InterReality

Part I: Like Thunder, Chapter 1

The InterReality reception area was bright and shiny, almost clinically so. A young woman sitting behind the reception desk distractedly tapped a pen at the corner of her pouty mouth. A streak of purple mixed unnaturally with her otherwise cute, short-cut blonde hair. She looked toward the crowd of twenty or so people waiting anxiously and nervously; but she didn’t look at them. Her boredom was blatant, her round face slack and emotionless.

Jittery chatter passed among a few of the waiting. Most sat reserved, hands either folded quietly in laps, or fumbled through purses, or mindlessly pushed buttons on a cell phone. One of the silent ones was Aster Hart. Without other visual context it would be acceptable to see her as reverent, maybe a woman sitting in a pew deciding to consecrate her life to the nunhood.

Aster picked at a place on the hem of her yellow sun dress. There was nothing wrong with the hem and she didn’t even know she was doing it. This day had the potential to be the most important day of her life. She appreciated the magnitude of the situation and on this she stoically reflected. So lost in her own contemplation, Aster didn’t feel the presence that sat down beside her.

“Hello.”

Aster jumped and squeaked. The deep-voiced greeting hit her like an unexpected bucket of icy water.

A large hand gently fell on her shaky hands and Aster roughly pulled back. With a face transformed by the fury and fear inside, she looked at the one who would scare her and then try to manhandle her; but the fire started to abate when she saw a square jaw, brilliant blue eyes and boyish grin.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the man said, his broad shoulders starting to slump like he had been cowed. “Let’s start that over.” And almost too quietly for her to hear he added, “I’m usually much better at this.”

Feeling some anger at her own cowardice—startling so easily at such a benign salutation—Aster firmly grasped his outstretched hand.

“I’m Jack Day,” he said politely and maybe a little guardedly.

Aster quickly looked Jack over. He was dressed more casually than the others sharing the room. Tan shorts just above a shapely calf. A deep blue Polo shirt failing to completely hide the muscle of his chest and arms.

“Aster Hart. I overacted. It wasn’t you. I was miles—or maybe years is more accurate—away in thought.” She released his hand. Had she let their contact linger too long? She blushed slightly.

Jack smiled but his body slowly shifted away and he looked at his watch and then at an empty chair across the room next to a woman who would be beautiful if she wasn’t so elfish looking in the face. At least that was Aster’s opinion. She didn’t want to admit why, especially not to herself, but Aster didn’t want to lose Jack’s company so soon.

Realizing that one more second of silence would likely push him away, Aster blurted, “If someone walked in and didn’t know why we were here, would they think we were a funeral party?”

Jack smiled. “A little morbid, but probably.”

Aster hadn’t planned what to say, it just came out. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m excited to be here, and I’m sure that everyone else is, too. It’s just, I’m nervous as you could probably tell, me nearly jumping out of my seat. You’re lucky you didn’t get pepper sprayed.” Aster stopped. She was rambling, but not to quit while she was ahead, she mimed a quick spray to his eyes.

He played along with her awkwardness, grunted with phantom pain, covered his eyes and rolled his head wildly from side to side. Every eye looked their way, even the daydreaming receptionist showed some interest.

“I’m okay,” Jack said to the audience, uncovering his face. “Something in my eye.”

“Thank you,” Aster whispered for Jack’s hearing alone. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was thanking him for. His not going? His playing along? His acceptance of her? Maybe all of that.

A few seconds passed and everyone found their way back into their selves forgetting the commotion or the two who caused it.

“What do you do for a living, Aster Hart?”

She liked the way he said her name, direct and lilting.

“I’m a night club singer.”

Jack wagged a finger in her face. “Singer. I knew it!”

Aster’s eyebrows dropped severely low over her round brown eyes and thick lashes. “How could you know that?”

He didn’t seem to notice her suspicious tone. Aster was anything but immediately trusting.

“The way you squealed. It was sing-songie.”

“Really? Then, you must be a scary birthday clown.”

Jack turned his head in contemplation. He started to say something but nothing came out.

Aster giggled. “I guess you would have to know that in the third grade after Denise Littlejohn’s birthday party the birthday clown left quickly in his green station wagon with two black eyes and a big, crooked red nose after getting too frisky with Denise’s mother.”

Some color bloomed across Jack’s cheeks. “My hand was supposed to reassure you. I meant no harm. That wasn’t well thought out on my part, was it?”

“If you aren’t a creepy birthday clown, what are you, Jack Day?”

“I play lead guitar for bands in need of a replacement.”

Aster’s heart sank just a little. Any interest she had in the captivating blue eyes of Jack Day crumbled. She had a lot of rules and one high on the list was to never date musicians, especially not guitarists.

In the unexpected and abrupt silence, Jack seemed to sense Aster withdrawing. He looked back at the empty chair and Aster decided that she didn’t have a rule about not being friendly with guitarists.

“We must run in similar circles, both of us being musicians,” Aster said.

Jack settled back into his chair. “I doubt it. I stepped off the plane three days ago. I haven’t been here since I was fifteen. Wow, it’s been a long time. I just realized that.” Jack looked sad, nostalgic.

“Oh,” Aster said. “Did music take you away?”

“Something like that. Music definitely saved me while away. I’ve seen as many countries as a marine. The views. The food.”

“The girls,” Aster included.

Jack smiled. “Maybe one or two. Without the guitar I could never have experienced half of what I have, the good and the tragic.”

“So, what brought you back?”

Jack spread his hands out. “InterReality.”