One Call Away

by Emily Goodwin

  Josh pokes around the apartment a bit, taking notes on things that need to be fixed or replaced. I assure him it’s fine and I can take care of it all, but he insists.

  “Baking soda and vinegar,” he mutters, seeing the red ring in the bathtub. “That should take it out. Melissa uses that on everything. Seems to work.”

  “I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”

  “I should have cleaned this place before offering it to you. I assumed it would be in the same state I left it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You offered it to me, and you didn’t have to.”

  A crash comes from the bedroom and we both bolt in there. A rickety bookshelf toppled over and is laying in pieces on the floor.

  “Dakota!” Josh screams and scoops up the crying toddler. I check her over while he holds her, trying to quiet her sobs.

  “I don’t see any blood,” I say, and then move my hands to her head, gently feeling for bumps. “Did you get hurt?”

  “It didn’t hit me,” she hiccups.

  “What were you doing?” Josh asks harshly, his fear coming out in disciplining the kid.

  “Trying to measure.”

  “You can’t climb on stuff like that. You know better than that! You could have gotten seriously hurt, Koty.”

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. And Uncle Chase. I’m sorry I broke your bookshelf.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. The shelf didn’t look in the best shape when I loaded it with my books anyway. Dakota quiets and moves to the bed while Josh and I upright the bookshelf.

  “Oh shit,” I say, then shake my head and look at Dakota. “Sorry.” I pick up my phone, which thankfully is looking like the only casualty in this mess.

  “Shit,” Josh echoes. “Sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”

  I look at the shattered glass screen. The phone itself still works, but I can hardly see past the cracks, and know one swipe across the screen to unlock it will result in a sliced-open finger. “I can take it in for a repair. There’s not an Apple store around here is there?”

  “Hah. Funny. You’ll have to send it in.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “You need something in the meantime. It could take weeks before it comes back. Dakota, you broke Uncle Chase’s phone. You really need to listen and not climb on stuff.”

  Dakota starts crying again, and maybe it’s because I’m not a parent but I want to just give in to her to make her stop. Crying makes me uncomfortable.

  “There’s one place in town, and if I leave now I can get there before they close.”

  “You really don’t have to. I can order a new one and—”

  “You need a phone, and I know how long a brand-new phone can take to get here. Let me get you something in the meantime.”

  “Fine,” I say, seeing how there’s no point in arguing. And I really don’t want to wait to have another phone. What the hell did people do for entertainment before smartphones? We leave together, driving into town. An hour later, we’re leaving with an iPhone. It’s secondhand, but it’s the best the little phone service store had to offer and will be fine for the time being. Being assigned a new number was a little surreal. Seeing the area code for Summer Hill feels almost like a trap. Since it’s getting late, Josh drops me off and heads home to get Dakota in bed.

  With the sun sinking low in the sky, the air begins to cool. I pick up the rest of the broken bookshelf and then sit at the kitchen table to set up the phone. It was activated at the store, and the guy told me I should probably switch to this network provider anyway since they had better service here than what I was previously using.

  I run into an issue when I go to set up the voicemail, and discover that the mailbox is nearly full. The first message is from over a year ago, and all the messages are from the same number. The phone has sat in the shop for months, or so I was told. And no one thought to do a factory reset?

  I roll my eyes and wonder if I can easily recover deleted photos since whoever took this to resell obviously didn’t know to clear out the voicemail box. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I hit play on the first message.

  “Jake.” The voice is female, and she doesn’t say the name. She breathes it. “A strange thing happened today. I saw an infomercial for cat shelves you put by your window. Someone stole my idea. I knew you’d get a kick out of it, and I wanted to tell you. I picked up the phone and everything. Then I remembered…I remembered that…you’re…that you’re dead.”

  Whoa. I was not expecting that.

  “That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud,” the woman whispers, voice full of emotion. “I miss you.”

  Too intrigued, I listen to the next message, which was left just a day after the first one.

  “Calling you makes it feel like you’re still alive,” the woman says, and the sadness in her voice pulls on my heart. “It’s like you’re away at work and you’ll listen to this message when you’re done with your shift. Like we’re only one call away from talking to each other. I keep waiting for you to call me back. It’s been a month, and I keep looking at my phone hoping to see your name. I don’t know when that will go away. I don’t want it to go away. I just want you back. I want us back. I miss you, and I love you. Always.”

  I play the next message right away, which was left just days later. “People tell me that I need to get out and enjoy life. Because I’m alive. But I don’t feel alive. Everything hurts all the time, but at the same time, I feel nothing. How can you feel nothing and everything at the same time? It doesn’t make sense, I know. It’s like…it’s like I died and they forgot to bury me. I’m not sure what to do. You’d know, but if you were here…” She breaks off crying, and the line goes dead.

  I don’t think as I press play on the next message, which is from a few days after the last. “Jake,” she breathes his name again, and I feel a weird stirring inside me, and it takes everything I have to repress the truth. I’d give anything to have someone say my name with such longing, which is totally fucked up. The woman is grieving the loss of her loved one. “It’s been raining all week and everyone is worried about the river. They say these things can happen fast and the currents are strong. Scott called today and asked me to stay with him for a while in Orlando. He said he’d take me to Disney World. I’m tired of people treating me like a child, even though you know I love Disney.”

