How to Align the Stars

Chapter One

Bea

Beatrice and her bookcase were stuck. She’d come to campus yesterday with a tape measure to make sure the garage sale treasure—seven feet of mid-century teak that was going to look splendid against the exposed brick in her new office—would fit onto the seldom-used elevator. Although she was more accustomed to measuring the distances between planets and moons than the dimensions of secondhand furniture and creaky elevators, Bea’s calculations were undoubtedly flawless.

This morning, Bea had manhandled the bookcase into the science building lobby, only to be confronted with an Out of Order sign taped to the stainless-steel elevator doors. Since it was fall move-in day, Messiman College’s facilities staff would be busy helping students rearrange their dorm room furniture and politely explaining to parents why they couldn’t drive their SUVs across the grass. There was no chance of the elevator being fixed any time soon.

Wrestling this thing back into her car was out of the question. It was going into her office today, elevator or not. The bookcase was heavy, but the blankets she’d strapped around it to prevent scratches helped it slide easily. She could propel it up the stairs if she got a shoulder behind it and heaved.

Bea and her bookcase reached an impasse at the landing halfway to the second floor, turning the corner between flights. A hard shove caused it to pivot around the newel post with an unexpectedly forceful lurch, wedging her into the corner. Even when she braced her butt against the wall and gave it her all, the damn thing wouldn’t budge another millimeter.

Sweaty tendrils of hair stuck to the back of her neck. Bea leaned against the wall in the small space her predicament afforded her, pulled the elastic from her sloppy bun, and used her fingers to rake her hair back into a more secure ponytail. She could call someone to come help her—if she hadn’t left her phone in her car to avoid dropping or damaging it. For the thousandth time, she cursed unfavorable women’s pocket capacity to phone size ratios.

It was fine. This building was empty right now, but campus was busy. Someone would come along. She hoped it was soon because she had just become acutely aware of how much coffee she’d had this morning. Bea fixed her eyes on the bottom of the stairwell, willing someone to walk by. She hummed to herself to pass the time and take her mind off her bladder. She was at seventy-three bottles of beer on the wall when she caught a glimpse of an unfortunately familiar battered Cubs cap bobbing through the lobby. A hat that almost certainly belonged to the last person on earth Bea wanted to ask for help.

But she was stuck.

And she really had to pee.

“Hello?” she called, projecting her best auditorium-lecture voice—direct from the diaphragm—toward the lobby. “Ben?” She tried not to sound begrudging. “Help.”

Ben Addison appeared in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs. In addition to the hat, he wore what must have been one of a dozen stockpiled CBGB t-shirts, faded jeans, and a smirk.

“I had heard the administration is encouraging emotional support objects, but an entire bookcase seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it Dr. Hayes?”

Bea bristled, interpreting his widened eyes as an expectation that she would laugh at his little joke, but she wasn’t amused by the cheap shot at students who needed coping mechanisms.

“Funny,” she replied without arranging her face into a smile. “I’m moving into my new office. I’m sure all the shelving in your fancy ass workspace was purchased and installed for you, but not all of us get that luxury.”

Ben grinned and brandished a candy bar. “But there are better vending machine choices over here. You guys have Peanut Butter Twix.” He opened it and ate half in three fast bites. Chewing, he asked, “Want the other half?” and waved the wrapper at Bea.

Unbelievable. “No. Thank you.”

“Ah. Dieting, are we?”

“No. ‘We’ don’t diet.” Bea was long accustomed to the irksome assumption, every time she turned down sweets, ordered a salad or went for a run, that she was trying to lose weight. As long as she felt good (she did) and could climb the six flights to the rooftop telescopes without getting winded (she could), she believed it was a waste of energy to be bothered about her size. Bea had reached a truce with her body image, but there were certain people with a knack for making her self-conscious and it was hard to maintain her confidence in front of them—especially fucking Ben with his spectacular history of making her feel bad about herself. Bea could usually go along to get along, but once a line was crossed there was no coming back. Ben had been a citizen of enemy territory since they were students here together.

