🍃 🍃 🍃"The Last Thing She Saw" by Nina Laurin

“Did the house ever sell?”

He shook his head. “And now I doubt it will.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s right by the river. At a low point. It got flooded too.”

Luc is right. It is sad.

“Come on,” he says, and shifts from one foot to the other as if sensing that this is it—I’m not going to go inside and start poking around. “I’ll take you to Laura’s.”

We go back to the F-150. Only once we’re back on the road and the house fades in the rearview mirror does it occur to me to wonder: “So aren’t you in the police, like your dad?”

“Nope,” he says.

Wow. Frank must have shat a brick.

“I decided to get into the whole agricultural game,” Luc says. I glance at him sideways and instantly feel a prickle of alarm. He’s avoiding my gaze, looking at the road a little too intently.

“What?” I tease. “Don’t tell me you’ve started a grow-op in some old barn. They’re gonna legalize that stuff soon anyway.”

“No,” he replies quickly. “Nothing like that. Nah, I’m growing soy these days.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “Cath’s dad, you know, he retired, and Cath has no siblings so it’s pretty much just me.”

No further explanation is needed, thank you, good night.

“Cath won’t be mad once the entire town tells her they saw me in your truck?” I ask, unable to keep the sour note from my voice. How on earth was I here for two whole weeks last time and I never even heard of this? And why didn’t Laura say anything? You’d think she’d be the first to gloat.

Luc winces. “Come on, Steph. It’s not like that. It’s been like twenty years.”

Fifteen. But I don’t correct him.

“We got married a few years back,” he says, hangdog.

Wow. Cath sure as hell didn’t waste any time.

In that moment, he takes a turn, then another turn, and then, here it is, the second to last in the row of mobile homes. Laura’s. I never in my life would have imagined I’d be thankful to see it. But as it stands, the sight of it snaps me right out of my head, where I’d been imagining the most gruesome scenes involving my high school boyfriend and Cath naked in bed, together.

“Here you are,” says Luc in a much more hopeful tone. I bet he’s just as glad the ride is over. “Say hi to your mom for me, will you?”

“I will,” I say in a saccharine voice, giving him my best shit-eating grin as I grab my duffel. “And you be sure to say hi to Cath.”

“Stephanie…”

“Thanks for the ride.”

There. Let no one say I have no manners. Not my mother’s daughter after all.

TWO

1979

In all of Marly, there’s no cooler girl than Laura O’Malley. Laura with her black nail polish that always chips because she bites her nails, but who cares, that only makes it look better, look like she doesn’t care. Laura with her thick eyeshadow, Laura who fills the waterlines of her blue eyes with coal-black pencil. Laura with her Judas Priest T-shirt that she ties around her midsection because they don’t make those shirts in girl sizes. All the boys at the high school are already talking about what Laura’s got under that shirt. The girls call her a whore ’cause they’re jealous, that’s all, because she’s the only eighth grader who’s got high school boys salivating. Laura cuts holes in her jeans and teases her hair up to there with hairspray she shoplifted. Laura can have any cassette tape she wants—she just has to bat her spidery black lashes at some guy, and he’ll make her a copy of whatever.

If only what she wants now were as easy.

The concert is at the end of summer. AC/DC, she can’t miss it. Everyone at school will die from jealousy. The only question is how to get there. She’d need a lot of money, for the tickets to Montreal, for the tickets to the concert, and probably even for a motel. That’s more than Laura can slip out of her parents’ stash without them noticing. It’s more than she can nick from someone’s purse at the general store—and anyway, everyone is wary of her now; she can’t sneak up behind the women while they shop. The moment they notice her, with her hair and her ripped jeans, they change aisles as if by accident. But it’s obvious to Laura that it’s all on purpose. She supposes her reputation has made the rounds. It’s a small rural town, so what can you do? Everyone knows everything. Whose car sat in whose driveway on a random weekday afternoon and for how long. Who owes money, and who’s not getting it back because it has long ago been gambled away at the local dive’s slot machine. Whose parents are getting divorced and whose parents drink too much.

So the usual solutions are out. That doesn’t leave her with many options.

Laura goes to the fridge, opens the door, and takes stock of what’s on the shelves. Not much, as usual. She picks up the milk carton and hears the soured remnants slosh around the bottom. The smell wafts into her face. She wasn’t here for the milk anyway, and the newly bought 24-pack of cheap beer beckons to her from the bottom shelf. She sneaks one bottle out and slips it into her school backpack. Then she thinks for a moment and sneaks another one.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Her mother’s voice, hoarse with the day’s hangover. Laura can’t help but give a start. How did the old bat manage to sneak up on her?

She lets go of the door, which moves ominously slowly and then slams shut with a heavy thud of finality. “We’re out of milk,” Laura mutters. “Can I have a few bucks to hit the store?”

“Get some change from the bowl.”

There is no change in the bowl, and hasn’t been since the last social welfare payout. They both know this.

“And there’s no peanut butter either,” Laura says in guise of an answer. “And the bread’s all moldy.”

Her mother scoffs. “Well, it’s not like you’re contributing anything to the budget, is it? The bread I buy isn’t good enough for you, then get your own. What do the other kids do? Babysit. Mow lawns.”