The Brightest Star in a Constellation

Epilogue

☽ Peter ☽

"Sorry for bothering you again, but did you take the protocols with you when you left? I can't seem to find them, and we've run out of ethyl alcohol," Dr. Power says through the crackling phone line.

I ease the car door shut behind me, scratching the back of my neck. The craggy grey sky shields the zigzagging sunlight above the parking lot. A golden strip of colour decorates the curb-stop alongside flat, hand-painted rocks showcasing the vast ocean outside of Northwood. The drive from my university took barely half an hour; Dr. Power, my boss, was nice enough to give me a week off.

"It should be in the notebook where I left it," I answer, kicking a pebble with the toe of my shoe. It scatters across the street, making a sound like water dripping into a bottle, and lands in the grass. "You can dilute more with a bottle of absolute, right?"

"Yes, I'm making sure the other notes are still here somewhere. I can teach you how to do it when you return. It's fairly simple," Dr. Power says. "Have you arrived at home yet?"

I twirl the cord of my headphones between my fingertips. "I just got back."

"I won't keep you, then, Dr. Delacroix."

A cloud drifts across the sky. I smile. "I haven't even graduated yet. The only doctor in the family right now is my mother."

"I'm just teasing! Don't worry so much about getting back to work. Take a vacation, okay? The lab will still be here when you come back," she says, and we hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I make my way towards the store. The signage has been renovated to a brighter shade of green and upon entering the automatic doors, I find the layout has shifted.

It has been three years since I graduated high school—sometimes, I almost forget, on the account that it doesn't feel distant. But now that I'm back, with the occasional teenager milling in the aisles and a myriad of faces I don't recognize, I can't help but remember.

I grab the grocery list from my pocket and set a course to find what my father needs for the hotel. The bottom floor needs to be completely cleaned and renovated after it flooded over the weekend. He called me about it yesterday, just to talk, and reminded me that I was busy, so I didn't have to come, but I offered.

It takes me a few minutes to find what I need before checking out. On my way back to my car, I pass a billboard filled with advertisements. I tear off a coupon for three dollars off cereal, and underneath it is a violet-rimmed flier. The drawing plastered on its surface is laminated and shows a navy blue star joined by the half-circle of a planet. It reads:

Live Concert!
Sunday, September 22 at 6:30 P.M.
See the local cover band, Spica, opening before the matinee with original music!
Tickets can be purchased upon entry.

I pause for a moment before peeling the flier off. The address is a restaurant a few hours away from Northwood, and my heart flutters like a songbird in a cage.

I haven't seen Evan since he left for college. I called him by accident, once, and I hadn't stopped it. I was stuck by morbid curiosity to see if anyone answered. A voicemail message played on the other end in his groggy voice, as if he'd just awoken. I'm sorry. You have reached Evan McKenna's phone number. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.