Tracing the Stars Page 8

  Not to mention Gretchen. I see her watching us, her cheekbones sucked in, her knowing eyes searching our movements for hidden meanings. I wonder if Emilia filled her in, or if my wandering eyes are just that obvious. It doesn’t help that we’re all supposed to go to the welcome party tonight together—Gretchen, Damien, Emilia, and me. I’m not looking forward to seeing Emilia outside of office hours. I’m not sure how much more of this I can stand.

  A couple of hours before we shut down the lab for the weekend, I hear a small alarm emanating from one of the computers. Curious, I walk over to see a variable error flashing across the report that’s supposed to run all weekend.

  “Hey, can you guys come over here for a second?” I try to keep my voice calm and collected, but I’ve seen this error a few times before, and I grind my teeth to prevent my frustration from escaping. It was a mistake. Gretchen and Emilia meander over. “It seems we’ve ignored air resistance when measuring this free-fall acceleration. I thought we brainstormed earlier about all of the possibilities that could affect the result?” I hate this side of myself, but as their supervisor, it’s necessary.

  “Hold on, Emilia wrote them down,” Gretchen says, shuffling through a binder and retrieving the flimsy piece of paper. Her eyes trace the notes Emilia made earlier.

  “I forgot air resistance,” Emilia says quietly, biting her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

  I flick my eyes to hers. “Gretchen, could you give us a second, please?” My eyes don’t leave Emilia’s face. I see Gretchen set the binder down gently and quickly scurry away. Emilia keeps her eyes downcast.

  “Leo, I’m so sorry. I’ll stay late to reproduce the report with those parameters,” she utters, shuffling her feet. “I know it has to run all weekend. I was… distracted.” Her eyes flit to mine.

  I shake my head. “Sometimes a correction can be applied to a result after taking data. Let’s try that first.” I walk to the computer and enter the new information. The error message disappears, and I turn to face a relieved Emilia. “All good now.”

  A small smile tugs on the corners of her mouth. The light grey sweater she’s wearing brings out the grey flecks in her stormy eyes. Her skin—golden and bright despite being stuck indoors all day—and her lips, damn her lips… Gone are the days of braces and scrawny limbs, frizzy hair and awkward smiles. The Emilia I knew was always beautiful, but the woman before me is a goddamn goddess. Why did she have to grow up to be so stunning?

  No. I need to shut this down.

  “I can’t have distractions, Emilia,” I say quietly. Her smile disappears.

  “It was a mistake,” she growls, narrowing her eyes.

  “If I hadn’t caught the error, we would’ve had three days full of inaccurate data. Either we wouldn’t have caught the error, or we would’ve had to start all over. We need to be precise in everything we do here,” I add, hating myself. “They could shut us down if we continue to make mistakes.”

  She draws her lips into a thin line and her eyes grow watery. “I understand. I don’t think distractions will be an issue any longer,” she says quietly, brushing past me and leaving the lab altogether.

  I sigh heavily. Gretchen comes to stand next to me. “That was a bit harsh,” she blurts, sipping on a Diet Coke.

  I shake my head and put my face in my hands. “It’s true. We can’t make mistakes like that all winter. They’ll shut us down. This mistake alone will cost thousands of dollars. The telescope is not a cheap machine to run.”

  “Maybe if you’d stop eye-fucking her, she wouldn’t be so distracted,” Gretchen barks, giving me a brazen smile before exiting the lab, presumably to run after Emilia.

  And I feel like a huge dick.

  *

  After eating a quick meal, I go to my room to change. I throw on a plaid button-up, jeans, and brown boots. I slick my hair back a bit and examine myself.

  Not half bad.

  Just as I sit down on my couch to drink a beer to wait for Gretchen and Emilia to pick me up, I hear Gretchen’s voice carrying down the curved hallway from my cracked door. I lean forward to listen.

  “…see your point, but you’re being ridiculous. Sorry, not sorry.”

  “If you and I are going to be friends, you have to stop asking about Leo.”

  My ears perk up.