Her bladder began to twinge more insistently. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she was risking humiliation. She’d had her fill of being embarrassed in front of Ben years ago, a repeat performance would be even worse than owing him a favor. “Can you just help me?”

“Oh.” He stroked his chin. “So, this isn’t on purpose, then?”

She glared. “No.”

“I can probably help. What’s the magic word?” He crossed his arms and waited, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He was eating this up.

“Please.” She practically spat it at him.

“Was that so hard?” Ben examined the bookcase. “I think I should come around and pull from the top. If we can get it up and over the railing, we’ll be golden.”

“Yeah, I was trying that, but it’s too heavy to lift so high by myself.”

“No worries. I’ll pop up the other stairs and be back in a flash. Don’t go anywhere.”

And he winked, the arrogant jerk.

Two minutes later, Ben appeared in the doorway on the second floor, chewing. He tucked the candy wrapper into the back pocket of his jeans and gripped the top of the bookshelf. “Okay, I’m gonna lift from here, you push from there. Ready?”

Bea nodded and braced to push as well as she could.

“One…two…three.” Veins popped out against the muscles of Ben’s forearms as they heaved the bookcase over the railing, Bea dividing her effort between propelling the bookcase and maintaining the integrity of her pelvic floor. It came to rest on its side, tilted up the stairs.

“It’s a straight shot from here to the door,” Bea said. “I can handle it now. Thanks.”

“This thing is heavy. I’ll help you get it the rest of the way.”

Bea pressed her thighs together. She needed to get to the ladies’ room as soon as possible. “That’s okay. Really. Thanks.”

“Not taking no for an answer.” His words were friendly, but she detected resolve behind them. He knew she was dying to get rid of him and had no intention of obliging.

She didn’t have time to argue. “Fine. Then hold on a minute.” Squeezing past the bookshelf, she rushed up the rest of the stairs, coming face to face with a bemused Ben. “Excuse me.”

He flattened himself against the wall, allowing her to pass into the hallway, where she waddle-darted to the restroom. She unbuttoned her jeans as soon as the heavy door closed behind her, slamming the stall door and sitting in one hasty motion.

Bea took several deep breaths after she washed her hands, steeling herself to continue the interaction. Even when Ben was being perfectly polite, she could never shake the feeling that beneath a thin patina of civility, he was mocking her. Maybe not, but since it would be consistent with his past behavior, she didn’t feel obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt now.

When she came out, he was loitering in the hallway with the bookcase standing next to him. “With these blankets it was pretty easy to slide it right up.”

“Yep. That was my plan. I could have done it just as easily.”

“Well, I did it for you. Which one is your office?” He tipped the bookshelf back onto his shoulder as if preparing to scoot it down the hallway linoleum.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we can at least carry it together.” She moved to take hold of the top. “I don’t want you to push too hard and loosen the joints.”

“Splendid,” said Ben, taking up the bottom. “Lead the way.”

Bea unlocked the door to her office and Ben whistled. “Coming up in the world.”

She wasn’t going to let his sarcasm ruin this for her. After years in a glorified broom closet with a slit of a window overlooking the dumpsters, she finally—thanks to Dr. Stein’s retirement last spring—had one of the spacious faculty offices facing the grounds. The science building, constructed in the seventies to a utilitarian aesthetic, lacked the ivy-encrusted neoclassical charm of the older structures on campus, but the faculty offices on this side were large and airy. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, they had a view of the quad filled with students moving into their dorms. Bea had even brought a rug in to brighten up the cumin-colored, Nixon-era industrial carpet. The new bookcase was a satisfyingly perfect fit on the wall next to the door. Bea dropped into her desk chair and swiveled to face Ben, who leaned a shoulder against the door frame.

It was silly, but picturing this space in her head—her own office in the building where she’d taken her first astronomy courses, a place to confer with colleagues and mentor students—had gotten her through the more grueling parts of her PhD program. Now it was a reality and the first person to see it was the only person on this campus she wouldn’t have been delighted to welcome here.

“It’s no Librotory,” she said, emphasizing the ridiculous name of Ben’s workspace, “but it will do.”

“Oh, come on,” Ben said. “You know I didn’t name it that. The donor relations people thought it would ‘resonate with alumni.’ It’s not my fault they consider my background an asset.”

