All the Major Constellations

by Pratima Cranse

  Andrew heard Becky yawn, stand up, and stretch. His groin ached, but the pain in his chest was even worse.

  “You know why I’m here,” Andrew said finally. “Why are you here?”

  Laura stood up. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Andrew got Becky, and they walked back out of the woods and into their neighborhood. They no longer held hands. Andrew felt weak, as if all his organs were leaking some precious force that had kept them going. The sidewalks seemed to rear up to meet him.

  “You know,” Laura said, “at the very least, you really ought to try with your brother.”

  “At the very least? What does that mean?”

  Laura sniffed.

  “I don’t give a shit about my brother.”

  “That’s not right.”

  They were standing outside her house now, gazing angrily at each other. Or at least Andrew was angry. Laura looked indifferent.

  “God gave you a family, Andrew. They’re your responsibility.” She turned and walked up the steps. Andrew had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out. But then he didn’t know what he’d say, either. Don’t go? Screw you? Her hand was on the doorknob. She was opening the door.

  “Why did you give me that note?”

  She stopped and turned halfway around. “What?”

  “That day you gave me the note. We’d barely spoken before that. Was it because of Sara? Did you think I would be, like, easy to convert or something? Or did you actually care about me? Or Sara, for that matter? She’s gone, you know.” His voice choked as he spoke. He’d pushed Sara’s death out of his mind, and telling Laura was like experiencing it all over again.

  Laura closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Then she came down the steps.

  “I’m sorry about Sara. Truly. And to answer your question, I called you because my group believes in helping those in need.”

  “Me, in need? Seriously? I’m not poor. I’m not oppressed, I’m not—”

  “Spiritual need, Andrew. My group—”

  “Stop talking about your fucking group. You guys hover around tragedy like a bunch of vultures, hoping to get vulnerable people into your church. People like John.”

  “You don’t know anything about John,” she snapped.

  “You don’t know anything about John.”

  “Well, you don’t know anything about me,” she said.

  “I—”

  “Seriously, Andrew. What do you know about me? About my life, my family, my feelings, my God?”

  She’s right, Andrew thought. He was shocked at his own ignorance. He’d spent three years following her around, and he didn’t even know the name of her faith. He’d never asked her about her family, never really asked her about herself. He’d just brooded and lurked and stared and stalked.

  “You were always hanging around. In school, I mean. I would see you everywhere,” Laura said.

  Andrew blushed. Well, what had he expected?

  “All the guys hang around you,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “You were different,” she said.

  Even though he was angry with her, and himself, Andrew felt immensely gratified by her words. He was different. That was something. “Am I still different?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you give me another chance?”

  A long, long moment passed between them. Time slowing down, he thought. He held his breath. Laura looked at the ground and then very slightly shook her head. A curtain of her honey-colored hair fell over her face. He gently touched a loose strand with the tip of his finger. She either didn’t notice or pretended not to notice. He could’ve asked her why she kissed him, or had allowed him to kiss her, but he already knew the answer. He’d done the same thing to John, probably for the same reasons.

  “Fine,” he said.

  She turned around and walked back up the steps.

  “Laura.”

  She stopped.

  “Listen to me. I have to get in touch with John,” he said. “Can I have that number?”

  She looked surprised. “It’s for emergencies.”

  “I need it,” he said.

  “I think it’s in my dad’s study, but I’m not sure.” Her voice was completely calm. Calm and a little snotty.

  “I’ll wait.”

  He stared at the stars. He’d had her and lost her again. Maybe he could reason with her? Try some other approach? He felt neutered. I should be more forceful, he thought. I ought to man up and take control. He made involuntary fists with his hands, but within moments they were loose and by his sides. It just wasn’t in him; it wasn’t meant to be. Becky licked his dangling fingers. After a few minutes another of Laura’s pig-faced siblings, a small boy this time, emerged from the house.

  “That’s for you,” the boy said, handing Andrew a slip of paper.

  He looked down at the paper on which a phone number was neatly written. He turned the paper over. There was nothing else.

  40

  WHEN ANDREW GOT HOME, he fed Becky and poured himself a glass of water. His mouth was dry after all the kissing. He felt, all at once, elated, deflated, and numb. All the fantasies he’d ever had about Laura seemed to be imploding in his brain. His girlfriend, his wife, his sexual conquest? What had he been thinking? He’d never had a chance, not with any of it. It was time to focus on someone he could actually do something about.

  He nibbled on a piece of bread and stared at the phone number. He picked up the phone, started to dial, and then abruptly hung up. He paced the kitchen, weighing options that he couldn’t coherently express, even to himself. He looked at Becky, who met his hard gaze with her own soft stare. He grabbed the phone and dialed the number again. It rang for almost a minute before a man with a familiar voice picked up. Where had he heard that voice before?

  “I need to get in touch with John. It’s an emergency,” Andrew said.

  “What’s the emergency?”

