How to Align the Stars

Chapter Three

Heron

Intent on applying her eye makeup, Heron didn’t notice Charlie in the doorway of her room. When she finally saw him in the mirror behind her, she jumped and her eyeliner skipped, leaving a wobbly line. “Dangit!” she said and wet a cotton swab with micellar water to erase it, then started over.

It had been a month since she found the diamond ring in Charlie’s things, and nothing. She was still excitedly anticipating his proposal, but it was beginning to feel like something that was lurking around the corner, waiting to spring out at her, and she’d started to doubt what she had seen. Maybe Charlie having a ring didn’t mean what she thought it did. But what else could it be? She wished he would get it over with so they could move on to the next stage of planning their wedding and their future together. Poor Charlie, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have any idea she knew about the ring.

“Sorry babe. Maggie let me in.”

She met his eyes in the reflection and smiled. “It’s okay. Give me one sec.” She finished her mascara and stood. “Can you do this up?” Her re-made dress was finished and Heron was pleased with it, but the fabric across the bust was a little too tight for her to easily fasten the button at the top of the keyhole in back. She could reach the zipper, but she’d left it for Charlie because she knew he liked to do it. His left hand wrapped around her hip, holding her steady as he slid the zipper up past the curve of her waist, bending to plant a kiss at the triangle of bare skin between her shoulder blades before he fumbled with the button at the back of her neck.

“You look so beautiful,” he said. “I’m a lucky guy.”

She spun, basking in his admiration. Her ballet flats made it easier to be graceful. The dress would look better with heels, but she was going to be on her feet all night. “Thanks for helping out tonight.”

“I’m happy to.” He grinned his affable, melting, Charlie grin. “I think it will be a good chance for me to network with some of the Sig-O-Delt alums. Besides, there will be a lot of eligible men there and I don’t want you getting whisked away.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re old.”

“Lots of men have a wife fifteen years younger. Plus, you’re like best friends with Bea. They’re her age.”

“Yeah, but Bea is…Bea. She’s not like other adults.”

“Babe, we’re adults.”

“Well, technically. But we’re not real-world adults quite yet.”

“Sure. I guess some people that age are easier to relate to. Ben, for instance.” Besides taking his Book Arts class, Charlie had been spending a lot of time with Ben Addison because he was the alumni advisor for the fraternity. He seemed to be developing a bit of a man-crush.

Heron locked her apartment door and they started down the stairs. “I do like Ben a lot. It’s so weird that he and Bea aren’t friends. I feel like they share a vibe, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, like, cynic with a heart of gold?” Charlie opened the car door for her, and she slid into the seat.

“Exactly!” So, Charlie saw the spark of potential compatibility between Bea and Ben, too. Interesting. Very interesting.

Bea

Bea was having a ball. The wine flowed freely, the tasting room patio had been turned into a dance floor washed in torchlight and open to the September stars. Graduating classes at Messiman were fewer than five hundred. After four years in a place where there wasn’t much to do besides study, hang out on the wide grassy quad, and go to parties, everyone pretty much knew each other. The reception was a gathering of old friends, and it was lovely to catch up. The magic of the evening had been enhanced for Bea by the fact that, in defiance of the odds, she had gotten through cocktail hour and dinner without getting stuck in a conversation with Ben.

She was wearing one of her favorite dresses, a fifties-style cocktail frock in the dusky periwinkle of an early evening sky. Whenever she deviated from her dark, boring teaching wardrobe, Bea chose this retro style because it felt like armor to her. The fitted bodice and full skirt cinched or hid everything she was least comfortable showing off, while the just-plunging-enough V-neck drew attention to the one area of her body that consistently drew positive attention. She’d pinned one side of her hair back, letting the other fall in loose waves, and forgone her usual clear lip balm in favor of a berry-colored lip stain. She’d been getting comments from her classmates all evening about how great the look was for her. Maybe when her tenure was approved and she didn’t feel like she had to play it so safe, she’d change up her everyday wardrobe a bit; she should look for some similar styles in daytime fabrics. With higher necklines, she thought, as she picked a macaron crumb out of her cleavage.