Ben was the special collections librarian, in charge of rare books, as well as a lecturer with the art department. Last year, Messiman had opened a lab in the library to house Ben’s book repair facility and serve as the studio for Book Arts classes, where students could learn bookbinding and printing techniques, or create art pieces from existing books. The lab was easily fifteen times the size of Bea’s new office and much fancier than her building’s outdated classrooms.

“Background, ha. You don’t even have a PhD.” She’d worked her tail off to complete her doctorate, but it seemed like Ben had waltzed right into his comfortably-funded position. He wouldn’t even have to apply for tenure.

Ben’s face, already flushed from the effort of furniture moving, reddened more deeply. “I have two master’s degrees.”

“Ooh, fancy. Tell that to a dissertation board.”

“At least I’ve spent time outside of the ivory tower. A dissertation review is a picnic compared to art critics.”

“Well. Thanks for using your delicate artist’s hands to help me move furniture.”

“You’re welcome. Where are your books?”

“Pardon?”

“Your books? Presumably you plan to put some”—he indicated the empty shelves with a lazy flourish—“here?”

“In the car.”

“Let’s go get them.”

“I can certainly manage a few boxes of books myself.”

“The elevator is broken. I insist.”

“No, Iinsist. I can handle it.” She settled her hips more firmly into her chair and crossed her arms.

“As you wish. Always a pleasure, Beatrice.” He gave her a little salute, spun, and sauntered down the hall.

“Likewise.” She injected saccharine into the reply and lobbed it at his retreating back. Once Bea heard the creak of the stairwell door and the sound of his feet on the steps, she exhaled to slide the tension out of her shoulders.

Heron

The window was dirty, but Heron had to admit her decision to clean it right this minute had more to do with the view she could get of her boyfriend unloading the truck. The August sun glinted off Charlie’s sandy hair as he transferred her boxes and furniture from the truck bed to the lawn, stacking them to bring upstairs. His large frame, which made Heron feel tiny and cherished when his arms folded around her, allowed him to lift the big cartons she could barely get a grasp on.

He tossed a box of clothes out of the truck. It popped open and scattered sweaters across the dry brown lawn. She grimaced; she’d be picking twigs and bits of grass out of them for weeks. One deep breath in to acknowledge her annoyance, then out, focusing her intention on gratitude. She should feel fortunate to have Charlie’s help. Music blasted out of the Sig-O-Delt house, and she knew he would rather be over there with the guys instead of helping her and Maggie move into their place.

The apartment was in a big old house that had been carved into rental units, and Heron’s bedroom had a large dormer window through which she could see Charlie’s corner room across the street. When they weren’t together, they’d be able to see each other’s lights through the poplars lining their block.

She watched Charlie stuff the sweaters back into their box, then pick up the little violet-painted nightstand she’d found browsing garage sales with Bea last weekend. A few minutes later she heard him set them down with a soft thump just inside the door of her bedroom. The ghost of his reflection appeared in the window as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her hips, turning her and lifting her down from her stepstool. He topped the gesture with a sweaty kiss that made her head swim.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Only the mattress left. I can get it, but it will be a little easier if you help me.”

She set down her rag and spray bottle. “Let’s go.”

The double mattress was the only brand-new thing she’d splurged on, and she didn’t want it dragged across the ground. The walnut staircase in the foyer, a leftover from grander days, was wide enough to make lugging the mattress an easy task. Heron guided from the top while Charlie, at the bottom, took most of the bulk. They settled it on the low platform frame and slid the bed into Heron’s window nook. As soon as it was in position, Charlie flopped down.

“Just a sec,” said Heron, grabbing the mattress cover and fitted sheet and gesturing for him to stand up. “You’re getting it all sweaty.” He was streaked with dust and perspiration. She could wash bedding, but once the ticking was soiled, it would be that way forever no matter how clean the sheets were.

“We can’t get this sweaty?” Charlie put on a playful tone. “I thought that was the whole point.”