  I find myself smiling at her words, heart breaking at the same time.

  “Maybe I should go,” she continues. “Because I feel like I’m drowning, like I’m caught in the muddy current of the river and I can’t get my arms and legs to move to fight it. Because I don’t want to fight it.”

  The message ends and I bring the phone away from my ear, letting out a breath. I blink and stare at the window, listening to the river in the background. The pain in this woman’s voice is hauntingly beautiful, awakening the dark parts of my heart and making me feel.

  I haven’t felt anything deep in years.

  I look back at the phone and scroll through the messages. The voicemail box has to be close to full, but since there’s nothing else on the phone taking up memory, it’s able to store them all. For now. Once I start using the phone I’ll have to delete the messages, which seems wrong for some insane reason.

  Her words are spoken in heartbroken whispers, not meant for anyone to hear. And yet I can’t stop listening.

  The next message is from two weeks after that and is considerably shorter. “Mom made me see a therapist today. She also told me to write down how I feel on a piece of paper. I left it blank. She seemed annoyed, but that’s how I feel. Empty.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter and lock the screen on the phone. No more messages tonight. My mystery woman’s words hit a little too close to home. I set the phone down, shower, and get into the uncomfortable bed, which instantly makes me eager for my new mattress to arrive tomorrow.

  I pull out my Kindle and try to read, but my mind keeps drifting to the woman who left the messages. Collectively, I’ve heard her
speak for only a few minutes. Yet it’s not the time, but the depth of her words. The emotion in her voice. I can’t get her out of my mind and I don’t know her name or what she looks like.

  If we ever met, I’d be fucked.

  3

  Sierra

  “I’m not taking no for an answer. It’s my birthday.”

  I pick up a box cutter and carefully slice through the packing tape. “I don’t know, Lisa,” I say to my cousin, who also doubles as my best friend. “There’s a lot to do here tonight.”

  I don’t have to look up to feel her incredulous stare.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I mean, we just got this shipment in and I have five-hundred dollars to spend on new orders tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  Her one-word questions further prove how little she believes me. “And this has to be done on a Friday night? Don’t most places not process orders over the weekend?”

  “No, lots of places ship every day of the week. And it’s going to take time going through the catalog, plus I’ve been slowly convincing Mrs. Williams to stock more indie books.” Since Jake died over a year ago, I haven’t felt like myself. It’s like part of me died with him, and all that remained was the part of me that does day-to-day tasks, surviving, getting by and fooling those around me.

  But not living.

  I flick my eyes up from the box of books in front of me and see Lisa’s face. She’s annoyed and concerned, like everyone else close to me, though Lisa is one of the few who didn’t put a time limit on my grief. But I know it won’t last forever, and I don’t want to throw away a lifetime of friendship.

  “Sierra, please,” she says softly. “I miss hanging out with you.”

  I remove packing paper from the box of books and close my eyes in a long blink. Lisa is my only remaining friend. Everyone else ran out of patience, it seems, and didn’t feel comfortable hanging out with me. I don’t want to lose Lisa too.

  “I guess it could wait,” I start.

  “Fuck yes!” Lisa exclaims and then winces. “Sorry,” she says to the customers milling about the store. “We’ve missed you, Sierra. So much.”

  “Who’s all going?” I ask and try to ignore the instant regret I feel for agreeing to go. Though even before I became the shell of my former self, I wasn’t much of a going-out person. I enjoyed quiet nights at home reading or binging a show on Netflix.

  “The usual crew: Katie, Bella, and Heather. But not Francine. I can’t stand that bitch.”

  “I can’t either. She’s too judgmental.”

  “She’s worse than me, and I’m a very judgey person,” Lisa quips.

  “What’s the dress code?”

  “Sexy.” She lifts her hand and points at me, pushing her eyebrows together. “Don’t think I forgot what a total knockout you are. I’m still jealous you broke the Belmont curse of the flat chest.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Trust me, I’d trade with you any day. Especially in this heat. The sweat dripping between my boobs all day is so lovely.”

  “Well, put those suckers to good use tonight and get us some free drinks. Flirt a little and have some fun. I want to see you enjoying life again.”

  I smile at her words but feel the dull edge of the knife in my heart. “I do too.” And I do, but I fear the void inside is too big to ever be filled.

  I sit on the edge of my bed looking down at my multi-colored pastel heels. It’s the only thing I’ve put on so far other than a bra and underwear, and am having a hard time picking out an outfit for tonight. I ordered these shoes the week before Jake died, and since the flower design is hand-painted, they didn’t arrive until after his funeral. I’ve never worn them until tonight.

  Standing, I go to my closet and look through my clothes. I settle on a white sundress with flowers stitched onto the thin straps. I put it on, and go into the bathroom to do my hair and makeup. I keep things simple and add big, loose curls and just a bit of eye shadow and mascara.

