The Constellations

Aunt Deb’s apartment

aunT dEB’s aparTmEnT seemed cramped to Eric after the high ceilings and cross drafts of the farmhouse. Tall bookshelves crowded the living room, and the spines of the books and dark wood of the shelves drank up light. Shelves and dish racks crowded the small counter space of the kitchen; the hanging pots and pans and baskets of fruit seemed to lower the ceiling to an inch above Fergus’s head. Files, stacks of loose paper, and library books covered every flat surface. The constant noise added to the closeness. At home he rarely heard machines, save the buzz of the clothes dryer when it finished or the ominous coughs of his father’s cars. Here the racket of the elevated train shook the windows every eight minutes. The traffic was a constant hum punctuated with horns and yelling and the periodic approach and fade of the O’Jays via the Doppler effect. Once Emma had dismissed him in favor of her friends, Eric went to the desk at the living room window. Fergus sat here to write.Eric halfheartedly explored the old black typewriter,its visible moving parts and the half-black, half-red ribbon. When he pressed a letter the key rose in salute.An adjustable desk lamp sat to one side; on the other a canvas sneaker held a stack of manila folders in place. He craned his neck to look up. It would be a clear night. How you could use a telescope with all these buildings around, Eric had no idea. Probably his father would be grilling. If they had not come for him yet. The sudden shock of worry made him close his eyes, the way he did before Johnny Garland plowed into him. Eric wanted more than anything to tell somebody. Not to find help for his dad. Just to feel better. To share the secret, shift it to someone else, someone else who knew what to do. It had to be someone in 134 The Constellations the family. It was that kind of secret, like Dad’s drinking. But he couldn’t go to Uncle Cowell or Aunt Phyl, since Cowell worked with the sheriff.Aunt Deb would never keep the secret—she’d be on the phone to Dad about it ten seconds later. On the way to the city he almost decided to tell Uncle Fergus. But probably it was a bad idea. Married people told each other things. It was just like Aunt Phyl and Uncle Cowell. After dinner, they sat down to play Scrabble. Emma, required by decree to spend Sunday nights with her family, joined the game. When Eric pointed out the unfairness of playing against a writer, Fergus laughed. “Do you ever play Scrabble at home?” Fergus asked as he arranged his letters. “Some of the letters got lost,” Eric said.“I play at the Garlands’ sometimes.” They began the game in silence. Deb, sweating from the kitchen, shuffled around the table checking everyone’s trays.Emma had segregated her consonants from her vowels. Eric had spelled orion. When she came to Fergus, she saw he had spelled zebra. As she passed he tossed the z into the box top and drew a new letter. “Can’t spell anything,” he said.“Your turn, Em.” Emma looked up at Deb. “I’ve already spelled one word, and he hasn’t scored yet.” “I have a feeling he will later,” Deb said as she mussed Fergus’s hair. Fergus raised his eyebrows. The moment Eric put down orion Emma raised a protest. To Eric’s surprise proper names were illegal. Fergus tried to mediate an exception to the rule, but Emma, quoting the inside of the box top, appealed to her mother for a ruling. “That is the rule,” Deb said, “but Eric didn’t know. Give him this word, but then he can’t use proper nouns in the future.” As Eric scored only six points for it, Emma agreed. “I thought you played before,” she said. “I did but the Garlands don’t care about rules,” Eric said. The game was pleasant enough to make Eric think Emma might be willing to treat him like a cousin. When afterward he Kevin Cunningham 135 proposed playing cards,she claimed she had to do homework and slammed the door to her room. Eric knew Em was far too smart for summer school. He returned to...