“Tell me everything. I’m not going to be able to help you figure out what to do unless I know the whole story, so let’s hear it.”
I study her for a minute, trying to decide if this is a trap or not. I finally realize that she might be my best option for moving forward, so I launch into the story, not leaving a piece of it out. I tell her about the weird interaction between my father and the Parks at graduation. Then I regale the fire, telling her how I ran in there to rescue Addison, but I wasn’t able to get her parents out. I tell her about my suspicions about my father, filling her in on my conversations with Mr. Parks about all of his shady business. And finally, I tell her about Addison.
I tell her all about how upset I am that I had to leave her right when things were finally starting to come together for us. It’s not fair, and I make sure Aunt Trish knows exactly how I feel about all of that.
“You’ve really had a rough time, haven’t you?” she asks though I can tell the question is rhetorical. She purses her lips and looks at me before exhaling loudly. “Alright. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to give you this notepad,” she gets up and walks towards a drawer, pulling it out. “And a pen, and you’re going to sit here and come up with ideas of what your next move is going to be. I don’t care if you put ‘wallow in my own despair’ on there, but I better see some actual ideas too.”
She plops the notepad and pen down in front of me and then puts her hands on her hips. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be outside. I’ve got weeds that won’t pull themselves, you know?”
I don’t know. I’ve never pulled weeds in my life. My mother always hired gardeners to keep the gardens at home looking perfect.
“Come find me when you’re done,” she says, ruffling my hair. I watch her walk towards the front door. She pauses before pulling it open and turns back to me slowly. “And Noah? You’re going to be okay. I know it feels like you’ve got one hell of an uphill battle, and you probably do. But I know you’re going to be fine.”
I offer her a small smile as she exits the house. Then I look down at the blank pad of paper sitting in front of me. Hesitant, I reach for the pen and then write down the first thing that comes to my mind.
“Wallow in despair,” I say out loud as I write it down.Hey, she said I could, right?
After that, I run out of ideas. I honestly have no idea what I’m going to do. I didn’t even know what my next plan was when I was safe at home, and now? Now I have no home, and I’m sleeping on my strange aunt’s couch. I have no plan. I have no girlfriend or friends to lean on. I have nothing to return to, so what’s left?
I lean back in my chair, letting out a loud sigh, never taking my eyes off the notepad. My brain spins as I try to think of something, anything.
I could go see the world. I have my truck. Hopefully, my father didn’t cut off my credit card. Maybe I could hit all of the major tourist places and start a social media platform to document it.
I shake my head. No, that’s not it.
There’s always college. I could go to New York and start working on getting a degree. Maybe there’s even the off chance that I could run into Addison while I was there. She could be working on a chemistry degree at NYU.
Honestly, working on my education is as good an idea as any. At least I’d be working towards something, at the very least. But then the question becomes, what will I major in?
There’s not really anything that interests me enough to make a career out of it. Before all this bullshit with my dad, I was hoping to take a year off and test out some different ideas. I suppose I could still do that now, but I feel like now I have a looming deadline over my head.
I wish Mr. Parks were here so I could bounce ideas off of him. He was always supportive and willing to listen and give advice when needed.
With that thought process, I freeze. My mouth falls open, and I almost consider planting my palm against my forehead. It’s been right in front of me this entire time.
I get up from the table and go back into the living room, walking over to where my duffle bag landed. Rummaging through it, I finally come across my old leather wallet. I flip it open and find the business card sitting safely in its slot. I pull it out and run the rough edges on the pad of my finger, my mind finally starting to come to life and putting the pieces together.
Going back into the kitchen, I sit down again and start scribbling thoughts together, coming up with a five-point plan and jotting it all down. If I have it on paper, then that’s motivation. Finally, hope starts to stir in my chest, and I realize that Aunt Trish was right. I’m going to be okay.
When I’ve got my plan roughly drafted out, I walk out the front door. I stroll through Aunt Trish’s garden towards where she’s kneeling, pulling the weeds. The sun beats down, hinting at what’s to come in the summer months. When I get close enough, I notice she’s working around a bush with dark berries littering along the leaves. I narrow my eyes at the plant, unsure what it is.
“Are those berries?”
Aunt Trish looks up at me, one of her dark eyebrows raised. “I mean, yes. But I can’t say I’d recommend eating them.”
“What are they?”
A sly smirk forms on her lips, and she returns to pulling weeds. “Ever hear of deadly nightshade?” I shake my head, and her smirk grows as she leans back on her haunches, adjusting her hat as she gazes up at me, her blue eyes sparkling against the sun. “I’m sure you have. You had to readRomeo & Julietin one of your English classes, didn’t you?”
“We did. What does that have to do with this plant?”
“Historians suggest that this was the plant that Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote the tragic scene with Juliet faking her death.”
My eyes widen as I look between her and the plant. “It’s poisonous.”
She nods her head. “Very much so. A few too many of these berries, and boom, you’re dead. But the Old Bard thought it might do the trick to put the body into a comatose state, appearing dead to anyone who didn’t look too close. ”