  “I can’t help it. Watching the two of you in the lab is like watching two hormonal teenagers walk around naked next to each other. You’re clearly distracted. Think of it this way—Astronomy would thank you for fucking his brains out. Take one for the team, because that level of sexual tension is, quite frankly, annoying. And after the mistake today, it could be detrimental to the field.”

  I decide right then and there that I really like Gretchen.

  “I can’t have this conversation again. I really can’t,” Emilia says, and I smile. She’s so uptight. God forbid she have some fun.

  What the hell am I saying?

  “I promise I won’t bring it up again. At least not tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  There’s a small pause before they knock on my door. I stand and pace around for a minute so they don’t suspect that I overheard their conversation. When I throw the door open, I don’t even look at Gretchen. Instead, I can’t take my eyes off of Emilia. My eyes travel down her dress, one inch at a time. The dress is olive green, long-sleeved, and tight. She’s wearing black, heeled boots and her hair is long and flowing. She looks fucking hot. And she’s watching me like I’m the last person she wants to see.

  “I—umm—” I babble, stepping out and closing the door. “Hi,” I manage, shooting Gretchen a quick smile. The three of us don’t say a word until we pick Damien up from the firehouse. When he joins our party, things seem to relax as he makes small talk. Thank god for the outsider.

  People at Amundsen-Scott like to party. We certainly have the perfect atmosphere for it. Though a few people at the station are coupled off and/or married, most are young, single, and childless. Food and housing is taken care of before you arrive, so being responsible sometimes comes second. Thus, people party. Hard.

  There’s a large keg in the corner of the billiards room, and I notice a couple of people have set up a makeshift bar in another corner using an old pool table. The four of us walk over and order gin and tonics. I try not to think of the night I saw Emilia in the hotel in Christchurch. The bitter, mineral-y taste will always remind me of her now. We find an empty corner and talk about the party, the weather, our favorite T.V. shows… it’s a good group, and if it weren’t for Emilia looking at me with death daggers every few seconds, I might’ve had a better time. Instead, I self-medicate with gin.

  And some more gin.

  It distracts me from the fact that Emilia smells like fresh lavender, and the way her dark red lipstick makes her look like a badass.

  At one point, Damien suggests we join the small dance party that has formed in the middle of the room. Someone has dimmed the lights, and it’s turned into a full-on nightclub in here. I stay off to the side, taking large sips of my drink while I watch the other people, most of whom I know, flirt and dance to the bass-heavy music. I watch Emilia dance with Gretchen, her hands above her head, swaying to the loud music. Gretchen signals me over, and normally I would’ve declined such a temptation, but Emilia catches me staring and wiggles her finger, beckoning me over. It’s like an invisible string, tugging me over without thinking. I join the two women, and shortly after, Gretchen escapes to dance with Damien. Everything is beginning to sway as Emilia takes my hand. I suppose she’s already forgiven me.

  “Can you dance?” she asks, her face bashful.

  “Fuck yes,” I growl, pulling her in so close that she gasps.

  She rests her head on my chest and grips the back of my flannel with her hand. I smell her hair—lavender and lemon. Intoxicating. Her body moves against mine, and pretty soon, I have to pull away or she’ll understand how evident my yearning is.

  “More?” I ask, grabbing her almost-full gi
n and tonic before she can respond. When I get to the bar, I set the cups down and walk to the restroom. Bending down with my palms on the sink, I stare at my reflection.

  Emilia Harper will ruin me. She will disintegrate my resolve. She will lose me my tenure. She will drive me absolutely crazy until I don’t recognize myself. Somehow, I am supposed to resist her all winter.

  How in the hell am I going to do that?

  Sighing, I walk back to the bar and carry the two gin and tonics to the dance floor. I grip the plastic so hard it cracks as I spot Emilia dancing with Nathan, one of the chefs. The liquid dribbles onto my boot, but I barely notice over the roar in my ears.

  She’s smiling and swatting his arm. Her large, white teeth are pronounced from the lipstick, and the crinkles around her eyes are etched into her perfect face. She reaches out and places her hand on his arm, and it nearly sets me off.

  Margaret.

  Margaret cheated on me, too.

  This is all starting to feel so familiar.

  And so wrong.

  I turn and throw the drinks away angrily.

