until now, hadn't realized a man's touch could tangle in her mind, making her believe she needed him for survival. With Kevin, making love had been simple, pleasant, whereas with Blake...

  She hadn't made love with him yet, but calling Blake's touch pleasant was like referring to the distance between Earth and Alpha Centauri as moderate.

  She turned the water off, grabbed a towel and twisted her hair up in it, and then scrubbed the dampness from her skin with another towel. She wondered what Jennifer would say if she called to confide: He asked me to stay Sunday night, and I want it so badly I'm aching with need—but I'm afraid.

  No, of course she wasn't afraid. She was... simply wondering if it was wise, wondering if she should have stayed away from Port Townsend. Wondering if it wouldn't have been wiser to leave her high school fantasies back where they belonged—in the past.

  In the bedroom she caught sight of the clock beside the king-size bed. Two-thirty A.M. Too late to call Jennifer.

  Lust.

  Enjoy it. That's what Jennifer would say, with an added caution about being sure she had condoms in her purse.

  "That's all very fine," she muttered, "but it's not so simple."

  She didn't think anything about Blake could be simple. It made no sense, but standing here in the condo, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, she felt disconnected, as if she'd lost herself somewhere in tonight's kisses.

  Barefoot, she stepped out onto the balcony and couldn't find the moon because it wasn't there. It would have set just after one, she realized, and if she'd been in her right mind she'd have remembered. She always knew the times of sunrise and sunset, moonrise and moonset, kept an almanac in her car when she traveled.

  No wonder she felt disconnected. She hadn't seen the stars in days, not since she'd set up the telescope at the campground in northern Oregon the day before she'd arrived at Port Townsend.

  She turned away from the sky and went inside to grab her keys and driver's license from her purse, and to slip on sandals before she left the condo.

  Outside, the resort lay bathed in the overhead electric lights that drowned out the stars' glow.

  Claire slipped into her Honda and quietly drove up the hill away from the resort. At the highway, she turned west, away from Port Townsend. A few miles down the road, she turned off the highway and drove slowly up an unpaved road. She'd been half afraid it would have changed, that there'd be houses and lights now, but the road remained a dirt affair through untouched forest.

  At the top, her sport utility vehicle emerged onto a natural clearing open to the sky. Moss and field grass grew sparsely on this rocky summit, and, as in the days of her childhood, city lights were a world away.

  She drove to the center of the clearing, parked and took out her telescope without using the headlights or the flashlight in the glove compartment. Headlights would blind her, requiring her to wait long minutes for her eyes to readjust to the low light. In any case, she knew the adjustments of her telescope by feel, and the faint light from the stars was enough.

  She pointed the telescope first toward Orion, studying the constellation until she'd found the smudge of light that was her comet—as if she'd feared it would disappear.

  Oddly, that's more or less what she had feared, that somehow the heat of her need for Blake McKenzie had flooded her world, until there was nothing else. Feared that she would come up here, with her telescope and the stars, and find this world lost to her, that without the stars, she'd be lost... floating unanchored in the universe... that she'd cease to be herself and wouldn't know who she was.

  This was real—the stars, her telescope, the comet that would become brighter and brighter, then fade as it left to travel the galaxy. Even after it disappeared, the comet would return one day, while this other thing—this physical desire—would fade and become only a memory.

  She didn't belong in the world down the hill. She preferred her life in high places, away from crowds. Life among the crowds was complicated, and she belonged to the simplicity of mountaintops and stars.

  She swung the telescope to find the first stars she had discovered, retracing the route through the skies that her father had taught her, and as she did she felt herself grow calmer, quieter, more certain.

  She would stay at Blake McKenzie's house tomorrow night after the salmon bake, but not as a needy, uncertain girl. As a woman, a whole person who belonged to the world of the stars. She'd stay with him because if she didn't, it could only be because she was afraid of losing herself in him.

  She wasn't lost, wouldn't be lost, and in the morning, in the hours before the salmon bake, she would drive west along the Olympic Peninsula, exploring the country she hadn't seen in so many years, grounding herself in nature.

  Earlier, she'd planned to be at Blake's shipyard at nine, because Jake was going to be there, and she'd promised to try to interest Jake in astronomy. But Blake hadn't asked her to come today, and a few hours spent with the stars had reminded her that she was an astronomer, neither a teacher nor a woman dependent on a man for her amusement.

  She'd take the first part of the day for herself, put into practice some of the plans she'd made before she began this crazy game with Blake. She'd drive west, perhaps explore the new section of the Olympic Discovery Trail between Sequim and Port Angeles.

