Gone for Good (12 page)

I thought of calling Paul as I left Dover Community. It felt too much like those last six weeks with Mom – something unresolved hanging between us. But I was still angry. Just thinking about it – thinking about him – stirred the anger almost to a boil. I'd trusted him, and so had Mom. Would he really just hand Ronnie over to an institution or a home? Is that why he had been so cavalier about sending Ronnie to the hospital? And when I'd suggested we get a lawyer, that we work to get Ronnie out, Paul was dismissive of the idea.

The sun was setting as I drove to my apartment. The clouds from earlier in the day had parted. A band of orange marked the horizon, and flocks of birds, black specks against the darkening sky, swept past in the distance. Halfway home, I almost picked up the phone and called Dan. I told myself I didn't
need
him. I just wanted him – or someone – to be there with me when I went to the apartment. I tried to convince myself I would have settled for Jeff, the astronomy nerd downstairs. But I knew the truth. I really did want Dan to be there. After the whole long day and the fight with Paul, I wanted Dan to be around.

But I didn't call him. I put the phone down.

I needed to go in alone.

I hurried to make it home before darkness fully fell. I
parked the car, but before climbing out I looked all around me. Two runners jogged by. The night looked normal, and when I stepped out, it
felt
normal. Cool and crisp, but normal. I hustled up the stairs. I felt some comfort when I passed Jeff's apartment; a light glowed in the window. I wasn't completely alone. There were other people in the world, people sharing the spaces I inhabited. I just needed to notice them.

The key the landlord gave me worked like a charm. I slipped inside as quickly as I could, locking the dead bolt behind me before I even hit the light. When I turned it on, I saw the mess. I hadn't been home since the night before. I'd forgotten about the condition of the place, the things strewn around, the up-ended drawers.

I dropped my bag to the floor, overwhelmed by it all.

I'd proved my point to myself. I'd made it home. I felt tears coming again. I didn't want to give in to them.

But I also needed help. I found the phone and called Dan.

True to form, Dan arrived about thirty minutes after I called. And he didn't arrive unarmed. When I undid my new dead bolt lock and opened the door for him, he stood there on my stoop carrying a bag of food from our favourite Thai restaurant. Why did I think I didn't have room in my life for this man? Why did I think I couldn't balance a career and a love life?

He stepped inside and assessed the damage. ‘It's not as bad as it looks,' he said.

‘Nothing is as bad as this looks.'

First, we ate. He knew what to get me – shrimp fried
rice, spring rolls – and I loved every bite. I went to the kitchen and opened beers for us. It was easy to find the opener with the contents of the drawers scattered across the linoleum.

For a few minutes, the food and the drink and the company helped me forget the crappy twenty-four hours I had been through. Dan gave me my space. He didn't ask me a lot of questions, and he avoided the subject of my family and all of their drama. He avoided it so much and so skillfully that I found myself wanting him to ask. As I finished my last bite of food, I tried to send telepathic messages to his brain encouraging him to ask me about my day. About Ronnie. About Paul.

But he didn't know those people. Dan was right. I'd kept the two halves of my life – school and family – separated as if they were warring factions. Yet they weren't – they couldn't be, because they didn't know each other. And if they had met, it would have been fine. My family – especially my mother – would have been thrilled if I'd brought a nice, normal-looking guy home to meet her. She would have been glad there was a chance I might not spend my life alone. Mom was a little old-fashioned and worried about those things. But it didn't matter to me. I tried to keep things simple and easy. For me, if not for anyone else. Now Mom would never meet that man, whoever he turned out to be. I tried not to think of that either.

When we were finished eating, Dan, ever the chipper taskmaster, stood up. ‘Want to get started on this mess?' he asked.

He didn't wait for a response. I suspected he was trying
to keep the evening's momentum moving forward. He probably feared a pause, a moment in which I could turn to him and announce that it was time for him to go. He didn't know how happy I was to see him there.

