Chapter 14 Audrey #2
“Well, I do want to go to the game,” I say, reaching for some bacon.
Memories of games past flash through my head—the Core Four sitting in the bleachers, tenth row up, forty-yard line; Micah with a flask; Jasmine and me, always cold, wrapped in a blanket; Beck bellowing encouragement.
“But I . . . Well, I have other things, too. Kind of a bucket list for the weekend. The most important thing was to see you three.”
Beck is rubbing her upper leg, I notice.
Jasmine’s eyes are shiny with tears, and Micah nods.
She’s sad. Not crying sad, but deeply, deeply sad.
I wonder why, because she has a son and her husband, and rumor is that they’re a happy family.
Her husband was in our class. I can’t remember his name, but I feel like he was a good guy.
The fog is drifting down.
“What are some of the other things?” Micah asks.
“What? Oh, right.” I pull out my phone. “I have a list. The bucket-list things.”
“I love lists,” Micah says. “Couldn’t run the bakery without them.” She holds out her hand. Does she want my fork? Oh, my phone. I hand it over.
“‘Number one,’” she reads. She pauses, her eyes filling with tears, and her voice grows husky.
“‘Get the band back together and forgiveness.’” I guess my syntax was off when I wrote it.
I hear a little hiccup of a sob from Beck or Jasmine.
“Okay, okay, no crying,” Micah says. “We did plenty of that last night.” She clears her throat and looks back at the list. “Ooh, now it’s getting juicy.
” She gives me a sly smile, and her blue eyes are mischievous.
I remember how irreverent she was, always up for fun, always getting the rest of us to do something daring, like seeing if we could get strange men to pay for our burgers at the Blue Benn or jumping into Miller’s Pond from the highest rocks.
“‘Number two,’” Micah says. “‘Feel like I’m in love.’”
“So your husband . . . not quite the one?” Beck asks, and I love her for how direct she is, because for one, I can follow the conversation, and for two, it cuts right to the chase.
“He’s . . . fine,” I say, and then we’re all laughing, that thread that tied us together flashing gold once again.
“He’s a nice guy,” I add, feeling a little guilty.
“But he never got over his first wife, who was perfect, by all . . .” The word is gone.
By all exits? By all accurate? What was I saying?
“How’d she die?” Jasmine asks.
“Caroline? Sad story. She was mauled. Fun fact—you can’t outrun a grizzly.” I have no idea where that came from. Oh. A podcast. I listen to a podcast about animal attacks.
Beck chokes on her coffee and bends over, laughing. Micah and Jasmine, too.
“She actually did die that way,” I say, deadpan. Their laughter stops.
“Shit!” Beck says. “Are you serious?”
“No,” I say. “It was cancer.”
Horribly, this makes us all laugh more, but I’m not fighting it. Sorry, Caroline. I’m funny. I forgot that about myself. Once upon a time, I was funny, and here I am, funny again.
“I loved the idea of him,” I say, happily remembering the question as we settle down. “When I met him and Mathilda, I had this fantasy about being, I don’t know, the nun in the movie with all the kids and the singing and the Nazis—”
“Maria from The Sound of Music,” Beck says.
“Yes. Her. He needed a wife, and I fit the bill. He’s not a bad guy.
But when my grandfather died, I inherited this place and some money, and all of a sudden, he’s Captain Vermont of the Organic Honey.
” They laugh again. “We have sourdough starter that’s two hundred years old from his bread phase.
Andrew Jackson was president when that stuff was born, and Clay won’t let me throw it away.
Can you imagine what’s growing in there? ”
“Bread?” Beck suggests.
“Then he made us keep goats for a while so we could milk them. Sorry, but that’s just insulting to my ancestors. We are cow people here.”
“I’ve always hated goats,” Jasmine says. “Those satanic eyes.”
“Thank you!” I say. “Then it was dyeing his own wool with homemade beet juice that made it look like someone had been murdered in our bathroom. And now he’s making these lumpy mugs that you’re all using, so expect your arms to be sore tomorrow.
And please, take them home with you as a souvenir.
I have dozens. Maybe hundreds.” The girls are laughing so hard they’re crying, and it feels amazing.
I take a sip of whatever it is I’m drinking. Wine? No, coffee.
“Okay, back to feeling like you’re in love,” Micah says. “Derek Shields is coming to the reunion. Your former crush.”
“First boy who kissed me,” I say. But it was also on the worst night of my life, so I don’t know if I’ll feel the spark.
Then again, maybe dementia will work in my favor for once and I’ll forget about the bad part.
Or maybe I won’t even recognize Derek. “I just want to feel that tingle, you know? The idea that it’s still . . . possible.”
There’s a brief silence, then Micah says, “We’ll bribe Ché into kissing you if all else fails.”