  Living on a mountaintop, she'd learned to love hiking. Today she wanted to remind herself of that love, because she would be exploring new trails long after the desire for Blake McKenzie burned out.

  Burned out. Yes, she thought, pleased with the image. Like a star burning too hot, that was her desire for Blake. It would flame, burn hot, and die. Then she'd be free
, which probably wasn't exactly what Jennifer might have had in mind, but it suited Claire.

  She studied the stars until the sky lightened and the lights disappeared. Then she packed her telescope into its box and drove back to the world of people, looking for somewhere she could buy an early breakfast.

  She found the Olympic Discovery Trail at Blyn, just before the village of Sequim. She parked her vehicle and hiked westward through tall cedar and fir trees, taking the four and a half miles at a good pace in the early morning.

  She returned more slowly, realizing she should have packed herself a lunch, but nonetheless enjoying the hot sun filtered through the forest cover, the cool shade of cedar and Douglas fir.

  When she returned to her car, she intended to drive into Sequim for lunch, but it was getting late—almost two o'clock—and she decided she'd better eat back at the condo instead.

  Back at Discovery Bay, she discovered she was out of both bread and eggs. No matter. Although she knew the salmon wouldn't appear until a couple of hours after the barbecue began, there was bound to be food of some sort lying around—even if it was only potato chips and dip.

  By the time she showered the coastal forest away and changed into clean jeans, a cool green blouse, and sandals, she realized she was going to be late to Blake's place. Just as well. People were always arriving late, and coming too early might make it look as though she couldn't wait to see him again.

  Not that it mattered what he thought, or what the others in Port Townsend thought. She'd be gone in a few days and would probably never return. It wasn't as if there was anything to bring her back now that her father was gone, and she certainly wouldn't return for the twenty-year reunion in five years time.

  She slipped her toothbrush and a change of clothes into a small pack and put it in the back of the Honda, although she'd almost decided that she would leave the barbecue when the others did. Walking under the tall Douglas fir trees this morning, she'd realized that having an affair with her high school fantasy boy didn't make a lot of sense.

  She would never have thought of having an affair with Blake if it weren't for Jennifer, who seemed to believe Claire's life was empty. But her life wasn't empty. She had exactly the life she wanted, and in a few days, she'd be slipping down to San Francisco for an interview that could well take her a big step up in her career. If she got the job, Claire Welland would be working on the next generation of telescopes at the international observatory in Chile.

  Whether she began an affair with Blake between now and then probably didn't matter much either way in the grand scheme of things. Last night she would have gone with him into a room with a bed in a moment, her pulse beating and her flesh heating from his touch. Today was different; she'd just spent several hours reminding herself of exactly who she was, what she wanted. Fulfilling high school fantasies was just that—a fantasy, not a need.

  Maybe she would and maybe she wouldn't, but she took the toothbrush in any case, because if he kissed her again as he had last night, she probably would, although she wouldn't lose herself the way she had out on the balcony... or later, in her dreams.

  She heeded Jennifer's advice and stopped at a drugstore in Port Townsend long enough to be bewildered by the selection of contraceptives. She finally grabbed a box and paid for them without looking at the eyes of the clerk who rang her purchase up.

  Then she stuffed the bag into her purse and told herself she'd forget them, because if she felt this embarrassed making preparations for lovemaking with Blake, there was no way she could stay behind when the others left, knowing what they would be thinking.

  Knowing it would be true.

  And if she did stay, what then? Would she leave afterward, slipping away in the middle of the night? Or would she stay the night and sleep beside him? She'd slept with Kevin, but somehow the decision had never had this significance, and the event had been mildly disappointing because she'd thought they would lie together, cuddling, but he'd turned over and promptly fallen asleep. Face it, the whole business of sex was vastly overrated.

  She'd seen the big old house on the hill often enough as a child, but had never visited it. Painted green, the house had a sprawling veranda, a big yard, and several twisted oak trees that looked as if they'd make great climbing.

  Claire parked beside a white minivan and followed the sounds until she found people milling around. She stopped when she spotted Blake at the barbecue, giving herself the luxury of watching him unobserved.

  He laughed at something Don said to him. She saw him reach down, and then hold out a bottle of beer to someone. She saw a hand take the bottle, then someone called out from the house, and she heard Blake shout that he'd be right in.

  More people inside, she supposed. They belonged together, all of them. They knew each other from high school, and she didn't really. She'd been there, but she'd been thinking about stars and studies, and their social world had been a mystery to her, glimpsed but not understood.

