The Aura (17 page)

I felt tears spring to my eyes and looked down at the carrots I’d been washing so that Leo wouldn’t notice. My throat had closed up. I couldn’t speak. From the loud thud of the knife on his chopping board, I could tell he thought I was sulking.

“I’m sorry, Leo,” I said when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “I don’t mean to butt in. You’re doing a wonderful job of looking after the boys and it’s not my place. Sometimes, I suppose, I can’t help myself.” I attempted a smile. “It drives my friends nuts too.”

Putting the knife down, Leo wiped his hands on a tea towel. “You’ve always had a bit of a control thing going on,” he said. “Ever since you were a kid…” his words trailed off and he bit his lower lip. “Anyway, it’s okay. I know you care about the boys, and me. That’s what counts.”

Nodding, I carried on preparing the vegetables. Gabe wandered in and took a bag of chips from the snack cupboard. “Only a few,” warned Leo. “We’re eating in an hour.”

“Okay,” said Gabe, taking a handful of chips. “When’s Aidan coming back?”

“In time for dinner.”

Gabe strolled out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, I heard the television go on in the living room.

The kitchen soon filled with the rich aroma of simmering chicken cacciatore. Leo went to the fridge and pulled out a bag of fresh basil. “I should just get a plant and put it on the windowsill,” he said, pulling the bag open. “Buying it this way costs a fortune.”

I watched as he snipped some of the tender leaves into the pan. The aroma of the basil floated towards me. My chest tightened. That smell always reminded me of Toby, the day he died.

We were playing in the pool at Mrs. Parry’s house, me, my brother Toby, and his little friend, George. George’s mother sat in a blue deckchair, watching us all. The two boys, with red swim bands on their arms, stood in the shallow end, splashing each other. I sat on the edge at the deep end, swinging my legs in the water, enjoying the silky chill on my sunburned skin. I rested my hands on the textured deck tile, feeling the indentations pressing against my palms. It was going to be a perfect summer. No homework, and Kyle, a boy in my class, had asked me to go to a movie with him. He was so cute. I could hardly wait.

Next to me, a pile of basil lay wilting in the heat. The boys had picked it earlier from Mrs. Parry’s vegetable patch. They told me it was what dragons liked to eat.

The jangle of a telephone came through the open French doors. Mrs. Parry glanced that way, but ignored it. The ringing stopped, started again, and this time she clambered out of the deck chair, pulling her robe on over her swimsuit.

“Come out for a few minutes,” she called to the boys. “Sit on the edge with Kate until I come back. Kate, keep an eye on them both. I’ll be right back.”

Both boys obediently waded to the side and climbed the stone steps. They knew that if they didn’t get out, George’s mother would ban them from the pool for a week. She was very strict about safety and sunscreen, and not getting in the water right after eating.

Toby padded along the rim of the pool, yanking up his blue swimming shorts. George went up a couple of steps and then stopped, looking back to the green alligator inflatable he’d been playing with. It wasn’t an alligator. It was a dragon, according to the boys. I’d pointed out that it didn’t have wings and they’d explained that a dragon can fold his wings away when he doesn’t need them. Or when he was taking a dip in the pool.

Toby sat down next to me, pressing his wet arm against mine.

“Eew, you’re cold and wet, move further away,” I said. He grinned and nestled even closer to me.

“Come on, George,” I called. He’d gone back into the water to retrieve the dragon. Holding the inflatable, he clambered up the steps.

A puff of wind made the dragon wriggle in George’s arms. Another, and it was gone, landing in the pool upside down and floating into the middle, out of George’s reach. The boy stood looking at the toy for a few seconds and then scampered back to the shallow end of the pool, and down the steps.

“Leave it, George,” I called. “Come out of the water until your Mum gets back.” Either he didn’t hear me or he chose not to, and I stood up.

“Stay there,” I told Toby. “I’m going to get George out.”

Little horror, I thought, the hot tiles burning the soles of my feet. He and Toby were best friends and went to Pre-K together. They were inseparable. The night before, George had slept over at our house, and I’d helped them set up a tent in Toby’s room, then read them a story by flashlight. George could be sweet, but he was a little spoiled and often defiant.