“Great plan,” Beck says. “I’m sure he won’t mind. Or his wife, if he’s bringing her.”
“Which brings us to number three on the bucket list,” Micah says like a game show host. “‘Feel like a mother.’”
Was this list always so pitiable? It’s a little embarrassing.
“So we’ll kidnap a baby,” Beck says, saving me. Another round of laughter ripples through us.
“What do you mean by that one?” Jasmine asks.
I shrug, my face growing hot. “I don’t really know.
I just . . . I’m such a cliché of an evil stepmother in Mattie’s eyes.
Resented, ignored, reduced. She’s never even hugged me voluntarily.
” Tears come to my eyes at the admission.
I don’t know how anyone could help me feel like a mother.
“It was a dumb thing to put on the list.”
“Jasmine, will you give Audrey one of your daughters?” Beck asks with mock seriousness.
“Well, if you don’t want another snotty teenager, I only have Lyra to offer. She’s four, so you better get her while she’s still cute.”
I smile gratefully. They’re ignoring how pathetic my list is and somehow turning it into . . . fun.
“What else is on there, Micah?” Beck asks.
“‘Number four,’” she reads. “‘Ride Chase as fast as I can.’” She looks up. “Is Chase a man, I hope?”
I laugh. “No. My horse. But Clay . . . Well, my doctor . . . said I shouldn’t ride. Too dangerous. I’m off-balance a lot, and if I fall, it’ll just be one more thing Clay will have to take care of. Plus, I might get lost.” Lost on my own farm. It’s awful.
“I always loved watching you ride,” Beck says. “You were so badass, and you always looked so happy.”
“Do you have enough horses for all of us?” Jasmine asks. “We can go with you.”
“Just three. Starlight, Chase and Coal,” I say. Coal is not the right name. “But the neighbors have horses, so we could borrow one, I bet.” Ember. That’s the third horse. Ember.
“Some of us could lean on the fence and watch,” Beck says. “I volunteer for that.”
“You never did like the horses, did you?” Micah asks.
“I liked them plenty. I just don’t like sitting on them.”
“‘Number five,’” Micah reads. “‘Feel like me again.’” She looks at me and hands me back the phone. “Sister, we are well on the way to that one. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Except for my soggy brain,” I say.
“Except for that,” Beck says. “Well, we’re gonna walk into that tailgate today like we’re Cindy, Christy, Linda and Naomi.” I don’t know who those women are, but the others smile.
“Can you imagine how the rest of the class has talked about us since graduation?” Jasmine asks, nibbling a piece of toast. “They were obsessed with us. Rightfully so.”
“Totally,” Beck says. “I got so many questions about you three when I was in the hospital. ‘Whose fault was it? Do you hate them? Will you ever be friends again?’ Such gossip whores.”
I didn’t think about who might visit her. Her teammates, obviously. I’d been too trapped by the thorns and snarls of my own grief.
“They whisper, we win,” Beck says, then starts singing into a spoon about being sorry, not sorry.
Jasmine sings along, and I smile. I don’t know (or maybe don’t remember) the song, but I get the gist. We’ll pretend things are the way they used to be .
. . the four of us, together, thick as, um, robbers. Gunmen. No, thieves. Thick as thieves.
“Listen, girls,” Micah says, “I have to do some things before the tailgate, so I’ll meet you there, okay? Then I’m yours for the rest of the weekend.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “Should we get dressed and go riding while Micah’s off?”
“Um, sure,” Beck says. “I call the oldest, slowest horse, though.”
“That’s fine,” Jasmine says. “My middle daughter, Lucy, takes riding lessons, and when she first started, I took some, too. She didn’t want to go alone.
” She pauses. “I always loved how you and your mom would ride together, Audrey. It seemed so wholesome. That’s why I did it with Lucy.
Those memories of you and Dr. Kate. I wanted to be a mom just like her. ” She smiles at me, her eyes shiny.
“Thank you,” I murmur. Murmur. Is that the right word? “That’s beautiful.” I grab a pancake and roll it up, then dip it in the syrup pitcher and take a bite. Beck and Jasmine exchange a look. “How are your moms?”
Jasmine pulls a face. “Mine’s still alive, unfortunately. Oh God, I’m sorry!” Her cheeks flush.
“That’s okay. She doesn’t live in Stafford anymore, does she?” If she does, I haven’t seen her. Or I don’t remember seeing her.
“No. Oscar and I bought her a condo in Arizona. To be honest, I wanted her far, far away from my girls. They’ve only met her twice.” She pauses. “She was never going to be Grandma of the Year, you know?” She glances at me, then down at her mug.
My own mother would’ve been. The thought hangs over us like a low-bellied cloud, heavy with rain.
“How about Tammy, Beck? How’s she doing?” I ask, rather proud that I pulled Beck’s mother’s name from thin air.