Chapter 16
Aston
Dear Diary,
Why did no one tell me how prickly straw is?
XOXO
-A
PRESENT DAY
The Sunday following the party crawls by at a snail’s pace, and to say I’ve been insufferable to be around as I counted down the seconds to when I’d see Vale again would be an understatement.
If I didn’t give myself an ulcer, I definitely gave Eden at least two.
Even going to the pumpkin patch—my first time!
I bought the biggest pumpkin I could find.
It’s got this deep crease down the middle of one side making it look like it has butt cheeks.
His name is Gourdon, and he’s my pride and joy—and working on my new garden, cleaning out the beds and whatnot to prepare for the coming winter, wasn’t enough to distract me.
More than once, not only Eden, but Tillie, demanded to know what was going on when I could hardly sit still or focus, Tillie even going so far as to ask me if I messed up my meds. And all I could do was stare at her wide-eyed and twitchy, shrug, and tell her I was just happy.
Which wasn’t a lie. I’m very happy currently. Life in Crowley is going splendidly thus far, if I do say myself.
When Monday morning finally arrives, Tillie all but shoves me out the house before I can so much as get say good morning to a sleep-rumpled Eden shuffling down the steps—he’s got a dentist appointment this morning, so he’ll be going in late—shooing me off with a reminder to behave.
She tells me this every day before school, though usually she isn’t in such a blatant rush to be rid of me. She also doesn’t usually tack on a rushed, “Andpleasebesafe,” before all but slamming the door in my face.
Have I been that obvious?
Whirling around with a dramatic flourish that sends the tasseled fabric of my scarf rippling in the breeze, I take the stone-cobbled path leading to puke-green station wagon waiting for me in the driveway.
“Morning, Pops,” I chirp merrily upon plopping myself in the passenger seat. Walter looks about as pleased by my proximity as I feel on the inside.
“We needed to leave ten minutes ago,” he says by way of greeting.
I spread my hands helplessly. “You’d think uniforms would make it easier to decide what to wear, but you’d be surprised.” Not to mention my hair decided today of all days that it wanted to stick up every which way.
With a shake of his head, he turns the key, kicking on the grumbly engine.
And with it, the radio. It’s set to some heavy rock station, which surprises me.
Even more so when he cranks up the volume, though perhaps that’s just to make a point he’s not in the mood for any chit-chat, rather than an indication he’s a fan of this song.
Who knows though? Wouldn’t surprise me if there’s a rebel without a cause hiding beneath all that tweed, wriggling to get out and stir up some chaos.
Daddy dearest just screams tragically repressed.
Rolling the window down halfway, I lean my head on the lip of glass, blinking away the wind assaulting my face as I try not to focus too much on the fact this is my first time alone in such tight quarters with Tillie’s husband.
With autumn now in full swing, painting the town in shades of red and gold, the scent of sweet death is in the air, crisp and pungent.
It reminds me of the library we had at Ashwood—a small corner of the rec room—all leather-bound books and yellowed pages, dust clinging to just about every untouched surface.
Some days, I’d sit by the barred window overlooking the courtyard, flipping through the pages of an old book, imagining I was a scholar at Oxford studying for his next big exam.
There was a big maple tree just outside, and it would shake and rustle, thwapping its branches against the window as if trying to get me to come out and play.
I often imagined sitting out there instead, under that tree, with my back to the trunk and my knees pulled up to my chest, toes sinking into the earth. A book in my lap, its pages fluttering in the breeze.
There would be no orderlies standing around, eyeing me up, waiting for the next time I wanted something, or needed to be dragged to the Pit.
There would be no timer ticking down the minutes to when the buzzer would go off, summoning us back inside.
I’d be free.
Walter slows the car to a crawl, flipping on the blinker. Wind tosses my hair around, and something wet splashes my cheek. A glance up shows thick gray rain clouds gathering above the trees, making the leaves look even more vibrant. Like they’re on fire.
Just as I go to reach out and collect the drops on my fingers, a new song comes on the radio—starting off more mellow than what was previously playing.
Haunting.
And achingly familiar.
It’s instantaneous, the way my body responds.
Devastating, even if on the outside, you’d be none the wiser.
My stomach bottoms out, like someone reached inside me and tore open a seam I didn’t know was there. A seam that was holding vital parts of me together.
