Somber charcoal gray eyes stared straight ahead before slowly shifting upward toward the changing skies. Anything was better than looking at the two cherry-wood caskets resting side by side. White cumulus clouds tinged with pink were being overtaken by more ominous slate colored ones. A chill wind whipped around bringing with it the sharp, fresh aroma of ozone. Chirping birds fell silent on their branches, their songs replaced by faint rumbles of thunder. If it wasn't for the tragic circumstances, he might have laughed at the cliché the weather provided.

Finally lowering their gaze, those same eyes took note of the surrounding people. Women sniffled quietly and dabbed at their eyes while the men shuffled their feet and stared soberly at the ground. Above the meditations of the priest, one sound suddenly pierced the air, making the poor man jump in his vestments. A woman wailed in grief, then rather melodramatically swayed on her feet necessitating the man next to her to catch hold of her waist. The owner of the eyes grimaced. He glanced sideways at the silver-haired woman dressed in an expensive black suit and his hands clenched into fists. While his heart should have constricted in sympathy, instead it nearly exploded in anger.

Bitch. You didn't care enough about him while he was alive. Why are you even here?

He deliberately brought his attention back to the caskets, and his heart skipped a beat as the ugly reality of the event sunk in. His twin sister and his best friend were about to be lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. All their hopes and dreams of building a long loving life together and for their children, current and dreamed of, were being buried with them. From the moment he'd heard they were dead, his heart had been filled with anguish. Memories of all the times they had spent together since childhood as well as the plans they would never get to enjoy ricocheted in his head. The past few days he'd been kept busy helping his parents make all of the arrangements as well as greeting the constant flow of people stopping by his home to offer their condolences and drop off food. Now finally, in this quiet moment broken only by the priest's intonations, an overwhelming sense of grief consumed him.

He blinked rapidly to hold back the tears that fought for their release. His throat constricted as he glanced at his parents who clutched each other’s hands, barely holding themselves together. But unlike the drama queen to his side, they didn’t want to create a spectacle that might take away from this final moment with their loved ones.

It doesn't get worse than this. At least this will be over soon, and maybe somehow we’ll find a way to carry on.

His reflections were interrupted by a quiet sob, and his gaze lowered to the small milk chocolate brown eyes looking up at him through great puddles of tears.

Wrong. This was worse than the scene in front of him. His stomach clenched as he absorbed the enormity of this unplanned future.

A small hand slipped into his large warm one. Big and little, they gripped each other tightly. "Uncle Alex, I miss them. I want my mommy and daddy back!" his five-year-old voice trembled.

Sucking in a deep breath to gain control of his emotions, he knelt down and drew his young nephew into his arms. "I know you do, Aiden. I know. I’d do anything to bring them back for you, but I can’t. But I'm here for you, and I promise I'll take care of you." Oblivious to the dampness that seeped into the knees of his pants, Alex continued to kneel on the ground and held the little boy for the rest of the service.

The priest finished, and the committal drew to a close. Shielding the young boy from well-meaning guests, Alex stood up and gently negotiated Aiden to the limousine where they were met by Alex’s parents. He never let go of the hand of the little boy for whom he now bore full responsibility. Swallowing hard, Alex again glanced heavenward and breathed a prayer.

This day was never supposed to happen. I don't know how to do this! Give me strength to be what and who I need to be for Aiden. Please, please help me. Send me some sort of sign to help me know what to do, where to go, and to help me stay the course.

"Any big plans for the weekend, Kayla?"

At the friendly voice, I looked up from sorting pencils and crayons at a small table and saw Ally, a fellow Kindergarten teacher and good friend who had stopped in my classroom at the end of the day. "Just the usual!" I smiled.

"So...basically nothing?" Ally smirked.

I rolled my eyes. "I thought I'd spice things up and maybe go to the antique market."

"Keep living like that, and you might become an antique yourself before your time, Kayla!” she joked. She walked over to the table and somehow gracefully managed to lower her tall model-like figure into a pint-sized chair. “You need to live a little. Get out and meet more people. There’s even this whole species you could explore called men!”

I shook my head at her teasing. It was easy for someone with her looks and confidence to joke about meeting men. She didn’t even have to do anything. Men flocked to her like ants to sugar. I was the type of girl who everyone liked and was everyone’s friend, but apparently, I lacked the ‘sugariness’ that attracted men beyond friendship. That was fine. Those who tried were usually just disappointed and never failed to let me know it. After this summer, I was happy staying in my own quiet world where no one could hurt me.

Ally looked at me sympathetically and clacked her French manicured nails on the table. “Carrie and I are headed out to Back Draft tomorrow night. Why don't you and Jen join us?” she offered. “I hear there will be a band who's supposed to be really good. Just come out with the girls and enjoy the music over a couple of drinks. It's got to beat sitting at home moldering away!"

I sighed and tossed a few loose crayons into their bin. It wasn't the first time I'd heard similar words. I'd also heard this same mantra from my best friend, who was also my roommate, Jen. I knew they meant well. I even knew they were right, but it just wasn't as easy as they made it sound. The girl I was a few months ago would have eagerly accepted the invitation. But today’s Kayla preferred to stay at home, playing it safe. Events over the past summer left me clinging once again to the safety net of relative isolation. I longed to take control over my life and determine for myself how the past was going to reshape me, but the past never let me escape. It continued to rear its ugly head until I began to believe maybe it was my present and my future as well.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to break loose from the shackles of pain that had been forged from humiliation and rejection. I just didn’t know where to begin. Maybe a night out with my girlfriends would be a good place to start. It should be safe and sounded like fun. I took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll check with Jen. But I'm just going out for a girls' night. I'm not looking for anything - or anyone - else," I warned.

