It’s Always the Husband. Michele Campbell

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      “Here, sit up,” she said, resuming her place next to Aubrey.

      Aubrey sat up and blew her nose. “I can’t afford the plane ticket. The dorms are closed for a week.”

      “Why didn’t you say something? You’ll come home with me. You know you’re always welcome. Problem solved.”

      “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that. But it’s not the only problem.”

      “What, then?”

      “I don’t know where my mother is,” Aubrey said, bursting into tears again.

      “I don’t understand. Did she go somewhere?” Jenny handed her another Kleenex, and Aubrey mopped her face.

      “Her phone is disconnected. That happens sometimes. She waitresses, she doesn’t always have enough to cover her bills. And even when she does, she isn’t always organized enough to pay them. I used to handle that. I probably still should, it’s just, with everything . . .”

      “Of course. I’m so sorry, that’s awful.”

      Jenny genuinely felt terrible for Aubrey. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like, not only to have such money problems, but to be uncertain where your own mother was. Jenny’s mother phoned her twice a day, and if Jenny didn’t call back right away, she worried there was something wrong and called again. To not hear from your own mother was beyond her comprehension. Surely there was somebody back home who could help Aubrey get in touch. Jenny knew surprisingly little about Aubrey’s home life, because Aubrey rarely chimed in when they talked about their families. Jenny had noticed this silence and tried to be sensitive to it, but now she felt compelled to ask.

      “Is your father in the picture, or are your parents divorced? I’m sorry, I hope you don’t mind if I ask.”

      “Ugh, I can’t talk about this,” Aubrey said, flopping down and pulling the pillow over her head. Jenny tugged it aside.

      “Hey. Come on, divorce is nothing to be ashamed of in this day and age.”

      Aubrey looked at her with watery eyes. “If you want to know the truth, it’s a lot worse than divorce. My parents never got married. My dad drove a long-haul truck, and my mom was like, his road girlfriend. She says he had another family somewhere, and one night he drove away and never came back. I’m so ashamed. Don’t tell anyone? Please?”

      “Of course not. I would never. This is not your fault. You’re the victim. It must have been terrible for you. How old were you when it happened?”

      “I was three. It’s not like I missed him or anything. All I remember about him is the smell of beer. But after he left, things were rough financially. My mom couldn’t catch a break. Vegas is a tough town for a woman. She was pretty when she was younger, and she made decent money waitressing. But she got old fast. And she didn’t have the gumption to make a move. You know, take a GED course, learn to type. She never got her act together, and she lost one job after another. Once I was old enough to work, I did my best to help out. But then I left.”

      “Well of course you did, and I’m sure she wanted you to. Who’d want their kid to pass up a Carlisle scholarship? But wait, don’t you have an older sister? Amanda, right? Why can’t she check on your mom and help her get her phone turned back on?”

      Aubrey’s sister was in her early twenties, and worked as a cocktail waitress in one of the big hotels on the Strip in Las Vegas. She’d been in and out of trouble. Jenny knew the two of them weren’t close.

      “I tried, believe me, but Amanda doesn’t return my calls,” Aubrey said.

      “Give me her number. I’ll call her.”

      Jenny was relentless when it came to solving problems. Over the next couple of days, she left a series of increasingly urgent messages for Aubrey’s sister. When she didn’t hear back, she got the number of the hotel where Amanda worked and called the manager four times in a single afternoon demanding to talk to Amanda regarding a family emergency. That finally resulted in an expletive-laden return message from Amanda, left on the answering machine on the room phone. Buried among the swear words was the revelation that Mrs. Miller was fine, just temporarily without a telephone, so Jenny should back the hell off and tell that whiny idiot Aubrey to get bent.

      Jenny played the message for Aubrey, who hugged her, with tears in her eyes, and whispered, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” over and over again.

      “Don’t mention it,” Jenny said, basking in the gratitude as she rubbed her roommate’s back. She loved helping someone in need, and Aubrey provided ample opportunity to do that.

      Despite what seemed to Jenny to be an extremely satisfactory resolution to Aubrey’s quandary, as Thanksgiving approached, Aubrey seemed increasingly depressed. In fact, Jenny noticed, she was growing paler and sadder – and also thinner, since she’d nearly stopped eating – with each passing day. This disappointed Jenny, who liked to see more concrete results from her efforts. It also alarmed her.

      Jenny reviewed the protocols in her dorm rep handbook for what to do if you suspected that a student suffered from untreated or undiagnosed depression, anorexia, or any other of a long list of mental or emotional challenges. The first step was alerting the dorm RA, but Jenny dismissed that out of hand. Whipple’s RA – a biochem grad student named Chen Mei – was rarely around, and when she was, she made it very clear that she’d taken the position for the free housing, and wasn’t interested in being bothered with actual student problems. The handbook next counseled reporting Aubrey to Student Health Services or the dean of students’ office, which could force Aubrey into a mental health evaluation, or even make her take a leave of absence to seek treatment. The thought of taking such drastic measures horrified Jenny. She was a friend, not a rat. She had to help Aubrey on her own, without getting the administration involved and possibly getting Aubrey in trouble.

      But maybe not entirely on her own.

      Aubrey idolized Kate, and tagged along with her everywhere. To meals, to parties, anywhere Kate would allow. She’d even bought some Nice’n Easy from the drugstore, in a shade called Palest Blonde, and dyed her mouse-brown hair a color practically identical to Kate’s. Nobody but Jenny seemed to find this odd; everyone just said how great Aubrey looked. If Jenny weren’t too busy to care, she might even feel hurt over how much Aubrey obviously preferred Kate’s company, especially given that Kate was a snobbish bitch, and made Aubrey do menial things for her, like running out to Hemingway’s for a cappuccino, or going to early lectures and taking notes when Kate didn’t feel like getting out of bed – even for classes Aubrey wasn’t enrolled in. (She claimed to enjoy it, but come on.) Jenny wasn’t petty. She wanted Aubrey to be happy, and it was time for Kate to start pulling her weight as a friend to make that happen. Jenny just needed to make Kate step up.

      On the Tuesday evening before Thanksgiving break, the Quad felt silent and melancholy. A lot of kids had already left for home, and a chill rain had been falling for days. The cobblestone paths were slick with wet leaves that stuck to Jenny’s waterproof boots. She wished it would snow – at least that would be pretty. Near Whipple, the air smelled of woodsmoke, and she poked her head into the common room before heading upstairs, hoping to find a fire roaring in the fireplace, but the room was empty and the grate cold. Up in 402, the suite was dark except for a strip of light under Kate’s door. Jenny hurried to put away her coat and backpack, the quick trip to the double confirming that Aubrey was out, and that it would be the perfect time to speak to Kate about helping out their roommate.

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