All the Major Constellations

  He wanted to talk to Marcia, but at this hour she would be at the hospital. Sara did not have a phone in her room, something to do with her lousy insurance, so he could only reach Marcia at the nurses’ station. It made their conversations short and probably accounted for some of the awkwardness as well. He weighed the options and decided to call her anyway.

  “I’m sorry about the other day,” she said after he got her on the phone.

  “It’s okay. I know you’re under a lot of stress.”

  “Sara’s doing fine. Stable.”

  “Breathing tube out?”

  “They don’t want to chance it again.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Maybe in a few weeks. They’re not sure.”

  “Good, that’s good.”

  “I can’t talk for too long,” Marcia said. She sounded apologetic, and Andrew could hear the nurses and doctors murmuring in the background.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I had to talk to you.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Will you call me from your motel?”

  “Sure thing,” she said. “But I might stay here tonight. Grand rounds are tomorrow morning, and if I’m not here at the ass crack of dawn, I’ll miss the pulmonologist.”

  “Okay.”

  “Seriously, it’s like Where’s Waldo? with that guy.”

  Andrew heard one of the nurses giggle. “No problem,” he said. “Whenever you get a chance.”

  They said good-bye and hung up. Marcia had more important things to do. It was understandable. He stared at the phone in his hands.

  When he had left the church, he’d needed to be alone, to get away from his humiliation and his new weirdo religious friends. Now he found himself very much missing their company.

  19

  “DO YOU THINK HE DID IT?” Matt asked.

  “I do,” Andrew said. They were walking through the woods of Halgin Park. These Jesus kids sure love their nature walks, Andrew thought.

  “How can you be sure? I mean, you don’t know anything yet.”

  “I know enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know Brian. It hasn’t always been easy at home.”

  “I sensed that.”

  “Did you?”

  “Sort of,” Matt said. “Is your dad like that too?”

  “He is,” Andrew said, surprised. “What are you, clairvoyant or something?”

  “Nah, nothing like that.”

  Andrew wondered if he seemed like the kind of person who had been bullied. Did he come off as downtrodden or wimpy? The thought embarrassed him. Matt seemed to sense this as well.

  “You were a big help at the soup kitchen yesterday. Did you enjoy it?” Matt asked.

  “I did. How did it go?”

  “It was fine. The usual crowd.”

  “You have regulars?”

  “Oh yeah. The numbers swell when it gets cold, when the economy is bad, and sometimes for no reason at all. Or no reason that I can tell, anyway,” Matt said.

  “Is there—and I don’t mean to offend you or anything—”

  “You can ask me anything,” Matt said.

  “Is there, like, a religious component to the food you serve people?”

  Matt laughed. “You mean, do we lure people into the church in order to save them?”

  “I don’t mean it like that,” Andrew said. He brushed a spider off his arm.

  “It’s okay. Because that’s exactly what we do. Wait, turn around.” Andrew complied and felt Matt hitting more bugs off his back. “You must have walked through some webs or something.”

  “Gross.”

  “Check me?”

  Andrew inspected his back and shoulders for spiders.

  “You’re clean,” he said.

  “Anyway, I know what you’re thinking: like, that’s bad or something. But when I talk to someone about Jesus, I’m speaking from my heart. I want them to feel better. I want to help them. The best thing in my life is my faith. Maybe it can be for them, too. And sometimes it’s just more subtle than that. My love for them, my desire to help—they’re in the food I prepare, the respect that I try and show them, that kind of thing, you know?”

  “So you don’t just talk about Jesus.”

  “Not at all.”

  “You don’t talk to me about Jesus.”

  “Everyone needs to go at their own pace.”

  “And mine is glacial, right? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Come on, Andrew. You really want to talk about this?”

  “No, I guess I don’t,” Andrew said, but it wasn’t exactly true. He did kind of want to talk about it. Whatever it was. The details of Matt and Laura’s religion didn’t really interest him; rather, it was their faith that he found fascinating—especially Laura’s. To Andrew, Laura’s faith meant she was capable of an unwavering devotion to an idea, or a set of ideas, whereas he felt devotion only to physical things, real things, things you could touch, like Laura.

  “This place reminds me of someone,” Matt said suddenly. He glanced around.

  “Oh yeah?” Andrew said. He was barely listening, lost in another Laura fantasy.

  “Someone who was really important to me once. Who still is.”

  Laura, he thought. They were circling the topic of Laura, talking and not talking about Laura. He brought his attention fully on Matt.

  “I come here a lot,” Matt said.

  “To remind yourself of that person?”

  “Sort of. Or to remind me of what that person meant to me, of their struggle,” he said. “I’ve never told anyone about this before.”

