Astronaut.

Jupiter Anne Davis felt like her heart was gushing out of her eyes.

The sea crashed and raged against the blanket of white sand. It looked peaceful and pretty from a distance, but up close it was a ravenous beast bent on skewing the perfect pearl beach. The clouds that were once a cream and peach color were now dark and pregnant with rain. The winds roared like wild banshees and wailed like children as they tore through her hair.

Cape Cod was beautiful every time she cared to look at it. The sand was always serene and harmlessly gorgeous, the water always tinted that crystal green that Noah said matched her eyes. The clouds, no matter how dark or heavy, always parted to let the sun peer through onto the beach. It was a love/hate relationship, the sun and those clouds. Even if the clouds were gone for a while, the sun accepted them when they returned.

Sighing heavily, Jupiter untied the veil around her waist and let it fall. It twisted like a fallen plane, flipping its lavender ends to the winds before it drifted, like a carpet, to the ground a few feet to the side. It fluttered, but fell silent a moment later. She watched it with sad Neptune eyes until the wind blew sand in her face. When she looked to the horizon, she felt a swelling pressure build in her chest and rise into her throat. The sun was a rich golden color that struck her as very beautiful. Very familiar. Very much like Noah’s eyes.

Pressing her lips so tightly together that they each lost their rosy shade, she walked along the beach with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her strong arms covered her chest, protecting it from the brutal winds that buffeted the sand around her. It was a menacing creature that meant to tear her to shreds for lack of a better way to punish her for her loss and love.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she walked, not bothering to even glance at the footprints she left in the sand. They faded slowly behind her, filled by the high tide waters. It was as if a ghost were following her exactly, mimicking her every move, and his touch erased all evidence of her existence. She clutched at the sleeves of her shirt, attempting to pull them down to her elbows. When she failed, she simply dropped her arms by her sides and turned her stare to the sky.

“Why me?” she whispered, shaking her head slowly and mouthing the words for each echo there should have been. Her senses were being overloaded with the aura of the ocean; the smell of salt on the wind; the taste of it on her lips, not only from the sea but from her tears; the feeling of the wind tossing her hair as a show of anger, of sand swirling around her legs as if to envelope her; the sound of waves lapping at her feet and of thunder, far off and approaching; the canvas of dark colors stretching across the sky and pouring its emotion like hail upon the sea.

The clouds had rolled in to cover the entire beach. There was no longer a fantasy of white sand; it was all drenched to the point of becoming black. Jupiter wondered what was in the rain to make it so poisonous to the ground below her.

So Noah had left her. He had offered to bring her along, knowing full well her responsibilities to her family – her blood – were first on her list of priorities. Not only had he given her such a blasphemous choice to make, but he had left her there anyway. He didn’t care about her enough to stay and support her and love her when no one else could do it. He had those fantasies about travelling the world and finding new places. Perhaps, specifically, a place he could call his own. He seemed to crave finding himself rather than his lover. She understood the need to live his life in his own way – like she hadn’t had that problem herself since the day Lora Joan had been brought home – but to buy a plane and a private pilot for four years seemed a little outrageous to her. He could have simply taken them on a road trip. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t have just taken them to New York or some big place where they could have fun. Jupiter had had more trouble concentrating on reading his expression than she did watching her sister die.

Jupiter suddenly felt like screaming at the sky. She could imagine it, looking down on her shame. She would never be what she wanted. She would never break free from Lora Joan’s existence. Even if she was dead, she was there. But Jupiter would never fly.

That feeling developed quickly into an urge. She wanted to scream at the sky. She no longer felt like it, she needed to. It boiled in her stomach and begged to be released.

Who was she to deny it?

Staring out at the dark horizon, Jupiter squeezed her eyes tight as shut as she could and let loose a cry that would put lions to shame. She screamed her rage and sorrow and jealousy until her throat burned with the effort of letting it all out. The tears returned, spilling over her cheeks, joining the rain that poured on her. Just as she ran out of breath, a huge thunderbolt struck the sea and sent out a crack of wild thunder that rumbled in her bones, as if to pick up the slack. It’s okay to cry, the storm said, you go ahead and let it out.

And oh, she let it out. Jupiter Anne Davis felt like her soul was pouring out of her mouth.

