Love, Aubrey

“His name is Sammy,” I said. “And he doesn’t like strangers.”

“She took her address book, but she never said anything at all?”

I didn’t know which would be worse, if she had left in that hazy not-my-mother state, or if she was normal when she left, and might have known that she was leaving me behind.

“No. She never talked about…them, either.”

“So this child named Aubrey was the bravest of children—”

“Why?” I interrupted. “What made her so brave?”

“I’m not sure. I think it had something to do with her heart.”

“Yeah?”

“She wrapped it up in cellophane, to keep it fresh for later.”

“Hi,” I said.

She looked up. “You have a scar on your head,” she said.

Usually, people stare, or they ask, “How did you get that awful scar?” Bridget made it sound normal.

“Hello, Aubrey,” Bridget’s mother said. Then she did something I wasn’t expecting. She knelt in front of me and slowly gathered me into a hug. “Your grandmother told me about you. I’m very glad you are here.”

I stood stiffly. I met Bridget’s eyes. She was using her thumb to smudge away the stickies on her cheeks. She looked steadily back at me without seeming to be afraid to. She had known the whole time, I realized then. She knew everything.

I relaxed in Bridget’s mother’s arms, resting my head on her shoulder as she rocked me. When I finally pulled away, there was wetness on her shirt. Drops I didn’t need to carry around anymore.

I looked at the two presents. “What should we do with these?”

“Put them in the attic,” Gram said.

I didn’t question her reasoning, but I scooped up the presents and carried them carefully upstairs.

I went inside the office. If Marcus was the kind of kid who came to see Amy Carlisle, I didn’t need to.

“It’s okay to wait,” Gram said. “I’ll drive you over when it stops.”

I’d ridden the bus in the rain before, but it was a drizzly, soft, and safe rain. The rain was pounding, sweeping, drizzling.

My hair was braided, in two tails, the same way Bridget would wear her hair, the way we’d planned.

I was going to see Amy today.

I had a science presentation. My report, “The Understory Story: The Life Cycle of a Forest,” was tucked in my backpack. It was six pages, plus the bibliography. Gram had marked the end of several days’ work by buying me one of those clear plastic covers with a red plastic spine that slides on to hold the whole thing together.

“No,” I answered Gram. “I—I’ll get on the bus when it comes.”

I took a celery stick and a carrot and put them on a plate. Bridget gave me a funny look and put a turkey sandwich and a cupcake on my plate, too.

“My mom left, too. I mean, like your dad did. I should have told you last night.”

Marcus nodded and went back to stirring his veggie medley. Carrots, corn, green beans, limas.

“Did she leave because of you?” he asked.

“She didn’t stay because of me,” I said.

I could tell that under the table, Marcus was starting to tap his foot. Above the table, he nodded, letting his bangs fall into his eyes. I stood up to leave. As I walked away, even though there had been a table between us, I felt like Marcus had given me a hug.

“No!” I yelled. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be!”

Gram sighed. “Tell me, how is it supposed to be?”

“She’s supposed to come see me! Or she’s supposed to at least call to wish me Merry Christmas!”

Gram slammed something down. “You left her!” she yelled.

“I know.” Mom’s voice sounded as if she was choking. “But I didn’t know then. I didn’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t remember it.”

My breath stopped.

I had been forgotten. But she didn’t leave me behind on purpose. She didn’t know.

Even though it felt heavy in my stomach, the food tasted good and sweet and warm.

“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.

“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 need 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 carried the phone with me to the dining room, found the pink box, and brought it to the kitchen. I sat at the table to open it. It was two books, one with large pictures about life in the Middle Ages, and the other with stiff paper for you to cut out little people and buildings to set up a medieval town.

“You left all your history books here, sweetie,” she explained. “I thought you might like some new ones.”

“Thank you,” I said. I had almost forgotten about that me, the one who liked to learn things in history books. Mom hadn’t.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked. Maybe she could make this [decision] for me, too.

Gram thought for a few minutes. “I would miss you a lot, duckling. But, I think, you can look into your heart and figure it out.”

I sat on the swing in her yard, wishing that our conversation had gone differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her at all.

“Savannah, none of these people go together. They aren’t a family.”

Savannah doesn’t seem to care. “They live in the same place.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“And they are happy together. So there.”