All the Major Constellations (20 page)

“I GOT A STORY FOR YOU,” Andrew said to the reporter who was sitting on the porch steps when Andrew pulled into his driveway. He'd dropped Marcia off at her house a few minutes earlier. He was exhausted and emotionally spent.

“Do you now?” the reporter said. It was the same sharp-eyed guy from the day before.

“Once upon a time,” Andrew said as he got out of his car and walked toward the house, “a nosy reporter had his ass taken to the local jail for—”

“Looks like she's going to drop it.”

“What?” Andrew stopped with his key in the door.

“I said,” the reporter said slowly, “it looks like they got her to
fuck off
.” He watched Andrew's face.

“She's not going to get anything? Like, a settlement or something?” Andrew asked.

“Why? Do you think she deserves that?”

Andrew quickly opened the door and shut it behind him. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it in two gulps. He greeted Becky, who immediately responded to his frantic mood by placing her front paws on top of his feet—a strange habit of hers from their childhood. It comforted Andrew. It always had.

What had he said to that guy? What was it, exactly? Something about a settlement? Whatever he'd said, it would be printed somewhere.

There was a knock at the door. He decided to answer it. Maybe he could reason with the reporter, ask him not to print what he had said in exchange for some bogus quote about Brian. But when he opened the door, Laura stood gazing up at him, a smile on her face, his sweatshirt in her arms. With the sun against her back she looked dewy and soft and warm. Then his gaze shifted upward, and he saw the reporter walking toward them.

“Hello, dear,” the reporter said to Laura.

Laura turned. She looked uncertainly at Andrew and then back at the reporter. She started to say hello when Andrew grabbed her by the arm, pulled her into the house, and shut the door in one swift motion.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Reporter. A real dickhead,” Andrew said. He sat down heavily on one of the counter stools. It creaked beneath him.

“Here's your sweatshirt.” She presented it to him and smiled again.

“How did you get it?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“John's gone off on a spiritual retreat. He wanted to make sure it was returned to you.”

“What about his job?”

“Oh. I don't know. Maybe he has vacation or something?” Laura said as she sat in the stool next to him. “Karen's going to meet him out there.”

“Oh.”

Was it his imagination, or had Laura looked at him very sharply when she mentioned Karen's name? Laura laid her arm on the counter. Her hand seemed to reach toward him. She gave him one of her Mona Lisa smiles.

“That's nice,” Andrew said. Laura's smile widened.

“John said that you and he had a really nice talk. That you inspired in him the possibility of new faith. Pure faith.”

Andrew put his head in his hands. “Do you have any way of getting in touch with him?”

“My dad does, for an emergency. I think he does, anyway. I'm not really sure.” Their knees were barely touching. “John's been sad. I'm so glad you were able to help him.”

Andrew stared at her hand, golden pink against the scratchy white counter. Her fingertips drummed slowly.
Drum. Drum. Drum.
It was a tune of impatience. What did she want? It was hard to tell with her. He grasped her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips. He kissed each knuckle gently. Then he
turned her hand over and kissed the center of her palm. He placed her hand back on the counter. She was radiant, perfect, still, expressionless. As he looked at her, Andrew felt the usual violent urge to grab her and hold her. Becky walked up to him and nudged him.

“I have to take Becky out,” he said.

“Let's go for a walk then.”

The reporter was still parked in Andrew's driveway.

“Come on,” he said as he pulled her toward the living room and opened one of the windows.

After he climbed out, Becky scrambled through and landed deftly in his arms. Then Laura carefully eased her legs astride the ledge. She looked down at him, and he reached up to help her. He held her briefly around the waist as she lowered herself down into the backyard. They giggled. Then he took her hand in his and Becky's leash in the other. They snuck around the side of the house and dashed down the street. They stopped at the next block, panting and laughing as they looked back at the reporter, still waiting outside and clueless that they were gone.

“He's here about your brother?”

“He said it's over. I don't know if I believe him.”

“Ask your parents.”

Andrew ignored this. They went to the outskirts of their neighborhood at the edge of the park. Andrew took Laura's hand, and they walked into the woods just as the last streetlamp flickered and came on.

“You're not very close with your family, are you?” she said.

“No.”

“That's too bad.”

“I guess,” he said.

“Family is everything.”

“Hmm.”