  Andrew thought for a moment. Was Matt talking about Laura? Or maybe he was talking about John. Now Andrew felt nervous too. He almost didn’t want to know. But he also sensed that Matt wanted to unburden himself and perhaps needed some encouragement. Andrew was still an outsider, and Matt clearly needed to talk to someone besides his friends in the youth group. He recalled Matt’s compassion toward him, toward everyone, and his subtle and not-so-subtle ways of defending Andrew against the more aggressive members at the church. And it was very kind of Matt to hear him out about Brian. Andrew had never had a close male friend. It had always been just him and Marcia, then him and Marcia and Sara.

  “It’s okay, man,” Andrew said. “Tell me about it.”

  “You can’t— It’s a secret,” Matt said, running his hand through his hair.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Andrew said.

  “Seriously, there would be repercussions for this person if it got out.”

  “You can trust me.”

  Matt nodded. “Okay. Until we’re sixteen, we do this summer camp thing.”

  “Vacation Bible School?” Andrew said, suppressing a laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Totally corny. But it’s actually a lot of fun. During the day it’s almost like regular camp. Hiking, swimming, archery, all that stuff. But every night we light a bonfire, get into a big circle, and we sing and pray. It’s really intense. I can’t even describe it. It’s amazing.”

  “Wow,” Andrew said, thinking it sounded kind of cheesy.

  “It’s like an out-of-body experience.”

  Andrew stopped short. “Really?” He thought of that day at Shaman’s Point with Laura. He hadn’t felt out of his body exactly, but he hadn’t felt in it either. “Go on.”

  “Yeah. But it’s not quite out-of-body, either, because it’s so physical. Does that make sense?”

  Andrew thought it did kind of make sense. But he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t laugh, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  Matt stopped and looked around again. All Andrew could hear was the babble of the brook, a sound that was no longer pleasant to him after the in
cident with Becky. The wind picked up and made a whistling sound through the trees. It was eerie, but they were definitely alone.

  “Some nights we’d do a hug spiral,” Matt said.

  Andrew wasn’t sure what he had expected, but this wasn’t it. “A what now?”

  “You get in a straight line and hold hands. Then the first person starts the spiral by hugging the person next to them. You spiral into each other until you’re this huge hugging circle.”

  “Okay . . .” Andrew said, raising his eyebrows.

  “I said don’t laugh.”

  “Am I laughing?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  Matt turned and resumed walking. Andrew followed him. They were silent for a few minutes. Andrew cleared his throat.

  “So, the hugging spiral.”

  “We’re all spiraled in, hugging and praying and singing. And it’s, like, really intense. I usually keep my eyes closed—I mean, I always keep my eyes closed when I’m praying. My eyes are closed and I’m praying and really feeling God’s love for us all and our love for one another. And then, suddenly, and I don’t even know why, I open my eyes. And my counselor, Chip, his eyes are open too. And we’re right across from each other, spiraled in, and our faces are like almost pressed together. We’re, like, eyeball to eyeball, you know?”

  “Um, you do this spiral shit with the counselors?” Andrew said.

  “Yes. Dude, that’s not the point at all,” Matt said.

  “Sorry, go on.”

  “Chip’s eyes were so sad. I mean, painfully, horribly sad. I thought he was dying or something.”

  “Shit.”

  “Afterward, when everyone was getting ready for bed, Chip asked me to go for a walk. That part is kind of weird, because we’re all supposed to just turn in, you know?”

  That part is weird? Andrew thought. But he said, “What happened on the walk?”

  “Nothing happened,” Matt said quickly. “I mean, we walked a long way. And we didn’t say much to each other. But every once in a while, he’d stop and point back to the fires and lights of the campsite and say, ‘See that, Matt? That’s my faith.’ We got farther and farther away, and it got darker and darker. The campsite was fading behind us until we could just barely see it. And he said again, ‘That’s my faith.’ Then we were completely in the dark and I couldn’t see anything at all. Not even my hand in front of my face. And then Chip said, ‘This is my faith.’ We just stood there in the dark.”

  “Huh,” Andrew said.

  “He’s the youth pastor now.”

  “Well, maybe he had a change of heart. Or found his faith or whatever.”

  “Found his faith or whatever,” Matt repeated softly. He appeared lost in his own thoughts. They walked in silence for quite some time. Andrew wasn’t sure what to say.

  Matt cleared his throat. “Sorry if it was weird for you to hear about that.”

  “Not at all,” Andrew said.

  “I mean, if you didn’t grow up in this . . .” His voice trailed off. He was a few feet ahead of Andrew on the trail, and Andrew could barely hear him.

  “Grow up with what?” Andrew asked.

  “With Jesus,” Matt said. He turned around and reached out his hand. Andrew was embarrassed, but Matt seemed so earnest. They shook hands. The mood lightened.

  “Hey, we’re back,” Andrew said, looking up and seeing his car.

  “I took us in a circle,” Matt said.

  “How old is this youth pastor guy?” Andrew asked. Matt seemed to consider the question unimportant.

  “Oh, I don’t know. In his thirties, maybe? Ask Laura. They’re really tight.”

