Authors: Melissa Marr
I smile at the image of Nate winning a “best of” category at the fair, but then have to quickly steer my thoughts away from the things I’ve heard he’s best at. Those are not thoughts to have about him, especially with my mother due to walk into the room any moment. Nate might not notice the lingering looks I can’t seem to stop giving him, but my mother is like a bloodhound when it comes to figuring out who’s interested in whom. It’s one of the few things I hear my father tease her over: she predicts relationships the way some people predict the weather.
“You need to tell her not to do that again. People will think things about her, and it’s”—he shifts position in his chair again—“awkward to explain to her, but I don’t want people giving her trouble. She seems like a nice girl, but . . . you know how people are about girls who talk to me in public.”
“You
do
know I’m not going to ignore you in public,” I point out evenly.
The clatter of my mother’s heels heralds her return. I don’t turn to look at her; instead, I watch Nate. He tenses as she approaches, and I’m reminded how different things are from the last time he was at my house.
“Do you have summer plans, Nathaniel?” She sets the tray atop the coffee table, hands me my bowl of fruit salad, and then hands him his glass of water. A twist of lemon garnishes his glass. Even now, during her post-accident hovering, she’s still a polite hostess.
Mutely, I take a bite of my fruit salad to keep from saying something regrettable.
He sits straighter as he replies, “Jobs aren’t as easy to come by with my schedule limitations.”
“Limitations?”
“I watch my brother when his mother needs help, but her schedule changes—sometimes at the last minute. He has CF, cystic fibrosis, which sometimes means complications.” He sips his water and then carefully sets the glass on a coaster. “Sometimes he’s fine though, so I have some applications in already. Nora found a summer camp last year that Aaron liked, and if he doesn’t get sick, he’ll go there during the day.”
My mother sits in the other chair, so we are seated in a loose triangle. She’s to my right, and he’s to my left. The whole thing feels unsettling to me. She’s brought herself a glass of sweet tea that I know from experience has enough sugar in it to make my teeth ache. Considering my sweet tooth, that’s an accomplishment.
“That’s good of you to help with him,” my mother murmurs.
“Someone has to, and our father can’t be bothered.” Nate shrugs like it’s not a big deal, although his tone makes it abundantly clear that it is. “My brother deserves a family, and Nora works a lot of hours so she can provide for them.”
“Nate’s very devoted to his brother,” I interject.
My mother looks from me to Nate and smiles. “I’m not sure how I didn’t put the pieces together when the nurses talked about ‘Nate,’” she muses. “So you’re the same young man who was there with my Eva at the hospital. After all these years, you turned up when she needed you.”
“It just happened.” He shrugs. “I visit Aaron, and when I saw Eva, I figured she could use a friend.”
My mother sips her drink. “The nurses spoke highly of you.”
This time, I can tell that it’s not the uncomfortable chair that’s making him squirm; it’s my mother’s very polite words. He was born and bred in Jessup, which means that he can see the cunning in my mother. He’s obviously not sure where she’s going with this yet, and neither am I at first.
Then she says, “So if you had a position with flexible hours . . .”
It clicks, and as much as I like the idea of having a way to keep Nate close, I quickly interject, “Nate’s probably looking for something more out and about, Mom.”
She waves her hand at me as if to shoo away my objection. “Eva was heartbroken when you stopped visiting her when you were children.”
“I was an idiot,” he says. “I’m going to be here for her now though.” He shoots me a look I can’t read. “She was my best friend, but things got messed up in my life when my parents split.”
“Despite your father’s example, you seem like you’re turning out well. You’re certainly shouldering a lot of responsibility,” my mother says. “The nurses told me that you were instrumental in Eva’s mood improving.”
Right about now, I wish the sofa would rip open and swallow me. My mother has moved from polite Southern woman to bluntness tempered by a sweet voice. I close my eyes for a moment as I try to push away the mortification that I’m feeling.
Neither Nate nor I say anything, so my mother continues, “Tell me more about your brother.”
