In the Melancholy Moonlight, Part 5: Dark Matter

Chapter 239: Talking to the Moon

There was something about Lucy that neither her brother nor sister knew. Something not even Lucy herself knew.

Lucy Everlin was born at sunrise.

Abby knew, of course. She labored through the night, watching the windows, looking up at the stars for comfort whenever she got the chance. Lucy entered the world the same moment the sun illuminated it, paving the way for the girl whose name meant light.

Danny knew, too. When Lucy disappeared, he started chasing sunrises. Whether he was on his morning run or his morning commute, he always greeted the sunrise with relentless hope for his girls.

Cedric and Claire knew too, though, in their own ways.

Cedric never forgot the sunrise, reminding himself continuously of the hope it always brought.

Claire always sought the sun. She was never content with the sunrise, and she never would be. Not until the light was back, forever, the sun never to truly disappear again because Lucy was home.

🩵💛❤️💜🩷

CLAIRE:

I slept in on Lucy's birthday, and I didn't go on a run with Dad. I didn't want to wake up before the sun did. Truthfully, I didn't want to face the day at all.

I knew that it wouldn't be that bad of a day, objectively. Mom and Dad always let me take the day off from school, and Dad said he'd take the day off of work, so we decided we'd spend the weekend at Grandma and Papa's little house near the vineyard, stopping in Santa Barbara on the way up for lunch and ice cream and a little time at the beach. It would have been an exciting day, really, if not for the fact that it was May 23rd and Lucy was turning seventeen somewhere else, celebrating with someone else. I hoped.

I opened my eyes a little after eight and was greeted with sunshine, warm and bright, through my window. Mom or Dad must have parted my curtains for me. Their little way of letting me know that it was okay, the sun was shining, it would all be okay. The smell of cinnamon rolls wafting into my room helped, too. I pushed myself out of bed and walked to my closet, reaching my arm toward the back and reaching for the little wooden box that I knew was sitting on the lowest shelf. I placed it in my duffel bag and buried it beneath a sweatshirt, then set Tenderheart Bear on top for good measure.

Once I was fully packed and I'd changed from my pajamas into a long blue sundress, I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder and made my way downstairs. Mom and Dad were both in the kitchen, each holding partially-eaten cinnamon rolls.

Dad froze and bugged his eyes out comically wide, bulging his cheeks for good measure. "We saved you a couple cinnamon rolls, we swear!"

"There are plenty, honey, help yourself," Mom said with a smile. "We were waiting for you before making eggs to go with the cinnamon rolls, but, well, they just came out of the oven, and they're so good when they're this warm and fresh..."

"I'm quite sure the lovely smell is what woke me up in the first place, so I truly can't blame you for digging in immediately, I would have felt bad if you'd been waiting for me," I replied, reaching for a cinnamon roll and taking a large bite. I closed my eyes and hummed, collapsing into the nearest chair, because there was nothing in the world quite as comforting as Mom's cinnamon rolls, especially on a day like Lucy's birthday.

Soon enough, the cinnamon rolls all disappeared, and we climbed into the car. As much as I usually enjoyed just staring out the window and getting lost in thought, I didn't trust my thoughts that day not to stray to a dark place, so I reached into my backpack and pulled out my copy of The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde. The AP tests had come and gone, so I didn't have much in the way of homework anymore, but Ms. Vries had assigned one last reading for the year. She said it was her favorite play, but she just couldn't justify including it in the pre-AP test curriculum because of how truly silly it was. Someone in the class had scoffed, saying that he doubted that the same man who had written The Picture of Dorian Gray could write anything silly, but Ms. Vries had simply smiled and told him to give it a shot anyway. I had until Wednesday to read it, but a silly play seemed like the perfect thing to read to distract me from the fact that it was Lucy's seventeenth birthday, so I opened to the first page and started reading.