The evening was beginning to wind down, as people with children left to retrieve them from the college-provided babysitting services. Bea settled at a table under the toasty umbrella of a propane heater, talking to her friend Louise, whose five-month-old daughter Ada was too little to watch movies in the athletic center with the bigger kids. Three-quarters of her attention was on Louise’s story about her first day leaving Ada in daycare to go back to work, the rest was focused on the bar, where Louise’s husband, Rob, stood with Ben. Rob’s head tipped back in a guffaw at something Ben said. It looked like a courtesy laugh to Bea.

As the hip-hop beat gave way to the reggae organ strains of “No Woman, No Cry,” the clusters of dancers began to separate into pairs. Rob set his beer down on the bar and started toward their table, trailed by Ben. Fantastic.

Louise saw them coming too. “Bea, would you hold her for me, please? I need to dance with my husband.”

Bea was never comfortable with babies. She was good with preschoolers, a product of spending so much time with Heron at that age, and she got along great with kids once they were old enough to be mesmerized by a picture book or think her half-assed attempts at hide and seek were funny. Infants never seemed to like her very much despite, she often joked, having looked matronly since she was nineteen. But Ada would come in handy as a fifteen-pound shield against Ben, something to give her attention to if he sat down, and oh god, it looked like he was going to. Maybe she could fake the need to step away for a diaper change. “Sure,” she held her arms out to accept Ada from Louise, and watched Rob chivalrously lead his wife to the dance floor.

“Wow, that’s weird,” Ben said with a mock-shudder, scraping a chair away from the table and plopping into it, eyes on Bea and Ada. “It’s like seeing a velociraptor cuddle a puppy.”

“Fuck off,” she mouthed at him over the wispy little head, but there was something about the weight of the baby that couldn’t quite keep a smile from the corner of her lips. Her solid, warm heft was comforting.

And, okay, under an objective assessment, Ben cleaned up pretty well. He’d swapped his t-shirt for an untucked white button-down and a gray blazer, both just rumpled enough to look all the better for never having seen an iron. His dark jeans looked new—no holes in sight, and for once he was without his Cubs hat. Even in the low light, Bea could make out the salty strands starting to thread through the dark hair at his temples; she was annoyed to note that they looked good, distinguished, like they’d been placed there on purpose. Of course, he was still wearing Chuck Taylors, leaving Bea’s faith in the basically homogenous nature of his closet intact. She was wishing she’d worn sneakers herself. The pinup-style open-toe pumps she had on were reasonably comfortable but had begun to pinch after a couple of hours on the flagstones. Ben wasn’t clean-shaven, but it looked like he’d tidied up his beard, leaving the right amount of scruff to contrast with the collar of his shirt. When he scooted closer, he brought the scent of hops and pine with him.

“Charming as always,” he said with an arched brow, but he grinned and took a swig of his beer. “Too bad I can’t ask you to dance.”

“Indeed.” She reached up to smooth Ada’s blanket.

Like a benign guardian angel who appears right at the moment you’re about to get away with something, Jane Phillips, the Messiman College president, was at Bea’s elbow. “Give me that baby,” she said, “I’ve been dying to hold her all night. You two should dance and enjoy yourselves.”

Well, shit. If it were anybody else making the suggestion, Bea would demur, but President Phillips would be the ultimate decision-maker on her tenure, and she couldn’t afford the appearance of a bad attitude. Unfortunately, Ada, out cold, was all too happy to be passed around. The tiny traitor didn’t make a peep when Bea handed her over and reluctantly followed Ben to the dance floor.

Bea’s heels put them eye to eye, but she fixed her gaze between Ben’s eyebrows as she settled her hands on his shoulders. When he placed his hands on the soft dip at her waist, she flinched, not used to feeling pressure there, worried he would make a snide comment about the squishiness of her midsection. “Sorry,” he said softly, “is this better?” Ben slid his hands down a couple of inches to find surer purchase at the top of her hips, guiding her in swaying movements to the gentle reggae beat.

“Sure,” she said, willing some of the tension out of her body so he wouldn’t think she was uptight about basic human contact. Over Ben’s shoulder she saw Heron and Charlie dancing, too. With Heron in flats, Charlie was more than a head taller, and he bent at a near-comical angle to bury his face in the hair at her neck.

Ben’s mouth was near her ear. “We’ve danced to this song before, do you remember?”

