“Kylie, Jeb, I’m serious,” Matt said. He walked over to them and pried the girl’s hand off Andrew’s shoulders. The two of them dispersed, the guy mumbling something about Matt being “too cool.”
“Well, that was weird,” Andrew said.
“Sorry about that.”
“Maybe I should go. I seem to be causing a stir.”
“What are you talking about?” Matt said.
Andrew thought about Karen’s catty attitude and comment about him being “the new guy.” He was beginning to like Matt, and John, too, for that matter, but this was going further than he’d intended. He took his keys out his pocket and glanced at his watch. “I really need to get going anyway,” he said.
“Want to see Laura?” Matt said.
“What?”
“She’s picking flowers for the tables. She’s out back.”
Andrew did want to see Laura. His pleasant feelings about helping out were mitigated by the suspicion that he was being manipulated, but damn it, he wanted to see Laura.
“I’ll bring you over there,” Matt said.
This is getting weirder and weirder, Andrew thought. He felt like Laura was being dangled in front of him like a carrot or a longed-for present. For Christ’s sake, he thought, she’s not a prize heifer; she’s a person. And this final thought at least brought some resolve.
“Yes, I’d like to see her,” he said. “Just tell me where she is and I’ll go myself.”
“Go out the door you came in, and walk straight. It goes right into a field.” Matt spoke with casual nonchalance, as if it were all no big deal. Andrew thanked him and left the banquet hall. When he walked out the door, again he saw John, who was loading boxes into the back of a pickup truck. John waved, but Andrew regarded him warily.
He walked into the field, feeling as though he were being watched. He shrugged off the feeling. Probably just paranoia. Now he thought perhaps he had overreacted. They weren’t the Children of the Corn; they were just really religious, right? The grass in the field grew thicker and longer. He stumbled, and something clattered and cracked under his feet.
“Shit,” he said. He leaned down to examine what he’d broken. It was a Mason jar.
“Hi there,” Laura said.
Andrew looked up. Her hair was down, her dress was white, and her arms were full of flowers.
“Hi,” he croaked.
“What are you doing?”
He stood up and noticed that her feet were bare. “Don’t move,” he said.
Laura, who had been advancing toward him, now froze. “A snake? Don’t tell me it’s a snake. I’ll totally scream.”
“It’s not a snake—”
“Ohmygod, it’s a snake.” She dropped the flowers. “And I just took the Lord’s name in vain.” She pressed her hands to her mouth. She seemed on the verge of screaming. “And what happened to you?”
“Laura, chill out. First of all, there is no snake. Second, I tripped in the woods last night. And thirdly, I just stepped on a jar. In fact”—he looked around—“why are there Mason jars everywhere?”
“I put the flowers in them.”
“Where are your shoes?”
“Over there, I think.” Laura pointed.
“Okay. Just stay there. I’ll go get them.”
“Thanks,” Laura said. She bent down to pick up the flowers.
Andrew waded out into the field, searching for her shoes. He realized after a few minutes that he wasn’t going to find them. “Did you leave them by a rock or a tree or anything?”
“Um, no, I just kicked them off.”
He poked around some more, scanning the ground. He was reminded of when he’d first fallen in love with Laura. It had been their sophomore year. He’d been studying geometry in the library. He had finally worked out a difficult problem and had been taking a break by leaning back in his chair and stretching. He’d glanced around and seen her. She’d been leaning up against the stacks in the classics section. Like a lot of guys, he’d thought Laura was very pretty. But he had never been obsessed with her or anything.
He wasn’t able to tell what she’d been reading, but she’d been absorbed. She’d worn sandals and shorts. Then it had happened. Without looking up from her book she’d slipped the sandal off her right foot and used her toes to scratch her left ankle. She’d put her sandal back on, turned the page, and sighed. It’d been as if a thousand stars had burst in his brain and descended into his body. He’d suddenly felt hyperalert and hyperaware. All his senses had sharpened, and the room and Laura had come into startling focus. The smell of pencil eraser and lead, the glare of the fluorescent lights, and Laura, Laura, Laura. Just standing there, just reading with a little smile on her face, just breathing and being alive.
He had never been the same. It had been as though he’d dove into a dream, or awoke from one, and the new reality, the Laura reality, was the only life he’d ever known. And it didn’t matter if he was eating or playing with Becky or fighting with his parents or horsing around with Sara and Marcia—another part of him was constantly preoccupied with Laura. Now he was always half present; he couldn’t stop thinking about her if he tried. And he had tried—he had. It was impossible, it was depressing, it was all-consuming misery. It was that kind of love.
“I can’t find them,” he said.
“Shoot,” Laura said. “We’d better get back.”
“Why did you take your shoes off?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I like the feel of the grass between my toes. I like—” She giggled. “I like picking flowers in my bare feet.” She had gathered all her flowers into a single bouquet. The sun shone brightly behind her, creating a hazy halo around her amber hair.
“And exercising before you pray,” said Andrew as he reached her.
“That too,” she said. “Can you help me over the glass?” She placed one arm around his neck, and he picked her up easily. His heart felt like a caged animal in his chest.
“Can we make it back?” she asked.