  I drive people away—it’s what I do. As I walk out, I look over my shoulder at Emilia. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and laughs at something the guy said.

  She should be with him.

  She should be with someone like Jake—someone that makes her laugh, someone that can have her fully. Someone she can give her heart to.

  Not me.

  Never me.

  E L E V E N

  Emilia

  MY HEAD POUNDS as a shrill siren sounds in the hallway. It takes me several seconds to understand what’s happening, and even longer to slowly disentangle myself from my duvet. What the hell is that? Less than a second later, I hear someone pounding on my door. It further jolts me awake, and my senses begin to prickle. Something’s wrong—the building is shaking like an earthquake, and a howling, angry wind is bombarding my eardrums.

  “Emilia!”

  It’s Leo. I check my clock—five a.m.—and then jump out of bed and throw my door open.

  “What’s going on?” I ask loudly as Leo pushes his way into my room. He shuts and locks the door.

  “Condition One,” he answers, making no attempt to turn the lights on. I squint at him in the darkness. In my morning daze, I can’t remember what that means, but I don’t say anything. He turns to me. “We have to stay in one place until it’s lifted.”

  “But you just came to my room,” I say, confused.

  “Yes.” One word. Simple. My eyes search for his in the blackness, but I can’t really see anything. A spike of fear rushes through me.

  The alarm stops, and a voice comes over the speakers. “This is a Condition One. Please remain where you are until we say otherwise. Do not go out into the hallway, and do not go outside. Stay where you are.”

  I think up a few witty remarks, but my brain isn’t spinning fast enough, having just been joggled out of a dead sleep. The only thing I can think to say is, “How long will it last?”

  I feel Leo move, but I can’t really see him. Something warm brushes up against my bare arm—Leo’s hand.

  “Let’s go.” The proximity of his breath to my ear startles me. Am I dreaming?

  “Where?”

  He pulls me along towards the kitchen. I hear him open one of the closets. “For emergencies.” He pulls out a medium-sized cardboard box. “They’re in every room.” He pulls the box open and fishes around for something. A second later, there’s light. “Flashlight.”

  “Why can’t we use the room light?” I stare at Leo, who is now illuminated by the flashlight. I swallow when I see he’s only wearing shorts.

  “Just a precaution.” I see him produce a gallon of water, ten cans of soup, ten packs of Top Ramen, two rolls of toilet paper, a thermal blanket, a battery-operated lantern, and a small first-aid kit.

  “All the fixings for a humanoid apocalypse,” I joke, remembering The Thing. I walk over to turn the lantern on and it illuminates the room almost as much as the overhead light does.

  Leo doesn’t say anything. Instead he looks at me, and I’m overtly aware that I’m not wearing a bra. I still feel groggy, but his gaze wakes me with every passing second. He looks tired too, and I have to keep staring at his face to keep from looking at his perfect, chiseled chest. And the trail of hair that leads downwards…

  “I didn’t want you to be scared,” he admits. It takes me a minute to realize what he’s saying. “That’s why I rushed over here. The first Condition One here can be terrifying. Especially if you’re all alone.”

  “I’m not scared. I can take care of myself.” I cross my arms and stare at him defiantly.

  “Emilia, do you know what a Condition One is?” His voice sends shivers down my spine—I’m not sure if it’s what he said, or the way he said it. My silence is his answer. Instead of continuing to talk, he walks over to the very small window next to the hallway and pulls back the curtain.

  White.

  All white.

  We’re packed in snow.

  It doesn’t help the clawing sensation of feeling like I’m being stuck in a small box. I take a deep breath and try to quell my claustrophobia.

  “Fifty-five plus knot winds. Minus one-hundred-degree wind chill,” he says. He’s watching me, waiting for a reaction. I try to keep my face neutral. “Last year, at another station down here, three people died because the heavy winds caused part of the roof to collapse. We could lose power. We’ve probably already lost Internet for the foreseeable future. Damien and his crew will have to dig the station out once this is all over. Are you beginning to understand?”

  I nod. “I understand the danger, but what I don’t understand is why you’re trying to scare me.”