She remembered, but she was surprised Ben did. A frat party junior year. Then, they’d been friendly, she’d thought Ben was funny and cool, and being close to him had been thrilling, the intense heat of his hands through her clothes and the gentler warmth building up in the space between their bodies igniting her with possibilities. Definitely not like tonight. Nope. No heat or possibilities here. It was only a few months after their long-ago dance that any bubble of infatuation she was harboring for Ben had been unceremoniously popped. Now, any heat she felt when she was in his proximity could be attributed to simple physics.

“Yeah,” she said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I didn’t know you well enough yet.”

His bark of laughter broke the couples near them out of their slow-dance reveries as they shot annoyed looks at Bea and Ben. “Right,” he said. “Of course.” He leaned in to pull her closer and they swayed in silence for a few measures before he said, “I’m probably lucky there weren’t more dances. Saved me some tears, I’m sure.” He sang along with Bob Marley, softly but with a pointed edge when he got to the chorus.

She let an indignant gasp break the tension. The absolute nerve. Saved him some tears? What about hers? She’d cried a few because of him. Besides, his interpretation of the lyrics was patently wrong. “That’s not what he’s saying. He’s telling his love not to cry.”

“Then why isn’t the song ‘don’t cry?’” His mouth was at her ear and his grip on her hips had shifted to her lower back, narrowing the space between them so that their chests were touching. Bea’s heart was thudding, and she hoped Ben couldn’t feel it. If she couldn’t feel his, she was probably safe, right?

“I don’t know. I’m not an expert on patois.”

“You’re not?” he said. “I thought you were an expert in everything.”

She snorted. “I thought that was your thing. ‘Postmodern renaissance man’ and so on.” She pulled back to look him in the eyes, hands braced on his shoulders. “I guess I’d feel like I needed to compensate, too, if I were you.”

Ben stepped away and the places on her body where his hands had been suddenly cooled. The song was over, and he had steered her neatly to the edge of the dance floor where he could deposit her at the bar.

“Right. I suppose you would,” he said. “Thanks for the dance.”

He picked a beer up from the bar, and when he turned back to her, the vulnerable crack in his demeanor was gone. And then, so was Ben. He turned and strode off toward Louise and Rob, who had retrieved Ada from President Phillips. He said something and they all laughed. Bea ordered a whisky from the bartender.

Heron

When the music slowed, Charlie reached for Heron. She nestled her cheek against his chest. She loved not having to cast her eyes around for a slow-dance partner. Here he was, right within reach. How amazing was that?

“Having a good time?” he murmured in her ear.

She tipped her head back to look at him. “The best. You?”

“Yeah. I got to talk to one of the Sig-O-Delt alums here with Bates Scanlon Lewis. They’re one of the bigger conglomerate firms. This guy is with the Denver office, which would be awesome.”

“That’s great, babe.” Charlie had been networking all night. She loved how even while he was working at the party, he was also looking for opportunities to advance his future. Their future.

“He gave me his card and told me to call him when I’m looking for summer internships. He said they like to meet stable upstanding young people to add to their team. He and his wife are still here. See them over there at the table next to the bar?”

Charlie guided Heron a little to the right so she could see the man, dressed in an expensive-looking suit, being handed a drink in a rocks glass by an immaculately groomed woman in a dark sheath dress and pearls.

“Maybe you can talk to him again later,” she said.

He smoothed a strand of hair back into her bun. “I’d rather talk to you.”

Heron let Charlie steer her along on the current of the music. His arms felt so strong around her. She had almost forgotten about the ring. It shouldn’t matter, really. She knew he was here, her constant. He would ask when the moment felt right but it was already clear she’d be his forever.

Past Charlie’s shoulder, she saw her cousin over by the bar. Bea and Ben had looked good dancing together; Bea relaxed and pretty in her dress, Ben laughing. Of course she adored Bea and the more she got to know Ben in class, the more she liked him, too. They were so similar—smart, witty, sarcastic on the surface but warm and caring underneath. There wasn’t any good reason for them not to at least be friends.

Heron closed her eyes as Charlie guided her movements. The song was a ballad about being just kids when they fell in love and building a life together. It described how she felt about Charlie perfectly. They were young, but they knew exactly what they wanted. They were so lucky they hadn’t had to wait to find it. Suddenly, the solid warmth of Charlie’s arms was gone. She opened her eyes, surprised at the loss. Charlie lowered himself to one knee and pulled the diamond ring out of his pocket. He held it toward her like a tribute to a goddess.