“George,” I said when I reached the top of the steps. “Come here, right now.” He grinned at me. I was just a ten-year-old girl. He had no desire to do what I wanted.

Hands on my hips, like I’d seen my Mum do when she was cross, I told him again to get out. Maybe the stance did it, because he plodded across the pool, grasping the alligator. I went down a few steps to take his hand. I didn’t want him slipping and hurting himself while I was in charge. We climbed up the steps together and turned back towards the deep end.

There was no sign of Toby. Both his armbands lay on the pool rim, bright red against the creamy stone. I glanced around the garden. Had he gone over to the rope swing? Still holding George’s hand, I pulled him behind me. The alligator flew out of his arms into the pool again, and he began to cry, pulling his hand away from mine. I stopped, saw him run back towards the steps and yelled at him to come back. I had to find Toby, but George was about to get in the water again. The alligator was in the middle of the pool where it was far too deep for him.

For a few seconds, I stood, undecided, then the sun bounced off a ripple at the far end of the pool. My heart lurched. Shouting to George to stand still, I ran, seeing though the reflections on the bright surface, a glimpse of darker blue against the sky blue of the water. I jumped in feet first and then swam down, taking deep breaths. I wasn’t a strong swimmer. Hated getting water in my eyes. Nervously, I opened them and felt the sting of chlorine. Toby was lying on the bottom bobbing slightly in the movement of the water. With a surge of frantic energy, I reached him, grabbed his arm and then swam up. It just took a few kicks of my feet until my head reached the surface and I took a breath.

I pulled Toby up, got his face out of the water. His eyes were closed. “Wake up, Toby. Wake up!”

“Get your mother,” I screamed at George, who was standing on the steps, water up to his ankles. I reached up for the pool rim and held Toby up with the other arm. His head flopped forward, his face in the water again. Crying, letting go of the rim, I trod water, panicking, supporting Toby’s head with both hands. George hadn’t moved.

Everything after that was a blur; a vague memory of the siren of an ambulance, men in dark suits rushing to the pool side. Mrs. Parry crying. My mother, weeping, my dad standing stiff and unmoving, bright sun shining on the tiny white casket, the wilted clump of basil I threw into the grave.

I finished washing the chopping boards and knives and wiped down the surface next to the sink. Leo was humming loudly as he collected knives and forks. When he was in a particularly good mood he’d sing, belting out songs that had the boys rolling their eyes. His repertoire consisted mostly of music from before he was born, like Stairway to Heaven and Supertramp’s Dreamer, and what he lacked in talent he made up for in volume.

I glanced at my watch again. Aidan was supposed to be back at seven. It was two minutes past. I began scrubbing the sink, wanting to stay busy, to keep my mind off the aura that hung over my nephew’s head. Another glance at my watch. It was five past seven.

“Aidan’s late,” I said.

Leo stopped humming and looked at the digital clock on the stove. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

He carried the handful of utensils into the dining alcove in the living room. The brief warmth of the previous day had been chased away by grey clouds and a light drizzle. I opened a window to air out the kitchen, and heard the evensong of birds and in the distance, the wail of a police siren. My stomach churned. I did my best to ignore it. A police car in the neighborhood didn’t mean anything, but I checked the time again.

Leo came back in to collect napkins.

“Shouldn’t Aidan be back by now? Maybe you should call his friend’s house to see where he is?” I asked.

My brother shrugged. “It’s not like him to be late, but let’s give him another few minutes. They were probably engrossed in all that Latin.”

Fifteen minutes later, with dinner ready and staying warm in the oven, Leo began to look concerned. “I’ll call Ryan’s mother.”

I heard him talking in the hallway. When he came back he was frowning. “Aidan left their house nearly forty minutes ago. He should have been back by now. I’m going to drive that way.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said. Leo didn’t argue. He told Gabe to stay home in case Aidan came back by a different route. Once we were in the Land Rover, Leo shifted fast through the gears, speeding along the tranquil residential street. Neither of us spoke. Leo’s anxiety had dissolved my last shreds of confidence that all was well, and I felt sick to my stomach. He braked to take a right hand turn and came to a screeching stop. The road was closed ahead, filled with emergency vehicles. Blue lights turned on top of an ambulance, behind several police cars that were parked to block the road.