“John said that you felt God's presence on the mountaintop, and it frightened you.” Laura squeezed his hand. “You don't have to be frightened.”

“All right,” he said. Andrew barely knew what he was saying. He felt instinctively that Laura would allow him to kiss her, and this was the only thing that concerned him now. He also knew that he could not sustain the charade under which conditions he was permitted that kiss. This was it. This warm soft air, this early-evening sun, this compliant and blissfully ignorant and blissfully beautiful Laura, was a gift.
John's gift,
Andrew thought with a twinge of guilt but also with amusement. Pure faith, new faith, indeed.

Then again, in a way, it did feel pure. The air was warm, and the wind was cool and gentle. They went off the trail and into the grass. Years ago, some wandering hippie had sprinkled Kentucky blue grass seeds all over the park. Most of it didn't survive the Vermont climate. But there were some hidden patches of it that, while not quite flourishing, mixed in with the native grass and looked astounding. Here and there were soft carpets of greenish, bluish, lavender beauty that shimmered in
the breeze and barely gave under the weight of your body.

They reached a small field that held a tiny shelter. He tied Becky's leash to one of the shelter's pillars. She curled up in a fading patch of sun and closed her eyes. He watched her for a moment.

Andrew walked slowly back toward Laura. It occurred to him that they had not spoken for quite some time. He felt like he was inside a silent movie: the quiet was alive, more present in the air than anything else. Every cell in his body felt suspended, sepia toned, balanced between dimensions of sensation. It was as if he were experiencing a perfect memory. Stunned by the state he was in, all he could do was move toward her and toward her and toward her. And she, Laura, was poised and still. Waiting. He stopped when he was just a few inches from her.

“You can kiss me if you want,” she said.

For a moment he was so startled by her words that he seemed to snap out of a fog. But he pulled her up to him and kissed her anyway. Her lips were warm. Her body was warm. She opened her mouth, and he kissed her deeply. He felt like he was breathing her in or like they shared the same lungs. She tasted very sweet and clean, like flowery soap. He pulled her body closer and kissed her more forcefully. He was aroused but knew there was nothing doing there. He could kiss her all he wanted. That was it. They kissed and kissed and kissed. It grew cooler as their bodies grew warmer. They lay down in the grass, and Andrew spent what felt like hours sucking on her neck and the maddening hollows of
her collarbone. But when he tried to touch her breasts, his hands were promptly redirected.

“Sorry.”

“It's all right,” she said.

She was panting when she spoke, and Andrew felt like he might go crazy. As with Karen, the taste of her was what amazed him the most. Laura didn't taste musty and piney and hot. She was sweet, like sugary candy. Eventually their kissing slowed. They had been lying on their sides. Andrew tried to crawl on top of her, but Laura playfully pushed his chest so that he lay on his back.

“I love you,” he said.

There was a long pause. Andrew held his breath.

“I've got to head home,” she said.

“Okay.”

“I'm going to evening service.”

“Okay.”

“Want to come?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” she said. Andrew was surprised by the tone of her voice. She sounded ironic, sarcastic even. She drew out the word
really
as if it had ten syllables.

Andrew heard Becky yawn, stand up, and stretch. His groin ached, but the pain in his chest was even worse.

“You know why I'm here,” Andrew said finally. “Why are you here?”

Laura stood up. “Let's go,” she said.

Andrew got Becky, and they walked back out of the woods and into their neighborhood. They no longer held hands. Andrew felt weak, as if all his organs were leaking some precious force that had kept them going. The sidewalks seemed to rear up to meet him.

“You know,” Laura said, “at the very least, you really ought to try with your brother.”

“At the very least? What does that mean?”

Laura sniffed.

“I don't give a shit about my brother.”

“That's not right.”

They were standing outside her house now, gazing angrily at each other. Or at least Andrew was angry. Laura looked indifferent.

“God gave you a family, Andrew. They're your responsibility.” She turned and walked up the steps. Andrew had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out. But then he didn't know what he'd say, either.
Don't go? Screw you?
Her hand was on the doorknob. She was opening the door.

“Why did you give me that note?”

She stopped and turned halfway around. “What?”

“That day you gave me the note. We'd barely spoken before that. Was it because of Sara? Did you think I would be, like, easy to convert or something? Or did you actually care about me? Or Sara, for that matter? She's gone, you know.” His voice choked as
he spoke. He'd pushed Sara's death out of his mind, and telling Laura was like experiencing it all over again.

