All the Major Constellations (11 page)

HIS PARENTS HAD CALLED the night before and said that Brian's bail hearing had been set for Monday morning. In all likelihood the three of them would be back that afternoon. Andrew had not slept well. He was plagued by more nightmares and had also become obsessed with this Chip character, who was apparently so close to Laura.

He tried calling Laura, but the phone just rang and rang. He had, in fact, tried calling Laura a few times since their walk, but no one would answer, or at best a little brother or sister would pick up and supposedly take a message. Laura never called back. She had a huge family, he reasoned. It was probably chaos most of the time. Marcia hadn't called him back either, and he didn't want to bother her. He decided to focus his energies back on his job, at least for the time being.

Avella had always been a part-time job for Andrew, but he needed more money for college. He also wanted to spend the least amount of time possible at home. By six a.m. Monday morning Andrew was standing outside Neal's office. He knew the morning crew started at six thirty. The office was in a shed where they stored all the equipment. The shed was partially in the woods surrounding Avella, and also in the shadow of one of the taller buildings. It was dark and quiet most of the time.

Neal and Ben pulled up in a sporty pink convertible. Andrew had expected them to be in a pickup truck. His thoughts must have been reflected in his face because when Neal got out he said, “My wife's car. She wants me to fix the air conditioner.”

“Mom's got the rig!” said Ben, who seemed to find this greatly amusing. He got out of the car and came right up to Andrew.

“Hey, Ben,” Andrew said.

“You're on early today?” Ben said.

“Maybe,” Andrew said.

“Hey, what happened?” Ben said. He touched the still large but fading bruise on Andrew's forehead.

“Why don't you get the office opened?” Neal said to Ben. Ben took the keys from his father and disappeared inside.

“Have a seat,” Neal said, indicating one of the picnic tables where the crew usually broke for lunch.

They sat down. Neal leaned forward, a pleasant and noncommittal expression on his face.

“Are you all right?” Neal said.

“I need more work,” Andrew said. “Do you have anything?”

“Hmmm,” Neal said. He leaned back and considered the request. “Thing is, I just hired this other kid.”

His heart sank. “Not a problem,” he said.

“I could give you some hours here and there,” Neal said.

“That would be great,” Andrew said.

“But I'm fully staffed this morning.”

“How about this afternoon?”

“Sure, come by this afternoon. And if you need to hang around here for the day, that's okay by me. Just pretend you're doing office work. Although really, there's nothing to be done. There's a couch in there too, if you need it.”

Andrew hung his head. Neal was probably being so nice because he thought he'd gotten beat up. “Listen, I tripped in the woods,” he said.

“Okay.”

“No, really. Tell Ben. I don't want him to get upset.”

“I will.”

“There's some stuff happening with my brother.”

“Ayup.”

“It might get pretty ugly.”

“For you?”

“Maybe.”

“You remember what I told you last year,” Neal said.

“Eighteen and out,” Andrew said.

“Ayup,” Neal said.

Last summer Andrew had gotten into a fight with his father about Becky barking at him when he'd gotten home from work. His father had grabbed his arm and left a nasty purple mark. It wasn't a big deal, but Neal had noticed. Andrew had confessed his unhappiness at home, his father's occasional drunken aggression.
Eighteen and out,
Neal had said. He'd also told Andrew about his own, and by comparison, horrifying, childhood. Neal's father had been a farmer and worked his two sons half to death. Farmers work hard, and the children of farmers work hard, but Neal's father had been perverse. He'd told his children that they were his property until they'd turned eighteen. Neal had turned eighteen and never looked back.

He must have been remembering it all, because when Andrew looked at him, he was lost in thought. He met Andrew's gaze and frowned slightly. “Let me push some numbers around,” he said abruptly. “You can come on full-time.”

“That's not necessary,” Andrew said.

“Oh hell, Andrew, you're the only summer hire who shows up stone sober. Might as well reward good behavior.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Ben popped his head out the door. “Want to mow the lawns with me?”

• • •

Nine hours later he was home, dirty and exhausted. He smelled of the fuel from the lawn mowers and the grass they'd cut. No
allergy attacks today; it must be only pretty flowers that set him off. His parents and brother still weren't home. Becky kept trying to lick him clean. He took her out for a quick walk, then came home and took a long shower. By the time he got out, his family was home. He could hear the three of them talking downstairs. He crept to his room and shut the door. He was very hungry but knew if he left his room, he would get pulled into their drama. An hour passed. He read, drew a picture of Laura holding a bouquet of onions, and tried to take a nap. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he got up and left his room. They were still talking in low serious murmurs. If he had his wallet and keys, he might've been able to slip out the front door unnoticed, but he'd left them on the kitchen counter.

Andrew's mom was leaning against the refrigerator, her face puffy and purple with distress. His father and Brian were seated at the kitchen stools. No one looked up when he walked in. He could just grab his stuff and bolt, but he was pissed that his father and brother sat on their asses while his mother stood.

“Why don't you sit down, Mom?” he said.

“I'm fine,” she said.

“Let me get you a chair from the dining room.”

“I'm—yes, thanks.”

Andrew left to get a chair, but when he got back, his mother was now seated at the stool that Brian had vacated.

“Well, aren't you nice?” Brian said to him. “Are you going to ask me if I'm okay?”

“I'm going out,” Andrew said. He placed the chair on the floor and reached for his keys and wallet, but Brian grabbed both.

“Don't start,” their mother said.

“Start what? We never start,” Andrew said.

“Where you going?” Brian said.

“Out,” Andrew said.

“To church? You praying for me?”

Andrew digested this. His mom might've mentioned the phone call from Matt, or Brian could have seen the note that she'd left on the counter the day before.

“I've been working all day. I'm going to get something to eat. Please give me my stuff so I can get out of here and you three can get on with whatever it is that you're doing.”