“No problem,” Andrew said. He walked slowly back to the church parking lot.
“Did you have fun in the kitchen?”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Don’t try to convince me or anything,” she said with a laugh.
“Sorry,” he said. He wondered if he should put her down, as they were way past the broken glass. But she didn’t seem to mind being carried, and he certainly didn’t mind carrying her.
“Do you need convincing?” she asked.
“About what?” he said.
She wrapped her other arm around his neck and balanced the bouquet on her stomach and chest. To his mortification, Andrew sneezed. He sneezed and sneezed again.
“Oh no—allergies?” she asked, trying to angle the flowers away from his face.
“I’m fine,” Andrew said, who was commanding superhuman strength to prevent himself from sneezing again. “Why Mason jars?” he asked.
“You can only preserve food in them once, just to be safe. Then after you eat the food, you have all these jars,” she said.
“Ah,” Andrew said. “Ah, ah, ah, choo!” He turned his head away at the last moment. He felt two thin streams of mucus running out his nose and down his face. Unfuckingbelievable, he thought. Laura lowered her face, either from disgust or compassion or both. They’d reached the edge of the parking lot. John ran up to them.
“What’s going on?” he said, his voice sounding the least friendly that Andrew had ever heard. With a quick motion Laura twisted her body and leaped out of his arms. Andrew gave way to a fit of sneezing. Through a haze of snot, breathlessness, and bone-chilling embarrassment, Andrew heard Laura explaining to John about her shoes.
“Here, here,” John said. He took off his shirt and handed it to him.
“Dude, I’m not going to take—” And he sneezed again, twice, then
three times.
John shoved his shirt in Andrew’s face. It was rank with man sweat. Andrew wiped his nose and face. A few people in the parking lot, including Karen and Carrie, were watching. He heard someone laughing.
“Listen,” John said, standing close to him and almost whispering. “I know today was weird. And now this. Just go home and take some allergy medicine. It’s all good, okay? I really think you should go home right now.”
John rubbed his neck briefly and hard before he and his impossibly chiseled torso and his stupid long hair and his arm around Laura’s waist disappeared into the church.
17
He threw John’s shirt into the backseat of his car and slammed the door. He’d had Laura in his arms, and all he could do was talk about Mason jars and have a sneezing fit. He banged on the steering wheel and shouted. All he wanted was to crawl into a hole. He needed to reflect on the utter weirdness of the entire afternoon. He also wanted desperately to talk to Marcia and Sara. Thoughts of Sara, of his need of her, brought him back to a depressing shame spiral.
The house looked different when he pulled into his driveway. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but when he got out of his car, he felt an inkling of dread. As he neared the back door, he heard his parents fighting.
“Shut the fuck up. I mean it, Sharon.” Andrew rushed through the door. His father rarely used his mother’s name, and if he did, it meant things were seriously bad between them.
“I’m home!” he shouted. For a few seconds he was met with dead silence. His father walked slowly into the kitchen. He looked terrible and terrifying. His mouth was set in a deep frown, his face ruddy.
“Dad,” he said.
“I presume you’ve heard the news?” From the other room, his mother let out a strangled sob. Andrew tried to maneuver around his father. “Mom, are you okay?”
“She’s fine,” his father said. “Brian’s been arrested.”
Andrew froze. “For what?” he asked. His mother cried louder, harder.
“I said shut up!” his father barked. This time Andrew did push around him, narrowly avoiding his massive outstretched arm. His mom was on the couch, crying. He sat next to her. She was upset but seemed otherwise unharmed. He put his hand tentatively on her knee.
“Mom?” he said.
“It’ll be on the news!” she wailed. His father stomped up the stairs, cursing. Andrew didn’t press her. After a few moments her tears subsided and she stood up. She took a deep breath and turned toward him.
“Brian’s been arrested for assault. It was him and some other guys. But it’s all lies. All of it. Brian wouldn’t hurt . . . Brian wouldn’t hurt someone like that!”
“Hurt someone like what?”
“You know, it was a girl.”
“What? Rape?” Andrew gripped the edge of the couch. He felt like he was going to be sick.
“Andrew, I said it’s all lies! Brian said so.”
“Who is she? Is she okay?”
“What? I—I don’t know!” his mother said. She turned and left the room. His father was yelling into the phone and walking down the hallway and turning on the radio. All these sounds were muffled and strange and seemed to be coming from deep within Andrew’s head.
“Andrew, come here!” his father said.
As Andrew walked up the stairs he saw Becky poke her head outside of his room. With a slight gesture Andrew indicated that she should stay. Her great black body disappeared behind the door like a seal slipping back into the ocean.
“Fill up the car,” his father said as he handed Andrew twenty dollars.
“Where are you going?” Andrew said.
“Dexter,” his father said. Dexter was a small town up north. Why had Brian been all the way up there? He looked at his father, who now looked purposeful, energetic, and angry in an excited way. Andrew turned away in disgust. Fucking Brian, he thought. Motherfucking Brian. He shook his head to clear the images that came to him. He did not want to think about it.