And he had been right about the mess. It wasn't as bad as it looked. It was a mess, but it was a simple mess. Hardly anything was broken. Things just needed to be put back in their places, which we managed to do, working together. We still didn't say much, except when Dan asked me questions about where to put things. It took about an hour. A lamp I had purchased from Goodwill had its bulb broken. An old calculator I used to figure grades was smashed. And near the end, right when everything was pretty much put back in order, Dan handed me a framed photo. It showed Mom, Paul, Ronnie, and me. The glass was shattered. It looked as if someone had dropped a brick on it. I shook the shards of glass loose. We all looked happy for some reason. I remembered the photo being taken about three years earlier, not long after I had graduated from college and a couple of years after Dad had died.

‘Be careful,' Dan said.

I stared at the photo a long time, felt the tears starting to come, and fought them off. But I couldn't hide it from Dan.

‘It doesn't look like the photo's damaged,' he said. ‘And we can buy a new frame for it.'

We,
he said. Always willing to share the load.

‘It's not this,' I said.

‘What isn't?' he asked.

‘Everything.'
I put the photo down. ‘Remember that talk we had on the night of the funeral? The one about how cut off I was from my family?'

‘Sure,' he said.

‘I'm not getting any better,' I said. ‘I'm getting worse.'

‘In two days? You can't expect –'

I cut him off. I didn't want to be encouraged or placated. I took him by the hand, and we went over to the couch. After we sat down and got settled, I told him about Paul encouraging my mom to have Ronnie put somewhere and how that led to the argument I had with Paul at the hospital. Dan listened patiently, nodding as I went through it blow by blow. When I was finished, he didn't say anything. He sipped from his beer.

‘Well?' I said.

‘You're both under a lot of stress,' he said. ‘It's no surprise you might blow up at each other. Families fight.'

‘You're not getting it,' I said.

‘Okay. What am I not getting?'

I started to say it, then stopped. Then I went ahead and said it. ‘This is something else about my family I'm learning after the fact. Isn't that crazy?'

‘Like I said, it's only been a couple of days you've been thinking about this.'

‘That's not true,' I said. ‘I've been thinking about this a long time. Maybe since I was in high school. Or when my dad died.'

‘Thinking about what?'

‘About being alone,' I said. ‘Do you realize my mother died alone? I know she had Ronnie. And she had Paul.'

‘And
you.'

I ignored him. ‘She didn't have friends. She didn't share her life with anyone.'

‘She was a widow,' Dan said. ‘Unfortunately, that's not unusual for someone her age. Especially women.'

‘But she'd always been alone. Few friends. Just her family. My dad was a little better, but he didn't have much of a life. And now I'm turning into them. If I died today, who would care? If I'd been home when that man broke in here, and he'd put a pillow over my face while I slept, who would care?'

‘Aren't you being a little dramatic?' Dan asked. ‘Lots of people would care.'

‘Really care?' I asked. ‘Really?'

‘I would,' he said. ‘Remember? I'd miss the sex.'

‘And I've cut you out of my life, right?' I said. ‘Until I needed something? And now Paul, my only family left besides Ronnie. Everything with him is screwed up.'

‘It's one fight. Families fight.'

‘You're so logical. And calm.'

‘Somebody has to be.'

I stood up and walked over to the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and stared at the beer, but I didn't take one. I didn't feel like it just then. I wanted my head to remain clear. It held enough clutter at that moment. I didn't need to add to it.

I came back to the couch and sat again.

‘I don't want to die alone,' I said.

‘I don't think you're the only person who feels that way.'

‘But I'm in danger of having it happen to me, right?
You're not. You have a ton of friends. And family. Everybody likes you.'

‘You shouldn't feel like you're just turning to me because you've had a crisis in your life.'

‘Why not?'

‘Well, okay, you should recognize that you're doing that. After all, we both know you only came by the other night because of the crisis, right? And, really, I'm only here because someone broke in.'

‘Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?' I asked.

‘What I'm saying is, just because that led you to call me doesn't mean it isn't a real change. Sometimes it takes a crisis to drive us in a certain direction. Right?'

I let his words sink in. He looked so calm saying them to me, so rational and smart. So comforting. I felt better. Not a lot better, but better.

‘You're saying there's hope for me?'

‘Always,' he said.

‘Thanks,' I said.

