Alice was not a native islander. She had come fresh out of college to work at the St. Thomas Humane Society as a veterinarian and had stayed for over a decade. She seemed white to Aubrey, but apparently, her father was a light-skinned Brazilian man. Alice had a broad, pretty smile that took up most of her face, tanned skin, dark freckles on her cheeks, and thick, beautiful curly hair that fell to her shoulders.
“You mind helping me with something?” Alice asked.
“Of course not.”
Aubrey followed Alice into the vet’s room. The small room was painted light blue. Its fluorescent lights seemed too bright and hurt the eyes. She squinted a little to get used to it.
In the center of the room was a single brown cot, covered in a thin sheet of white paper. A cat sat in a cage atop the counter against the far wall, by the sink. The cat’s eyes were half closed, its fur uneven and patchy, its face covered in scabs.
“I need you to help me keep her calm,” Alice said.
Aubrey nodded and walked over to the table and opened the cat’s cage. She made a little sucking sound with her teeth. “Come here, cat.”
The cat jerked backward in the cage but then relaxed. Its shoulders lowered, and it moved slowly toward Aubrey’s hands. She reached in and wrapped her hands around the cat’s midsection, lifting it. She could feel the ribs under the thin layer of skin and patchy fur. The cat’s limbs dangled as Aubrey moved it, its eyes thin slits. There was a musty, sickly odor.
Aubrey placed the cat on the cot. She petted it, and it opened its eyes just a little to see her. It purred and shut them again. That easy to establish trust.
“How did you get her?” she asked.
“She’s just a stray. You know.”
Aubrey nodded, petting the cat softly.
“She seems to like you.” Alice went over to the counter. She opened a cabinet and took out some swabs, a small brown bottle, and a needle. “How’s the husband?”
“He’s good.”
Alice smiled. She had been married to an older Dominican man, but it didn’t last more than a year. She never said why. She placed the objects on a table next to the cot.
“He’s retiring in a year,” Aubrey continued. “He won’t say it, but I think it is bothering him a little.”
“You think he’ll miss the students?”
“No, not that. I think he’s worried about what he will be doing once he’s done. He’s been teaching for a long time.”
The cat’s purr got louder. Aubrey felt the vibrations under her hands. Little rumbles of pleasure.
Alice stuck the needle into the small metal cap of the bottle and extracted some bubble gum–colored liquid. “He’ll be okay,” Alice said. “I wish I could retire.”
“No, you don’t. You won’t know what to do with yourself.”
“Isn’t that the point, though? Not knowing? Not needing to know?”
Alice stuck the needle into the cat’s lower neck, right between the shoulder blades. Aubrey felt the purring stop, and a single tiny shudder of the cat’s body under her hands. Its eyes opened; it stared up at Aubrey—thin needlelike pupils wrapped in baby-blue irises—and Aubrey made another little sucking sound.
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
“You ever think of what you’ll do when you retire?” Alice asked.
“Sometimes. I think I’ll travel. Go on a few cruises, maybe.”
“That’s so dull. What do you need a cruise for? You live on an island.”
“People go on cruises for the experience of going on a cruise. Travel’s just the bonus. Besides, I haven’t been to too many islands. I think I should.”
Aubrey felt a little tremor under her hands.
“Maybe we can go on one together,” Alice said. She leaned over the table a little, smiling her big smile.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe we can make it a little trip, just the two of us girls having fun. Why wait for retirement?”
Aubrey felt the cat’s final little shiver. Then stillness, pure and complete. She had the feeling that she was petting carpet wrapped around stone.
“It would be great,” Alice said. “And then—”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“You need any help with this?” Aubrey motioned toward the dead cat with her eyes.
Alice shook her head and then looked away. “You can go back to making the food for the dogs if you want.” She turned and moved back to the countertop, her actions obscured by her back and her hair. “I’ll take care of it.”
“See you at lunch,” Aubrey said as she left.
“See you,” Alice replied softly.
• • •
Ten days before
Patrice went to her usual spot on the stairs by the cafeteria and opened the book, reading as a steady stream of high schoolers passed her by. The constant music of percussive footsteps and giddy chatter melted away into background noise.
Patrice spent most of her lunchtime reading that damn book. She had read through half of it already and hated every word so far. She hated the dismissive tone that the author chose when he described Christianity as just the latest installment in a history of changing beliefs, talking about religion as if it were some ongoing narrative.
Patrice couldn’t help being frustrated. She also couldn’t help but keep reading, each page hitting her harder than the last, like some self-induced mental torture scenario where she pressed the button herself and then couldn’t help pressing again and again.
She wanted to dismiss all of it, the whole thing, as something insignificant. She wanted to say, They’re just stories. They can’t be true. But every time she thought it, she heard Derrick’s voice in her head asking, Why not? Because you heard another story first?