“Charlie, please? Come on.” He stood up, but annoyance flashed across his face. Oops. Should’ve just let it go. “The point,” she said, as she wrestled with the elastic corners, “is that we don’t have to sleep wedged into a twin bed in a dorm or frat house anymore.”

When she finished, Charlie threw himself back down on the bed, turned onto his side and patted the spot in front of his stomach, where she curled up as his little spoon, head pillowed on his bicep. Lying on their sides, they faced the candles and framed photos Heron had already unboxed and arranged across the dresser.

“You’re amazing, you know,” he said. “You aren’t even unpacked yet and this room already totally feels like you.”

It was such a sweet observation, she let her lingering irritation at his carelessness float away. He really did get her. She squeezed his hand where it rested on her hip. “I’ve been thinking about it a long time, how my own space should be. The dorm rooms felt so institutional, I could never get the vibe right. And I love my dad so much, but his house hasn’t felt like home since my mom…”

“I know.” Charlie kissed the top of her head.

“I want a place where everything is just how I intend it to be,” she said. “Where I always feel safe.” Where nobody left.

If things were different, she’d have that with Charlie right now. They’d originally planned to live together senior year, but when Charlie was elected fraternity president, that all changed. Chapter bylaws required him to live in the frat house.

“Babe,” he’d said, “I can’t pass up this opportunity. Being a past president will get me so much farther in alumni circles.”

She wanted to believe him, but a seed of doubt had taken root and grown all summer, fear creeping like ivy and crowding out the light. Charlie was a classic Gemini; she loved how gregarious and fun he was, but she worried about him keeping things from her. What if changing their housing plans was his first step toward making a clean break at graduation? It wouldn’t be the first time a guy thought a girl was good enough for college, but not forever, and it wouldn’t be the first time Heron drove someone who was supposed to love her away. She resolved to be her very best self: no nagging or clinging, helping him with his school and fraternity responsibilities, prove his life was better with her in it. She could do this; she was so much better than she used to be.

“It’s only a year.” Heron popped to her feet to hunt for pillows and the rest of the sheets. She kept her tone deliberately bright. “Not even that. Only nine months until graduation.” The next time she moved into a place it would be a home shared with Charlie, she had to have faith in that. If she didn’t believe in them, how could she expect him to?

Bea

Bea only had five boxes: four of books; one of miscellaneous items there hadn’t been room for on the tiny desk in her old office. Still, after her tussle with the bookshelf, she was exhausted and grimy by the time she got them up the stairs and unpacked. She sat to rest and watch the activity out the window. It was hard to believe that it had been nearly two decades since she was one of these fresh-faced kids settling into the dorm, and six years since she’d returned, snagging a tenure-track position right after completing her PhD in a stroke of luck that still amazed her.

Securing tenure would mean she could stay here at Messiman for her entire career if she wanted to, and Bea desperately did. Since it was an undergrad-only school, there was less pressure to secure funding and more focus on teaching. She strongly preferred hands-on work with students to fussing with grant applications. And she wanted to stay in Millet. The night skies in eastern Washington, while they might not have rivaled Hawaii or Utah, felt like home to her. This was where she fell in love with the stars, after all. She had family ties here, too. As a student, Bea had earned pocket money babysitting her younger cousin. They’d developed a sisterly bond, becoming friends as Heron grew up. Heron would probably move away next summer, but Bea was close to her uncle Len and often spent evenings out at his winery. Since she wasn’t especially close to her own parents, it was nice to be near extended family—especially when they came with free wine and acres of vineyard perfect for stargazing.

She was arranging her few paper files in the bottom desk drawer, when she heard a gentle rap on her half-open door. Rick Brown hovered in her doorway, holding a small potted cactus. Rick was nearly six and a half feet tall and as slender as a stalk of wheat. He was one of the kindest people she knew and had been her mentor since she’d first switched her major from pre-med to astronomy. As the chair of the two-person department, Rick was technically Bea’s boss, but the role he filled in her life was more like something between grandfather and business partner.

“Looks like you’re getting settled into the new space pretty well.” Rick accordioned himself into one of the guest chairs and set the cactus on her desk. “A little office-warming gift.”

“Thank you. It’s perfect. I ought to put some more plants in here but I’m sure I’ll kill them.”