The hollowness in the wake of such an unexpected blow to the infrastructure that keeps me sane has me mentally grappling for some kind of handhold. Anything to keep me from tumbling into oblivion.
Spots dance along the edges of my vision. A cold sweat breaks out across the back of my neck.
As if watching outside myself, I see a pale hand thrust toward the dash, fingers scrambling for the buttons on the radio.
I’m dimly aware of someone speaking. But the roar flooding my ears is too loud to make any sense of it.
It’s not until there’s an explosion of static filling the car—loud and grating—that I snap back into my body with a gasp.
I blink a couple times, trying to catch my bearings.
Next to me, Walter clutches the steering wheel. It takes moment longer than it probably should to notice we’re no longer moving.
He pulled over.
Slowly, slowly, he reaches for the radio, lowering the volume. He adjusts the tuner to a channel that gets a signal—another rock station, but fortunately not the one we’d just been listening to.
A throat clears. “Not a fan of The Animals?”
I give a short shake of my head.
“Should I turn around?”
Another shake of my head.
Vale, I remind myself, grabbing hold of his name—the promise of seeing him soon, even if it’s just from afar—like an anchor in a storm.
Everything will be okay when I see Vale again.
There’s a loaded moment where I feel like Walt might say something else, but whatever it is, he must think better of. Instead, he shifts the car back into Drive, and pulls away from the curb.
Nothing more is said for the remainder of the short drive, giving me ample time to get my shit under control.
I force myself to focus on the sights, imagining myself as a member of the houses we pass that are all decked out for Halloween.
Imagining what it would’ve been like if Vale and I grew up in a home that put pumpkins out on the porch.
Hung wreaths on the door. Cloaked the hedges with lights and cobwebs.
Several houses have these monster sized skeletons standing guard in their front yards, that I simply adore and covet desperately.
If they weren’t so damn expensive, I would’ve already bought a dozen to put in our front yard. But, alas, I can’t even afford one currently, much less an army. But Tillie said maybe we’ll get one next year.
Those words alone were enough to snuff out my disappointment and replace it with something far more asphyxiating: hope.
A year is a long time for me to behave.
Minutes later, we turn up the private gated road leading to Grady Prep.
It slowly reveals itself as traffic inches forward steadily, dark and gloomy as ever.
A castle buried in a sea of red and orange-tinged trees, the hazy, buttery sun peeks out from behind, casting the weathered brick in shadows. I could almost weep at the sight.
Do they grieve their fallen prince inside?
Does Cinderella wait for me in his tower?
My mouth kicks up into a predatory leer at the thought, one that is tinged with a little more edge than normal.
Bouncing my knee impatiently, I wait for Walt to pull into his spot. I don’t even wait for him to shift into Park before undoing my belt and reaching for the door handle, flinging it open. I’ve got my feet planted on the pavement, and am just about to jump up, when his voice stops me.
“Aston.”
At the unfamiliar sound of my name falling from his lips, I cock my head. He rarely ever speaks directly to me. Much less with that…tone.
Worried.
Twisting my body to look over my shoulder, I say oh so politely, “Yes?”
His lips are pursed as he stares off at some unseen spot through the windshield, and the longer he remains silent, the more impatient I get. Agitated.
“Hell-oh-oh?” I croon with more bite than usual. “Earth to Walter.” I even snap my fingers for good measure.
He gives his head a little shake, flits me a look, before returning his sights ahead. His hands squeeze the leather steering wheel. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”
Eyes wide, I mouth, “Ooookay.”
Such a strange fella.
With a shake of my head, I climb out of the car, slamming the door behind me without a backward glance.
I slip the headphones over my ears. Pat Benatar’s “Love is A Battlefield” kicks on when I hit Play, silencing the sounds of cars pulling in behind me, and the chatter from the students trickling toward the doors, and the lingering weirdness I’d much rather pretend doesn’t exist.
Pulling a cherry Blow Pop from my pocket, I unwrap it and pop the candy in my mouth. Sucking furiously on it. A quick glance at my phone shows it’s ten to eight.
Perfect.
Despite running late, there’s still enough time to visit my little mouse before the bell.
Strutting my stuff up the steps, head held high, I mouth along to the music playing in my ears. A teacher I don’t recognize stands guard outside the doors I enter through. She curls her lip at me, and I blow her a kiss.
See? Everything’s just fine.