She was familiar with Derrick’s particular form of blasphemy and would shut him up before he said anything too damaging to himself. But now all she had were blasphemous thoughts.
It wasn’t just the book, either. The thoughts brought on by the book were just the latest in a series of personal changes.
Patrice was short and petite like her mother. She was an amalgam of small features: small, thin lips; a tiny, knobby nose; thin, muscled arms; and a long, slender neck. This didn’t apply to her boobs, which had grown large for her size and got the unwelcome attention of boys. Many other girls her age would have welcomed this kind of attention. Some of her friends were particularly boy crazy. But Patrice hated it. She was painfully shy and bookish. She dressed the part: loose-fitting, blue button-up shirts and long pleated skirts. Overcompliant with her school uniform requirements, but this didn’t stop the boys from staring at her breasts.
To add to this, Patrice had begun running track and played the flute in the marching band. This significantly strengthened her legs and thighs. Some of the boys from class, the same ones who made fun of her for being a teacher’s pet, would come to track practices and sit in the stands. When she came out on the field in her shorts, they would yell, “Look at Trice’s bana, me boy! And them breasts! You better cup those breasts or they’ll fall off!” Red faced—visible even with her milky-brown complexion—she would run with her arms close to her chest, and her hands balled up like a boxer’s.
This didn’t do much for Patrice’s opinion of boys. In fact, the attention had done more to extinguish any potential desires than to kindle them. Most days, Patrice found herself hating boys.
With the exception of one.
This was the biggest change.
She had grown up with Derrick. The longevity of their friendship placed him completely out of bounds. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. But all the while, she found herself hopelessly drowning in new emotions.
• • •
Lisa came by Jackson’s classroom during lunchtime. When he got up to greet her, she pulled him in for a hug. She had go
ne for the shoulders, so Jackson had no choice but to take the waist. The hug was tight and long. At first, it was her. But when she loosened up, Jackson found himself holding her tighter. He thought to let go a few times before he actually did. And when he did, they spent another few moments just standing close, Jackson’s hand still on her waist.
Footsteps just outside the door made them separate. He sat at his desk. She pulled a chair and sat close to him.
“How are you?” Jackson asked.
“I’m good. Been having trouble sleeping.” She was looking at her lap. He followed her eyes down and settled on her legs. She was wearing a short maroon dress.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I just have a lot on my mind.” She looked up at him and the intensity of her gaze startled him a little.
“You worried about what you’re going to do after grad school?”
“That’s one of many things I’m worried about. Don’t remind me.”
“You’re a kid. You have time to figure it out.”
“I’m a woman.” She smiled. “I was thinking of traveling maybe. Getting out of here for a while. I’m feeling claustrophobic.”
“Sounds good.”
“Have you ever traveled?”
“A little. Nothing out of the Caribbean and the States.”
“Ever thought of going abroad?”
“Yes. But I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“My wife’s not a big fan.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Yes.”
“So your wife. What she like?”
Jackson cringed a little. He looked at Lisa, trying to decipher her like a puzzle. “She’s nice. A little bossy when she wants to be.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Twenty-three years.”
“How old is she?”
“A lot of questions, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.”
“She’s forty-three.”
“A younger woman.” She uncrossed and crossed her legs.
Jackson watched. He cleared his throat. “The other night, you—”
“So what did you think of the story?”
“It’s good.”
“Good enough that I could submit it somewhere?”
“Yes. Just needs a little work.”
“I really appreciate this.” She leaned toward him a little.
“It’s no problem.”
He pulled the story manuscript out of his bag. He had marked it up quite a bit, but he wasn’t lying. The prose was beautiful. Like so many of her stories, it had a romantic theme. In places, it was a little too sentimental, but overall, it was exceptional. He gave her the pages and watched as she reviewed his comments and corrections. A few times, he noted the changes in her expression. At one point, she stopped and stared at the page for a long time.
“You think this is too sentimental?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Your character. To say that she could never find another man she could love but him is simplistic, naive. Love doesn’t work that way. People fall into love. And more often than not, they fall out of it. She’s known him for only three weeks and she already thinks she has a love that will last forever?”
Lisa adjusted in her chair and took a deep breath. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees, holding the paper loosely. The dress was low-cut. Jackson could see the lacy outline of her bra.
“You don’t believe love can happen that fast?”
“Attraction, yes. Love, no. And I think most people share my opinion.”
She sat back up in her seat, her legs open slightly. “How long did you know your wife before you married her?”
“A year. And even then, I wasn’t sure.”
“So what made you sure?”
“I don’t know if it happened like that for me. I don’t think I made my decision on certainty.”
“So what did you make it on?”