“Watch it,” his dad said.

“Yeah,” Brian said, getting in Andrew's face. “Watch it.” Then he dropped Andrew's keys and wallet onto the floor.

Andrew knew he should just pick up his stuff and leave. That was his style, anyway, his modus operandi. He might be passive-aggressive now and then, but on principle he almost never took the bait, and rarely threw down during a confrontation. Even without Neal's advice, eighteen and out was what he'd been planning all along.

Brian stepped even closer to him, his face a mere inch or so from his own. His breath smelled like hell, and the heat that vapored from his enormous body was unreal. It was like being pressed against black pavement on a scorching summer
day. It was like being smothered, trapped, pinned down.

Andrew raised his eyes to his brother. He brought his finger into Brian's chest, punctuating each word with a point. “You. Are. Horrible.”

Boom!

The last thing he heard was Becky's frantic bark.

WHEN ANDREW WOKE UP, he was lying on the couch in the living room. Becky immediately began licking his face. She must have kept vigil by his side. A plastic bag full of melting ice was on the floor. He sat up slowly and groaned. His head hurt even worse than the morning after he'd fallen in the woods. The right side of his face was swollen and tender.

Brian had never really hit him before. Punching him in the arm and cuffing his neck were about as bad as it got.
Well,
Andrew thought
, he's upping the ante all over the place
. Then he felt terrible for thinking such a thing.

A few moments later his mother came in. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“I feel terrible,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.”

Becky growled and barked.

“Stop, Becky,” he said.

“She's been doing that every time I try and come in.”

“Sorry.”

“Here's some aspirin,” she said. She handed him the pills and a glass of water.

“Guess I should get out of here for a little while,” Andrew said.

His mother did not dispute this. “Where can you go?” she asked.

He used to crash at Sara's when things would heat up at home, but it seemed inappropriate to try to stay with Janet now. Besides, she was probably with Sara every spare moment she had. He remembered Neal's offer of the couch in his office. And the place seemed more amenable to dogs anyway. “How long have I been out?”

“Maybe five minutes.”

His mother cleared her throat and looked away.

“Can you get me the phone?” he asked.

She brought the cordless over, and he dialed Neal's number.

“There's an extra key under the mat,” Neal said. “And I should tell security you're coming.”

“They'll be okay with that?”

“The guy who works night shift is a buddy of mine. How long you need it for?”

Andrew held the phone to his chest. “How long will this take to blow over?” he asked his mother.

She made a helpless gesture, so familiar to him, tossing her hands in the air and letting them gently fall to her sides.

“A few days, I think,” Andrew said. “And shit, I'm sorry, but I need to bring my dog.”

“That's okay. The shed's huge.”

“Thanks.”

“You can always stay at our place,” Neal said.

“No,” Andrew said quickly. He did not want to pollute Neal and Ben with the mess that was his family, his life. “That won't be necessary.”

Andrew hung up the phone and handed it back to his mom. His head pounded as he stood up. He took a deep breath as a wave of nausea came over him. He sat back down. “Where are they?” he asked.

“Out. I don't know,” she said.

“Who brought me in here?” he said.

“Your brother,” she said.

This time Andrew stood up and stayed up. “Please don't call him that,” he said.

He threw some clothes and his toothbrush into his backpack. He was about to walk out the door with Becky when his mother stopped him and handed him a plastic bag. It was full of granola bars and dog food.

“Thanks,” he said. He turned to go.

“Andrew?”

“Yes?” His hand was on the knob.

“This church stuff that you're doing. Is it because—” The phone rang. She dashed away to answer it. “Where are you?” he heard her ask. He left the house.

He stopped at a fast-food restaurant and got some burgers. He even gave one to Becky, a sinful treat for a good dog on a terrible night. He drove to Avella and was waved in by the security guard, who looked like Neal but wasn't.

Inside, he lay back on the office couch, which was more comfortable than he'd expected. Becky fell asleep immediately, as the innocent will do. He watched her breathe. He envied her. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

He heard a little tinkling noise. He sat up and looked around the office. It was small and cramped and dimly lit by the security light, always on just outside the front door. He felt the shed behind him, a vast dark space, too large for the modest amount of equipment that was needed for the grounds. He stood up, felt dizzy, and sat back down. Becky slept on, and he wished that she would wake up. He heard the tinkling noise again.
It could be anything,
he thought. An animal, water, anything. His heart beat loudly in his ears.

He'd been so cool and calm with his mother, like it was no big deal that his brother had knocked him unconscious. He wanted to cry. He actually tried to cry, thinking it would give him some relief from his feelings. He reached out to Becky but stopped. She needed her rest.

Calm down,
he told himself.

He got his backpack out, thinking he'd eat more and feel better. When he opened his bag, he saw the Bible that John had given him. His mom must have stuck it in there with the granola bars. He remembered having stacked it under a pile of books in the hallway. She had found it and probably wondered about it. He half wished they could've continued their conversation before he'd left the house.
No,
he thought
, no.
He had learned to immediately squash down any desire to be closer to his mother, or to reach some sort of understanding with her. It was just too painful to think about.

He hadn't even glanced at the Bible since that night at Laura's house. He pulled it out and thumbed through it. He was shocked to discover that passages had been outlined and pages marked. He looked at the inside of the front cover, where a name was written.
John Taylor.
Andrew thought John had given him some generic Bible. He figured that the group stockpiled them and handed them out like Halloween candy, which perhaps they did, but this had been John's Bible, his personal tome. Andrew was touched, flabbergasted, annoyed. He was also comforted. It felt heavy in his hands, substantive and real. The gold trim on the pages was worn down, the cover was soft, the lettering faded. This Bible was precious, beloved. He tucked it close to his chest, lay down, and fell asleep.