by Jan Harman
Nature resumed its munching. I shook my head and realized that I was shaking. Obviously my imagination was in overdrive. Nobody would be hiding in the bushes at the ends of the earth. “Coming!” I shouted. Screw dignity. I hobbled away as fast as I could.
“Sorry, were you looking for me?” I asked out of breath by the time I stepped onto the brick patio. “I felt like a walk. It’s such a pretty fall evening.” I closed my mouth before I started to babble.
Aunt Claire reached past me and closed the gate with a decided clank. “I’d prefer you stayed out of the gazebo. It’s not been kept up. The wood is probably rotten,” she explained as though I was five-years-old.
“It seemed sturdy to me. Remember our agreement, the one where you promised not to hover so much.”
“It’s been an emotional day.” The wear was apparent in her voice. “Have you taken your pills?” Her gaze dropped from my face to fall with concern onto my hand. “What’s this? You’re bleeding.”
“I got a splinter on the wood. No big deal.”
“But you’re bleeding. Get inside,” she ordered. “Your bathroom has a first aid kit.”
“It’s just a cut, not major surgery.” I held the door open and waited for her to step inside. To my surprise, she turned and scanned the backyard. I let the screen shut and waited, watching through the mesh as she leaned heavily on the gate. My sensible side argued that she was probably recalling a favorite moment from her childhood. The side of me that had seen one too many scary movies wasn’t exactly convinced. She tilted her head to the side like she was straining to hear something. I held my breath and listened, too. Her body jerked ramrod straight. I overheard anxious words spoken to an empty yard.
“I don’t care if the pact is binding. Not her. Do you hear me? Not her, not yet.”
I fled to the safety of my room. I wanted to believe in the sensible explanation; only I couldn’t rationalize away my aunt’s strange words. I locked my bathroom door and collapsed on the edge of the bathtub. Had someone been out there, and had he called my name? A chill came over me. Grief made people do and say strange things. Coming home under these circumstances would upset any normal person; for a sensitive, free spirit like my aunt it was bound to be harder. So what did it say about me? I rocked back and forth, clutching my arms. Had the stress of the move, the wake, and the idea of a new school triggered a relapse? But things had been going so well. I’d achieved normal for most of the afternoon and had actually felt stirrings of interest beyond the hole in my heart.
The words I’d all but convinced myself that I’d imagined during the accident returned to haunt me. They were disturbingly similar to the ones I’d imagined my aunt speaking. I found myself still turning them over in my head as I climbed into bed several hours later. Honor what pact? I pulled the sheet under my chin and clung to normal. Sleep folded over me, leaving the question for another day.
Chapter 2
A legal-sized manila envelope was propped against our front door when I got home from school. I turned the envelope over. There was no return address or postage. That meant it wasn’t the sale papers from the closing of my old house. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t going to change her mind. On the bright side, this time next year I’d be away at college. My hands unclenched, and I tossed the envelope onto the counter.
My calculus homework only took a few minutes to do. I’d already covered that section at my old school. Next, I pulled out this semester’s required reading for English class. I sighed heavily. Transferring schools often created overlaps. This made what, my third time reading Hamlet?
The doorbell chimed off key while I was putting dinner in the oven. I headed for the front door, hoping the moving truck had arrived.
“Hi!” Trent said, flashing a devastating smile that I was surprised he was wasting on me. Between his thumb and index finger dangled a slip of paper. “Class rank and SAT scores as promised. Can I come in?”
I shrugged and swung open the door narrowly missing his nose. “I’ve got to work on dinner,” I said, giving myself a way out.
He followed me into the kitchen and headed over to the oven. “What are you having?” Without waiting for my answer, he pulled open the door. “Mrs. Moore’s lasagna is to die for.”
“I take it you’ve had it before?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, practically salivating. “Her son, Bradley, and I go way back to kindergarten maybe even younger. Our moms had some sort of pregnancy classes together.”
