“Did I tell the cops I was the one driving because I wanted to save Thom? Because he was already eighteen and drunk, and it would have ruined his life forever? Maybe. Once you dip a toe in the criminal justice system, who knows what’ll happen? There’s no question it went better for me, at fifteen, than it would have for him, a legal adult who was legally drunk.
“Or did I say it was me because I felt guilty? Because if I hadn’t been fucking around in the back seat Kyle never would have had the idea to escape out the window, even as a joke?
“Or did I lie for my brother because our family mythology demanded it? Because Thom was a genius and was going places, and I was a pretty girl who would marry somebody and be fine, and nothing must be allowed to interfere with our destinies?
“I guess, if I had to answer all those questions right now, I would just say, ‘Yes.’
“You were right, Scott. My dad died of a broken heart. But you could say my mom did too, because what is cancer if not the body giving up, because it can’t take it anymore? Neither one of my parents ever got over what happened, because I think they both suspected the truth about who’d been driving—Thom has always been a terrible liar, still is—and they both just let it all happen anyway. They let a fifteen-year-old girl ruin her life so her brother could go design apps in Silicon Valley.
“I’ll say this for my parents, they got me an excellent lawyer. The judge gave me five years’ probation for reckless endangerment and driving without a license. I stuck around Aurora and tried to pick up the pieces. I escorted both of my parents out of this world over the next ten years and made a series of very dumb choices in men, culminating in your father, whom I think we can both agree is the dumbest choice anyone could possibly make.
“And my big brother moved away and made four billion dollars, which at some twisted level he probably thinks he owes me. And I admit, I’ve never gone out of my way to convince him otherwise.
“So, yeah, Scott. You’re right. Thom and I have a fucked-up relationship.”
That was what Aubrey had thought about saying. But she didn’t. She had never told a soul all that, and she never would.
Aubrey took care of everyone.
Part IV
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25.
Aurora
Four months later
The goats were back, and it was about time. Mrs. Chen had seen them wandering over on Stratton, and she and her boys herded them to Cayuga Lane, where they were sorely needed. The sod had all been turned months ago, the front yards replanted as community fields, but there was a ton of invasive, weedy growth all around the driveways and the edges of the sidewalks. It was coming out of cracks in the road, dripping from the trees, and anywhere else nature had possibly been able to get a toehold.
And then there was the garbage. Store-bought waste had dropped dramatically in the past four months, but food scraps were everywhere, as not everyone on the block was scrupulous about getting their refuse to the compost heap. The goats, about a dozen in all, had broken free of the barriers of a petting zoo about a mile away and had been on a leisurely circuit of the area since that time. No one, it seemed, was too interested in goat meat, and so the animals had come to serve a greater purpose, as agents of community cleanup. They were exceptionally good at their job.
The only problem was keeping them out of the Cayuga crops, which, by late August, were in full, ripe maturity. The neighbors all worked a rotating shift of harvesting schedules and so someone was usually there to keep the animals out of the produce, but the goats were quick and relentless. You couldn’t so much as glance away. Someone had to be on the job full-time. Norman Levy, though noticeably slower and frailer than four months ago, seemed to have found a new calling in life, which was goatherd.
He’d started, as was his way, by getting on his radio setup and asking questions. Connecting with a farmer in Sudan, he’d learned a number of valuable tips, and after two or three sessions with the goats, they started behaving exactly as he wanted them to. Throwing rocks to steer their course was a popular method of control, but in the opinion of the Sudanese goat farmer, it tended to make the goats skittish, and therefore slower at their jobs. Using a stick was fine, never to hit the animals—talk about making them jumpy—but instead to lightly tap the ground beside them, ushering them away from the things you didn’t want them to eat. By late June, the goats had become accustomed to seeing Norman as their leader, and he found that tapping the stick was no longer even necessary, just carrying a large one was enough to do the job. Norman loved his new profession and always met the return of the goats with joy and enthusiasm.