Page 74 of Townshipped
AIDEN
Waking up to the shower running sends alarm bells through my foggy brain. I feel like I only just fell asleep. I glance at the clock. No wonder. I did just fall asleep. The cheap digital clock display says it’s seven fifty in the morning. I think I finally dropped off sometime after five.
I tried falling asleep after I made sure Em was past the shock of whatever scared her. The darkened room didn’t help. My whole body was aware of every shift Em made on her so-called mattress, her soft sighs, and the way she whuffled in her sleep. It’s not a snore, but a light breathing that’s almost musical. The sound soothed me, but did nothing to help me nod off. Instead, I fought the irrational urge to be nearer to her.
I wasn’t about to leave her here last night to return to sharing a room with Trevor. Not after that scream. Maybe I should have, but the idea of her facing whatever scared her alone … well, that wasn’t going to happen.
I knew Lexi was here. And I love Lexi like a sister. She can muster as much voltage as a full set of spark plugs when her friends are threatened or hurting. But she’s a brand-new mom, and I’m pretty sure she’s too tired and rightly preoccupied to be fully present for Em.
Besides, I wanted to be here. And that scares me, because I can’t want the redhead showering on the other side of that very thin door right now. I rub the back of my neck. I should go back to my room, only Trevor turned our room into his family’s room now.
His family.
The idea of my baby brother as a dad, with a wife and a child, feels like we’re kids playing one of the role-playing games he and Lexi used to make up in our backyard. They were married in those games too.
The water turns off and I feel like a caged animal. I look around as if I could find somewhere to hide. Like I can pull that off.Oh, hey, Em. Good morning. What? What am I doing hunkered between the bed and the wall? Oh, just doing a few early morning pushups.
The door latch snicks and I freak. What if she’s in a towel? It’s not an unwelcome thought, but I have a hard enough time resisting Em fully clothed. With my nerves shot and a strong need for a full night’s sleep, Em in a towel will definitely be my undoing. I’m picturing it now and I have to start thinking of other things: Memaw, Mable, all the senior citizens in Bordeaux. Goats. Lots and lots of goats. The taste of raw mushrooms. Mucking Lily’s stall. Yeah. That’s working.
Just before the bathroom door swings open, I throw myself back onto the mattress and sprawl like I haven’t woken up yet. The move reminds me of elementary school sleepovers when we thought we were so smooth trying to get away with staying up past the moment our parents said, “lights out.”
I’m not sure what Em’s wearing, but drawers move in and out, and there’s shuffling movement around the room. And, to top it off, I have to use the restroom. Could I make it to the bathroom by feeling my way along the wall with my eyes shut? Not likely. Everything about me being here feels awkward.
How is it I could be in Em’s bedroom at the farmhouse sitting in my wingback like a sentry over her well-being while she slept, but now I feel like I’m committing a heist?
“You’re awake. And I’m dressed,” Em says with an amused undertone to her voice.
“Yeah,” I say, rolling over and stretching, slowly opening my eyes to take her in.
I emphasize the rough scratch to my voice to make it seem like I’m just now rousing.
“I knew that,” I say with false bravado. “I was just wishing I could turn back time and grab a few more hours of sleep.”
“You could use it,” she agrees. Then she walks toward the door. “Well, the bathroom’s all yours. I’m going downstairs to see if they have anything decent. And by decent, I mean coffee.”
Just then the shrill whistle blows in the hallway, followed by the commanding voice of the man leading the high school group. “Rise and shine!” His voice booms. “Competition bus leaves in forty-five minutes. Shower. Dress. Pack. If you leave your phone or your earbuds or your favorite jammies in your rooms, we are not—I repeat,are not—returning here for them. Meet me downstairs in thirty.”
Em darts the rest of the way to our door. “I have to beat them to the coffee. I’ll be downstairs.”
I watch her go and then I let out a long breath when the door closes behind her. She’s the one who should be on pins and needles, but I’m the one coming unglued. I have to get it together. Today I become the full-time guardian for my niece and nephew.
* * *
The chapelwhere Vanessa’s funeral is being held is only about fifteen minutes from the Spart Inn. We made it here almost an hour early. Mom was able to comfort Aunt Deb, while I briefly greeted my niece and nephew with hugs.
After we said our hellos, I let Paisley and Ty go with their grandparents. They know me, but we’re not close. Right now they need familiarity. It’s going to be hard enough for them to leave everything they know and come home with me later today.
Vanessa seems to have lived two lives. One was her sober life—and it’s represented today at her funeral by a variegated assortment of friends, some of them tattooed and obviously reformed but still bearing the vestiges of a life they left behind. Other sober friends wear business suits and look like they do all the hiring and firing in their world.
The sober friends all have a distinctive aura about them regardless of their appearance. It’s like an effortless joy permeates the air around them. The ones with tats and rock-and-roll style mingle with the guys wearing suits as if they don’t see the stark contrast between each other. They share a camaraderie that transcends superficial appearances.
The other half of Van’s acquaintances make my skin prickle. These are the shifty and suspicious people she probably knew in her darker days. Some of them cluster together, others stand alone. I wonder how many of them currently have warrants out for their arrest, and which of them is jonesing for a drink or drug, but showed up here to give last respects anyway.
Then there’s the family. We’re all up front in the first two rows. My niece and nephew sit in the very front flanked by my aunt Deb and uncle Mark in the seats next to the aisle. Their faces are stoic and their posture unnaturally rigid for kids their ages. I look around, but my eyes constantly return to these two children who have lost so much, even long before Van’s accident and death.
I feel a brush across my palm. Em grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. Our enjoined hands rest on the wood of the pew between us. I let her hang on to me. Maybe I’m hanging on to her. She’s a life raft, buoyant and steady in the midst of my family’s turbulence.
The pastor takes his place and says some welcoming words. He prays, and then begins to call people up for opening readings.
