Love, Aubrey Page 15

  “Well, then, Aubrey, sleep up here with me tonight?” Bridget asked.

  “That sounds okay,” her mom said. “Just don’t stay up giggling.”

  “We won’t,” we promised. Her mom turned out the light and shut the door.

  Bridget and I climbed into bed. Usually she’s the one to hug me or to hold my hand first, but I found myself wrapping my arms around her.

  “I was so scared today,” she whispered.

  “I know,” I said. “She’s fine, though.” I pressed my face against her chest, a hug.

  “You must miss Savannah so much,” she whispered.

  “I do,” I whispered back, even more softly. I could hear Bridget’s heart beating, and I held on tight.

  Dear Savannah,

  I used to only be able to think of you one way—since you left, I mean—and that was missing. I hated that you were that—just gone. If I imagined growing up, you were still there, and I had to erase you. Like if I pictured growing up and coming back to Gram’s at Christmas, you were still there, just like all our aunts and uncles always come for Christmas, and my kids played with your kids, just like we always played with our cousins. But my kids won’t play with your kids, because you will never have kids, because you will never grow up.

  I don’t know if you know this, but you should. Mom missed—I mean, Mom misses—you so much. Without you and Dad, she fell apart.

  I miss you, too. These are the things I miss about you: Playing. Waking up before Mom and Dad and making them breakfast. Walking home from the bus stop after school. Sitting around and watching movies in our pajamas with popcorn. Finding Valentines from you in my schoolbag even though we weren’t in the same class and you had to sneak them in secretly. I even miss how Mom made me brush your hair out after showers. Maybe you don’t, because I brushed too hard sometimes, on purpose. That was mean. If you came back, I would never do that again.

  It’s funny, but since I came to live with Gram, I think of you differently. You aren’t just missing. I have memories of you that seem so real you can’t be gone. So maybe, even if I looked for you over the whole world and didn’t find you, you have to be somewhere. Are you with Daddy? Are you growing up? Or are you seven forever? Maybe you are somehow older than me now, wherever you are.

  To me, you will be seven forever. I’m going to remember you just the way you were. That way I will be able to keep you, sort of, at least a little bit.

  You will always be my sister. And I will always miss you. But I also hope that you are happy where you are.

  Love,

  Aubrey

  Bridget and I were in her mess room on Sunday afternoon when her dad called from upstairs, “There’s a car outside!”

  I looked up at Bridget and realized what her dad meant. “Gram!” I shouted, abandoning the dry-macaroni palace we were building and scrambling up the stairs.

  Gram had stopped the car out front of Bridget’s instead of parking in our driveway. She climbed out, and I about near tackled her in a hug.

  She laughed. “Hi there, duckling. Miss me?”

  It wasn’t that I’d missed her. I was just glad to see her, now that she was back.

  She waved to Bridget’s mom and dad, who had come out onto the porch.

  “Go get your things. I’m starved. We’ll go get something to eat.”

  I ran back inside, and Bridget and I tore through the house, collecting my belongings. Somehow I had managed to leave at least one book and a sock in every room. Mabel watched our hurrying with wide eyes.

  When I made it back to the porch, Gram was there, thanking Bridget’s parents.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Thank you, Aubrey,” Bridget’s dad said, smoothing my hair, the way he always does with Bridget. “We had a bit of an emergency this week, and Aubrey knew just what to do.”

  “What happened?” Gram asked, looking upset, glancing from one face to another.

  “Not to worry. Everything’s fine. Aubrey will tell you all about it.” He patted my shoulder. “You’ll come over tomorrow? I think Bridget will miss you.”

  I nodded. Bridget’s mom kissed my cheek.

  I told Gram everything in the car on the way to dinner, but quickly. I wanted to hear things, too. “How’s Mom?” I asked.

  “Good! I’ll tell you more when we get there,” Gram said. “I’m hungry and I want to pay attention when we talk.” She pulled into the parking lot in front of the diner I’d been to with Uncle David.

  When we were seated at a booth, I left my menu shut on the table. I wanted to get right to hearing about Mom, so when the waitress came by, I said, “I want orange grilled cheese and fries and a pickle and a vanilla milk shake.”

  “Okeydoke,” the waitress said, writing it down. She turned to Gram. “And for you?”

  Gram gave me a playful scowl for rushing her, then shut her menu. “Tuna on toast.”

  “Lettuce, tomato?”

  “Yes. And a Sprite to drink.”

  When the waitress left, I said, “Tell me now, please!”

  Gram laughed. “She seems really good.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Does she have a job? What’s she doing?” Mom had never had a job before. Well, not since I was born, anyway.

  “She does. She talked to some of the women at church, and one of them thought it might be a good idea for your mother to work for her. She runs a house for young or expectant mothers who don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Why would they not have anywhere to go?”

  “Bad luck. Or their families aren’t happy about them having a baby.”

  “What does she do there?”

  “She helps out with paperwork, and some of the cleaning and cooking.”

  Our plates came. I began knocking the slow ketchup out of its glass bottle.