The DJ lowered the music. Charlie’s voice rang out at a volume the whole party would be able to hear. “Heron Hunter, you’re amazing: your beauty, your warmth, your kindness, the way you take care of me and others. I want us to step into the next chapter of our lives together. Will you do me the extreme honor of being my wife?”

It was a good thing she found the ring weeks ago, because even though she’d expected this to happen and been desperate for it, she was stunned speechless. It was overwhelming. The starlight, the music, the wine, Charlie so handsome in his suit, everyone watching them. Her heart fluttered and her knees faltered. All she wanted was his arms around her again. Pressing her right hand to her heart, she nodded and gave him her left. Charlie slid the ring on as applause rang out around them. The gold was warm from Charlie’s pocket, and it nestled comfortably at the base of her finger as if it had always belonged there. He pulled her hand to his lips to kiss it and she guided him up, sinking into him again as soon as he was upright.

She stood on tiptoe to whisper “I love you,” into his ear, and then eased into his arms.

Bea

As she watched Heron and Charlie embrace, wistfulness welled behind Bea’s eyes, mingled with relief. She’d been waiting for this ever since Heron had told her about the ring and had begun to wonder when he was going to get it over with already. It made her happy to see Heron happy. Her cousin was undeniably dancing on a cloud of bliss, melting into her newly minted fiancé’s arms, but as the deep blue opacity of Charlie’s suit eclipsed Heron’s ethereal dress, Bea ached for the lost possibilities represented by the ring sparkling on her finger. She knew her cousin loved Charlie and was sure he loved her, too, but marriage was so final. At thirty-seven, Bea couldn’t imagine wanting to tie herself to another person and all their plans for the future, forever. How could Heron be sure at only twenty-two?

Heron and Charlie finished their dance and as the next up-tempo song began, they accumulated an entourage; men clapping Charlie on the back and joking about the old ball and chain, women clutching at Heron’s hand to examine the ring. Bea ordered another whisky and followed them over to where Len and Toni were in excited conversation with Ben, Louise, Rob, and President Phillips. As she joined the fringes of their group, Bea picked up the thread of the conversation.

“It’s so romantic,” Louise said, as she bent to examine Heron’s hand. Bea made a mental note to say something complimentary about the ring later.

“Lovely,” said President Phillips. “Did you know seventy-five percent of Messiman alumni marry other Messiman alums?”

“It worked out for us,” said Rob, kissing his wife on the cheek. “You’re smart to stake your claim on this one, Charlie.”

“I know,” Charlie said, sliding his arm around Heron’s waist. “She’s the sweetest girl in the world.”

“Certainly the sweetest in her family,” Ben said, “present company excluded, Toni.” He winked at Heron’s stepmom before cutting his eyes toward Bea. “If you all will excuse me, I can’t handle any more acid burns tonight.” Ben retrieved his beer from the table and strode off to the edge of the party, where the horizon of the lantern-lit dance floor bled into the inky abyss of the vineyard.

Heron gave Bea a questioning eyebrow raise, and Bea answered with a slight shake of her head to say it was nothing, reaching her arms out. “Congratulations, Birdie,” she said, encompassing Heron in a hug. “You too, Charlie.” Charlie was a surprisingly earnest hugger, not squeezing her too tightly or giving the kind of light, perfunctory embrace that is mostly for show. “I hope you both have many happy years together.”

“We just have to get you settled down, Bea,” said Toni.

Toni was still in the dewy, newlywed stage, where all she wanted was for everyone to be as happily coupled as she was. Len was still in the throes of newlywed bliss too, but he knew Bea well enough not to suggest she abandon spinsterhood.

Bea snorted. “Hell no. I am far too set in my curmudgeonly ways. Anyone who is age-appropriate for me and is not also set in his own curmudgeonly ways simply isn’t someone I would care to associate with. No,”— she continued amidst the group’s laughter—“the only person who would put up with me at this point would be a complete doormat, and I”—she sipped her drink for emphasis—“can’t imagine a worse fate than living with a doormat. Fortunately for me, I don’t need one. I have my family.” She beamed at Heron, Len and Toni, and Charlie, for he was going to be her family now, too, and she’d better get used to it. She cast her gaze upward. “I have the stars. I have my students. I have a beautiful house. I have a cat and I may eventually acquire six or seven more. Half the neighborhood children are convinced I’m a witch, which is great. By the time I’m fifty I’m sure all of them will be and then Halloween will be a total blast. How could any of that be improved by a man? And even if I thought it could, who on earth would have me?”

