DEAD END, read the sign at the entrance to the cul-de-sac, its letters mottled green with moss and pitted by time. Lily sprang from the truck before her grandfather could kill the engine, her little boots crunching loose gravel as she paused to peer past the rusted metal. The world here felt paused with foundations half-completed, like fragments of dreams abandoned before they could breathe. Each empty slab rose from the earth as a testament to ambitions that ran out of steam.
Johan followed more slowly, softly sinking into tufts of grass and dandelions that had claimed cracks in the asphalt. He reached out and brushed a large lichen from the sign, as though willing the words to vanish entirely, but the stubborn letters held fast. Lily danced ahead, arms outstretched, running her fingertips along the rough edge of a row of cinder blocks that had once promised walls and roofs and laughter.
They walked in a hush, unable to speak at a distance over the roar of the crickets and katydids. The mountains leaned in around them like emerald giants, a rare view afforded by the clearing cut out decades ago for this neighborhood. They passed what would have been driveways, now shallow ponds of rainwater with rings of algae tracing layered outlines. Ferns sprouted in unorderly rows and vines curled around the walls of a house that had been framed, its wood now almost completely black and green.
They followed a narrow way winding through the overgrown cul-de-sac, the pavement shifting beneath their feet until, at the road's edge, it gave way to a firmer track of dirt and grass that slipped past a tangled thicket and into the shadow of tall, dark trunks.
The morning had begun like any other during her summer stays at her grandfather's with toast, peanut butter, and tea on the porch, cawing at a raven perched on the power line, and chores like making her bed and brushing her teeth. Then off they drove to go for a little hike just as the sun peeked through the trees casting a warm, golden glow into the rolling hills. The dense canopy of oaks and maples filtered the light to look like a kaleidoscope along the ground. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the earthy scent of moss and wildflowers.
Lily bounded ahead down the narrow trail, bouncing her wavy auburn ponytail with each enthusiastic step. She wore a faded denim jacket adorned with patches of planets and stars and her back was damp from where she had taken a seat earlier in the dewy yard.
"Probably should have put down a towel in the truck," Johan called.
Her boots kicked up small puffs of dust as she navigated the familiar path, oblivious.
"Come on, Grandpa! You're slower than a sloth!" she teased.
"Slower than a sloth?" he said, tilting his head back to peer out under the brim of his hat. His eyes, a unique shade of blue that mirrored the sky on a clear day, squinted with fake incredulity.
He was taller than most men his age and boasted a sturdy frame from years of working outdoors. Lily liked that he could pick her up and toss her into the air, but didn't like how his gray stubble always scratched her cheeks when he'd nuzzle her afterwards.
"At this rate, the squirrels'll all be sleepin' by the time we get there," Lily yelled, looking like a deer hopping over a fallen log.
"Well, we'll just have to wake 'em back up, won't we?" Johan said, picking up his pace slightly. "Remember now, gettin' there ain't the point. The journey, ya know, is more important than the destination."
Lily rolled her eyes, "Ya always say that."
"And I'm always right."
They continued along the trail, enveloped by the sounds of the forest. Birds chirped and called out to each other from the treetops, and a nearby brook babbled about whatever brooks have to babble about. The underbrush occasionally rustled as tiny creatures scurried about, hidden from view.
Lily paused to admire a cluster of royal violet and pale lavender wildflowers growing in a small clearing beside the path. She couldn't resist reaching out to pluck a few.
"Ain't they beautiful?" she said.
"Indeed they are," Johan answered. "Those are Appalachian phacelias."
"How do you know?" asked Lily.
"Grandma taught me," he said. "They only bloom for a short time each spring. We're lucky to've seen some."
"Maybe we can press 'em later?" she asked. "That way they ain't gon' wilt."
Johan nodded. "That's a fine idea. Make sure to grab ya a book heavy enough tha'cher granny ain't notice it missin'."
This wasn't how the pair typically spoke. In fact, Lily's mother would not have been pleased to discover that when her daughter ventured out into the woods with her grandfather, she turned into a complete country bumpkin. The same was true for Johan, but a few summers back, Lily's grandmother scolded him over dinner for the improper use of "good" when he meant "well" and the sly glance he passed to Lily solidified the behavior as their secret act of rebellion. It's worsened each summer and sometimes the two get so wrapped up in the game they tickle themselves silly competing to be the least coherent.