“Compatibility. We seemed to fit.” He paused, looking at her. “And love, of course.”
“Of course.”
She started reading through Jackson’s comments again. Every time she turned the page, she looked at him and waited for him to meet her eyes before reading again. Jackson didn’t know what to make of the action, but he was finding it hard to sit still. He felt tense, sensitive, as though he could easily break.
A few weeks ago, as had become her custom over the years, Lisa had returned after a short hiatus with a sheaf of stories she wanted him to look over. And so he did. It was odd, he thought, after all those years, but he really did enjoy helping, and their conversations were always about the writing. The asking about his personal life, the texting his phone on the weekends and late at night—that was a new thing.
When Lisa was done, she put the paper back on his desk. “Jack. Why not go abroad on your own?”
“I don’t know about that. I have a family.”
“Your daughter. She’s a junior isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“You have any younger kids?”
“No.”
“You should go, then. You could teach abroad for a year. It’s something I’m thinking about. How long until you retire?”
“Lisa.”
“Yes.”
“I … maybe we shouldn’t meet like this anymore.”
“Why not?”
Jackson didn’t say anything. The silence lingered uninterrupted. He could smell her, the sweet smell of whatever she was wearing. He tried not to pay attention to every breath she took, the way it looked in that tight dress. But he had to catch himself a few times. He felt hot all over.
Lisa’s face slowly moved from concern to something else. Jackson didn’t want to decipher the expression, but it made him feel guilty somehow. Then it changed again to recognition. She let out a sigh. She got up without a word and started toward the door, her steps slow, each click of her shoes painfully deliberate. He watched each step, the way her calf muscles flexed.
She stopped at the door and turned. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her face was blank, indecipherable. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just … well, thanks for your help.” And then she was gone.
Jackson got another text later that night, before bed.
You ever wonder how all these
rules for human behavior came
to exist?
He stared at the message for a while and then decided to answer.
Sometimes.
It’s just exhausting. We run around
in circles trying to do what’s right.
Trying to be good. And in the end
we’re just tired. Sometimes I wish
the whole world would just stop
and say let’s start over. Let’s make
new rules. Don’t you think that would
be better? Don’t you think we
would all be happier?
Maybe.
You ever get tired, Jack? You
ever think that there is more
and you’re just missing it
because you are too busy trying
to do what’s “right”?
Jackson didn’t respond. He turned his phone off and went to bed, tossing and turning through the night.
• • •
Nine days before
Aubrey had moved most of the dogs into the play area. She kept the violent ones in their kennels; she would have to let them out separately. The good ones ran around and played, and she kept an eye on them as she washed out the open kennels with the high-powered hose. The radio was on, and Aubrey half-listened to the news report. A woman with a soft, youthful voice and an Engl
ish accent talked excitedly. Apparently, an object would pass by Earth in a little over a week. There was a lot of speculation about what it might be. Aubrey could not pretend to care. She was more tired than usual; Jackson had kept her up all night with his crazy sleep. She felt as if she were weighed down by bricks.
As she worked and watched the dogs play, her mind drifted off to secret things.
It had happened a few years ago. Aubrey was drunk at the time. They were in a bathroom stall. Now she couldn’t remember how she got there. It was an accident; that’s what she had told herself. She didn’t stop the hand from going under her dress. Their lips had touched, and she was surprised. She didn’t expect it to feel good. She remembered the heat of it, all over her, between her thighs, the ringing in her ears. She grinded as the finger made circles inside her.
When the bathroom door opened and a group of women entered talking excitedly, Aubrey came back to her senses. She stopped the whole thing, waited for the women to leave, and then left the stall, alone.
“Wait,” Alice whispered.
Aubrey ignored her.
Nothing happened after that.
But Aubrey’s world was shook. She didn’t know what her feelings were. She had been married to a man all her adult life—a good man, she had thought. But what if …
Years passed, and it didn’t matter. Life moved on, and it didn’t matter. She pretended her world was as it always had been. And she found that it was easy for a while. Lately, though, it was getting harder to pretend that something wasn’t wrong.
• • •
Six days before
After school, Derrick had to go to Max Mart, a small grocery store across the street, where he worked. That meant Patrice had to wait until her dad was done grading papers before they could leave school. As usual, Dad stopped at the grocery store to pick up some stuff that Mom needed for her baking projects. And as usual, Patrice stayed in the car. Thankfully, Dad had left the keys.
The parking lot of Pueblo Supermarket was crowded. Patrice watched as bag boys ran grocery carts to the cars of patrons, as kids stomped behind their indifferent parents, as an old man walked back and forth in the lot talking to himself, and as the mango lady next to the road talked and laughed loudly with her friends and customers.
The Lesson Page 2