One More Thing

by Lilliana Anderson

  The smile didn’t leave my face until I pulled into the underground garage at home.

  A flash of grey metallic paint passed through my rear vision as I parked the ute in its allocated space. “What the?” I grabbed the mirror and adjusted it, trying to catch a better glimpse.

  Did that guy follow me home?

  With my heart thumping against my chest, I got out and closed the door as quietly as I could. Standing still for a moment, I heard an engine cut followed by the creak of a door then footsteps. Shit.

  Moving quickly, I headed through the automatic doors of the elevator bay. For a moment, I considered taking the stairs to our first-floor apartment, but every time something like that happened in a movie, the stairs were where the victim met their doom.

  With my ears twitching, I tapped against the call button repeatedly, regretting my decision to take the lift with every second that passed and every footstep that drew nearer. My breathing picked up, my heart beat loudly in my ears as I saw the blurry reflection of his form in the metal doors. This guy was crazy!

  My mind started racing. This was it. I was going to die, leaving my four-year-old son an orphan—all because of a stick of gum. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t leave him alone. He needed me.

  I was small, but I could fight.

  Balling my fist at my side, I steeled my breath and prepared to circumvent the inevitable attack.

  The automatic doors hissed open.

  I spun to confront him, saw the annoyed recognition in his eyes.

  My fist flew through the air, my meagre weight behind it, the words “Not today, Satan!” tearing out of my throat.

  It connected with his nose.

  I heard a crack, then a groan and he stumbled backward.

  “The fuck!”

  Like the gods answering my prayer, the elevator pinged then opened its doors. Pain radiated through my hand as I jumped on board, hitting the button that would take me to my floor, to safety. As the doors began to close, I chanced a look back. It was only then that I took in the scene fully.

  He was on the concrete floor, his legs bent, his shoulders slouched, as he leant forward clutching his nose. There was blood. So much blood. On ground beside him, his glasses, keys, a briefcase and an archive box split open, papers spilling out. He didn’t look like a crazy man trying to get revenge for the gum on his shoe. He looked like a man who had a logical reason to be somewhere. He looked like a man sitting in the middle of the worst day of his life.

  Guilt coiled from my belly and found its way into my throat. What had I done?

  I hit the button to open the doors again. “Are…are you…um…OK?”

  He glared at me, his eyes dark beneath his brows. “I think you broke my nose,” he said, his voice muffled under his hands.

  Digging in my bag, I took out a pack of tissues, pulling the wad of them free from the plastic before holding them out to him.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were going to attack me.” I extended my arm like I would if I were offering food to a frightened animal.

  He watched me like one, snatching the tissues with the caution of someone who didn’t know if they could trust the help on offer. “Attack you? With what? The papers I have to grade? My briefcase?”

  “It’s just that you were so angry at the university. Then you followed me here.”

  “I didn’t follow you. I live here.” He looked at me as though I was insane.

  My stomach fell and I gulped. “You live here?”

  He shifted to his knees, making an attempt to stuff his papers back in their box one-handed while grumbling about the ridiculousness of it all.

  “Let me help you.” I knelt beside him, my face burning with embarrassment as I collected his things. I’d really messed up.

  “Leave it,” he snapped, snatching what looked like a printed essay from my hands. “You’ve really done enough.”

  I sat back, my mouth moving, searching for the words to convey how sorry I was for the gum and for hitting him. This whole situation was making me so grateful to Tyler for the way he’d handled my anger on the day his gum attacked me.

  Tears burned my eyes. I missed him so much. Today was supposed to be about celebrating our beginning, instead it had turned into a complete mess and now I was probably going to be sued.

  “You’re crying? Seriously? You are crying?”

  Turning my face away, I wiped at my eyes, scowling as I shook my head.

  “I’m just stressed.”

  “Aren’t we all?” he muttered, slapping the lid back on his box. Then he stood up, hefting his archive box loaded with paper and his briefcase against his waist. For a single moment it seemed that he’d successfully gathered everything he needed while keeping the tissues wadded against his bleeding nose. Then the base of the box fell out.

  I laughed. The sound burst from my mouth and echoed throughout the parking structure as his papers slid across the floor and the only things he held on to was his briefcase and the lid of the box.

  He let out a sigh and I clapped my hand over my mouth to avoid angering him further. He shook his head. “No. You’re right to laugh. This day…it’s a comedic writer’s wet dream.”

  The laughter bubbled out of my chest, nerves and stress turning into this crazy-sounding laughter. He chuckled along with me, this time letting me help with his things.

  When we got into the lift, silence fell over us. I was carrying his box and he had his briefcase and the tissue wad against his nose. Without warning, my eyes started leaking. Silent hot tears streamed down my cheeks without my permission.

  “I’m not going to sue, if that’s what you’re stressed about,” he said softly.

  “I’m not. I mean, I am. But that’s not what I’m crying about. It’s just…it’s been a day.”

  His soft brown eyes met mine, and I saw a spark of understanding.