• • •
Andrew rarely drove his parents’ car. His own car was a beat-up ’85 Corolla hatchback with a standard shift. He had paid for it after two summers at Avella. His parents’ car was an automatic, and Andrew awkwardly adjusted to driving it, his left foot constantly looking for a clutch that wasn’t there.
A morbid satisfaction crept into his heart. Driving this car was a grand but stupid metaphor for himself and his relationship with his family. An ill fit. A pointless groping for something that did not exist.
It cost thirty dollars to fill the tank. His parents must be going to bail Brian out or visit him. He got them a couple of coffees and placed them in the cup holders. He took pleasure in the fact that his thoughtfulness toward them would be unappreciated and unnoticed. He was the sniveling resentful good son. Perhaps they sensed this and disliked him the more for it. His dad did, anyway. He could never quite tell with his mom.
He stopped at a red light and stared at the dashboard. It was clean in here. His mother got carsick easily so she had the car washed, inside and out, almost every month. The car was a year old, but it still smelled like a new car. It was a strangely intoxicating scent. Why was that? Then he remembered: Sara had once said that the smell turned her on, that one day she wanted to have sex in a new car. They had been driving around in Jack’s new car. He was home for Christmas and had let Marcia borrow it, a brave as well as generous gesture because Marcia was a terrible driver. Overly cautious, afraid of hurting herself or others, she crept around the streets like an old lady. She gripped the wheel, staring straight in front of her, refusing both Sara’s and Andrew’s offers to drive. “One day I’d really like to have sex in a new car,” Sara said. There was an awkward silence. Then Marcia said stiffly, “Today will not be that day, Sara.” They had all burst out laughing.
When Andrew got back home, his parents were dressed, packed, and ready to go. His father was still talking on the phone, and his mother was bustling around the kitchen and running her hands along countertops in a frantic and pointless manner.
“This could ruin him.” Her voice cracked. Like a child, she covered her face with her hands. Andrew was touched.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said.
“It’s not okay!”
“Fine. Whatever,” Andrew said. He tossed the keys on the counter and went upstairs.
“Whatever. That’s your answer for everything!” his mother shouted to his back.
“It’s as good an answer as any,” he said.
He was about to go to his room to get Becky when his father hung up the phone and said, “Hey.”
“Yes?” Andrew said.
“What happened to your face?” His father looked at him and then at the ground. He jiggled his leg restlessly and cleared his throat a few times.
He thinks he might’ve done this to me, Andrew realized. The thought made him feel annoyed and vaguely satisfied and even a little sorry for his father.
“I tripped in the woods. I’m fine,” Andrew said. He tried to sound reassuring, then wondered why. Oh, fuck him, he thought.
“The charges might not stick, in which case we’ll raise hell for an early bail,” his father said.
“Okay.”
“Or we might be back Monday if it takes that long.”
“Okay.”
“When are you leaving for college?”
“Month and a half.”
“You’re almost eighteen, right?”
“That’s right.”
His father reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. “There’s not much in the house. Do you need money for groceries?”
“No. I’ll increase my hours at Avella. I was planning to anyway.”
“Oh.” His father turned to go and said as he was leaving, “We’re going to beat this thing.”
“Okay,” Andrew said.
18
BECKY CAME OUT OF ANDREW’S room and dropped her leash at his feet. He took her for a long walk, his mind blank. When he got home, he watched television and paced the house. He kept an ear out for news about his brother. His mother was right, of course; whatever Brian and his friends had done would make some sort of headline. Andrew shuddered. What had Brian done? Andrew knew that his older brother had the capacity for violence. It was his trademark on the field.
Andrew had never felt more separate from his family. For a long time he’d felt and been treated like a bizarre sort of visitor. A quiet houseguest with a dog. He sometimes wondered if he even loved his family. His mom tugged at his heartstrings occasionally, but his father? Brian? Andrew thought Brian probably deserved whatever was coming to him. But even this Andrew did not feel strongly about. He wanted nothing to do with them or their problems.
He flipped around the different news stations and satisfied himself that there was nothing about Brian. Emotionally, he didn’t think he felt terribly invested in whatever was going on with his brother. But in terms of his own self-interest, Andrew was keenly aware that word would get around, and it would eventually affect him and everything he was up to.
And what was he up to, exactly? He wasn’t even sure. Making a play for Laura Lettel. That was what Marcia had said. But was he making a play or planning an invasion? Sometimes he felt less like he was in love and more like he was a hunter. A predator. Camouflaging himself, blending in with her habitat, negotiating with her guardians. He’d had a setback today, for sure, but now he was determined. Holding Laura in the field had felt so natural, so right. He could have put her down after they’d gotten away from the broken glass, but she had wound her other arm around his neck almost to avoid being put down, to sustain the embrace . . . and maybe even something more?
He remembered those moments at Shaman’s Point. When he’d either had a panic attack or . . . Or what? Felt the grace of God? Been touched by Jesus? That weird kid in the church had said that Jesus was waiting for him. Just like I’m waiting for Laura, he thought. Only now I’m not waiting anymore, now I’m trying to get her. Was Jesus trying to get him? Sending out messengers, signs, temptations? It couldn’t possibly work like that. Maybe he was just losing his mind.
All the Major Constellations Page 10