President Phillips patted her on the shoulder. “Never say never. I didn’t get married until I was forty-five.”

Yes, but Jane Phillips was married to a woman, an entirely different circumstance and one Bea sometimes wished was an option for her. But as appealing as the idea of a marriage to a career-oriented, like-minded woman was—Jane’s wife, Kelly, was a surgeon; they were a real power couple—Bea had never found herself attracted to women. Besides, President Phillips’ marriage had its own complications. Her stepson Jason was a frequent topic of faculty grumbling. Even sweet Heron didn’t have anything nice to say about him. Bea was glad the little snot was graduating this year, although she supposed the completion of his degree was no guarantee he’d be out of Jane’s hair come June. Even perfect matches sometimes came with strings.

Looking at the cluster of bemused candlelit faces around her, five married people and two only minutes into their engagement, Bea realized she may not exactly have a sympathetic audience. In a softer tone than she’d used before, consciously avoiding any edge of bitterness, she said, “I’m merely saying marriage isn’t for everyone, and isn’t for me.” She chuckled. “To the great relief of the male population of Millet, I am sure. Will you all excuse me?”

Under a chorus of nods and murmured pleasantries, Bea departed with a slight stumble.

Heron

“Have you two thought about setting a date?” Louise asked. “Rob and I got engaged at graduation, but we lived together for a couple of years before the actual wedding. We wanted to finish grad school first.”

Heron felt a blush rise in her cheeks. She’d been thinking about this since she found the ring, but of course they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it. She gave Charlie a questioning look.

“Soon?” Charlie said.

“Soon,” she answered, glad he didn’t want to wait until after he was done with law school.

“Certainly not until after graduation.” Her father’s tone was firm.

“No sir,” said Charlie.

“What about graduation weekend, then?” said Heron. “I’m sure our friends will come no matter when it is, but it would be nice to do it when they’re all still here.”

“That sounds good to me,” said Charlie. “I’ll talk to my folks.”

Right, Charlie’s parents. She was going to have in-laws soon. When she’d met them at parents’ weekend, they seemed like perfectly nice people, if a little stiff, but the idea that they were about to be her family members was strange.

“Well, congratulations, you two.” President Phillips stood, gathering her handbag and wrap. “This has been a lovely event, Len, Toni. You have a beautiful facility here. Messiman is lucky to have your family as part of our community. And Beatrice! I knew she was a great teacher, but I had no idea she was so funny.”

“Funny if you like misandry,” said Rob, under his breath.

Louise’s brows drew together, “What do you mean, honey?”

“Look, I like Bea, but she’s always been pretty snide about men. It gets a bit old.”

Heron flinched. This wasn’t a fair assessment of Bea at all. She had plenty of male friends. She could be a little prickly, that was all. Rob was probably biased because he was friends with Ben.

While Heron was formulating a defense of her cousin, Louise spoke up to say, “She prefers being single. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Hmm.” President Phillips looked thoughtful. “What a shame. I saw her dancing with Ben Addison earlier and she looked like she was enjoying herself. I think they’d make a lovely couple.”

“Ha!” Louise erupted, startling Ada. “They’d murder each other within a week.”

“That’s true,” Heron said. “I’ve never known her to have it in for anyone the way she does for Ben. What’s that all about?” If anyone knew, it would be Louise. This was her chance to find out more.

“Well,” Louise said, “she never did forgive him for that ugly cartoon in the SOD newsletter.”

This was the first Heron had heard of a cartoon. Could there be a concrete reason for Bea’s grudge? If so, why hadn’t Bea ever told her about it?

Before she could ask for more details, Rob said, “That’s such crap. It was one guy who was responsible for the stupid thing, our social chair Mike, who was a total douche, and he only did it because—” Rob seemed to think better of what he was about to say and closed his mouth.