Nate doesn’t seem the least bit put off by my mother’s order. “Aaron’s a great kid. The cystic fibrosis means he has to constantly be on guard for infections, and he has treatments and medicines. He doesn’t have diabetes so far, and he’s doing well. There’s no cure, but there
are
treatments. A lot of people with CF live into their thirties or older.” He pauses and scowls. “Our sperm donor, however, can’t be bothered to raise a kid with a health issue. He says it’s too ‘hard’ to see Aaron, as if what’s hard for
Aaron
doesn’t matter. I’m not going to turn my back on my brother. When he wants me around, I’m there as much as I can. It’s harder because they live over in Durham, but the drive isn’t horrible and Aaron’s worth it. I’m
nothing
like my father.”
“I can see that,” she says mildly.
Nate sounds so passionate that it would be impossible not to see how much he loves his brother. It’s no wonder that Nate has no friends at school. So much of his time is given to his brother.
“Nate is reliable, but he’s also busy,” I point out.
My mother doesn’t even acknowledge that I spoke. She continues, “I need to hire someone to help Eva when I’m at the office. You were a help to her in the hospital, have experience with injured or ill children, and of course, you look strong enough to help her. Plus, she obviously trusts you or you wouldn’t have been sleeping in her room”—she glances at me now—“which your father won’t hear about . . . as long as you don’t keep trying to object to Nathaniel’s accepting the job.”
“Mom, you can’t
blackmail
me by threatening to tell Dad.” I cross my arms and glare at her. “I don’t need a caretaker, and even if I did, you can’t bully someone into taking the job.”
“It’s fine, Eva,” Nate interjects when I take a breath. He turns to look at my mother. “I can’t do it if Aaron gets sick. If he needs me, either he comes here with me or I’m off that day, depending on how he feels.”
“That’s reasonable.” She’s studying Nate, and I can’t help but think she looks far too happy with herself. “Can you start the day after tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“I expect Eva is planning to go to the funeral, and she’ll object to her father or me taking her. It’s graveside, which means it’ll be more difficult to navigate her wheelchair. I don’t think Grace is strong enough.”
“You’re willing to let me go without you?” I interject. My mother is attentive to every funeral, wedding, baby shower, or significant anniversary of the people we know in Jessup.
“I can go if you don’t mind, but I thought you might want space.” My mother watches me as she speaks, and I can tell that there’s more going on here than I understand. This feels like a test of some sort, and I don’t know the right answer.
“I’ll take her.” Nate’s answer breaks the sudden silence. He glances at me. “If you want to go . . . I was going anyhow, but if you don’t want to go, it’s fine. You just got home.”
I don’t want to go, don’t want to see anyone yet, and I really don’t want anyone to see
me
. I have to go though. Fear won’t keep me at home.
“Grace is coming too,” I tell him.
Nate nods. “I figured.” He glances at my mother then. “The problem is travel. I’m not sure how comfortable Eva would be in my truck.”
“Nate can drive my car,” I suggest. “That way Grace can ride with us, too.”
“Perfect!” my mother says with a small hand clap, obviously pleased that we’ve played into her hands.
I know my mother isn’t plotting against me, at least that’s my usual theory, but as I look at her satisfied expression I worry. At the same time, I’m relieved that I’ll see Nate more, glad he’ll be with me at the funeral, and grateful that he’s seemingly unconcerned about my mother’s gleeful expression.
After my mother excuses herself to check in on her work email, Nate and I exchange a quiet look before he says, “She maneuvered both of us without blinking.”
“You don’t have to do this.” It feels weird to realize that my mother is going to be paying Nate to spend his days with me. My family hiring him to spend the summer with me is awkward. I suggest, “She can find someone else, you know?”
Nate is quiet again. In our years apart, I think I’d forgotten how often he retreats to silence. Not for the first time, I think that his reputation as enigmatic at school is a cover for his tendency toward quietness. When he speaks, his words are measured. “I need the money, and I like seeing you.”
He holds up a hand when I open my mouth, so I stay mute as he adds, “Plus, it gives me a way to explain being here that doesn’t make people think the wrong thing about us.”
It’s my turn to be silent, but I suspect I seem more sulky than mysterious.
He stands, looks at the dishes, and muses, “I’ll need to ask your mother to show me around. Figure out meals and what all I’m to do.”
“Right.” I try to smile. Being around him is confusing. He keeps saying and doing things that make me think he’s interested in me, but then, he retreats.
