But when school was in, he had to cut class, and if his mom knew he’d skipped out to go meet Aubrey, she’d kill him. But a man had to do what a man had to do. That was Tom’s favorite quote. Tom, his stepfather, the man who’d adopted Josh, who loved him, who didn’t mind if Josh wanted to go meet up with the little Trenton girl. Tom, who, when Josh was twelve and Aubrey ten, sat him down and explained things—the “facts of life,” he called them.
Tom was a good man. Josh liked him a lot. He knew he wasn’t his real father, though Daisy tried to pass that off. Josh remembered more than his mother would have liked about his biological father. Daisy didn’t like to talk about Ed Hardsten. She’d divorced him when Josh was four. He remembered that night clearly. She’d practically set the house on fire burning all the pictures. A neighbor smelled smoke and called 9-1-1, and the fire department came and put out the small bonfire she’d set in the backyard, and a fireman took Daisy in the house. After what seemed like forever, she came back outside, calmer, controlled, and gathered Josh in her arms.
“Mommy, what’s wrong? Where’s Daddy?”
“Daddy’s gone, Josh. Daddy’s gone away and won’t ever come back. He’s gone to . . . to heaven.”
He was only four; he couldn’t know his mother was lying to him. Ed Hardsten didn’t go to heaven. He went to jail. He was corrupt. He worked with bad men, men who didn’t care about sad mommies or scared little boys. He stole from people, and cheated, and lied. There were rumors that he’d killed two men, never proven, and bedded a floozy. Josh learned the term later, floozy. It reminded him of voluminous curtains blowing in the wind, and forever more in his mind he pictured his father standing with an ethereal lace angel dressed in striped white-on-white linen by his side.
“Josh?”
He came back down to earth.
“Sorry, Aubs. It means ‘Joshua David Hamilton plus Aubrey Marie Trenton equals True Love Always.’ See?” He traced the lines he’d just cut into the tree’s bark with his finger. “It means you and I are tied together, forever.”
“Oh.” Aubrey stared at the letters, eyes wide, and looked back to Josh. “Forever? Even if you go away?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Aubrey.” He wanted to hug her, to reassure her. Only mothers and fathers went away. Kids didn’t. But that was a concept that might be lost on her. In a burst of bravado, he spilled out a whopper. “You know, Tom’s not my real dad. Mine . . . died when I was four.”
He’d figured out his mother lied to him a couple of years earlier when he caught sight of a letter in her top drawer, signed by a man named Ed Hardsten. A letter that demanded Daisy allow him to see his son. Dead men can’t write letters.
You’re dead . . . to me.
“Really?” Aubrey asked.
He could see the intrigue in her eyes. It took a lot to impress her, and he was pleased with himself, and embellished a bit.
“Really. My mom doesn’t let me talk about it. I think he broke her heart.” He said this with gravitas, a knowing statement, and Aubrey nodded. Heartbreak was something she understood completely.
“Thank you for telling me.” Serious Aubrey, with her curls sticking out from the undersides of a too-big raggedy baseball cap, was starting to look older than her years. That made Josh sad, though he couldn’t really explain it. The day had gotten entirely too serious, as a matter of fact. They needed to break this mood. He didn’t get to spend enough time with her as it was; he didn’t want to waste it being unhappy. Time to move along.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked, smiling, cheerful.
“How much time do we have?”
“All day. I might get grounded tonight, but I don’t care. It’s worth it.” He said it with reckless abandon. He’d fashioned notes excusing both of them from school for doctor’s appointments. If the office called and checked, he would be in huge trouble. If they didn’t, well, what was the harm? Besides, a day out of school in the park with his best friend was worth whatever punishment he’d get.
“I don’t know. Movies?” They started walking again, along the path, and Josh caught Aubrey glance back at the tree with a small, satisfied smile on her face.
His heart swelled with pride. He’d entertained her and made her smile. She was such a serious girl, so silent and quiet. That’s what attracted him to her in the first place: she was so quiet. Like a mountain, or a tree, something that needs to be watched over, sat by, explored without touching.
“Movies would be good. We could go see the new Tarantino.”
“That’s rated R. We can’t get in without an adult. What about the one with the bugs who talk? That looked funny.”
“That’s a kids’ movie.”
Her face fell. He forgot sometimes that he was her elder, and some of the things that might appeal to her seemed childish to him. “Maybe we could just walk around and talk. I have some money, we could go to McDonald’s. Or the Soda Shop on Elliston Place.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, can we? I’d love a float. I haven’t had ice cream forever. Sandy doesn’t have money for extras like that.”