Laura closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Then she came down the steps.

“I'm sorry about Sara. Truly. And to answer your question, I called you because my group believes in helping those in need.”

“Me, in need? Seriously? I'm not poor. I'm not oppressed, I'm not—”

“
Spiritual
need, Andrew. My group—”

“Stop talking about your fucking group. You guys hover around tragedy like a bunch of vultures, hoping to get vulnerable people into your church. People like John.”

“You don't know anything about John,” she snapped.

“
You
don't know anything about John.”

“Well, you don't know anything about me,” she said.

“I—”

“Seriously, Andrew. What do you know about me? About my life, my family, my feelings, my God?”

She's right,
Andrew thought. He was shocked at his own ignorance. He'd spent three years following her around, and he didn't even know the name of her faith. He'd never asked her about her family, never really asked her about herself. He'd just brooded and lurked and stared and stalked.

“You were always hanging around. In school, I mean. I would see you everywhere,” Laura said.

Andrew blushed. Well, what had he expected?

“All the guys hang around you,” he said. “You know that, don't you?”

“You were different,” she said.

Even though he was angry with her, and himself, Andrew felt immensely gratified by her words. He was different. That was something. “Am I still different?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you give me another chance?”

A long, long moment passed between them.
Time slowing down,
he thought. He held his breath. Laura looked at the ground and then very slightly shook her head. A curtain of her honey-colored hair fell over her face. He gently touched a loose strand with the tip of his finger. She either didn't notice or pretended not to notice. He could've asked her why she kissed him, or had allowed him to kiss her, but he already knew the answer. He'd done the same thing to John, probably for the same reasons.

“Fine,” he said.

She turned around and walked back up the steps.

“Laura.”

She stopped.

“Listen to me. I have to get in touch with John,” he said. “Can I have that number?”

She looked surprised. “It's for emergencies.”

“I need it,” he said.

“I think it's in my dad's study, but I'm not sure.” Her voice was completely calm. Calm and a little snotty.

“I'll wait.”

He stared at the stars. He'd had her and lost her again. Maybe he could reason with her? Try some other approach? He felt neutered.
I should be more forceful,
he thought.
I ought to man up and take control.
He made involuntary fists with his hands, but within moments they were loose and by his sides. It just wasn't in him; it wasn't meant to be. Becky licked his dangling fingers. After a few minutes another of Laura's pig-faced siblings, a small boy this time, emerged from the house.

“That's for you,” the boy said, handing Andrew a slip of paper.

He looked down at the paper on which a phone number was neatly written. He turned the paper over. There was nothing else.

WHEN ANDREW GOT HOME, he fed Becky and poured himself a glass of water. His mouth was dry after all the kissing. He felt, all at once, elated, deflated, and numb. All the fantasies he'd ever had about Laura seemed to be imploding in his brain. His girlfriend, his wife, his sexual conquest? What had he been thinking? He'd never had a chance, not with any of it. It was time to focus on someone he could actually do something about.

He nibbled on a piece of bread and stared at the phone number. He picked up the phone, started to dial, and then abruptly hung up. He paced the kitchen, weighing options that he couldn't coherently express, even to himself. He looked at Becky, who met his hard gaze with her own soft stare. He grabbed the phone and dialed the number again. It rang for
almost a minute before a man with a familiar voice picked up. Where had he heard that voice before?

“I need to get in touch with John. It's an emergency,” Andrew said.

“What's the emergency?”

“It's personal.”

“He's halfway up to the cabin by now.”

“You don't have walkie-talkies or something?”

“Reception doesn't reach. What was your name again?” The voice was growing stern and authoritative, paternal in an asshole kind of way.
Who is this creep?
Andrew thought.
And what does he know about John
?

“Okay, it's not a life-threatening emergency. When will I be able to reach him?”

“You can only reach him if it's an emergency. How did you get this number?”

“Chip?”

“Excuse me?”

“This is Chip, isn't it?”

There was a long silence followed by a deep sigh. Andrew knew he was right. It was Chip on the other line, the shifty balding youth pastor with the wavering faith.

“You're the new kid, right?” Chip said.

Andrew had never understood the phrase “It makes my blood boil” until this moment. He was nobody's goddamn new kid.