As they resumed their hike, Lily's fingers traced the patches on her denim jacket. She stole glances at her grandfather, wondering if she'd be able to work up the nerve to have a certain heart-to-heart with him this time. An unasked question hovered on her lips, a secret she had chased through half-heard whispers. Today felt like the day she might finally be brave enough to find out matters for herself.
They emerged from the dense woods onto a rocky outcrop with a breathtaking view of the valley below. The landscape unfolded like a vast quilt, patches of forest interspersed with clearings and the glint off a lake reflecting the ever rising sun.
Lily took a deep breath, savoring the crisp air. "This is my favorite place, grandpa," she said.
Johan smiled, observing an eagle perched high on a tree overlooking the valley. "Mine, too," he said.
They settled on a large flat rock, still cool from the night. Johan sat down with his backpack and stretched his legs, sighing contently.
"Grandpa," Lily said with an unusual tone, unusual because it was her normal voice, her unaccented voice.
"Yes, Lily?" he replied, turning his attention to her.
Her fingers fidgeted with a frayed thread on her sleeve as she fixed her gaze on a distant point beyond the horizon.
"Grandpa," she began again, this time more slowly. She pursed her lips and wrinkled her forehead. Lily's expression looked apprehensive, yet determined to get to the bottom of something.
"Do you think... I mean," she said, searching for the right words. Then, in a serious and determined tone she managed to say, "Would you tell me what happened to Uncle Kepler?" followed promptly with puppy dog eyes and a high pitch, drawn out, "Pleeease?"
Johan squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow. He gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply, his mouth tightening into a strained grimace as if he had just bitten into a lemon.
Lily closed her eyes in defeat. She knew better. It wasn't the right time and who knows how long she'd have to wait for another chance. Now the whole hike is probably ruined, too. She had asked her mom before and was told that she wasn't ready. Turns out she still wasn't ready. But then again, no one would ever be truly ready for a story like this.
A long silence passed with Johan and Lily staring blankly across the valley. They stewed in it, allowing the sounds of nature to fill the void, contemplating what to say to break the spell they were under. Lily opened her mouth to say "sorry," but closed it before she could speak, swallowing the word back down. She could hear her grandfather breathing in long, slow, deep breaths. His inhale sounded like he had just eaten a pepper and was trying to get air across his tongue to alleviate the pain while his exhale whistled slightly through his speckled nose.
The eagle Johan had been watching took flight, leaning into the wind to climb higher and higher before disappearing over the treeline, having barely flapped its wings once.
"Kepler?" Johan asked, almost rhetorically, his voice breaking the silence barely above a whisper. He still wasn't looking at her, and Lily couldn't tell if he was answering her question or talking to himself.
"If you'd rather not-" she started apologetically, but her grandfather raised a finger gently to stop her. He slowly turned his head in Lily's direction.
"No," he assured, locking onto her gaze. "No, it's all right. I suppose it's time."
Lily tried to contain her excitement but her eyes betrayed her. "Really?"
"Really," Johan confirmed, nodding thoughtfully.
***
"You see," Johan began. "Kepler was a boy, much like any other. He was curious, adventurous, and he had a heart full of dreams. But unlike other kids, he lived in a place quite different from where you are growing up."
Lily leaned forward, giving her grandfather her full attention. "Different how?" she asked.
Johan studied her for a moment, hunting for the right words. Still uncertain, he nodded to the patches on Lily's jacket.
"Well... how to put this?" he puzzled aloud, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "For one, he lived on a totally different world."
Lily's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "He didn't live here with you?"
"No, we lived together, just somewhere else," Johan said. "We lived on a far away moon called Maerun, orbiting a giant planet named Petralum."
That was clearly not what Lily had expected to hear. Her gaping mouth, furrowed forehead, wild eyes, raised shoulders, and twitching hands made it clear that she had a million follow up questions but all she could manage to ask was a perplexed, "What?"
"What what?" Johan countered.
Outmatched and uncertain, Lily said, "What was it like there?"
"Oh," Johan said, searching along the landscape as if recalling a faded memory, "It was incredible. Maerun was a world bathed in nearly perpetual twilight. Even during its night, the sky was illuminated by Petralum, which often hung overhead like a colossal, glowing orb. Its streaks of swirling orange, white, and gold painted the heavens and cast a gentle light that touched everything."
Lily tried to envision the scene, her heart beginning to stir with wonder. "That sounds magnificent."
"It was," he agreed with a nod. "But to Kepler, it was just home, and what he didn’t know was that on one particular golden night, he was going to begin the greatest adventure any twelve-year-old could ever imagine."