Ally's huge smile made it worth the words I already regretted saying. "Girls’ night only. Got it! How about you meet us there around nine?"

I ran my now sweaty hands down my pants but nodded affirmatively.

"Great!" Her huge smile lit up her face while she reached out and gave me a quick hug. "I'm headed home, then. I'll see you tomorrow night."

I waved goodbye as my friend walked out the door. I looked around my classroom to check if everything was ready for the following Monday. It was a typical room one would expect for Kindergartners. Tiny faux oak tables with mini blue chairs were congregated in the middle of the room. A strip of laminated posters demonstrating the proper way to form letters in the d'nealian style was mounted along one off-white wall that also held a Smartboard. Colorful posters showing the names of shapes and colors decorated the other walls. Three bookshelves stuffed with picture books and other children's literature helped make up a reading corner. Fluffy pillows in bold, fun prints made it a cozy and popular place for the children to explore their ever growing understanding of the written word.

I'd truly come to care about these little five-year-olds who gathered on weekdays in this room. I loved how passionate they could get exploring new concepts or how critical they could become when picking out just the right crayon color for their latest masterpiece. Their enthusiasm over simple things toward which adults had grown blasé entranced me, like how seeds grow into plants or what things are attracted to magnets. Mostly, I enjoyed how their innocent world hadn’t been spoiled by people disappointing or hurting them. Well, at least most of them. There was one little boy in my class who already seemed to have a tragic story to tell judging by his sad eyes and dejected demeanor, but I had yet to break through to him beyond his quietly spoken responses when asked a direct question.

Looking toward the windows where their autumn leaf rubbings hung, I sighed sadly. I wasn't going to get to stay with these boys and girls much longer. My time substituting for their regular teacher was coming to an end. I'd moved to the area mid-summer, too late to apply for a permanent teaching job anywhere. But Jen had a friend who taught at a relatively new private school and knew that the principal was desperate for good substitutes. She particularly needed a long-term sub shortly after the start of the new school year for a teacher who would have to be out for six weeks while recovering from surgery. I had applied and been immediately hired after my interview with Mrs. Burns, the principal. It was the proverbial foot in the door for future permanent jobs and would put local experience on my resume. It was a large enough school that Mrs. Burns was sure there would be plenty of other opportunities to substitute on a daily basis. I was grateful to have been warmly welcomed by the rest of the staff and had made several new friends, most notably Ally.

Pulling my thoughts back into focus, I turned back to my desk to gather the papers I needed to take home to correct. Stuffing them into my ‘Teacher’s Rule’ bag, I scooped it up along with my purse and keys and locked the classroom door. Walking down the main hallway, I called a couple of "good-byes" to a few other teachers still working. Emerging into the late afternoon sun, I walked out to my silver Saturn and climbed in. I couldn't stop the thought that I was too much like the car I'd chosen six years ago. Like the automobile maker that no longer existed, I was no longer the confident girl who bought the car.

Enjoying the sun-induced warmth inside, I leaned my head against the headrest and closed my eyes. For most people, Monday mornings and the return to work was a struggle. For me, it was the end of the day and having to go home, with Fridays being the worst. For the past few months, I had merely existed, relying on a daily routine to get through each day. Getting back into the classroom had been a welcome reprieve. I threw myself into my role as a teacher, even if it was just temporary. The energy and passion of the children were a wonderful distraction.

But the moment I left the school, I went back on autopilot, following the same routine every evening – go home, write lesson plans, eat, read, sleep. There was safety in routine. It kept my mind from thinking too much, which was good, because thinking led to remembering, and remembering led to nowhere good, at least for me.

Evenings were hard enough, but weekends brought a larger challenge because there were so many more hours to fill up. Until now, my answer had been avoidance. I avoided meeting new people outside of work. I tried to avoid social gatherings. Mostly, I avoided thinking about my hopes and dreams for my future. But what I couldn’t avoid were the memories of whispers behind hands, malicious snickers, knowing grins and mocking eyes, and doors closing on my dreams for the future.

Cock tease.

Ice queen.

You’re just not enough.

The ugly, but haunting words triggered a headache that beat against my temples and hampered my breathing. Determined to tune the memories out, I opened my eyes and turned the car engine over. Pink's song, "Try" was playing. Trying to calm my breathing, I focused on her lyrics about getting up and trying even if it means getting burned.

Well, I had tried more than once. Each time I always seemed to get burned, but none worse than this past summer. I wasn’t sure I had any more ‘try’ left in me. Even just thinking about him made my stomach feel hollow and my eyes burn from the threat of tears behind my eyelids. My mother always knew how to build up my spirits and make me feel better. But even that had been taken away from me.

However, I knew staying in my self-imposed safe cocoon wasn’t a good answer either. Being single didn’t have to be synonymous with ‘hermit.’ Going out this weekend with the girls rather than sulking at home would be a good start. With renewed determination, I cranked the radio up louder and drove the short distance home.

Download for free to read the rest of what happens to Kayla when she falls, literally, for the right man and a little boy. (North Star is continued in True North.)