“Oh my God,” I said, fumbling to undo my seat belt.

“Maybe you should wait here,” said Leo, already opening his door. He headed towards a group of people who were watching as two paramedics wheeled an empty gurney from the ambulance. I scrambled out of my seat to catch up with him. Beyond the police vehicles was a car, or what was left of it. Its front end was planted in a telegraph pole, the windscreen shattered and the airbags deployed.

“Car hit a pedestrian and then swerved out of control,” I heard a man telling Leo. I felt the ground under my feet soften like quicksand, threatening to swallow me. My feet stopped moving, my legs were like columns of cement, and I was incapable of any forward motion.

“Was the pedestrian badly hurt?” asked Leo. His voice was remarkably steady, I thought, although it seemed to be coming from far away.

“I dunno. But I’d guess that’s a body under that blanket over there.” The man pointed past the telegraph pole where I glimpsed a grey cloth on the ground, surrounded by several uniformed police officers.

Leo glanced back at me. His face was ashen.

“Go back to the car, Kate,” he said. “I have to find someone official to talk to.”

“I’ll wait here. You go.” I watched him move away, pushing past the onlookers to get closer to the policemen. The streetlights flickered on, casting long shadows across the road. The red and blue lights threw patterns on the asphalt and faces grew indistinct in the twilight. Fear had coiled my stomach into an impenetrable knot. I found it hard to breathe. Waiting alone in the dusky light, I began to shiver and leaned over, hands on my knees, hoping to fend off the nausea that was building inside.

“Are you all right, miss?”

I looked up to see a policeman standing over me.

“Just worried sick,” I said. “My nephew is missing and this is the way he would have walked home from his friend’s house.”

I looked towards the grey blanket.

“Your nephew? Tall lanky kid with blonde hair?”

The pavement shifted and I felt the blood draining from my face.

“Hey, you’re okay. Take some deep breaths.”

I opened my eyes, saw disembodied hazy faces floating in the darkness.

“Do you want to sit up?” It was Leo’s voice. When his face came into focus, I saw that he was smiling. Why was he smiling? Aidan was dead. I must be dreaming, I thought, closing my eyes again, shutting out the pain.

“Aunty Kate? Can you stand up? I’m hungry and I want to go home.”

Minutes later, I was in the back seat of the Land Rover. Aidan was in front, sitting next to his Dad, telling us how he saw the accident and was nearly struck by the car.

“If it hadn’t gone into the pole, it would have kept going over the curb and hit me,” he said. “A man came out of a house nearby. He called the police and said I should stay to be a witness. It wasn’t the driver’s fault. The lady just stepped out right in front of the car and the driver tried to swerve, but he still hit her.”

When Aidan stopped talking, Leo put out his hand and patted his son’s knee. He drove slowly, but we soon reached the house, where he turned off the engine and the three of us sat in silence for a minute. My breathing had returned to normal, but my hands were still trembling. Although I peered through the seats to look at Aidan, I could see only saw his arm and shoulder. I couldn’t tell if the aura had gone or not.

“I’ll go make sure Gabe is all right,” I said, pushing the door open. “He’ll be worried.”

In fact, Gabe didn’t appear to notice we’d been gone. He was engrossed in a television show and managed a quick greeting before his eyes drifted back to the screen. I checked on the food in the oven. Although I’d stopped shaking, my thoughts were rampaging wildly. By his own account, Aidan had narrowly missed being hit by the out of control car. If the aura was presaging that accident, and he had survived it, then the aura would be gone. He would be out of danger. When I heard Leo and Aidan come into the kitchen, I braced myself to look at Aidan. Setting the dish carefully on the counter, I took off the oven mitts and turned around.

Leo had his arm around Aidan’s shoulders and was ruffling his blonde hair. “You did the right thing to stay, son. You’re probably feeling a bit of shock, seeing someone run over. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He let go as Aidan tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“I’m fine,” said Aidan. “Can I go watch television with Gabe?”

I leaned against the counter so that my legs would hold my up better. The aura was still there, faint but definitely present. How could that be? I was sure it would have disappeared, that this had been a close shave but a disaster averted. The temporary hope I’d harbored ran away like sand through my fingers, and I felt a heavy, dark weight pushing down on me.