Chapter 20 #3
“That’s what grief is, though,” Hannah said gently. “It’s messy and ugly and unfinished. If we could wrap it up in a neat, tiny bow, we would just call it the end and get on to the next thing.”
“Does it ever go away?”
“No,” she said immediately. She waited until I met her eyes. “But it softens. It stretches. You learn to breathe around it.”
I surveyed the wreckage around me and breathed.
“On a less dramatic note,” Hannah said, “I do have an invitation for you. Book a flight for October, yeah?”
I froze, realizing what she was talking about. “Wait. For your wedding?”
“No, for Indigenous Peoples’ Day. Yes, for our wedding, you ding-dong.”
A warm, sunlit feeling spread over me. “Wow. Thank you. I’d love to.”
“You and Hatch can fight over who gets to be the flower girl.”
I snorted and leaned back, matching my posture to Hannah’s, our heads turned up toward the evening sky. “Nah. That’s a job for RuPaw.”
“Already asked her,” Hannah deadpanned. “She wasn’t interested. Said she’s tired of frilly dresses.”
“Get her a South Daqueerta shirt instead. See if that sweetens the deal.”
“Maybe I’ll get her a jumpsuit.”
“Give her Hatch’s gardening hat. Then she’ll really feel powerful.”
Hannah snickered, and my heart bloomed, and we went on like that, talking nonsense until the sun fell behind the tree line.
A few days passed before I gathered the courage to talk to Aubrey.
I dragged myself around the house, slowly gathering my things to pack for my return flight, while I checked my phone over and over to see if she had sent me another text.
I still hadn’t responded to the one she had sent the morning after the fire.
Aubrey Calhoun: Louisa, I am so sorry to hear about the Frisky Cricket. Thank God you’re okay. Please let me know if you need anything.
It was so very Aubrey to offer her help, even after the disastrous fight we’d had at the banquet. And I knew she meant it. I knew she would be gracious even when I didn’t deserve it. It made me miss her in a way that physically hurt.
Finally, on the day Hannah and Baker left for Hannah’s birthday trip to Atlanta, I responded to Aubrey’s message.
Me: I heard you’re dog sitting Jolene. Would it be okay if I came by?
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
Aubrey Calhoun: Sure. See you soon.
Hannah and Baker’s bungalow looked even more welcoming in the daylight.
I parked behind Aubrey’s car and made my way slowly to the front door, my hands in my pockets, my heart in my throat.
Aubrey swung the door open and stepped out barefoot, wearing a cropped Gramick T-shirt, her hair loose and long and reflecting the sunlight.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly, trying my best to maintain eye contact. “Thanks for letting me stop by.”
She squinted at me like she was checking for signs of illness. “You look okay.”
“Just okay?” I teased.
“You know what I mean. Unscathed.”
“Mostly.”
There was a ruckus as Jolene, followed quickly by Magnolia, came flying through the door and jumped on me. Aubrey ushered the dogs back inside and beckoned me to follow them to the backyard, which she had decided was her favorite part of the house.
“There’s just so much green space,” she said, gesturing unnecessarily at the vast expanse of yard. “And look—over there—see that pond? With the fountain and the bench?”
“It’s beautiful,” I agreed.
“It’s a sanctuary,” she said emphatically.
I looked sideways at her. “Aubrey…”
She looked at me, waiting.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. About the banquet.
I messed up big time. I … I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been for you, watching me lose control like that.
Worrying that you could be next.” I cleared my throat and sniffed.
“The last few weeks, I was trying so hard to make you feel safe. And then I went and ruined it.”
Aubrey pursed her lips. Nodded toward the patio. “Come sit, Louisa.”
Wordlessly, I followed her to sit on the back steps. It felt just like that night at the Cricket, when I’d kissed her. Or that night on her garage roof, when we’d stretched our bare legs and finally said something real.
“It’s not your job to make me feel safe, Louisa. That’s my job.” Aubrey’s voice was quiet but brave. “Your job is to believe in me.”
I met her eyes. “I do.”
“Meeting you this summer was a godsend. You showed me what’s waiting on the other side.
You gave me a model of how I could do this.
” She reached for my hand and rubbed her thumb over mine.
“So yeah, you messed up. But I also understand it. I mean, I keep thinking, like, what if George had been out? Would it have made life easier for me? Would it have opened a pathway with my dad? Am I selfish for even entertaining that idea? George barely even knew me. He owed me nothing. He was just a human being trying to figure this shit out with the weight of the world on his back, and how can I hold that against him when I know exactly how it feels?”