  The chime sounded to indicate my floor and I shifted the weight of the box in my arms. “This is me,” I told him, wondering what I was supposed to do with his papers and how he was supposed to take them from me. I stood in the space between the doors and looked toward the hall that led to my apartment then back at him. “Listen, I’ve got a first-aid kit inside and some tape to fix your box. Do you want to come in so I can at least stop the bleeding?”

  His eyes moved between the box in my arms and me. We both knew that the only real options here involved me going with him to his apartment or him coming with me to mine.

  “Will you cry again if I refuse?”

  With a half smile, I lifted one shoulder. “Maybe.”

  With a sigh he stepped off the elevator. “Lead the way.”

  Once in my kitchen, I slid his box onto the granite bench top and told him to stay put. Then I headed for the bathroom to get my first-aid kid. The kit was extensive. With a four-year-old son who was bull at a gate even when quiet, I needed to be prepared for all emergencies.

  I carried the red plastic toolbox-sized kit into the kitchen and placed it on the bench beside the man.

  “Break a lot of noses, do you?” he asked, eyeing the large kit.

  Pressing my lips together, I ignored the quip and opened the lid, pulling out some saline and gauze, along with a pair of disposable gloves.

  “You can put the tissues in the bin over there,” I told him, indicating the stainless-steel push-pedal garbage bin in the corner of the room.

  When he returned, he leaned back against the bench, a trickle of bright red streaking from his nostrils. Cleaning him up as best as I could, I checked his nose for any sign of a break.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” I said, gently pressing on either side of his nasal bones.

  “It’s Jude.”

  I smiled. “Like the song.”

  He made an unpleasant sound. “Exactly like the song.” I wasn’t sure if he disliked the fact or if he was objecting to me pressing against his nose.

  “I’m Sarah.”

  “I’d say nice to meet you, but our circu
mstances haven’t—”

  “I get it.” Stepping back, I held up my hand, interrupting him. I was emotional over the events of the day. I’d already cried twice and knew that hearing him verbalise it further would only push out another bout of tears.

  I turned away and busied myself rolling gauze to pack his nose. “It doesn’t seem broken. Or, if it is it’s only a fracture—the bones are where they should be. If the bleeding doesn’t stop you should probably go see a doctor.” Using a set of tweezers, I inserted the small cotton tube into his nostrils to stem the bleeding.

  My hand was aching. And as I cleaned up and removed the gloves, I inspected my knuckles. They were red and swollen.

  “You should probably ice that. Punching is rarely as easy as it looks in the movies.”

  Moving to the freezer, I opened the door and took out two of the small icepacks I kept in there for Ty. They’re small and round and have Disney characters on them. I held out the one with a picture of Nemo to Jude and kept Dory for myself.

  “Cute,” he said, lifting it to the bridge of his nose.

  “They’re for my son.”

  “I figured.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I never told you I had a kid.”

  “It’s kind of hard to miss.” He pointed a finger around the living space and added, “The toys.”

  “Oh.” That guilty feeling rolled about again. I kept judging this guy and getting it wrong.

  “Listen, thanks for…repairing the damage, I guess,” he said, indicating his cotton-stuffed nose. “But I should really get going.” He went to lift his box.

  “Wait. The tape,” I blurted, spinning on my heel and rushing to the laundry where I dug through the junk drawer to find a roll of packing tape. When I returned to the kitchen, however, he was gone.

  “Oh,” I said to no one, twisting the tape in my hands. I looked around the large empty apartment. The expanse of the open living area pressed in around me, dancing with memories of a time I couldn’t touch anymore, reminding me that I was left here…alone, the past more distant with every tick of the clock. I felt a stutter in my chest, my emotion catching in my throat.

  Glancing out the floor-to-ceiling windows, I focused on the lights of the city around me, peeking through the lush green garden built to look like it had been plucked from the centre of an undisturbed rainforest. It was supposed to be a serenity garden. I remembered Tyler sitting out there when he wasn’t well enough to leave the apartment, complaining that he never felt serene because the sound of the traffic was too loud once you ventured past the double-glazing. He renamed it his disruption garden instead.

  On days like these, when my emotions were raw and missing him was a state of being instead of a sensation I could live with, the quiet only served to remind me that I wouldn’t find serenity here either. Without Tyler, I was incomplete. I was lonely.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I moved my thumb against the edge of the tape wishing I hadn’t agreed to Ty’s sleepover at my mother-in-law’s house that night. It was meant to give me a chance for some quiet time, to be selfish in my grief, because this time of year was always hard for me. This time however, I didn’t want to be selfish. I didn’t want the quiet; not this type of quiet, anyway.

  There was quiet you longed for—the few moments of peace you get when your day is done and child is tucked in bed asleep—and then there was the kind of quiet you feared.

  Standing in a big empty space absent of adult conversation and childhood laughter, nothing to fill it but your best and worst memories taunting you until your stomach aches with regret for actions you can no longer change—that’s the quiet you fear. That’s the quiet I’ve lived with since Tyler passed away. Everything here reminded me of him. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

  Placing the tape on the bench, I walked over to the sliding door, pushing it open so wide that the sound of the street burst through suddenly. It was a welcome intrusion on my ears, reminding me that despite my grieving, the world was still turning. I was still here.