“You’d definitely kill them. Stick to succulents, kiddo.”

She laughed and moved the cactus to the side of her desk nearest the window. “Hopefully I’ll get to keep this office awhile.”

“You will.”

Rick’s faith in her as an undergrad had given Bea the confidence to pursue her doctorate, but the thing she loved best about him was that his encouragement always came with sound practical advice.

“That’s what I came to talk about. I reviewed your tenure file. Everything looks pretty good—publications, student evaluations, letters of recommendation—but I think to get approval from the faculty personnel committee and sign-off from President Phillips, you should boost your service to the college community a tad. It’s been a few years since you did something outside of the science division.”

Bea had avoided campus-wide initiatives since Ben’s reappearance, not relishing the idea of bumping into him unexpectedly. Why did he have to be her only classmate who’d returned to work at the college?

Three years ago, it had been an unpleasant surprise for Bea to turn around to be introduced to the new special collections librarian and find herself looking into an annoyingly familiar pair of hazel eyes.

“Beatrice!” Ben had said with a mockingly jocular tone that was also all too familiar. “Great to see you again.”

They hadn’t exactly been friends when they graduated, but she didn’t think it was necessary for him to be sarcastic right out of the gate. “Hello, Ben.” She tried to keep her tone cool, neutral. “The last I heard you were fully committed to the art world. Don’t libraries seem a little cushy for you?”

Ben flashed a self-effacing grin that likely would have charmed anyone else into a puddle. “Bit of an age-limit on the starving artist lifestyle, especially when you’re paying off MFA loans. I did a show using repurposed books and got to know one of the librarians at Northwestern, who suggested I get a second Master’s in Library Science, and here I am.”

Bea congratulated herself for refraining from scoffing at the “science” in “Library Science,” saying instead, “I see. Welcome, then. I know Messiman appreciates having alumni on the staff.”

“Faculty.”

“Pardon?”

“Librarians are non-tenured faculty here even if they don’t teach anything else, but as it happens, I’ll also be teaching a Book Arts course offered by the art department.”

“How nice. I’ll recommend it to my cousin. She could probably use an easy credit to round out her schedule.”

Ben caught the eye of someone across the room. “Nice to see you, Bea. Excuse me.” He strutted away.

“Well,” she told Rick now, “I’ve been focusing on my own students. And I guest-lecture in some of the philosophy and religion classes about the intersection of early astronomers and epistemology.”

He slapped the desk in triumph. “That’s why I put your name forward to represent Messiman at the Cascadia Undergraduate Education Symposium this fall. They want to do a roundtable panel on interdisciplinary pedagogy.”

“Sure,” she said, “I could definitely do that.” What better way to avoid Ben than by going out of town?

“Great,” Rick reassembled his implausible limbs into a standing position and ducked his head an inch to get through her doorway. Leaning back into the room, he said, “I’ll let them know. We’re sending two people, so you’ll be working with that fellow from the library who teaches Book Arts. You’ll want to get in touch with him to make a plan. See you tomorrow.”

As soon as he was gone, Bea threw her head back in a groan. Of course. She’d never told Rick about her history with Ben or even mentioned an aversion. It would be unprofessional, the details were embarrassing, and amiable Rick would never believe anyone couldn’t get along if they put a little effort into it. He was right about her tenure file, though. She did need to add something more outwardly focused. And this conference was her best chance to get it.

If Bea didn’t get tenure this year, she could try again, but the bar for approval was always a bit higher the second time. And if she failed then, she’d be back on the job market, a daunting prospect. Tenure-track positions were in short supply, with many universities deciding to cut back on classes or rely on adjuncts instead of backfilling vacancies.

Bea was so close to getting everything she’d ever wanted. It would be beyond foolish to jeopardize it all with a grudge, even a valid one. For the sake of all that, she could suck it up and play nice. With any luck, she could continue to avoid Ben after the symposium. Forever.