  “It’s personal.”

  “He’s halfway up to the cabin by now.”

  “You don’t have walkie-talkies or something?”

  “Reception doesn’t reach. What was your name again?” The voice was growing stern and authoritative, paternal in an asshole kind of way. Who is this creep? Andrew thought. And what does he know about John?

  “Okay, it’s not a life-threatening emergency. When will I be able to reach him?”

  “You can only reach him if it’s an emergency. How did you get this number?”

  “Chip?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “This is Chip, isn’t it?”

  There was a long silence followed by a deep sigh. Andrew knew he was right. It was Chip on the other line, the shifty balding youth pastor with the wavering faith.

  “You’re the new kid, right?” Chip said.

  Andrew had never understood the phrase “It makes my blood boil” until this moment. He was nobody’s goddamn new kid.

  “My name is Andrew. John is my friend. I need to speak to him, or at the very least I need a message relayed to him. Now.”

  “That’s not how this program works, friend.”

  Program? Andrew thought, and he felt an awful quiver of fear in his gut. He also felt uneasy for Karen. Karen’s going to meet him out there, Laura had said. What for? Andrew fought to control his voice.

  “I’m not your friend. Get a message to John or . . . or I’ll tell your boss that you’ve got some kind of fucked-up relationship with the youth study group.”

  “What did you say to me? You little—”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about this.” Andrew’s voice shook. “Tell John I called. Tell him I said—I said that everything is okay with him. That it’s totally okay. Tell him I’m his friend. That I’m sorry about the other night. That it was all my fault. And tel
l him he’s okay, just as he is.”

  “Fine,” Chip said.

  “John is going to get that message,” Andrew said. “Tonight,” he added.

  “All right!” Chip said. Then he hung up.

  Andrew stared at the phone for a few minutes.

  “What was that about, faggot? Your boyfriend?”

  Andrew turned to the sound of Brian’s voice. As in a horror movie, he emerged from the shadows. His walk was unsteady and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “You’re wasted,” Andrew said.

  “Who’s John?” Brian said.

  “My friend.”

  “I thought you only hung out with girls, momo.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing, man, nothing,” Brian said. His words slurred. “She dropped it.”

  “I heard.”

  “No case. No case at all. And her lawyer? Sheesh . . .” Brian’s voice trailed off into a very wet burp. Andrew felt his own stomach lurch.

  “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  “Fuck should I know? Out celebrating?”

  “Or working overtime to pay your legal fees,” Andrew muttered.

  “You want to know what happened that night?”

  Andrew thought for a moment. “No,” he said.

  “I haven’t told anyone. Not supposed to. Not even the lawyer knows everything. He was all like, ‘The less I know, the better.’”

  “I don’t want to—” Andrew began.

  “Shut up and let me talk. I know you think, everyone fucking thinks, that I could do something like that. I’m telling you, bro: it didn’t happen. I was playing beer pong for, like, six hours. Strip beer pong, but not with her. I mean, she could’ve been with these two guys, and one of them is kind of a dick, but I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know what happened? You literally can’t recall that night? What you did and . . . what you didn’t do?”

  Brian nodded. At first it seemed like he was nodding yes, then no, then yes again. Andrew looked away.

  “My girlfriend dumped me,” he finally said.

  “So you’ll get another one.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Fuck me? Fuck me?” Andrew shouted. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I know what you think of me! I know!” Brian started to weep.

  Andrew’s own eyes were wet. “I don’t know what you want from me, Bri. You’re a mess.”

  Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Andrew listened as Brian tried to calm down and stop crying.

  “I got rough with this girl once in high school,” Brian said.

  “Cynthia?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  Andrew thought back to the myriad of Brian’s girlfriends. Pretty girls who came by the house, tried and failed to please their mother, and eventually drifted and morphed into other pretty girls. Some of them chatted vaguely with Andrew. Cynthia had always been nice to Becky. “She liked dogs,” Andrew said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Cyn got all skinny and shit after we broke up.”

  “I remember.”

  “Maybe I deserve this,” Brian said.

  Andrew bristled. “Deserve what, exactly? So people are suspicious of you. Treat you badly? Like you’re a loser or something? How many people have you treated like that?”

  “Don’t be an asshole. You don’t understand.”

  “I never will.”

  “Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better brother to you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And I’m sorry about Dad.”

  Andrew said nothing.

  “I should’ve done something about that.”

  “It only happened a few times.”

  Brian looked at his feet. “The other night was the worst,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When Dad slugged you?”

  Andrew swallowed and licked his dry lips. “I thought that was you,” he said.

  “I know.” Brian leaned against the wall and slid down. “I know what you all think of me,” he said. He closed his eyes. Saliva bubbled onto his mouth. His grip loosened on the beer can he’d been clutching.