  Gram finished chewing a bite of her sandwich. “She is getting to directly help people, and I think that is really important right now.”

  I twisted a fry in my ketchup puddle.

  “Does she spend time with the babies?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. I think she works very behind-the-scenes right now.”

  We each ate half a sandwich in silence. I slurped at my milk shake. It was tasty, but there was a lot of air in the straw.

  “Did she say anything about my birthday?” It was only two weeks away, my birthday. “Is she coming?”

  “I don’t think so, honey. She’s very excited for you, though—there’s a present wrapped in pink paper in the trunk.”

  So she was thinking about it. It would be my first birthday without her.

  “It’s like Christmas,” I said.

  “What is?”

  “My birthday. She said some days are just too hard. Christmas was too hard, my birthday is too hard.”

  “So you understand that she’s not coming?” Gram asked.

  I took another bite of my sandwich. I loved the butter on the outside. I loved the cheese in the middle that had gone from solid to gooey and back to solid and made my fingers slippery. I loved the dry crust of the bread. Food was either good or it wasn’t, usually.

  “What would you like to do?” Gram asked.

  “Do?”

  “For your birthday.”

  “Birthday. Right. Oh…” I put my sandwich down to think. “I’ve never had a pizza party.”

  “We can definitely have a pizza party. At the house or out at a pizza place?”

  “Um … out. And then back to the house for cake and presents.”

  “Twelve is quite grown-up, Aubrey.”

  “Not really.”

  “After twelve is thirteen, is that grown-up?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I was a little confused about when you got to be grown-up. Was it the first time you took care of your own mother or lived by yourself or bought your own groceries? I’d already done all those things. “I don’t want to be grown-up.”

  “No
hurry,” Gram said. “There certainly is no hurry.”

  “Hi, Marcus,” I said as I joined him at lunch on Wednesday. “Have a good vacation?”

  “Disney World,” he said.

  “Fun?” I asked.

  “I barfed on the plane.”

  “Airsick?”

  “I ate a whole big bag of cheese puffs.”

  “Ew.”

  Marcus laughed. “Where’s Bridget?”

  “She had some homework to finish. She’ll be here in a minute. Listen. I’m having a birthday party,” I said. “Do you want to come?”

  “When is it?”

  “March eleventh.”

  “Is that your real birthday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ll be twelve?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m already twelve.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you like science-experiment kits? I know some great ones where you can grow colored crystals and then you can smash them.”

  “I guess I could like that stuff,” I said.

  “Then that’s what I’ll get you,” he said.

  “Does that mean you’re coming?” I asked.

  Marcus smiled.

  My eyes opened. It was already a bit light in my room. Everything was quiet. There was a different feeling this morning than on other days.

  I am twelve today, I thought.

  I stayed comfortably on my side while I thought about that.

  I pictured my sixth birthday. The birthday of training wheels and Dad’s hand on the back of my bicycle to make me speed along faster.

  I remembered my eighth birthday. Savannah and I played with my drooping party balloons. They were soft and floor-bound, then we popped them all by sitting on them, one at a time. Savannah screamed and laughed at every loud bang.

  Then there was eleven. Last year. I closed my eyes to linger better in this memory.

  “Steak’s an awfully grown-up choice for dinner,” Mom says.

  “That’s all right,” Dad says. “She can have it. We all can. I’m sure she’ll want it with macaroni and cheese.”

  “Cheesy potatoes,” I correct him.

  Dad smiles at me. He leans in for an Eskimo kiss. When he pulls away, he says, “Steak and cheesy potatoes, then.”

  Had that been my last Eskimo kiss?

  “I can’t remember, Sammy,” I said out loud. I got out of bed and went to his bowl. He glupp-glupp-glupped at me.

  Carefully I pressed my nose to the bowl. I stood back up. “How am I going to do this without them?” I whispered.

  There was a knock on the door and I jumped.

  Gram opened it. “Oh good, you’re up already. Happy birthday!” She hurried over to hug me. “We have a busy day! Get dressed quickly, there’s a special breakfast for you downstairs. See you in a minute.”

  She bustled back out.

  Gram’s house was never messy, but before the party she seemed to want to give it an extra-good dose of cleaning. She picked me up after school so that I would get home faster than taking the bus, and handed me a list in the car.

  Hoover.

  Dust.

  Decorate.

  “What’s Hoover?” I asked.

  “You know, you get out the Hoover and clean the rugs.”

  “What’s a Hoover?”

  “The vacuum cleaner. All the vacuum cleaners used to be Hoovers.”

  Turns out “Hoover” was a verb, too, because I “Hoovered” all the downstairs carpets. I found a pink feather duster in the back kitchen closet, and then I “pink-feather-dusted” all the shelves.

  After cleaning I got a holidays-only white tablecloth from the linen closet upstairs and put it on the dining-room table. I found the packages of paper party supplies that I’d picked out; they were all purple and silver. I was setting places around the table when Bridget got there.

  “Hi!” she said. “Can I put up the streamers?”

