Chapter 7 #2
Around five o’clock, Dad took pity on me and suggested I start loading the cars.
It gave me a break from my grandparents’ presence and came with the added bonus of playing on my phone when no one was looking.
It was still ungodly hot outside, and I sweated from every crevice as I shoved a bag of couch cushions into the trunk of Grandma and Grandpa’s Lincoln.
“It must feel strange, going through his things,” said a voice.
I spun around to find Aubrey Calhoun standing at the top of the driveway, holding the leash of a golden retriever who clearly wanted to keep walking. Great. I had escaped my grandparents only to be ambushed by this Stepford wife in training. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“Why are you here?” I asked loudly, not caring how rude I sounded. It had been a long day, and I couldn’t tell whether I smelled of sweat or mothballs, and Candor and Emma weren’t here to play nice in front of.
“I live here,” she said pointedly, gesturing down the street.
“Oh. Right.”
There was a pause.
“George was always nice,” Aubrey went on. “He used to throw the tennis ball for Magnolia sometimes.” She petted the retriever’s head. “I think she misses him.”
“Well, I’m sorry for her loss.”
Aubrey wasn’t put off by my snark. She continued to stand there, watching me play Tetris with the contents of Grandpa’s trunk. “Do y’all need any help?”
I peered suspiciously at her. What was she angling for?
She seemed to read my mind, because she slipped into a disbelieving laugh. “Oh, come on, have you lost all your Southern niceties? It’s standard practice to ask if your neighbor needs help.”
“Even if you don’t mean it?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe I do mean it.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. What did she want? Why was she lingering? Why did she look infuriatingly pretty in that pink racerback top?
“I saw Daddy’s billboard,” I said, trying to get under her skin. “Must be fun to drive past that every day.”
The lightest patch of color flared on her cheeks, and I felt entirely too pleased that I’d put it there. “Isn’t it your family’s billboard?” she shot back.
Before I could answer, another voice joined the fray. “Who’s this, now?”
Grandpa had stepped outside, carrying a toaster with the cord dangling dangerously near his feet. “Are you raffling off George’s stuff to the neighbors, Louisa?” He chuckled like it was a clever joke, and I prayed for that cord to dangle just a little bit closer to his foot.
“No, Grandpa, we were just talking.”
“Hi, Mr. Wade, I’m Aubrey Calhoun,” Aubrey said brightly, raising a palm in greeting. She tugged the golden retriever’s leash. “And this is Magnolia.”
Grandpa lumbered down the steps and down the driveway. “Well, can’t say I like dogs much, but it’s nice to meet a good human. You’re Rhett’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good man,” Grandpa declared. “Building a good program. I’m sure you’re proud of him.”
“Yes, sir.” Aubrey’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, which didn’t make sense to me. She had seemed to gloat about her dad at Emma’s house the other night.
“In fact,” Grandpa said, swaggering closer like we’d asked him to be the star of our conversation, “let me find something for your father. George had some neat memorabilia from his years as—”
“Oh, Mr. Wade, that is very generous of you, but don’t worry about it.”
“No, no, I insist,” Grandpa said with a dismissive wave. “I’ll be right back.” He shoved the toaster at me and lumbered back up the driveway.
“He’s nice,” Aubrey offered.
I gave her an impatient look. “He’s a jerk.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You really don’t do pleasantries, huh?”
“Not unless they’re actually pleasant.”
A beat of silence passed. “Look,” Aubrey said bracingly, as if we had finally cut past the bullshit, “I’m sorry you didn’t know about the football complex.
You know, at … at the Frisky Cricket. And I’m sorry you had to hear it from me.
I know what it’s like to learn things about your own life from other people, especially someone you dislike. ”
I studied her, trying to see beneath the layers. Who in Aubrey’s life was telling her truths about herself? Was it her dad? The Rustin gossip mill?
“I never said I disliked you,” I replied.
“You’re not exactly hard to read,” she said flatly. “Candor has always described you as ‘earnest.’” She paused. “Which I took to mean kind, but I guess that was my mistake.”
I faltered. I knew I was being mean to this girl, but it was another thing to hear it stated explicitly. For just a moment, I wanted to say, I’m really sorry. I’m going through something and I haven’t shown you the best side of me—
“How ’bout this, then?” Grandpa called, reappearing on the front steps. He brought Aubrey a framed photograph of the old Rustin football stadium. A generous person would have described it as vintage, given the age and faded color. To Grandpa, I knew it was trash.
“Oh, my dad will love this,” Aubrey replied, and I couldn’t tell if she was lying or not. I got the sense Grandpa could have handed her an old toenail and she would have fawned over it.
“You tell him we sent it along,” Grandpa told her.
“I will, Mr. Wade, thank you.”
“Well, Louisa, there’s more to be done,” Grandpa said, clapping me on the shoulder as if he’d read a pamphlet entitled How to Feign Affection in Front of Strangers.
“Grandma needs your help scrubbing the oven.” He turned back to Aubrey with a gleam in his eyes, as if he couldn’t wait for her to tell her dad how magnanimous he had been.
“Lovely meeting you, Miss Calhoun. You make sure you tell your parents we said hello.”
“I will, sir. Good luck with the clean out.”
Grandpa nodded and ambled back up the driveway. I sighed, opened the trunk to fit the toaster inside, and slammed it shut. When I turned back around, Aubrey was watching me closely.
“What?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Nothing.” Her eyes darted up to Uncle George’s house. “It’s a nice home. I hope you had lots of happy memories with him here.”
I wasn’t sure if she intended him to mean my grandfather or Uncle George. She couldn’t have known that neither assumption was correct, though for entirely different reasons.
“Yeah,” I said vaguely. “I mean … it’s no mansion, like your house.”
The look on her face was impossible to read. “Mansions have a lot of empty space,” she said finally. “Come on, Magnolia, let’s go.”
She tugged the dog’s leash and continued her walk without looking back at me, and I watched her go with a confusing stab of guilt in my stomach.