Summer of Supernovas Read Free Page A

falling.
    But how can you fall when you’ve already hit the ground?

“W hat do you mean, ‘There was an incident at the water tower’?” Gram’s got a shriek that rivals the sonar system used by bats; I instantly cringe. “Where’s my granddaughter? I demand to know her condition!”
    Letting out a soft sigh, I sink back into the flat-as-a-pancake hospital pillow. I know, without moving my blue privacy curtain a centimeter, that the lines on Gram’s face have just carved themselves deeper. And I’m certain the silver hairs on her head are now outnumbering the black ones. She’s probably even clutching the crucifix that rarely sees the light of day because it’s buried in her cavernous bosom.
    How many times have I been the reason for Gram’s hold on the cross? Sadly, too many to count.
    My fingers gingerly probe the lump on my head. It isn’t so bad. At least, my hair provides a nice camouflage. Except for the dull headache—which I attribute less to the lump, and more to the suffocating lemon-scented hospital disinfectant—I really can’t complain.

    “Now, Mrs. Carlisle…” The doctor’s calm, authoritative voice drifts from the hallway as he attempts to smooth Gram’s ruffled feathers. Yeah, good luck with that. Gram is all Taurus, all the time. And while she can be slow to rile, once she does—well, it’s best to batten down the hatches and ride out the storm. Because you don’t have a prayer of stopping it.
    When the doctor’s finally able to get a word in edgewise, he explains the procedural CAT scan and physical exams confirmed everything is normal, other than the small knot on my head and sizeable contusion on my left knee. But seriously, I would take countless bruises and knocks to the head, just to avoid facing Gram right now.
    In true Genevieve Carlisle fashion, she bursts into another litany of questions. “How did this happen? Doctor, young girls don’t spontaneously drop from water towers! Just who in the name of Hades was responsible for this?”
    Who in the name of Hades? Despite the gravity of my situation, my mouth forms an involuntary grin. That is a phrase Mama used with regularity. Maybe she inherited it from Gram, or Gram from her, but I always thought of them as Mama’s words.
    And Mama’s words are something that will stay with me forever. Like the smell of her burning sage—pungent, herbal, and sweet—and the beat-up card table she made mystical with a scrap of brilliant purple satin.

    My mother always had a fondness for vibrant colors. Colors just like the ones in the van Gogh print hanging on the hospital wall. In fact, I bet I could pluck the exact shade of yellow from those swirling sunflowers that was the color of her favorite dress.
    I close my eyes, letting my mind drift to the last time I saw her in that dress. It was an event I’ll never forget. Because it was the first time I ever saw my astrological chart.
    There it was. My entire destiny neatly confined to 8½ by 11 inches of paper. Every cell in my six-year-old body fizzled like a shaken-up can of soda ready to explode. And my wide eyes devoured the paper with its scatter of funny shapes sprinkled about the wheel-like image. I didn’t know what any of it meant.
    But Mama did.
    “Tell me what you see, Mena?” Mama asked. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires in the candlelight.
    “A chart! Like the ones you read for people. And it shows where all the planets were in the constellations the very minute I was born,” I proudly announced.
    Mama held her finger to her red lips with a look of warning. “We must keep this our little secret. Your gram wouldn’t understand.”
    The small, forgotten space on the third floor with its stacks of sealed boxes and dusty sheets was made for keeping secrets. I was not. But I would try.
    “One day you’ll be fluent in the language of the stars,” she said. “But for today, I will read them for you. Okay, sweetheart?”

    “Yes!” I squealed. Then quickly clapped my