  He stopped half way to the house, and then Claire saw Lydia at his side, her hand clinging to Blake's arm. He laughed again and she watched Lydia kiss him. Then he was gone, inside, and Lydia left behind outside, motionless. She looked as if the light had gone out of her life when Blake left her side.

  "Hey, miss... Claire!"

  She turned her head and almost bumped into one of Tim's tattooed arms. Beside Tim, Jake frowned at her.

  "Hello, Tim. Jake. I didn't know you were coming today."

  "Food," said Tim. "We don't pass up food."

  "Have you found any? I'm starving."

  "There's nuts," said Tim.

  "And nachos," added Jake.

  They took her to a picnic table laden with bowls of finger food.

  "You want a beer?" asked Tim.

  "I'd rather have Coke."

  He nodded and disappeared, leaving her alone with Jake, who looked as if he'd like to be anywhere else.

  "What's good, Jake? Have you sampled this stuff?"

  Jake pointed at the bowl of nachos, and she reflected that the boy and the man had that much in common—a liking for nacho chips. She took a plate and arranged a handful of nachos on it, added a slice of cheese and a few slices of cucumber.

  "Were you down at the boat this morning?"

  He nodded.

  "Sanding something?" she asked, and decided it was a stupid question, and sounded exactly like what it was—an awkward attempt to make conversation.

  "The mast," said Jake.

  "The mast? I didn't see a mast yesterday. Where is it?" Just yesterday, she thought, and she'd already considered spending the night with Blake. Of course she wouldn't, couldn't. There hadn't been enough time.

  "It's behind the boat, up on sort of support things, right against the wall. It's a bugger to sand the off side."

  "A wooden mast? I thought sailboats used aluminum masts these days."

  "Most do, but Mac says this guy is a purist, and he can afford to get someone else to sand and varnish the mast every year. A wooden mast is quieter, Mac says, and looks better." Jake shoved an unruly lock of red hair back behind his ear and Claire wondered if anyone had tried to get the boy to have a haircut.

  "How do you mean, a wooden mast is quieter?"

  Jake grabbed a handful of nachos and stuffed them into his mouth, mumbling around them, "There's all those halyards—ropes, that is—and in the wind they slam against the mast if the sails aren't up, say at dock. So if it's an aluminum mast, the slamming makes a lot more noise than on a wooden one."

  Tim returned with Claire's Coke and another teenage boy named Joe. From the conversation between the three boys, she couldn't decide whether Joe was one of Blake's delinquent boys or not.

  "You new around here?" asked Joe.

  "She's here for the reunion," said Tim. "She's an astronomer. She works on a mountain in Arizona, and she knows how to build a telescope."

  "No kidding?" said Joe.

  Jake said, skeptically, "You couldn't build a telescope, not at home. It wou
ld have to be exact."

  "Very exact," agreed Claire. "The mirror has to be ground to within three millionths of an inch to get a good image of the sky on an eight-inch telescope. But people have built good telescopes with homemade mirrors in apartments, garages, and basements. It takes a long time, though, to grind a mirror. Most people buy the mirrors and build the rest."

  "How long would it take to build?" asked Tim.

  She smiled, thinking of Mac's shipyard, of the endless task of sanding mahogany and teak. "It depends on whether you're going to grind, polish, and figure your own mirror—the lens—or whether you're going to buy a lens and the associated parts. If you're going to buy those, you can make, say, an eight-inch Newtonian reflecting scope with sixty to a hundred hours' work."

  Joe said, "Maybe I'll ask my dad for a telescope for Christmas."

  Jake looked disgusted, whether with Joe's apparently prosperous parents, or the idea of a telescope, Claire wasn't sure.

  "What would you need?" asked Tim. "What kind of tools?"

  "A hammer, a jigsaw. It's nice to have a table saw, too, but not essential."

  Jake said, "Mac has a radial arm saw. You can set the angles for beveled cuts and everything."

  "That would work well for the box. You'd need a drill too, and drill bits and a hole cutter." Claire ticked off items on her fingers. "Tape measure. Screwdrivers. Crescent wrench. Compass. Then you'd need supplies—the wood, mirrors, and hardware."

  All three boys were listening intently, so she listed the supplies found in a typical telescope kit. "You can buy a complete kit, but you'd save quite a bit of money buying your own wood and hardware."

  "But how?" asked Jake. "How exactly do you build a telescope? You'd need plans, wouldn't you? Like for a boat?"

  By the time the salmon hit the grill, Mac had decided she wasn't coming. He'd been watching for her ever since the party began and hadn't seen a sign of her. He kept trying to get around to the front of the house, to look for her Honda, not that it would make much difference—she wasn't here.