Dan looked around the apartment, surveying the work we had done. He nodded his head in satisfaction.

‘I'm glad you have the real lock now,' he said. ‘That helps.'

‘You don't think anyone can get through that?' I asked.

‘No way. Maybe the Incredible Hulk could, but not a petty thief.'

‘Good.'

‘Well,' he said. ‘I know you have papers to grade.'

He started to stand up, but before he could get all the way, I reached out and took his hand in mine.

‘You
don't have to run off,' I said.

‘Really?'

‘Really.'

He eased back down onto the couch. ‘I was hoping you might say that.' He patted his pocket. ‘I even brought my toothbrush with me.'

A knock on the door of the apartment woke us up the next morning. Our bodies were entwined along with the sheets, and it took several moments for me to figure out what the noise was. Then I dug my way out of the tangle.

‘Who's that?' Dan asked.

‘I don't know.'

And I didn't. No one ever came to my door. Even Girl Scouts selling cookies and Jehovah's Witnesses peddling salvation didn't bother to make the trek up the stairs to where I lived. Which helped make the junkie break-in theory all the more implausible to me. I was out of the way. It would take an ambitious junkie to find my door.

I checked my phone. Seven fifty-one a.m. And I had a message.

But the knock came again. First things first. I found a robe and pulled it on.

‘Do you want me to go?' Dan asked.

He was naked, his skin pale and goosefleshed in the morning chill.

‘If I scream, come out there,' I said.

‘Do I have to get dressed first?'

‘That's up to you.'

I trudged through my newly clean apartment to the front door. I looked out the peephole. The morning light
was bright and my vision was still blurry from sleep. It took a moment for the figure to resolve into something clear and coherent. When it did, I saw a young guy not much older than me, wearing a coat and tie. His hair looked to be thinning, and he held an envelope in his hand. He looked familiar.

Cop?
I thought.
No. Doctor? No.

Who else had I been dealing with? Then I remembered – he was from the funeral home. And unless he was going door-to-door to create new business, I was probably safe.

I opened the door. He looked me over from head to toe. The dishevelled hair, bare feet, and robe. His face flushed.

‘Oh, excuse me,' he said. ‘I'm sorry. I called.'

‘It's okay,' I said. ‘I always look like this in the morning.'

He held the envelope towards me. ‘This is your mother's death certificate. I was on my way by here …'

‘Oh.'

I took it from him.

‘You need it to file the will and send the estate into probate. We thought you'd be moving along with those things.'

I hadn't been, of course. But hearing him say that made me think of the whole list of tasks that needed to be addressed. The will, the house, Mom's car. I remembered the call from Mom's lawyer. Clearly other people were eager to move forward as well. Who they were I didn't know, but it might make sense to start the process.

‘Thanks,' I said.

‘Was there anything else we can help you with?' he asked.

He
looked so eager to serve, so happy to be doing his job. Not the stereotype of the grim mortician at all. I wanted there to be another task, something else that needed to be done on Mom's behalf.

‘And we don't owe you anything?' I asked.

‘That's all been taken care of as part of your mother's preplanning,' he said.

‘Right. Of course.'

We stood there, the two of us, in the bright morning sunshine. The air was cool. I could feel it on my bare feet.

‘So there's nothing else?' he asked.

‘I guess just this,' I said, holding up the envelope.

‘Your lawyer will take you through all of that,' he said.

I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he took that opportunity to turn and head back down the rickety steps. The formal process of burying and saying good-bye to Mom was basically over. It was time to move on.

Dan needed to leave. He needed to go home and get ready for his Friday classes. When he said he'd brought his toothbrush with him, he was lying. He hadn't anticipated spending the night at all. I told him about the delivery of the death certificate but not the feelings it evoked inside me. I didn't have to. Dan read my moods as easily as stepping outside to see whether it was night or day.

‘What would your mom want you to do?' he asked.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Would she want you to keep delaying things? Or would she want her estate wrapped up as quickly as possible?'

I
knew the answer. When Dan was gone, I called the lawyer. Mr Allison had an appointment available that afternoon, after I was done with school.

I agreed to it. Then I got ready and left for campus.