Heron

The president’s room was luxurious, as far as frat houses go. Charlie’s desk sat in front of a wide, paned window. A table and chairs intended for officer meetings was strewn with Charlie’s lacrosse gear. For the alcove that held the extra-long twin bed, Heron had sewn curtains out of navy fabric with a subtle constellation pattern in a lighter shade of blue, with a blackout lining. Charlie hated too much extra light when he slept. Maybe making these for him was over the top, but it had been a fun project and it was going to make Charlie’s life just a little bit better.

She was using her handheld steamer to smooth out the wrinkles in the just-hung drapes. Charlie wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her on the back of her neck. “Thanks so much, babe. These are cool. I like the little doodles.”

“They aren’t doodles,” she said, “it’s the Zodiac. Look, here’s Taurus, that’s me, and Gemini, that’s you.”

“Gemini is twins?”

“Yep. Twins and the bull.”

“Kinky.” The interjection came from Charlie’s open doorway.

Heron turned in Charlie’s arms so she could face the source of the voice. Jason. He was Charlie’s fraternity brother, but Heron had known him longer. They’d been in Messiman’s college prep program together as high school seniors and Heron had made an effort to be kind, but when he asked her to homecoming she declined because she already had a date. He’d acted strangely toward her ever since, seeming to alternate between hostility and innuendo, but no one else ever seemed to pick up on it. Sometimes she was oversensitive; maybe it was nothing. Still, she never felt at ease around Jason.

“Jace!” Charlie broke their embrace to step forward and thump Jason on the shoulder. “How was your summer, bro?”

Heron turned back to the curtains, wincing. Charlie was trying much too hard to be friendly, probably trying to make up for beating Jason out for the presidency during officer elections last spring.

Charlie and Jason launched into a discussion of membership recruitment strategies. “Academics sounds better to guys who want to please their parents,” Charlie was saying, “but other frats have higher GPA rankings. We should invite a bunch of guys to our first football game.”

Heron considered excusing herself, but she and Charlie planned to walk over to the quad soon to watch the annual move-in day ultimate frisbee game, and she wanted to be ready to go when he was. She might as well go ahead and unpack some of Charlie’s things. When she grabbed a suitcase, he caught her eye and gave her a grateful smile. Charlie’s smiles said so much. This one was Thanks. Sorry. I’ll try to wrap this up quickly.

This suitcase was full of rolled socks and neatly folded boxer briefs. Heron began sorting everything into the top two drawers of Charlie’s dresser. Her back was to the guys, but she could see them in the mirror. In one of the sock balls, she felt a hard lump. It was probably cuff links or something, but the feel of that little domed square made Heron’s heart skip a beat. If this was what she thought, Charlie had no intention of ending things with her this year. Snooping was wrong, but she needed to know. Looking in the mirror to confirm that Charlie’s back was still turned, she slipped it out of the sock and cracked it open. Inside, she saw the starry glitter of diamonds; a marquise cut in a white gold setting, surrounded by intricate art deco scrollwork and smaller stones. Heron stifled a gasp, slipped the box back into its sock, and placed everything in what she hoped was a random-looking arrangement in the dresser drawer. Feeling the pull of being watched, she flicked her eyes up to the mirror. Charlie wasn’t looking, but she thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of Jason’s gaze on her before he returned his attention to Charlie.

The sun had gone behind some clouds and the late August heat was beginning to relent. Breeze from the window fan hit the perspiration-dampened back of Heron’s tank top, and a shiver tingled the skin of her upper arms.

“Babe, I think I’ll go back to my place and do some more unpacking there,” she said. “Pick me up when you’re done?”

“Sure.”

She slipped out of his room, jogged down the stairs and out into the sunlight. She drew in a big lungful of summer-warm air and exhaled, releasing the looming tangle of doubts. As she walked the half-block to her apartment building, it seemed like her sandals were six inches off the ground. She probably shouldn’t have looked in the jewelry box, but even that was like something from a movie. And just like an actress in the rom-coms she watched with Bea during their girls’ nights, Heron knew their joy would compensate for any lack of surprise when Charlie gave it to her.

Images rushed through her head of the antique ring sliding onto her finger, white silk under her hands at her sewing machine, Charlie’s sunlit face smiling down at her, a flower-covered arch behind his head. Everything she could ever want was just within reach.