  Hanging the streamers turned out to be a two-person job. It involved standing on chairs, trying to twist the strips so that both the purple and the silver showed, and laughing hysterically while getting tangled in the thin crepe paper. Gram even came in from the kitchen, where she was frosting my cake, to see what was going on. She laughed, too, and then decided we could figure it out on our own and went back to the kitchen. Once we had finished, the room looked ready for a real party.

  Bridget and I went into the living room and collapsed on the couch, still giggling but exhausted.

  There was a knock on the door. I went to open it.

  “Hi, Marcus,” I said.

  “Happy birthday,” he said, looking embarrassed.

  “Come on in.”

  “I brought you a present.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Was it the science kit he’d told me about? “I’ll put it in the dining room with the others.”

  “Okay.” He took one step inside the doorway and stopped.

  “It’s this way.” I pointed.

  “Okay,” Marcus said. He followed me into the dining room.

  “Gram!” I called. “We’re ready to go!”

  We piled into Gram’s car. I sat in the front, and Bridget and Marcus sat in the back. It didn’t take long to get to the pizza place. Gram told the waiter to seat us at our own table and to let us order anything we wanted and she would take care of it. She sat at a separate table in the corner with a book.

  When we all ordered Sprite, the waiter brought us an extra pitcher of the soda. We began a debate over toppings, but before the waiter could walk away, Bridget blurted out, “Bring us a large pizza with everything on it.”

  “Sure thing,” the waiter said, and walked away before any of us could say anything else.

  “Everything on it?” I asked. “What does that mean is actually on it?”

  “Everything,” Bridget said. “That way we don’t have to decide, we can just pick stuff off. Everyone gets what they want that way.”

  While we waited for the pizza, we plopped drops of water onto our scrunched straw wrappers to turn them into squirmy worms, and when we had done that to all three wrappers, we rolled them into wads and threw them at each other. We started getting really noisy, and I wondered suddenly if Gram would be mad. When I looked up to check, she was smiling to herself while reading her book. There she was, sitting alone with no food in a pizza place, but I don’t think she was lonely. She looked happy.

  The pizza came.

  “Whoa,” Marcus said.

  The pizza had piles and piles of, well, everything on top of it.

  “Are those meatballs?” Marcus asked.

  “All I see are green veggies,” I said.

  “Enjoy,” the waiter said, passing out plastic oval plates.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  We each chose a piece of pizza.

  “I don’t like peppers and onions,” Bridget said, pulling them off.

  I bit the point of my slice. “Ew. Cooked olives.”

  Marcus didn’t seem to have a problem with the pizza. He ate his straight, as if it was just a regular piece of pizza. Bridget and I had piles of toppings growing on our plates as we pulled them off.

  “Wait, ew,” she said as she spit something onto her plate. “I think there is anchovy on this.” She sipped her soda and announced, “I think this was a bad idea.”

  “It was your idea,” I reminded her, taking a long drink of soda.

  We set our slices down, even Marcus.

  “You should have let Aubrey pick the pizza,” Marcus said. “It’s her birthday.”

  “I don’t mind. It was fun to try,” I said. The waiter walked by. “Excuse me,” I said.

  “What can I get you?”

  “We need a plain cheese pizza. And bring the rest of this one over to my grandmother, she’ll like it. She’s the lady in the corner with the book.”

  “It seems like you guys had a good time,” Gram said after we had gotten out of the car and were walking toward the house. “I saw a lot of
smiles and heard a lot of laughing.”

  “It was fun,” I said, leaning into her arm around my shoulders as we walked. “What’s that on the porch?”

  Bridget let out a cheer. She grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Gram as she made me run with her to the porch.

  On the porch was a brand-new, shiny, raspberry-colored bicycle. It had a rainbow ribbon tied to the front vertical bar.

  “It has gears and everything,” Bridget said, pointing to the switches on the handlebars. “And real hand brakes.”

  “This is from you?” I asked, amazed.

  Bridget nodded. “And my family. We thought you must have a bike back in Virginia, but you need one here, too. Dad says we can go bike riding on our own this spring, if Gram agrees. Get on.”

  I climbed on, but the seat was so high only my toes touched the pedals.

  “Dad can fix it,” Bridget said.

  Marcus was on the porch now, too, admiring the bike.

  “I think the phone is ringing!” Gram said. She hurried to unlock the door and disappeared inside. In a few minutes she was back with the phone. “Aubrey, you have a call.”

  I got off the bike. Bridget hopped right on and gave a shriek as it teetered. Marcus handed me the rainbow ribbon. I took the ribbon and the phone into the kitchen.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, baby. It’s me.”

  I sat down in a chair. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Doing anything special?”

  “Having a party.” I took deep breaths and my heartbeat slowed to normal. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, Aubrey.”

  “Really good?”

  “Good.”

  I wrapped the rainbow ribbon around my fingers, rolling it tighter and tighter, and then I pulled it off, letting it spiral to the floor.

  “Do you still have your job?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “I just help out at the house, you know.”

  “Do you play with the babies?”

  “Yeah, sometimes I do. And sometimes I talk to their moms. Or the women who haven’t had their babies yet. Some of them are really young and need someone to talk to.”