  I breathed in deeply, sliding my hand into my pocket and pulling out my phone. The number I wanted was the first in my recent call list.

  “Susan?” I said the moment it connected.

  “What’s wrong? Has something happened? Are you OK?” Her questions came rapidly, a slight strain in her delivery.

  I shook my head even though she couldn’t see. “I just…” I took a deep breath, calming myself. Having Jude leave so suddenly made me realise that I didn’t want to be alone. What I wanted was to feel the presence of life. What I wanted was to hold my little boy tight in my arms and breathe in his sweet smell. “Do you think I could spend the night too? I don’t want to be alone tonight, after all.”

  She sleeps with her mouth wide open. Her fridge has nothing inside it but leftover takeaway boxes. She eats entire doughnuts in two bites. She says whatever is on her mind.

  She listens when I talk; blushes every time I touch her.

  I want to touch her all the time. Watch stars with her forever.

  Life feels hopeful when she’s in my arms.

  I really should walk away. But that smile…that smile.

  *

  Excerpt from Tyler’s Journal

  2

  Saturday, 22nd October 2016

  “WE’RE BACK.”

  I closed the leather-bound journal at the sound of my mother-in-law’s voice.

  “I’ll be right there,” I called out, slipping it beneath the pillow where Tyler used to sleep. Everything of his was still around the room. The medical equipment was gone, but all his possessions remained. In the five years since his passing, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to remove anything or to change the room back to the way it was before. So it stayed as it was, and I slept in what used to be a guest room.

  “Mummy!” Ty jumped into my arms when I emerged, his little body flinging itself at me, trusting blindly that I would catch him. I held him tight against my chest and inhaled his scent. At four years of age, he smelled of gummy bears and bubble bath.

  “Did you have fun with Nanny today?” Susan took care of Ty during the week so I didn’t have to put him in day care while I worked. She got him ready for preschool, picked him up when he was done, then entertained him at her house until I arrived home at six. On Fridays she kept him all night and they did something special together.

  “We watched Storks at the cimemar and I had pock-corn,” he bragged.

  This week had been no exception, even though we’d both slept at her house on Thursday, Ty still wanted his ‘special nanny time’ and insisted on staying Friday as well. Susan was only too happy to oblige—she would do absolutely anything for that little boy. Understandably so, Ty adored her, as did I. To say she was a godsend would be an understatement. I don’t know how I’d cope without her.

  “You had popcorn at the cinema?” I made a face to show him how wonderful I thought it was. “That’s so awesome. You’re a lucky boy.”

  He nodded. “And we had fish and chips and Nanny made goo. It was epic.” He held his hand up so I could high five him then wriggled to the ground and ran off to his room.

  I laughed, watching his golden curls bounce on top of his gorgeous head. That boy made my heavy heart feel full.

  “Sounds like you’ve been busy,” I said, turning to Susan and thanking her for having him.

  She handed me his backpack. “You know it’s never a bother. He makes everything better.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?”

  Setting his pack against the wall, I moved to the kitchen and offered Susan a drink.

  “Tea, please.”

  Susan and I grew close when Tyler’s health began to decline, but the support she’d offered since he passed had been monumental. Considering she lost her only son, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d pushed me away and fallen into her own pit of grief. But she was always there. Always taking care of me, honouring Tyler’s memory by helping raise his son by my side.r />
  “I was worried about you last night,” she started, sliding onto a stool on the other side of the kitchen bench. “Were you OK on your own?”

  I nodded. “I did my usual routine—groceries, takeaway and Netflix. It was pretty normal. But, thanks…for Thursday. I needed people around me.”

  “You’re welcome to stay with me any time.”

  Smiling my thanks, I filled the kettle, wincing when pain shot through my hand and forced me to quickly put it back down.

  “Is something wrong with your hand?”

  I flexed and extended my fingers. “I don’t know. I have full mobility, but there’s pain whenever I try to use my strength. It’s been bothering me ever since—” I stopped talking. I hadn’t told her anything about the altercation I’d had with Jude.

  “Ever since what? Did you hurt yourself?”

  Turning to face her, I pulled at my lip with my teeth. “I kind of punched someone.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You what? Who?”

  “This guy who lives in the building. I thought he was going to attack me and…” I mimed punching him in the face.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “About him?” I shook my head. “Nooo. If anything, he should have called them about me.” I gave her a brief rundown of the gum on his shoe at the uni then the punch in the parking garage and what happened after. “I feel awful.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was all some prank orchestrated by my son.”

  “Right? I seriously thought that when he stepped on the gum. Then I did a mental head slap, because I spat the gum directly at his feet, so of course he stood on it. I can only imagine what he thought.” I shook my head.

  “Does it matter what this guy thinks about you?”

  “No,” I replied immediately, perhaps a little defensively. “I just don’t want people who live in my building thinking I’m crazy.”

  “Well, you did end up punching the guy.”

  “Ugh.” I grabbed my hair and gave it a tug. “He was so angry about the gum. I thought he followed me in a rage and I got scared. It felt like self-defence at the time.”