  20

  HIS PARENTS HAD CALLED the night before and said that Brian’s bail hearing had been set for Monday morning. In all likelihood the three of them would be back that afternoon. Andrew had not slept well. He was plagued by more nightmares and had also become obsessed with this Chip character, who was apparently so close to Laura.

  He tried calling Laura, but the phone just rang and rang. He had, in fact, tried calling Laura a few times since their walk, but no one would answer, or at best a little brother or sister would pick up and supposedly take a message. Laura never called back. She had a huge family, he reasoned. It was probably chaos most of the time. Marcia hadn’t called him back either, and he didn’t want to bother her. He decided to focus his energies back on his job, at least for the time being.

  Avella had always been a part-time job for Andrew, but he needed more money for college. He also wanted to spend the least amount of time possible at home. By six a.m. Monday morning Andrew was standing outside Neal’s office. He knew the morning crew started at six thirty. The office was in a shed where they stored all the equipment. The shed was partially in the woods surrounding Avella, and also in the shadow of one of the taller buildings. It was dark and quiet most of the time.

  Neal and Ben pulled up in a sporty pink convertible. Andrew had expected them to be in a pickup truck. His thoughts must have been reflected in his face because when Neal got out he said, “My wife’s car. She wants me to fix the air conditioner.”

  “Mom’s got the rig!” said Ben, who seemed to find this greatly amusing. He got out of the car and came right up to Andrew.

  “Hey, Ben,” Andrew said.

  “You’re on early today?” Ben said.

  “Maybe,” Andrew said.

  “Hey, what happened?” Ben said. He touched the still large but fading bruise on Andrew’s forehead.

  “Why don’t you get the office opened?” Neal said to Ben. Ben took the keys from his father and disappeared inside.

  “Have a seat,” Neal said, indicating one of the picnic tables where the crew usually broke for lunch.

  They sat down. Neal leaned forward, a pleasant and noncommittal expression on his face.

  “Are you all right?” Neal said.

  “I need more work,” Andrew said. “Do you have anything?”

  “Hmmm,” Neal said. He leaned back and considered the request. “Thing is, I just hired this other kid.”

  His heart sank. “Not a problem,” he said.

  “I could give you some hours here and there,” Neal said.

  “That would be great,” Andrew said.

  “But I’m fully staffed this morning.”

  “How about this afternoon?”

  “Sure, come by this afternoon. And if you need to hang around here for the day, that’s okay by me. Just pretend you’re doing office work. Although really, there’s nothing to be done. There’s a couch in there too, if you need it.”

  Andrew hung his head. Neal was probably being so nice because he thought he’d gotten beat up. “Listen, I tripped in the woods,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “No, really. Tell Ben. I don’t want him to get upset.”

  “I will.”

  “There’s some stuff happening with my brother.”

  “Ayup.”

  “It might get pretty ugly.”

  “For you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You remember what I told you last year,” Neal said.

  “Eighteen and out,” Andrew said.

  “Ayup,” Neal said.

  Last summer Andrew had gotten into a fight with his father about Becky barking at him when he’d gotten home from work. His father had grabbed his arm and left a nasty purple mark. It wasn’t a big deal, but Neal had noticed. Andrew had confessed his unhappiness at home, his father’s occasional drunken aggression. Eighteen and out, Neal had said. He’d also told Andrew about his own, and by comparison, horrifying, childhood. Neal’s father had been a farmer and worked his two sons half to death. Farmers work hard, and the children of farmers work hard, but Neal’s father had been perverse. He’d told his children that they were his property until they’d turned eighteen. N
eal had turned eighteen and never looked back.

  He must have been remembering it all, because when Andrew looked at him, he was lost in thought. He met Andrew’s gaze and frowned slightly. “Let me push some numbers around,” he said abruptly. “You can come on full-time.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Andrew said.

  “Oh hell, Andrew, you’re the only summer hire who shows up stone sober. Might as well reward good behavior.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Ben popped his head out the door. “Want to mow the lawns with me?”

  • • •

  Nine hours later he was home, dirty and exhausted. He smelled of the fuel from the lawn mowers and the grass they’d cut. No allergy attacks today; it must be only pretty flowers that set him off. His parents and brother still weren’t home. Becky kept trying to lick him clean. He took her out for a quick walk, then came home and took a long shower. By the time he got out, his family was home. He could hear the three of them talking downstairs. He crept to his room and shut the door. He was very hungry but knew if he left his room, he would get pulled into their drama. An hour passed. He read, drew a picture of Laura holding a bouquet of onions, and tried to take a nap. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he got up and left his room. They were still talking in low serious murmurs. If he had his wallet and keys, he might’ve been able to slip out the front door unnoticed, but he’d left them on the kitchen counter.

  Andrew’s mom was leaning against the refrigerator, her face puffy and purple with distress. His father and Brian were seated at the kitchen stools. No one looked up when he walked in. He could just grab his stuff and bolt, but he was pissed that his father and brother sat on their asses while his mother stood.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Mom?” he said.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Let me get you a chair from the dining room.”