  Leo looks taken aback. “I’m not trying to scare you. Just the opposite, actually.”

  I’m too tired to argue. “Well, in any case, thank you for risking your life to accompany me. Let me find you a shirt.” This is more for my sake than yours. I step into the bedroom and dig through my dresser, producing the one shirt I really don’t want to give him—but it’s the only thing that’ll fit. When I walk back to the kitchen and hand it to him, he doesn’t notice at first. It isn’t until he buttons it that he glances down at it.

  “Do you normally carry around men’s shirts, Ms. Harper?”

  I bite my lip. “It’s Jake’s. I stole it that night.”

  Leo stiffens, holding his arms out and observing the fabric as if it’s poisonous. “The one you…”

  “The one I…” I confirm.

  The weight of the moment, of this entire week, actually, sits in the air between us. In fact, it’s been almost exactly one week since the night we met. Leo takes a step closer to me, and I feel my knees weaken. My body responds by backing up against the counter; one step, two… until I can no longer back up. Leo takes another step towards me, his eyes narrowing.

  “Are you two still communicating?” he asks slowly, running a hand through his hair. I swallow and try not to stare at the patch of hair sticking out of his shirt. He’s so close. I’m breathing his scent in, one unsteady breath at a time…

  “Yes,” I whisper. The truth is, we haven’t been talking all that much. We email every now and then, and even though he begs me for dirty pictures, I brush it off with a polite smile emoji. Deep down, I want more out of a relationship. If I wanted a relationship, which I don’t. I have enough distractions as it is. I don’t need any relationships to murk up my life even further.

  Leo’s eyes darken. “Be careful. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  I scoff. “Quite frankly, it’s none of your business,” I chide, crossing my arms.

  “It is my business,” he replies quickly, his voice hushed and irritated.

  “Why? Why do you care?” He watches me with a furrowed brow—a serious frown on his beautiful face. I continue to push. “Admit it, Leo,” I whisper, glaring at him. “You’re jealous.” He opens his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. “
I don’t understand you.”

  “So what?” he hisses, reaching down and grabbing my wrists with his hands. “So fucking what? I am jealous. I’m really fucking jealous.”

  His breath is hot on my face. My knees weaken as my pulse races. He pulls away and looks down, placing a hand over his eyes.

  “I’ll be right back.” He turns and leaves.

  He just walked right out of my room. The space he occupied is suddenly cold. I’m left stunned—what just happened? Did he just… leave?

  I pace my tiny kitchen. How dare he say those things? And then he just leaves? I grind my teeth and sigh loudly, shaking my head. He said he’d be back. What the hell was going on?

  I walk to my door and open it, and I’m startled to find the walls shaking even more out here in the hallway. The howling winds are eerie, and the hallway lights are flickering. “Hello?” I glance towards his room and hiss his name again. “Leo?”

  He doesn’t answer. I wait a minute, gripping the door as the wind howls outside, threatening to flatten the station. Humans were definitely not meant to live down here.

  A few more minutes go by. What is he doing in there? What could possibly be taking this long? I walk to his room and knock once. Twice. Three times. Irritated, I call out one more time. The wind rattles the walls, and I hug my arms with my hands even though it’s perfectly temperate in here. A sliver of doubt knifes me in the gut. What if he’s hurt? Panicked, I throw his door open.

  He’s lying on the floor.

  “Leo!” I shriek, running to him. I crouch down and turn him over, checking his breathing and heart rate. It’s all normal. I touch his face gently. Did he pass out? I check his body, lifting his shirt and checking for injuries. I search his arms, and when I get to his right wrist, I notice a small tattoo.

  Diabetic: Type 1.

  Leo is diabetic? How come I never knew? What the hell?

  I rush to his refrigerator and find some orange juice. I pour a small cup and run back to him, lifting him up as best as I can and putting his head in my lap.

  “Leo,” I say, urgently. “You have to drink this.” He stirs, and when I put the rim of the cup to his mouth, he opens his lips slightly. I pour in a small amount of orange juice, and he gulps it down slowly. I repeat this five times until the juice is gone. He’s lucid now, but his eyes aren’t open. “Leo, what do I need to do?”