Chapter 30
— Chapter 30 —
The details come out in pieces over the next several weeks. Aubrey reminds me of the coyote who used to hang behind The Aster late at night—shying away from direct attention, but always circling, engaging when I least expect. I don’t know much about kids, except for remembering the way I wished people would treat me. It took so long to work up the nerve to tell anyone anything, and then I’d feel the blistering creep of embarrassment if I shared more than I’d intended.
Aubrey asked about my work schedule and shifted hers. On my days off, she comes straight home after school, throws a pair of Step’s work gloves in the back pocket of her jeans, and finds me wherever I’m working. She seems to like the puzzle of house repair, which is what I like about it too. When I tell her she doesn’t have to help, that she should go do teenage things, she raises her eyebrows at me like I’m talking nonsense.
So far Aubrey has helped me reattach the siding out front and replace the disintegrating flapper in the toilet tank. We fixed the leaky faucet in the kitchen, put new weather stripping on the doors, and caulked all the windows on the first floor. Aubrey used the internet at school to research how to fix loose tile, and we re-grouted the ones in the entryway. Step had the materials in the basement; he just hadn’t gotten around to doing the work. Aubrey also asked Mr. Gioletti how we could figure out if the well water is drinkable. He was so thrilled to be asked that he ordered a test kit for us and told her if she presented the results to her biology class, he’d give her extra credit. So now we know our water is safe and don’t have to spend money on bottled.
We’ve cleaned the gutters we can reach with Step’s ladder, pulling out the rows of tiny trees, their roots woven together. Just as I was getting sad over the idea of throwing away saplings who have fought so hard to grow, Aubrey said, “I feel like we should plant them in the woods.” So we gently separated their roots and found a sparse spot beyond the deer fence where we could plant them together—close, but not too close—to give them room to grow. I think they might make it. Some of them, at least.
While she was holding the ladder for me, Aubrey talked about how Kelly split her stretch pants in gym class, and she was proud of herself for not laughing—and how Shray does the best Michael Scott impersonation she’s ever heard.
I don’t let on that I don’t know who Michael Scott is. And I don’t ask too many questions. I collect what she tells me when she feels like talking and try to compile the story on my own. I don’t ever want Aubrey to feel like the details of her private life are some kind of currency she needs to exchange for my support.
It was Carter, she tells me while we snake the bathtub drain, trying not to gag at the scummy hairball that emerges. They weren’t really dating; he was just around a lot. Kelly started the rumor months after the fact. Aubrey wasn’t even friends with Shray back when everything actually happened, so it’s ridiculous that Steena blamed him. “Plus, Shray isn’t into girls,” Aubrey says, plunging the spiky plastic snake into the drain one more time to make sure we got all the hair we can reach.
On our next chore day, we fix the downstairs bathroom door. That was the one my mother most liked to slam. There’s a hairline crack down the middle, and the hinge screws are loose. We don’t know how to fix the crack yet, but Aubrey looked up a trick for filling screw holes with toothpicks and wood glue so you can drill into them again like it’s fresh wood.
While we’re gluing, Aubrey tells me she found a hanger in her locker that was covered in red paint—still wet—but it was on the day Kelly was out of school having her wisdom teeth removed. Aubrey doesn’t think Carter cares enough to do something like that, but it could have been anyone who heard the rumor. Aubrey told Bee about the hangers, but then worried Bee would have to report it, so she tried to backtrack and say it didn’t really happen.
“I don’t think Bee believes you on that count,” I tell her.
“Yeah,” Aubrey says. “I don’t think she does either, but maybe it saves her from getting in trouble for not reporting it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want her to?”
Aubrey looks at the ceiling. “I keep thinking—what if they did this to someone who actually had to get an abortion? Like maybe I should report it because it might stop that person from being bullied.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “But if someone gets in trouble for this, all their friends will be mad at me, and it will just get worse. If I don’t react, maybe they’ll get bored. I keep my books in Shray’s locker now.”
I’m not sure if Bee should report it, but I think Aubrey’s right about the way things would play out. “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” I say, which hardly seems like enough.
“I know I did the right thing getting the morning-after pill,” Aubrey says, trying to shove one more toothpick into the door frame. “I was being responsible.” She gives up on the last toothpick. It won’t fit. She uses it to smooth out the wood glue and sticks it to the newspaper we have spread on the floor to catch spills. “I’d never get out of Somers if I had a kid.” She’s acting so calm and logical, but I know even when you have logic on your side, if people are set on drowning you in shame, it’s pretty hard to breathe.