Now that Robert and I are through, I can admit that I’m really
not
content with platonic friendship with Nate—which is why my voice comes out sharp and I snap, “Leave the dishes today. You’re not on the clock yet.”
An expression I can’t read crosses his face.
“Would it help to think of me as your combo butler and maid?” he half teases. He smiles, and I can’t help smiling back at him. I need to work harder at suppressing my crush, or I’ll lose him completely.
“Maybe . . . but we’ll need to discuss your uniform then.” I pause and look at him as if I’m considering the matter seriously. “I might as well get
some
pleasure out of having a sitter, and you’re not horrible to look at.”
He shakes his head.
“I’ll see you and Grace the day after tomorrow,” he says, and then he leans down and kisses the top of my head, further blurring lines that I’m already having trouble seeing.
Judge
T
OMORROW
, I
’LL SEE HER
again. They probably think I didn’t care enough. If They knew how much I
do
care, They’d be shocked. I bet not even Reverend Tilling prays for her as much as I do.
Since I sent the message, I’ve been waiting for a sign, some proof that she understood. I’ve seen nothing.
Perhaps the message wasn’t clear enough.
Sin and status are sure ways to death. It’s so obvious. Maybe Micki was too vague. She wasn’t filled with sin. She clung to her status, but she guarded her chastity. Maybe a second message, one on the nature of purity, will help.
I drive past Eva’s house on the way to the grocery. Grandmother wants some special cheese for some dish that no one will eat. Every so often she decides to pretend she can still cook, so I volunteered to go to the grocery. She’ll be asleep by the time I’m home, but I’ll tell her I was back early. She’ll cover for me without prompting if anyone ever asks. An alibi will matter this time.
I text Amy while I’m at the grocery. “Busy?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Pick me up at DQ in 15.”
I smile. She’s a good giver. I’m glad we’ll get a chance to spend a little time together before the message. I was sad that she wasn’t available a few days ago, but yesterday we went to the old summer kitchen out on the Kennelly place.
I check the cooler in the trunk where the asphodel I bought is waiting. It’s an odd flower, harder to get at the grocery, so I drove almost all the way to Durham to buy it. Amy deserves it, and later, Eva will understand what I’m saying with it. I slip on my gloves and bring the flower into the front seat.
My smile doesn’t fade as I drive to the parking lot beside the ice cream shop. I’m a little late, but Amy is used to it. She never lets her parents see who’s picking her up. Her mother is a believer in changing their lot in life by way of marriage. It worked before, and since the divorce, she’s determined to try it again. My grandmother detests the Crowne family because of it. She calls Amy’s mother a “social climber.” I have to wonder if my father took a climb on that reputedly well-frequented ladder. He’s discreet, but he explained it to me years ago: there are girls you fuck, and girls you marry, and it’s best not to confuse the two.
I turn on the cell phone jammer I keep in the glove box right before I pull into the lot, and then I cut off my lights. I trust Amy, but it’s important to be cautious anyhow. Privacy helps avoid questions.
I picked this lot because someone broke out the street lights here. I could explain it if they saw us—Amy has plenty of boyfriends—but I won’t have to explain. There’s no one around the darkened lot to see me.
Only a few moments pass before the car door opens, and she slides into the passenger seat. I’m moving before the door is even closed.
“Jerk,” she mutters.
I reach over and put my hand on her bare knee.
She flinches at the feel of the gloves on her skin. “That’s new.”
“Shhh.” I take my other hand off the wheel for a moment and hand her the asphodel. “For you.”
“It’s . . . unusual.” She examines the flower as I slide my hand up until my fingertips are wedged between her thighs.
“Open up.”
She complies.
When I don’t move my hand after several moments, she starts to close her legs.
“No.” I tighten my grip on her leg, not enough to bruise but hard enough that she lets out a small cry of pain. “You’re generous.”
“You could ask,” she mutters, but her hand is in my lap now and she unfastens my trousers quickly. Her other hand holds tightly to the flower.
I don’t look at her. Instead, I think of Eva . . . but she wouldn’t do
this
, not here in the car. She’s better than this, special in a way that no one else can be. I think of Eva in the backseat watching us.