The others looked at him expectantly. Louise raised a brow. “Well? Out with it, hon.”

Rob sighed, clearly outnumbered. “Because he was giving Ben shit. He knew Ben had a thing for Bea.”

Wow. Heron was so used to Bea speaking about Ben as an arch nemesis. This was it then, the something between them Heron had been picking up on. She should have been surprised, but somehow, it made sense.

Charlie didn’t seem taken aback, either. “Maybe he still does.” Now it was Charlie’s turn on the hot seat, as all heads swiveled in his direction. He explained, “I met with Ben yesterday to talk about some SOD administrative stuff. He asked if I knew whether Bea was bringing a date tonight.”

Interesting. The length and vigor of Bea’s rant about how Ben had probably based his entire aesthetic on Mark Ruffalo’s hipster movie character had been…remarkably detailed for someone who didn’t like him much. Heron asked Louise, “Do you think Bea had a crush on Ben, too?”

“She definitely did.” Louise was quick to answer. “Back then, at least. She never said it in so many words, but believe me, I know our Beatrice pretty well.”

They all pondered this information for a moment. Except for Ada, who burbled out a little white froth of spit-up, then smacked her lips and went back to sleep.

“So…” said Toni, as everyone watched Rob dip a napkin in a water glass to wipe his daughter’s face.

Heron would be wedding planning soon enough and wasn’t looking forward to more cautionary lectures from Bea, like the one she’d gotten a few weeks ago. If Bea were absorbed in her own love affair, maybe she’d be distracted enough to ease up a bit. Besides, a companion might keep her from being too lonely after Heron left Millet next year. And if Bea and Ben had fallen out as students because of a silly misunderstanding, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to try to set things right now, would it?

“What if we do something about it? Look. They’re both stubborn.” This was met with a murmur of agreement. “If they have feelings for each other, neither of them is going to make the first move. Unless—”

“Unless they each know the other is receptive.” Charlie finished her sentence and she beamed at him. Of course he was on her page.

“I’m sure I can pique their interest.”

“I bet you can,” said her father. At his side, Toni winked at her.

Heron’s matchmaking had become a bit of a family joke, but what was wrong with being good at bringing people together? Helping people avoid loneliness warmed Heron’s heart. Who couldn’t use a little more love? And who deserved it more than Bea? “We only have to plant a few seeds,” she said.

“And nurture the soil, create the right conditions for them to grow,” added her dad, predictably extending her agriculture metaphor.

“Exactly. Charlie and I are spending a lot of time with Ben in the Librotory this quarter, and I already see Bea a lot.”

“You and I will both be spending some time with Bea, wedding planning, honey,” Toni added, squeezing Heron’s arm. “I’m sure we can drop a few hints.”

President Phillips cleared her throat, bringing Heron back down to earth. She’d been carried away and forgotten the company they were in. Around the table, she saw the others rearrange their expressions into innocence. In the flicker of the candlelight there was still an air of mischief, but they all looked like naughty children expecting a scolding. Heron stifled a nervous giggle.

“What the hell,” the college president said, setting her purse back down and leaning in. “They are both going to Portland next month for a higher education symposium. I’ve got a request on my desk from Ben to check out a college fleet vehicle. But”—her voice was merry—“it might be fiscally responsible of me to deny it since Beatrice is driving her own car and will be getting reimbursed for mileage. That will give them four hours in the car to work through their differences.”

Heron’s dad chuckled. “Jane, you dark horse.”

President Phillips deadpanned, “It’s simply responsible stewardship of college resources.”

Heron made a conscious effort to keep her jaw from dropping open. Who would have guessed the stuffy college administrator had a mischievous streak?

“I’m sorry we have to go back to Seattle tomorrow and will miss all the fun,” said Louise, “but maybe we can get the ball rolling this weekend. Starting with giving Miss Tipsy over there a ride home.” She inclined her head toward Bea, who sat near the DJ, gazing into the middle distance with a glazed expression and slightly slumped posture Heron recognized from the time they’d split a magnum of champagne to celebrate her twenty-first birthday.

“Good plan,” said Charlie. “I can drive her back here to get her car tomorrow.”

Heron squeezed his hand. “Aw, thanks babe.”

As Louise went to retrieve Bea, Heron leaned back against Charlie’s chest. What a good team they made.