I tried to picture him as an adorable five year old, but I couldn’t get past the muscles. Get over it, I ordered myself. “Did you stop by for a reason?” I asked somewhat curtly, trying to hide the desperate loneliness of being dateless and marooned. For all I knew, he was a lifer, while I had plans that didn’t include this town or the people in it. Keep to the plan. No flirting just because he’s got a hot body. I yanked open the refrigerator and took my time rummaging around, waiting for my cheeks to cool.
“I’m offering an alternative to the bus tomorrow. Do you need help finding something?” he asked, suddenly standing next to me.
I banged my head on the freezer door and stifled a curse. “School, yeah, I could use a ride,” I mumbled.
“There’s a car in the drive.”
I pulled back a corner on one of the foil wrapped packages, releasing the distinctive aroma of garlic. “Here take this.” I shoved the garlic bread into his hands. “Slide it on the top rack of the oven while I make some lemonade.”
Aunt Claire came through the garage door just as I poured the powdered drink mix into the pitcher. A startled look crossed her face when she spied Trent opening cabinet doors.
“Good evening, Miss Pepperdine.” He smiled at my surprised aunt before turning back to me. “Olivia, where are your water glasses?”
“Next cabinet over. Aunt Claire, this is Trent. We had lunch together at school today. He stopped by to offer me a ride.”
“So I take it school wasn’t too horrible today?” she said, sounding cautiously optimistic.
“The jury is still out.”
“I’m here in hopes of swaying her opinion,” Trent said, his boyish grin softening the tension in my aunt’s face.
She shrugged out of her coat and sniffed. “Smells good, I’m starving. Trent, would you like to stay for dinner? We can celebrate my new job with some cake for dessert.”
I gaped at her, the spoon motionless in my hand, feeling my face getting warm. How could she ask him without consulting me first? I didn’t even know if he had a girlfriend. Odds were in favor that he did, considering his good looks and football jock status.
“The powder mixes better when you stir,” Trent said, taking the spoon from my hand with an amused smirk. “I’d love to stay for dinner.” He patted his pockets. “My phone is in my car. While Olivia pours the lemonade, I’ll call home.”
“I’ll just pop upstairs and change my clothes,” Aunt Claire said, putting out three plates.
Well, it could be worse, I thought, while I waited. Trent could’ve said no or Aunt Claire could’ve had a fit about a boy in the house. Those particular ground rules we hadn’t covered, yet.
Dinner went smoother than I expected. Aunt Claire rambled excitedly about her job throughout most of it. When she’d exhausted that subject, she turned to me and said, “Olivia, you should have Trent take you around town, so you can get to know your way. Your mom’s letters mentioned your after school job at an art gallery. Maybe a shop on Main Street is hiring?”
The bite of delicious lasagna I’d been chewing suddenly tasted like asphalt. My throat shrunk, refusing passage. I stared at the chunk of garlic bread on my plate, watching it soak up the sauce while trying not to think of my before life. I grabbed my lemonade and took too big of a sip and ended up choking. Both my aunt and Trent stared at me, probably thinking they should call nine-one-one. I wondered, as the lump finally made it down my throat, if they had a nine-one-one system here or was the crime rate too low in Podunk.
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nbsp; “We don’t have art galleries to speak of, but we do have several touristy shops that sell pieces from local artist. I’ll take you around after football practice tomorrow,” Trent offered.
Maybe a new activity would finally stamp out the haunting quiet. I thrust that gloomy thought to the side. At least a job would fill up some empty hours until bedtime. Aunt Claire touched my wrist to get my attention. She looked worried. Crap, another failure-to-cope-moment. “Tomorrow would be great,” I replied, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice.
Trent cleared his throat and shoved back from the table. “Dinner was delicious. Thanks for having me over, but I should go. I’ve got homework.”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure Olivia has homework to get done, too,” Aunt Claire said.
Sadly, no.
“Trent, thank you for helping Olivia out today.” Aunt Claire scrunched up her forehead and asked, “I didn’t catch your last name?”
“Cassidy.”
She leaned forward, her eyes scrutinizing Trent’s face. The sudden tension in her jaw accentuated the tiny lines at the corner of her mouth. “That’s right, you’re Mark’s son,” she said in a guarded tone.
“Yes, ma’am. My father went to school with Olivia’s parents.”
“I’ve not forgotten. Mark was always one for getting things stirred up, although he managed to stay just a hair away from crossing the line that might get him in trouble with the law. Ethan wasn’t quite so lucky. My father used to give him quite the earful. One summer, I think it was his senior year, he had to build the gazebo out back by himself.” Her eyes narrowed and she said not to kindly, “I do hope you haven’t taken after your father. Olivia’s not into those things.”
I about dropped my fork. Trent backed away from the table with his plate tipped and the sauce beading unnoticed along the edge. Something about the way she’d said, “those things” made me wonder if she was talking about something besides adolescent mischief. I should’ve asked for a backstory on this place. The last thing I felt up to coping with was old high school drama. “Lighten up, he offered me a ride to school. Not the chance to ride in a getaway car.”
“It’s my job to watch out for you. Just because I’m not your mother, I don’t want you thinking there are no rules,” Aunt Claire retorted, revealing her recently unearthed strict side.
“My mom wouldn’t treat me like a child in front of company. Save the drama until I’ve actually done something. Not that I would.” I limped across the kitchen, took Trent’s plate, and deposited both of ours in the sink. “Come on, Trent. I’ll walk with you out to your car,” I announced, grabbing my crutch from where it rested against the wall in the corner of the room.
“Sorry about that,” I said as soon as the front door closed. “This whole parenting thing is new for my aunt. Personally, I think she’s created this mental checklist that she’s going through line by line to make sure she’s done everything a parent is supposed to do. I think having you at the house threw her off. She had to skip ahead a few pages.”
“Well, since she’s already flipping pages, we might as well give her a reason. Would you like to go to a movie with me on Friday?”
“A movie?” I bit my lower lip and glanced back at the house. “I’m not sure if my aunt is ready for that,” I answered, speaking faster. We’d reached his black Mustang. I aimed for the driver’s side door, but he stopped and leaned against the hood with his ankles crossed.
“Look, if you’ve still got a boyfriend at your old school, just say so.”
“It’s not that.”
“Really? You’re too pretty not to be some lucky guy’s girl, especially during senior year.”
“We broke up.”
“A long distant relationship would be tough.”
I stared down the drive, clenching the ribbed neckline of my chenille sweater in a tight fist.
“I get it. He wasn’t interested, but you’re still into him?” Trent asked.
I thought of the pile of pictures of my ex with him cut out of the shots. All those pieces had made satisfactory whirring sounds going through the shredder. That relationship was better relegated to my large pile of pain where it would hopefully be lost for eternity. In a voice a hair deeper than normal, I answered, “More like he bailed. Things like tragedy, injuries, depression, and withdraw weren’t his scene.”
Trent kicked at the grass creating a divot. “I say forget the jerk.”
“Maybe you didn’t understand. I drove him away.”
“The guy was an ass. You were grieving.” He patted the hood next to him.
“I’m still grieving,” I replied, stretching the sweater out of shape.
He rubbed the hood. When I didn’t budge he said, sounding a bit frustrated, “We’ll go as slow as you need while you ease into valley life. I’ll pick you up at five. We’ll grab a quick bite at the diner and then head over to the six o’clock showing. We can hang out after with friends. No pressure, just plain old fun.”
A movie was safe enough. If it got to be too much, I could space out or ask to be taken home. He was staring at me with an intensity I hadn’t experienced for some time. I swallowed hard feeling lightheaded and not just because the air was thinner here. “Alright,” I relented. “But nothing gory or scary.”
He grumbled. “Not a chick flick.”
“I’m sure we can compromise.”
“The theater is pretty small. We’ve only got two choices.” He sighed rather dramatically, and I knew I’d won. He pushed off the car. “Homework calls. See you in the morning.”
I continued to wave until his car disappeared around the curve towards the end of our long drive. When I turned around, the curtains in my aunt’s room fell closed. I groaned; it was time for another one of her chats.
The following morning, Aunt Claire posted a schedule on the refrigerator. I noticed my date with Trent had been penciled in on Friday. I took that as a good sign. Next to the schedule was a list of phone numbers. At the top was Aunt Claire’s work number. After that she’d listed the school, the local doctor’s office, followed by the pharmacy, and several names of people I was probably introduced to at the service, but didn’t remember.
She passed me the milk along with a piece of paper. “I’ve written down the names of a couple stores you might want to try today for a job.”
“The tourist season is pretty much over,” I replied with little interest.
“The fall colors always bring out the weekenders.”
Milk drowned the generic bran cereal. “I don’t know if I want to work yet. Hopefully tomorrow the truck will be here. We’ll have lots to do with unpacking.”
“I won’t have you here alone all day.”
“I’m at school all day.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Is this is about me going out with Trent on Friday? We talked about that last night.”
She put her spoon down and sat back in her chair, looking me over. “We’ll continue to discuss the Trent situation. Tonight maybe. As for the job, Dr. Long and I firmly believe it will help you adjust. Have you been taking your pills?”
“You’re already having conversations about me with the local doctor? Give me a break; we just got here. Stop treating me like a child, or worse, a patient,” I snapped, pushing back from the table. Her lips flattened, forming two white lines. I remembered the woman across the table was no longer the fun aunt that used to bribe me with toys to buy my love. I blamed the stress of grief and responsibility.
Nails that had lost their glossy shine from their expensive manicure, tapped the butcher block surface of our scuffed up kitchen table. She wet her lips and leaned forward. “I’m concerned. I hear you get up every night.”
“New place, new noises,” I replied, trying to shrug it off by scooting my chair into place.
“Screaming in your sleep isn’t normal.”
I ducked my head and stirred my cereal.
“Sweetie, it will get better. Dr. Long recommended a psycho
logist.”
“I’m not ready to talk about my feelings to another psychologist or grief counselor.”
“I’d like you to see Dr. Long so he can monitor your recovery.”
I clanked my spoon on the lip of the bowl. Soggy cereal plopped into the pool of milk. “It’s just going to take time for me to rebuild strength and gain flexibility.”
“I’d prefer an expert opinion.”
“My doctor in D.C. was an expert,” I replied. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her orange juice. Aunt Claire seemed bristly today. I hoped it was just the new job. That’s when I reluctantly decided it would be better to see the local doctor than tangle with her this morning. “I’ve got to get ready. Trent will be here any minute.”
I was waiting on the walk next to the garage when he pulled in two minutes ahead of schedule. “Hi!” I said brightly through the open passenger window. I shoved my backpack through the window to make it easier to climb into the red F-250 pick-up truck. “You should’ve warned me,” I said, glad that I’d decided not to wear a skirt.
“Huh?”
“Your truck is kind of tall.”
“You don’t like it jacked up?”
I lifted my crutch. “I’m skipping P.E. for a reason.”
“Sorry. Tomorrow we’ll use my car.”
So this wasn’t going to be a onetime thing. The flutter in my stomach caught me off guard. Ignore it. No getting attached to this place. He was staring, so I said the first thing that came to mind, “You mean your parent’s car, right?”
“No, my car.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Please, like you don’t have a car.”
“I wish.”
“Now that you’re out here in the country, away from the big city traffic and public transportation, I’m sure your aunt will get you a car. I’d be happy to help you pick one out. We could run over to Gunnison on Saturday, drop your cash down, and race home.”
“Sure, in some alternate universe maybe,” I said laughing.
He pulled out of my drive and onto the dusty street. “I could take you to the same dealer that sold me my new Mustang.”