“My name is Andrew. John is my friend. I need to speak to
him, or at the very least I need a message relayed to him.
Now
.”

“That's not how this program works, friend.”

Program?
Andrew thought, and he felt an awful quiver of fear in his gut. He also felt uneasy for Karen.
Karen's going to meet him out there,
Laura had said. What for? Andrew fought to control his voice.

“I'm not your friend. Get a message to John or . . . or I'll tell your boss that you've got some kind of fucked-up relationship with the youth study group.”

“What did you say to me? You little—”

“I'm not going to argue with you about this.” Andrew's voice shook. “Tell John I called. Tell him I said—I said that everything is okay with him. That it's totally okay. Tell him I'm his friend. That I'm sorry about the other night. That it was all my fault. And tell him he's okay, just as he is.”

“Fine,” Chip said.

“John is going to get that message,” Andrew said. “Tonight,” he added.

“All right!” Chip said. Then he hung up.

Andrew stared at the phone for a few minutes.

“What was that about, faggot? Your boyfriend?”

Andrew turned to the sound of Brian's voice. As in a horror movie, he emerged from the shadows. His walk was unsteady and his eyes were bloodshot.

“You're wasted,” Andrew said.

“Who's John?” Brian said.

“My friend.”

“I thought you only hung out with girls, momo.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, man, nothing,” Brian said. His words slurred. “She dropped it.”

“I heard.”

“No case. No case at all. And her lawyer? Sheesh . . .” Brian's voice trailed off into a very wet burp. Andrew felt his own stomach lurch.

“Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Fuck should I know? Out celebrating?”

“Or working overtime to pay your legal fees,” Andrew muttered.

“You want to know what happened that night?”

Andrew thought for a moment. “No,” he said.

“I haven't told anyone. Not supposed to. Not even the lawyer knows everything. He was all like, ‘The less I know, the better.'”

“I don't want to—” Andrew began.

“Shut up and let me talk. I know you think, everyone fucking thinks, that I could do something like that. I'm telling you, bro: it didn't happen. I was playing beer pong for, like, six hours. Strip beer pong, but not with her. I mean, she could've been with these two guys, and one of them is kind of a dick, but I don't know.”

“You don't know what happened? You literally can't recall that night? What you did and . . . what you didn't do?”

Brian nodded. At first it seemed like he was nodding yes, then no, then yes again. Andrew looked away.

“My girlfriend dumped me,” he finally said.

“So you'll get another one.”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck me? Fuck me?” Andrew shouted. “Are you kidding me?”

“I know what you think of me! I know!” Brian started to weep.

Andrew's own eyes were wet. “I don't know what you want from me, Bri. You're a mess.”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Andrew listened as Brian tried to calm down and stop crying.

“I got rough with this girl once in high school,” Brian said.

“Cynthia?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

Andrew thought back to the myriad of Brian's girlfriends. Pretty girls who came by the house, tried and failed to please their mother, and eventually drifted and morphed into other pretty girls. Some of them chatted vaguely with Andrew. Cynthia had always been nice to Becky. “She liked dogs,” Andrew said.

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“Cyn got all skinny and shit after we broke up.”

“I remember.”

“Maybe I deserve this,” Brian said.

Andrew bristled. “Deserve what, exactly? So people are suspicious of you. Treat you badly? Like you're a loser or something? How many people have
you
treated like that?”

“Don't be an asshole. You don't understand.”

“I never will.”

“Look, I'm sorry I wasn't a better brother to you.”

“Whatever.”

“And I'm sorry about Dad.”

Andrew said nothing.

“I should've done something about that.”

“It only happened a few times.”

Brian looked at his feet. “The other night was the worst,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“When Dad slugged you?”

Andrew swallowed and licked his dry lips. “I thought that was you,” he said.

“I know.” Brian leaned against the wall and slid down. “I know what you all think of me,” he said. He closed his eyes. Saliva bubbled onto his mouth. His grip loosened on the beer can he'd been clutching.

Andrew watched Brian for a long time. His huge strong body was slumped over and still. He looked like a sleeping giant, which in a way he was. Andrew went to him and took the beer can out of his hand. He hesitated a moment, then tilted his neck and drained what was left. He placed his hand gently on Brian's forehead.

Then he closed his eyes and prayed for his brother.