  When I step back and look at myself in the mirror, it’s like I’m looking into the past, and I’m overcome with longing again. But this time, it’s for the woman I used to be. I want to be her again, though the thought of laughing and going out with friends, of moving on, makes me feel guilty.

  Lisa calls to say she’s in the driveway waiting for me, saving me from thinking about it too much. I double check to make sure I unplugged my curling iron, then hurry through the house and go out the door.

  “You look amazing!” she gushes when I get in the passenger side and buckle up.

  “So do you,” I say back and hand her a wrapped box. “Happy birthday.”

  “Sierra, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

  “It’s not much,” I say. “And is kinda lame.”

  “You’re always lame,” she says as she tears into the paper. “I don’t expect much from you, you know.”

  “Keep the expectations low, that’s my motto.”

  Lisa laughs and pulls a picture frame from the box. “Awww, this isn’t lame at all.” She blinks away tears and looks at the photo of us, arms wrapped around each other. We were six years old in that picture and were matching Disney princesses for Halloween. “Oh my God, look at how cute we were! This makes me feel so old! Thanks, love!”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Lisa unfolds the tissue paper and screams. “Chainsmokers tickets! Holy fuck, Si!”

  “So, I take it you’re excited?”

  “Yes! Oh my God, yes! Thank you!”

  I smile, feeling my heart warm. It’s such a strange feeling, one I forgot how much I missed. “I figured you and Rob can go. Assuming you haven’t gotten rid of him yet.”

  Lisa laughs. “What about me and you? Oh, uh, yeah. Rob would love to go.” She looks at the tickets, no doubt seeing the date of the concert and not pushing the issue. She leans over the center console and hugs me. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it.” She packs the frame and the tickets back in the box, sets it in the backseat and puts the car in drive. “I’d offer to buy you a drink tonight, but I think the girls will do all the work for you.” She raises her eyebrows and looks at my breasts. “Seriously, it’s not fair.”

  “Try running with these things. Or riding horses. Or just laying down and being comfortable.”

  “Like you’d really give them up.”

  I shake my head. “Never. But I can humbly brag about how annoying having big boobs is all day.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  We both laugh and things almost feel normal on the short drive to The Mill House bar. The bar is busy tonight since beer is half-off on Friday nights. Katie, Bella, and Heather are already there and have already started drinking.

  “Happy birthday!” they cheer and embrace Lisa before turning to me.

  “We’re so glad you came out!” Katie says and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “I’ve missed you!”

  “I’ve missed you ladies too,” I say, not wanting to make a big deal about anything. Though in truth, I can’t remember the last time I saw my friends. Christmas, maybe? They’ve made no effort to connect with me, but to be fair, I haven’t made any attempt either. Time’s gone by fast the last year and has crept along at the same time.

  “We got a pitcher of margaritas,” Bella tells us, and pours two glasses and hands one to me. I take a small sip and slide into the booth. “And it’s karaoke tonight. Who’s singing with me?”

  “Me! Just let this sink in a bit,” Lisa says and takes a big gulp of her drink, then makes a face from the rush of cold. We all laugh. I slowly nurse my drink just to blend in but don’t want to drink it. An hour passes, and I’m not miserable. I’m talking with my friends, laughing at their jokes, and fully mixing in. It’s almost like I’m having a good time, but this all feels pretend, like I’m just playing along, acting but not feeling.

  They go through another pitcher of drinks, and Lisa
and Bella get up to sing “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls. I get up to go to the bathroom, and come back to find Rob, Lisa’s on-and-off-again boyfriend sitting close next to her in the booth. He has friends with him too, and overall, they’re all nice guys who grew up in Summer Hill.

  “Sierra,” he says, blue eyes widening. “Hey. It’s good to see you out again. I mean, not again. I, uh…” He turns to Lisa, who rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

  “Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot.”

  I smile. “It’s okay. I know I haven’t been out in a long time. You guys don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

  Rob gives me a curt nod. “Good. Hey, you’ve met my friend Talon before, right?”

  “Yeah, a few times.” I take my seat, which is subsequently next to Talon. He’s a few years older than me and is an attractive man with dark skin and expressive eyes. “Hi,” I say to him, feeling awkward.

  “Hi, Sierra,” he says back, giving me a kind smile. “So, Lisa couldn’t get you to go up and sing?”

  “No way. I don’t do singing in public. Or speaking.” I shudder and shake my head.

  “I bet you’d be good at it.”

  “Not at all.” I reach for my glass and slide it in front of me. I watch a grain of salt fall down the side, stuck in a little bead of condensation. The watermelon margarita is delicious, and getting drunk and crazy with my friends would do me some good. But the last time I drank, it brought out the emotional side of me, and that’s the last thing my friends need to deal with right now. No one wants to claim responsibility of the drunk girl in the bathroom crying about her boyfriend, no matter the circumstances. So I take a small sip and put the glass down, careful not to even let myself get tipsy.

  I turn and look at Talon, admiring his muscles and the clean-cut lines of his jaw. He smells good, looks good, and I want to feel something toward him.