1
Ashleigh
The first time I met Marc Campbell I was ten and he was twelve.
His was a sad story with a pretty happy outcome. At least I thought so.
His mom was going into rehab for drug addiction and Child Protective Services had removed him from the home. He’d been in foster care for a month until his mom had reached out to her brother, George, to step in and raise Marc until she could get better.
George, who worked for my father, was bringing him here to live on the estate. See, like I said, a happy outcome. And yes, I knew it was weird to live on an estate instead of in a regular house. It’s because my dad was rich. I didn’t think about that too often except for when I had to say things like, I live on an estate.
Ours was one of the biggest properties in Harborview, New Jersey, which was about an hour south of New York and not too far from the coast.
Anyway, today was the day George had gone to pick up Marc from his foster family.
I sat on the porch overlooking the long driveway and scratched my knee as I waited for the car to roll up.
My dad wasn’t here. He was at work, I supposed, because that’s where he usually was. So it was just me here to greet them. George, Marc’s uncle, was my only friend on the estate so it was important to me for him to know I supported him and would be nice to his nephew.
It was probably another weird thing that my only friend was a grown man in his fifties. But George not only took care of the house, my dad’s cars and all the cooking, he also took care of me.
Did I mention that Marc was only twelve! Which wasn’t even that much older than me. He might want to play and stuff. Things George didn’t do.
I remember when George heard about what had happened to his sister and his nephew. He’d gotten really quiet. Nothing I did would make him smile or laugh. I could tell he was sad. Maybe even a little guilty, too. He didn’t hesitate to ask my dad if it was okay for Marc to come live with him at the carriage house.
He asked me first, of course, and I said yes right away.
George would make it all right. George made everything all right. He was kind and super cool for an old guy. I knew eventually he would win Marc over. It was just going to take Marc time to adjust to his new home. That’s what George said. That I would have to give Marc some space and time because of what he’d been through with his mom.
I bent down to scratch the mosquito bite on my knee again, even though I knew it was only making it worse. I jumped up when I heard the engine of a car and, a second later, George was pulling up to the house in the big, black Mercedes SUV, one of five cars my dad kept on the estate.
Waving my hand, maybe a little too excitedly given this was mostly a sad day, I waited as George, then Marc, got out of the car.
“Hi, George!” I called.
“Hey there, Peanut,” he said.
Marc was wearing a suit. George had said the plan was to let him visit with his mother before coming to the estate. He must have wanted to look his best for her. Except as soon as he was out of the car, he started pulling his coat off. His tie was already loosened, and his dark blonde hair looked as if he’d been running his hand through it, as chunks of it fell into his eyes.
“Hi. I’m Ashleigh,” I said.
He rolled his eyes at me just as George walked up behind him. “Marc, we talked about this.”
I could see Marc’s face turn red and I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. Like he hated me already.
I didn’t have friends my age because I didn’t go to school. I had tutors because my father didn’t trust the public or private school systems to deal with my condition. So I was eager to make a good impression with someone close to my age who would be living on the estate. But it felt like he’d already made up his mind.
He pushed a lock of hair off his forehead and I could see his eyes were brown.
“Hey,” he said.
“Peanut, why don’t you show Marc around the grounds? I’ll take your coat and tie, son, then go fix us something to eat.”
George walked inside the main house, even as Marc glared at him the whole way. I tried to take Marc’s hand to get his attention, but he jerked it away.
“Don’t touch me,” he snapped.
“Okay. Come with me,” I said, pretending he didn’t already hate me. I started to walk around the main house, surprised he was following me. I didn’t bother to point out the main house. It was pretty big, so it was obvious. But as we followed the stone walkway around it, I did stop and point out the pool.
“That’s the pool. You can go swimming whenever you want. We keep it heated so you can even swim in the winter if you want. And over there are the tennis courts.”
“Tennis courts,” he repeated.
“Do you want to play? I can get us rackets.”
I wasn’t really supposed to play. My dad didn’t like it when I did anything too physical. I didn’t know how, either, but if Marc wanted to hit balls at me that would be okay.
He stopped following me, so I turned around. I still had to show him the carriage house where he would live with George, which was down a path from the tennis courts, deeper onto the property.
He walked up to me and got super close. He was a whole head taller than me. I was small anyway, but he made me feel like a dwarf.
“Get this straight,” he said in low, soft voice. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to know you. And I sure as shit don’t want to play tennis with some stuck-up baby bitch.”
It was hard to know what startled me more. The cursing or the fact he’d been so mean to me. Nobody spoke to me this way. Everyone was always so gentle around me. So careful.
I couldn’t stop the tears that rushed to my eyes, and that only made his sneering face meaner.
“Go ahead, cry baby. Go run back to daddy.”
I did exactly that. I wasn’t fast, but I ran as hard as I could to the house and to the kitchen where George was putting together sandwiches.
“George!” I took a few breaths because I was panting from both running and crying. I could feel the strain in my lungs, and I hated it. Hated that breathing should hurt this bad.
“Settle down, Peanut. Look at me.”
I did. George was easy to look at. Soft brown eyes, a round face with dimples in his cheeks. Kind of like he was always smiling. He could always relax me, no matter what.
“Easy in, and easy out. Breathe in and breathe out.”
He made me breathe with him until I felt normal again.
“Now tell me what happened.”
“He was so mean to me! He cursed and everything. He hates me already, and he just got here, and I didn’t even do anything wrong!”
George picked me up then, and set me on the kitchen island next to where he was making his sandwiches, and nodded.
“Marc doesn’t hate you, Peanut,” he said gently. George was always gentle and kind to me. I’d never heard him curse ever.
“He called me the “B” word!”
George sighed, but I could see he wasn’t going to punish his nephew for cursing.
“Marc had to be taken away from his mom and that’s about the worst pain anyone can face. So all that pain is sitting in his stomach and he doesn’t know how to get it out. Yelling at you, me, anybody around, is the only thing he knows how to do. You’ve got to let him spew for a while until the pain subsides enough for him to breathe easier.”