When she was finished, she went and picked up her sandy veil and tied it around her hips. Her short pants were soaked through, as was her shirt and soul. Sighing shakily, she gathered herself and walked back up the beach. When she reached the fence that was no longer white but rather a pale brown, she thought she heard someone calling her name. She turned sharply, hair flying around her face in a halo, but saw nothing aside from the storm, watching her back. She sniffled and wiped her cheek with a flat hand, then continued on her way home.

The walk was uneventful, if soggy and slightly frightening. She loved storms, but being outside during one was – she decided – horrifying. The lightning struck at the most random moments and scared her witless each time. She had begun to believe she could feel the electricity gathering in the air around her. Then a moan of thunder would shake her and she would resume her quick walk down the sidewalk.

When she reached her front yard, she looked up at the dripping ivy through squinted eyes. It covered the house on both the west and south facing walls, and it looked like it was spreading. Shrugging, Jupiter walked up to her neighbor’s door and knocked on the light pink wood. She expected no response, but was surprised when – as she was about to turn and go into her own home – the door opened and a little shadow peered out at her.

“Jupiter Anne? What in heavens are you doing outside on the porch while it’s raining cats and dogs?”

A small woman stood there, looking up at Jupiter through dusty spectacles. Her thin lips screwed into a scowl that could have been perceived as a frightening smile. Her wrinkled skin looked like wet folded paper with dark freckles and pale fuzz. The only thing about her that didn’t look old was her hair. It was long and blonde and covered her shoulders in a flat puff of gold. Her long hands reached out of the house and gently took Jupiter’s arm, like a gentle giant’s claw.

“You’ll catch cold, my dear. Would you come inside for some tea?”

Jupiter smiled and stepped forward. “Of course, Miss Mays. I would love some tea.” She let herself be led through the dark hall and into a cozy little kitchen with all the curtains drawn tightly over the windows. The refrigerator was a clean creamy color, but the handle was a little rusted. The table had a red and white checkerboard tablecloth on it, and upon that was a silver tea set.

“Forgive me, dear, I only poured a glass for myself. I didn’t know I would be having visitors!” Her delight was apparent as she scurried to the counter and fetched another silver cup for her guest. She came back to the table and sat down in her red chair, her frail hands going to work pouring tea. “Would you like one sugar or two?” She looked at Jupiter, and at this time she saw that the old woman’s eyes were crystal blue, just like Lora Joan’s. The crow’s feet decorating her pale skin actually made them look brighter.

She had to drop her gaze so as not to be rude. “I don’t like sugar in my tea, Miss. I’ll take it plain.” She smiled in the face of Miss Mays’s astonished expression.

“If you say so, Jupiter Anne. Would you like a cake?” She smiled hopefully and leaned forward, ignoring the tendril of steam from her own cup of tea that played with her chin.

Jupiter shook her head and smiled gently at the woman. “You don’t have to do that, Miss Mays. I should actually be going; I think I left the back door open.” She set her tea cup down without sipping from it and stood, but before she could move any more Miss Mays took her wrist and looked up at her.

“You cannot leave with that look in your eye, Jupiter.”

Blinking in surprise, she gazed down at the elderly woman and frowned. “What do you mean, ‘that look’? What look? I have a look?” She lifted her free hand to her cheek as if she would feel little footprints left by the notorious Look beast.

A combination of lightning and thunder rumbled through the house. Miss Mays let go of Jupiter’s arm and squinted up at her for a long minute. “You have that look, dear. I’d know it anywhere.”She sighed sadly and circled her silver cup with both of her hands. “You’ve fallen out of love, haven’t you?”

Startled, Jupiter could do nothing but sit down and stare.

Miss Mays took one look at her and raised both her eyebrows, staring down into her full cup. “And by the looks of it, you’ve done it before. Who was it? That nice boy you always talk about?” A small smile touched her fragile lips, as if she was remembering something from long ago. “He came by the other day, you know. Said he was looking for you. He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” She nodded to her own question and sipped from her glass. “You missed him, didn’t you?”

Jupiter was fighting tears, but nodded. “I did. Quite a lot.”

The hostess put her soft, warm hand over Jupiter’s and held it tightly. “It’s your turn to tell me a story, Jupiter Anne. I’m not the only one with a past life.”

There was a voice inside of her, saying Tell her. Tell her something about your life. Share who you were before love.She listened to it silently for a while, then smiled. “I didn’t love my husband.

“In fact, when I married him, I didn’t even know what love was.”