I squeezed her hand. “You’re a good person, Aubrey.”
“I hope this goes without saying, but I didn’t know about the deal. That it had gone through. I just wasn’t sure how to answer you in front of my dad. I was terrified for him to see us talking at all.”
I swallowed. “I know. And I’m so sorry.”
Aubrey’s eyes ticked over to mine. “I’m sorry, too. For not understanding how painful that night was for you. For worrying about my dad’s reaction instead of yours.”
I shook my head. “I would have done the same in your position. Your dad is … well…”
Aubrey smiled wryly. “The worst?”
I laughed. “Something like that.”
“I came out to him.”
I inhaled sharply. “You’re kidding.”
She released my hand and shifted to watch the dogs. “It wasn’t great. But it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.”
I waited.
“I’ll spare you the uglier parts of what he said. Most of them were wholly unoriginal.” She chewed her lip, still watching the dogs. “But … he didn’t fight me on the truth of it. That’s what I was most worried about, deep down. That he wouldn’t believe something I know in my bones to be true.”
“Yeah. I understand that.”
“Do you think he’ll ever get it?”
“No,” I said right away. “But maybe he’ll learn that he doesn’t have to.”
Aubrey let that settle. She turned to me and took my hand again. “When do you leave?”
“Next Wednesday. Hannah’s birthday.” I smiled sadly. “She hasn’t let me hear the end of it, but that was the best option for flights.”
Aubrey nodded. “I don’t want to say something cheesy about how I’ll miss you.”
I bumped her shoulder. “Are you sure? Could be cute.”
She rolled her eyes, then became serious again. “Do you think—would it be okay—if maybe we met up sometime in the fall? I hear there are, like, trains in Philly and Connecticut?”
“There are,” I said with a smile. “And yes, I would love that.”
She exhaled like she had been holding her breath all day, and it dawned on me that she had been nervous to ask me. The idea of it made my face warm. I took her hand and kissed it before I lost my nerve.
Aubrey blushed but tried to pretend she hadn’t. She grabbed a tennis ball and threw it long for the dogs. “So, um. Are you ready to go home?”
Home. There was that elusive word again.
In truth, I had been feeling something close to grief at the thought of leaving Rustin again.
Aubrey’s words from that night on the roof came back to me: Maybe the only real way to honor someone when they’re gone is to be honest about where it leaves us.
Surely that applied to a place as well. I was leaving Rustin, and I was still learning where that left me.
“There’s one big thing that feels like unfinished business,” I said after a moment. I paused, trying to articulate. “Uncle George’s urn. I hate the thought of it living at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.”
Aubrey’s eyes ticked over mine. “I think I know the answer to this, but can you or your dad ask them for it?”
I gave her a grim, knowing smile. She nodded resignedly.
“Maybe one day, once they’ve passed on as well…,” she started.
I steeled myself to voice the dangerous idea I’d been sitting on for a few days. “Or…”
“Or?”
I looked straight into her eyes. “I could steal his ashes. And scatter them at the Frisky Cricket, where he belongs.”
Aubrey blinked. My heart dangled on a precipice, waiting for her reaction. This was a girl who lived by niceties and pleasantries, whose notion of propriety was like something of a spiritual bedrock. Surely the crime of grave robbing went far beyond her limits.
“We’ll take the Audi,” she said suddenly, and my eyes went wide. “I’ll be your getaway car.”
We planned the heist for the one time it was guaranteed my grandparents wouldn’t be home: Sunday morning.
“So church is at nine thirty A.M.,” I said for the umpteenth time, “but they always get there by 9:05 to snag one of the front pews. If you pick me up around nine o’clock, that should give us a good—”
“A good couple of hours,” Aubrey finished, giving me a look that meant We’ve been over this seventeen times. “I know. And you’re sure that key is in its hiding spot?”
“Actually, no,” I admitted, because how was I supposed to guarantee they still kept a key under the flowerpot? Grandma switched around the porch décor every season; she very well could have switched the key to a birdhouse. “Which is why … I’m gonna steal my dad’s.”
Aubrey hiked her eyebrows. “You’re stealing two things on Sunday?”
I winked. “Let’s hope Grandma and Grandpa are praying for my soul.”