  Andrew watched Brian for a long time. His huge strong body was slumped over and still. He looked like a sleeping giant, which in a way he was. Andrew went to him and took the beer can out of his hand. He hesitated a moment, then tilted his neck and drained what was left. He placed his hand gently on Brian’s forehead.

  Then he closed his eyes and prayed for his brother.

  41

  SUMMER WAS OVER. JANET HAD taken Sara’s ashes and buried them in her garden. It had been a simple ceremony. Andrew had recited the Lord’s Prayer, which Janet had seemed to appreciate. When they’d left the house, he’d run back inside and given her his Bible. She’d been touched, perhaps even a little amused. She’d given him her old smile, her wry Janet smile.

  He and Matt occasionally hung out. They never discussed Laura or Karen, or even Jesus for that matter. John had not returned Andrew’s many phone calls, although Andrew had managed to get out of Matt that John had packed up and left town to do some hiking in Colorado. “He’s on his own journey now,” Matt said. Andrew hoped that that was a good thing.

  He and Matt went bowling with Marcia, went out for pizza, saw a movie every now and then. They went on a disastrous fishing trip in which Matt ended up in the ER with a hook in his pinky. It had been more funny than scary. “You know what?” Matt had said to him after a tetanus shot, pain medication, and minor surgery. “You’re my first secular friend.” Andrew had laughed.

  He told the story to Marcia a few days later.

  “So you’re an atheist again? Welcome back to the fold.”

  “I don’t know what I am,” Andrew said. “Maybe agnostic.”

  “Is that why you prayed at Janet’s house? For Sara?”

  “For Janet,” he said. “I think—I think religion is for the living.”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  His car crept up the mountain to Avella. It was midnight, but Neal’s security guard friend waved them through. Becky woofed hello. She’d become the unofficial mascot of the maintenance and security branches at Avella. Neal and Ben were going to take her in during Andrew’s first year at college, when he was required to live in the dorms and couldn’t have a dog.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Marcia said.

  “Why not?” he said.

  They parked the car by Neal’s office and walked across the perfectly mown lawn.

  “It’s beautiful,” Marcia said.

  “I know.”

  “Like the stately gardens of some nineteenth-century baron. Maybe we shouldn’t be here.”

  “It’s fine, Mar,” he said.

  They reached the pond. It was more like a miniature lake. They had put the finishing touches on it only the week before. It wasn’t deep, but you could definitely submerge yourself. Andrew tied Becky to a bike rack. He and Marcia slipped off their clothes. Both had bathing suits on. Marcia’s one-piece was the same one she’d been wearing for three summers. It was threadbare, and the straps dug into her back. She shivered. They stepped in.

  “Holy mother of God, it’s cold,” Marcia said. They pumped their arms and legs in an attempt to warm up.

  “I envy Brian right now: he’s always hot,” Andrew said, his teeth chattering. Brian had left for preseason training shortly after the charges were dropped. The not-really-speaking routine had resumed between them, but something small had changed. The aggression between them had dulled, and Brian seemed more subdued in general. Andrew didn’t like to think about Brian too much; he was still a strong dark shadow, a furnace, a force of nature that could go in many directions. Andrew was still
frightened of him, and for him.

  “Then he must never be comfortable,” Marcia said.

  “Maybe not,” Andrew said.

  They swam around each other. The water rippled and softly lapped his body. The water started to feel warmer, or at least less uncomfortable.

  “Do you have it?” Andrew said.

  Marcia opened her palm. She held a tiny golden box, a relic of her time in Korea. Inside the box was a bit of Sara’s ashes. He covered her hand with his and closed his eyes. From memory he recited Psalm 23.

  “That’s nice,” Marcia said when he finished. “Something you learned from your born-again girlfriend?”

  “It’s from the Psalms. And they’re not born-again.”

  “Was she ever your girlfriend?”

  “Out of my league. She’s a different species. She’s on a different plane of existence.”

  “I can relate.”

  “I know you can.”

  “Well, I think—”

  “Marcia,” he interrupted. He knew she was nervous, babbling, stalling for time. He reached out with his free hand. Marcia reached back. They were silent. Quiet tears rolled down Marcia’s face. His, too, he realized, as he felt the hot wetness gather in his collarbones.

  They lowered their hands together and released the little golden box.

  “Bye, Sara,” Marcia said. Her voice was a whisper, a ripple on the water.

  The only light came from the stars and moon. It grew dim and bright, dim and bright, as the clouds shifted in the night sky. They were still and silent, lost in their separate thoughts. Marcia shivered. Then she giggled; she actually giggled. It was the first time he’d heard her laugh since Sara had died.

  “What?” he said, smiling at her.

  “Nothing, it’s stupid,” she said.

  “Tell me.”

  She looked at him slyly, a little like Sara.

  “I was just thinking about you and those Christian kids. I mean, at least you got some action this summer.”

  “Care to round out my triumph?”

  “Oh, go to hell, Drew,” she said, and they laughed together.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to gratefully acknowledge the following people: