The Bright Effect

by Autumn Doughton

  The judge adjusts her glasses and looks over the paper. “Okay then. And Carter is in the hallway in case I need to speak with him—is that correct?”

  I nod. I hated dragging him to this, but Mr. Bright said that we had no choice. The judge might want to talk to Carter and ask him questions about what his life is like and where he’d like to live.

  “Then I think everything is in order. Now let’s start with—”

  “Wait!”

  My heart speeds up. Wait? I raise an eyebrow at my aunt. “Wait?”

  My uncle is looking at her too. “What’s wrong, Denise?”

  She presses her head into the sleeve of his suit jacket and begins to cry. “I can’t do this.”

  What does she mean by that? I’m almost afraid to speak. Mike is rubbing her arm and their attorney is saying something in her ear. She buries her face in her hands and cries harder.

  I look at Mr. Bright and start to ask him something, but he lifts his hand, warning me to wait and let this play out. He’s the attorney and I’m no one so I figure I should follow his lead.

  My aunt and uncle’s attorney begins to ask for a break, but Denise puts a hand on his arm to stop him. “I don’t need a break,” she says, squinting at me through her tears.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The judge passes her a tissue, which she gratefully takes. My brain is going haywire. I have no idea what’s going on but maybe that’s because I’ve never been in a fight for custody before now. Maybe this happens all of the time. Maybe this is some kind of trap, like a ploy for sympathy from the judge.

  And then, before my thoughts can settle down, my aunt looks up and says to me, “I’m sorry, Bash.”

  “Wait—what? You’re sorry?”

  She nods. “I know that it must seem like we doubted you—and maybe we did a little—but I’m happy you’ve proved us wrong. All this time, I kept thinking, what would Jean Anne want, and… now that I’m sitting across from you, I know that she’d tell me this is a mistake.”

  Now I’m really turned around. “What do you mean? What’s a mistake?”

  “This,” she says, looking around the room. “Mike and I want to drop the suit.”

  I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I’m still confused. “Why?” I ask, shaking my head. “What changed?”

  “Let’s just say that your girlfriend is very persuasive. She came to see us last week.”

  “You mean Amelia?”

  My aunt nods. “She told us how hard you’ve been working and she let us know that you got into college down in Florida. I’m so proud of you for that. And your mama—well, she would be too.”

  “But Amelia and I… we’re not even... How did she…?” Everything is happening too fast and I can’t really wrap my head around it. I turn to Mr. Bright and ask, “Did you know about this?”

  He clears his throat. “I had an inkling that she was up to something, but I wasn’t positive.”

  Something else occurs to me. “Were you the one who told her about college?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I can assure you that was not me.”

  Seth. I think of my best friend waiting out in the hall with Carter. I’m not sure if I should wring his neck or throw him a parade.

  “Is it that easy?” I ask Mr. Bright.

  He glances at the judge, who looks around the table and says, “I told you that the goal today was to come to a fair resolution. If Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell both agree that they do not want to pursue the suit, then I see no reason why we need to drag this out, do you, Mr. Holbrook?”

  I shake my head ferociously. “No, ma’am.”

  Aunt Denise lifts her hand somewhat hesitantly. “I do have one request.”

  “All right,” I say warily.

  “Mike and I only ask that you call us if you need help.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s all?”

  “That’s all, Bash. I just…” She stops and lets out a slow, deep breath. I can tell she’s trying not to cry and that pulls at my heart. “I only wanted what was best for Carter and you, but after talking with Amelia, I realized I got a lot of things wrong.”

  “Aunt Denise, you don’t have to explain yourself.”

  “But don’t I?” She presses her lips together. “I was so wrapped up in missing Jean Anne and wanting to keep a part of her with me, I lost track of what mattered. But you’re my family and I want us to try again."

  Uncle Mike leans forward. “I think what your aunt is trying to say is that she hopes we’ll hear from you boys when you move to Florida.”

  I swallow and nod my head.

  “Our door is always open, and maybe Carter could visit on school breaks.”

  I gaze around the room, my eyes passing over the expectant faces of Mr. Bright and the judge. This is probably bad court etiquette, but I’m beyond caring about that. I stand up from my chair and walk around the table to where my aunt is and I hug her. And I can tell that it’s the right move. She hugs me back and cries into my shoulder, and then it’s Mike’s turn.

  After that, things move quickly. The judge and attorneys sort out the paperwork, hands are shaken and it’s a done thing.

  Months and months of stressing out and it’s over in a matter of minutes.

  Seth and Carter are waiting for us in the hall with a pile of crayons and a stack of coloring books between them.

  Seth throws me a concerned look when he sees that I’m holding my aunt’s hand. “Already?”

  “It’s over.”

  He and Carter both stand up. “And?”

  I look at my brother. There are tears stinging the backs of my eyes. “We get to stay together.”

  His eyes brighten. “You mean it?”

  Seth and I grin broadly at each other. Then I put my arm around Carter and crush his small body to my chest. “Yep,” I say, kissing the top of his head. “You’re all mine.”

  He pulls his head back. His eyebrows are pinched together. “Was I never not yours?”

  ***

  It’s been a whirlwind of a day. As we leave the courthouse, I have no idea what to say to Mr. Bright. Thank you hardly seems adequate.

  “So this is it,” Mr. Bright says, turning to me.

  “I guess so.”

  We both stare down the steps in silence for a moment. Seth and Carter are about a dozen yards off waiting to go for ice cream. After the events of the afternoon, I’m ready to buy Carter a scoop of every flavor.

  “We’re going for ice cream,” I tell Mr. Bright. “Would you like to join us?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll head on home.”

  “We’re meeting my aunt and uncle there,” I tell him, still surprised at how this all turned out.

  Mr. Bright smiles. “That’s wonderful to hear. It’s not often that you get to leave the court and go have ice cream with your opponent.”

  I start to laugh.

  “So, when do you start school?” he asks me.

  “I don’t start until the second summer session, but we’re heading down there a day or so after graduation because I have renters lined up for the house here. I want to make sure we’re completely cleared out in time.”

  He nods. “That’s great, son. Do you need any help?”

  “No, sir. I think you’ve helped me enough already.” I stop and shake my head. “You have no idea what this means to me—to not have to worry about this anymore. Thank you isn’t even enough.”

  “I didn’t really do anything,” he says, chuckling.

  “But you did. And Amelia too.”

  I’m still digesting the knowledge that it was Amelia who went to my aunt and uncle. It seems insane, but she did it. When? Why? So many questions and I’m not confident I’ll ever get all of the answers. And maybe I don’t even want them. Because thinking about her leads to missing her, and missing her leads to loving her, and loving her leads to losing her. All over again.

  Mr. Bright says, “Really,
it’s me who should be thanking you. These last few weeks…” He blows out a breath. “Well, I guess I could say that they’ve brought me back to life. I needed something to fight for. After I lost Daphne I think I lost myself too. We all did.”

  “Will you tell Amelia that we won?”

  “I will. She’ll be mighty happy to hear that you get to keep Carter with you. She cares an awful lot about the both of you.”

  I’m at a loss for words.

  “I know it’s not my place, son,” Mr. Bright continues, “but as a father I’ve already missed too many opportunities and whether it’s meddling or not, I’m not going to miss anymore. Amelia… you know she’s something special.”

  I swallow back the lump growing in my throat. “She is.”

  “And I know that kids will be kids and all that, but my girl misses you. And she might not be ready to admit it yet, but I hope when she is, you won’t let her go on missing you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Amelia

  I’m back in the dirt with Daphne. This time we’re sitting side by side and our legs are bent like tents over the soft earth.

  It’s a hot day. I’m blinking at the dazzling patches of yellow sunlight that press down through the mossy branches of the big tree.

  “I told you this would work,” Daphne is saying. The same little bird from before is perched on her shoulder with its neck tucked backward into its feathers.

  “Daphne, where are we?” I ask, my eyes straining to make sense of the geography. I swear I can hear the sound of waves, but this place doesn’t look close enough to the beach. “Is this Green Cove?”

  Daphne shakes her head and laughs. “Forget about that and put your arm out for me. This is more important.”

  I do as she says and watch, awestruck, as she tenderly urges the small bird from her shoulder to my fingers.

  “She’s so light.” I slowly bend closer so that I can look into the bird’s beady black eyes without spooking her.

  “Of course she is. How else would she fly?”

  I sit back up and look questioningly at my sister. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

  Daphne smiles. Then she touches my elbow, lifting my hand toward the sky and says, “You let her go.”

  ***

  “What about that scarf—the one with the embroidery on the ends? I always liked that one paired with your purple Tory Burch dress.”

  I look up from my newly-purchased oversized olive green duffle bag. “Nancy, I’m going to be riding in a car for two months, not going to the Women’s Auxiliary Cotillion. I have to fit everything I’m taking with me in this bag so I’m not wasting any space on dresses.”

  My stepmother sighs as she sorts through the pile of leggings I gave her to refold. “I’m still not sure how I feel about this. Where will you girls sleep?”

  We’ve been over this ten times already. “Audra and I are camping some places and we’ve got motels mapped out for the others.”

  She shakes her head. “Camping and motels? Are we sure that’s safe?”

  “No,” I say heavily, “but I don’t think we’re sure anything is safe, are we?”

  She takes my meaning and swallows and goes back to folding, but I know Nancy well enough to know that she’s not done. And after she’s finished the leggings and is moving on to my camis, she says, “It’s not that I don’t approve.”

  I tilt my head. “You mean you’re not going to disown me for turning down Emory?”

  “And Tulane and Wake Forest and Vanderbilt and College of Charleston.”

  “Nancy.”

  “I know—you’re not ready and you can always apply again next year.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And I understand and so does your father. We think this time with Audra will be good for you, but we’re going to miss you, that’s all.”

  I look at Nancy again and think of her and my father all alone in this house.

  “I feel bad about that. Are you and Daddy going to be okay here?

  “I think so.”

  “Maybe you should take a trip,” I suggest.

  She smiles a little. “Who knows? Maybe we will do just that.”

  A couple more minutes pass. My bag is almost full. All I need to do is figure out which shoes I’m taking. That thought makes me reach down into the depths of my clothes to double-check that I remembered socks.

  “One day,” Nancy says, gently touching my cheek. “You’ll have a daughter of your own and you’ll know.”

  “I’ll know what?”

  “That all I want is for you to be happy.”

  I stop what I’m doing and pull my hands from the bag so that she’ll know I heard her. “I’m working on it.”

  ***

  “Jesus, Audra!” I say into the phone. “You were supposed to give me a list of movies to get me excited about the road trip.”

  “Are you tellin’ me you’re not enjoyin’ Jeepers Creepers? It’s a classic.”

  I glance at my laptop where the movie is paused. “Um, it’s horrifying.”

  She gives a breathy sigh. “Spoiler alert: road trips aren’t all fun and games. I want you to be prepared when we get a flat tire on the highway at three o’clock in the mornin’.”

  “Then I should be reading an auto manual,” I tell her. “As of now, if we get a flat tire, I’m going to be useless because I’ll be too busy being scared out of my mind thinking we’re about to wind up as the main course in some kind of demonic ritual.”

  Audra laughs. “M’kay, I’ll come up with a better list.”

  “Please do. Oh and I’ll have your packing list ready by tomorrow.”

  “Of course you will,” she laughs. “Let me guess, you’re already all packed up, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much. Nancy wants to take me to Target tomorrow to buy a poncho, a heavy-duty flashlight, and a good rope.”

  “What? Why does she think you need that stuff? We’re not doin’ Outward Bound or murderin’ anyone that I know of.”

  Even though she can’t see me, I shrug. “She says it will make her feel better to know I’m prepared for all kinds of emergencies.”

  “Whatever,” Audra says. I hear something rustle in the background and then she says, “Hey, can I call you back in a few? My mom is callin’ me downstairs.”

  “Sure. I’m actually tired so we’ll just talk tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Night.”

  “Night, Sugartits.”

  I laugh and end the call. I have zero interest in finishing this movie so I turn off my computer and and look around my room. Have I packed everything? I still have ten days before we leave, but I’m nervous that I’m forgetting something critical.

  Should I take an extra jacket? It’s going to be summertime, but you never know. And what about books? I’ve got my Kindle, but after nearly three months I’ll probably want to read one or two of the books from my shelves. The Kindle is the most convenient, but sometimes I just want the comfort of holding a book in my hands and feeling the pages.

  Wuthering Heights maybe. And—I stop, my eyes lighting on a cracked white spine. Fragile Things, the book of short stories that Sebastian loaned me, is on the bottom shelf. We broke up right after he gave it to me so I put it there, hoping to forget.

  I pick the book up and open it. There’s the author’s signature, but on the next page there is an inscription I hadn’t seen before.

  Maybe some things are fragile, but your heart is not one of them. It is invincible. ~Mama

  I touch the words, wishing that I’d met Sebastian’s mother. She was right. His heart is invincible, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t try my best to break it.

  In a sad and slow kind of way, I think about those early days with him. Carter’s school and the party. Our midnight trip to the beach when, whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not, I fell at least a little in love. I think of the way he smiled at me in the dark, and our almost-kiss in his kitchen the da
y Carter was sick. And then I think of the water tower—the night that I tripped over the edge and dropped into the void. I never stood a chance after that.

  I sit down on my bed and start to read the book. I read for a long time, getting at least three-quarters of the way through, before stopping.

  I don’t know what I want anymore, but I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want to be that girl who can’t say the words she should have already said out loud. I don’t want to always look at things from a distance so that I can hold on to this idea that they’re so perfect and flawless. I want to be close enough to see the cracks and all of the dark spaces. And if it’s true that all of my tomorrows are really beginning right this minute, I know exactly how I want them to go.

  With my pulse throbbing, I pick up my phone and I type out the text and press send. I don’t even take a breath while I wait.

  Amelia: Cheetos or Fritos?

  They don’t sound like much, but those three words make up a love letter. This game had been our game and by giving it another chance, I’m really asking him something else—if I can have another chance.

  Bash: Cheetos

  I let go of my breath. It’s not much, but at least he answered, right? And then my phone vibrates again.

  Bash: Strawberry jelly or grape?

  Amelia: Strawberry

  Bash: You don’t even want to think about it?

  Amelia: I don’t need to. There’s no competition. I don’t even understand why they make grape jelly when there’s strawberry.

  Bash: I bet the grape people would say otherwise.

  Amelia: The “grape people?” Do they really exist? I thought they were just a myth made up to scare kids.

  Bash: Oh yeah. The grape people are a terrifying race of subterranean beings who break into houses and raid pantries, stealing all the grape jelly and wine.