David Bell - Never Come Back

“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 disheveled 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 toward 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.