Page 47 of Every Almost

"What are you doing?" Charlie asked.

"Going with you," Katie replied, as if this were obvious.

"It's only three blocks, Kit-Kat."

Katie looked at her like she had three heads. "So? Just how much trouble do you think we can get into in three blocks?"

Charlie snorted, got in the car, unlocked the passenger door, and once confirming Katie was safely buckled in, turned the key in the ignition. The Cutlass roared to life, and Charlie felt the vibration of the running engine beneath her. Katie reached across and cranked the radio up so loud the rearview mirror shook. Fleetwood Mac's "Go Your Own Way" came thumping out of the speakers like a declaration of independence. Charlie drove those three blocks to Kroger at twenty-five miles an hour with the windows down and the spring air blowing their hair sideways while Katie sang along at the top of her lungs, getting every other word wrong.

Charlie never corrected her once.

She would remember that drive for the rest of her life. The steering wheel under her hands, the air through the window, her sister's voice murdering a Fleetwood Mac song beside her. Andthe first real taste of a freedom she hadn't known she needed, shared with the only person she would have wanted to share it with.

On the way back, they passed the Wickett house. Ed's car wasn’t in the driveway. It hadn't been in the driveway when they'd left, either. Katie's eyes went to the empty spot and then to Charlie, and neither of them said a word.

That became their summer.Open windows, borrowed keys, Katie always in the passenger seat, and the Cutlass carrying them wherever they needed to go around town. Frank never said no. Helen just asked them to be home by dinner.

They went to the Shelbyville Grand Cinema most Saturdays, the two of them buying tickets for whatever was playing because the ritual they wanted to create of going mattered more than the movie. They'd always made sure to sit in Row E, seats 5 and 6. In the beginning, they'd chosen Row E as a small nod to Frank and his time on the Enterprise.

Charlie remembered it clearly when Katie had told Frank about it earlier that summer. Katie wanted to be the one to tell him, and Charlie saw no reason why not. What she did see was the mist in Frank's eyes when Katie explained why they'd chosen Row E. "That's great, boss," he'd told Katie, holding her hand. "That means a hell of a lot to me."

It was always the same: two tickets, one large bucket of popcorn, and Katie getting butter on Charlie's sleeve every single time. Charlie had long ago accepted this as simply another law of physics, and who was she to argue with Newton?

It was during one of those forgettable matinees, midway through a trailer reel that neither of them was paying attention to, that thirty seconds of footage stopped Charlie's heart.

Spaceships. A war in the stars. A ship that looked like it had been welded together from six different machines by someone who didn't care about elegance and cared enormously about function.

Charlie grabbed Katie's arm in the dark without realizing, leading to her barely watching through the rest of the movie they'd actually come to see.

When the movie let out, they walked to the parking lot and Charlie couldn't stop talking about the trailer. She described every frame, every ship, every detail she'd caught in those thirty seconds, gesturing with her hands the way she did when her brain was moving faster than her mouth. Katie listened to all of it, grinning, because she'd seen the trailer too, and she'd also seen what it did to her sister.

Charlie asked Katie that night in the garage if she wanted to go opening weekend. Katie looked at her like she'd asked her to spend the rest of her life eating nothing but ice cream.

They made a pact then and there: opening weekend, together, no matter what.

The problem was the Grand. Shelbyville's single-screen theater got movies when Shelbyville got movies, which was usually weeks after the big cities. That meant Shelbyville wouldn't get the movie until long after opening weekend.

But Indianapolis would.

Charlie and Katie turned to each other at the same moment. Indianapolis was thirty-two miles up the road. A thirty-six-minute drive. Nothing, really. Just a stretch of highway and a city that had what they needed. But how would they get there? Charlie had her license but she wasn't sure Mr. Beckman would let her take the Cutlass into the city.

There was only one thing to do.

"Mr. Beckman!" Katie shouted up the driveway one Sunday morning, Charlie following behind her, plugging her fingers in her ears at her sister's loud voice. For such a small girl, she had quite a set of pipes on her.

"Holy Toledo, Katie," Frank said as he appeared coming around the side of the garage, rubbing a spot on top his head. "Where's the fire?" he asked.

"What fire?" Katie asked, confused.

"The one that better be raging nearby for you to be shouting that loud," Mrs. Beckman said, coming out the side door from the kitchen.

"Oh." Katie's voice went small. "Sorry, Mrs. Beckman."

"It's okay, dear," Helen replied, softness laced through her voice.

"So, no fire?" Frank asked. Katie shook her head 'no.' "Is anybody bleeding?" Katie again shook her head 'no.' They all heard Charlie snicker behind Katie, even though they knew she was trying to hold it in. "Well then surely the zombie apocalypse is upon us!" Frank shrieked, his eyes going wide while he spun his head around, looking everywhere he could to find the infected beasts. Katie giggled loudly.

"No, Mr. Beckman!"