If You Were Here

by Stephanie Taylor

  I nodded. In the month that I’d known Andy, I’d seen him come and go and had heard him boast repeatedly about his female conquests. I’d never heard him talk seriously about his feelings or about how to act right.

  “That girl?” he said, looking at me. “The one you took out on a date when you drove my car?”

  “Jenny.”

  “Yeah, Jenny. Dude, treat her like gold, okay? Make sure she knows she’s the most important thing in your life.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I wasn’t sure what else to say to that.

  “I mean it. If I could go back in time and follow my own advice, I wouldn’t have lost the best thing that’s happened to me, but unfortunately time travel is only possible if your name is Marty McFly.”

  I sat up straighter at the mention of time travel. Of course it was possible if your name wasn’t Marty McFly, but it hardly seemed like the time to drop that particular bomb on my unsuspecting uncle.

  “What happened?” I asked instead.

  Andy sighed. He pounded a fist against the guardrail that ran the length of the bridge. “I had a girl,” he said. “I had her and I didn’t take her seriously and I didn’t treat her right, and now I don’t have her anymore.”

  “Daniel,” Andy said, looking out at the treetops in the distance. Everything looked small from the top of the bridge. “Are you okay, man? You’ve been different lately. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “This thing today—what was that all about?”

  “The space shuttle?” I stared at the water below us. “I don’t know. I think I saw a spark or something, and I just thought it might blow up.”

  “And it did,” Andy said. “It fucking blew.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “It did.”

  We sat there for a couple of minutes in silence. The sound of the waterfalls was like white noise.

  Finally, Andy spoke again. “Well, don’t overthink it. It happened and now it’s done. You hungry?”

  “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  We got back into the car and drove for about fifteen minutes until Andy pulled off at an exit on the outskirts of Westchester and drove into the parking lot of Joanne’s Diner.

  “Pancakes?” Andy turned off the ignition of his car. We got out and walked up the steps to the old-fashioned diner that was housed inside of a 1940s streetcar.

  The heat from the kitchen hit us in the face as we entered. Elvis Presley blared from the speakers and a long, shiny counter ran the length of the streetcar.

  “Hi, doll.” A woman in a pink dress with a nametag and a pair of glasses on a chain around her neck winked at Andy. “Grab a booth. This your brother?” She nodded at me as she set three plates of eggs and pancakes on a table in one fluid movement.

  “Yep, this is Daniel,” Andy said, sliding into a booth next to the window.

  “Cute kid.” She grabbed a pot of coffee from behind the counter as she walked over to our table. “Coffee for you boys?”

  Andy flipped over our mugs and pushed them towards the edge of the table. “Did you make it, Ellen?” There was flirtation in his eyes as he teased her. “Because I could never say no to your coffee.”

  “Gimme a break, Andy.” She rolled her eyes as she poured the coffee into our mugs. “I’ll be back with menus.”

  “You come here a lot?” I asked him.

  Andy shrugged. “It’s close to school and they have good breakfast.”

  “Here you go,” Ellen laid two menus on the table. “Special of the day is a Denver omelette with hashbrowns and toast, or a Belgian waffle with fresh strawberries.”

  “Do you still have those banana pancakes you had last week?” Andy looked up from the open menu in front of him.

  “Not on the menu. But for you, doll,” Ellen looked down at Andy, “I’ll order the banana pancakes. I’ll even slice the bananas myself.” She reached out and took his menu. “How about for you?” she asked me.

  I skimmed the menu. “I think I’ll have a B.L.T. with extra mayo,” I said. “And a Coke.”

  “Fries with that?” Ellen held out a hand to take my plastic menu.

  “Please.”

  When we were alone again, Andy slid the napkin out from under his silverware and folded it in half like he was starting to make an origami crane.

  “So the Challenger,” I started, watching as Andy folded and re-folded the napkin.

  “Yeah?” He didn’t look up from what he was doing.

  “That was weird, huh?”

  “It was weird.”

  “It freaked me out when I knew it was going to happen,” I said. “It was like my brain could see it coming and I didn’t know how to stop myself from saying it.”

  Andy ran a hand through his hair, moving the layers from one side to the other. No matter what he did, he always looked good—charmingly disheveled and like he didn’t care. It was one of the things that made him so approachable and likeable: his ability to be incredibly casual about his obvious good looks.

  “That happens, man,” he said, tossing the napkin onto the scratched tabletop. He looked behind the counter and watched the cook through the open window as he flipped pancakes and scrambled eggs on the griddle. “Sometimes things come out of your mouth that should really stay in your head. Don’t worry about it too much.”

  “It’s not just that, though,” I said. I tried to keep my eyes on Andy’s face but found that I couldn’t. Looking at him felt like looking into the sun.

  “What else?” Andy prodded, kicking my foot under the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

  Andy had quickly become someone I looked up to. I wanted nothing more than his approval and for him to shine some of his magic light onto me. He was everything a big brother should be, in my mind, and I hated the thought of letting him down.

  But at the same time, I felt like I wanted to tell him the truth. The words had been falling into place in my head all afternoon, and now all I needed to do was open my mouth and say them: Andy, I’m not really your brother, I’m your nephew. Andy, your kid sister is my mom. Andy, I’m here from the year 2016, and unless I fix something while I’m here, you won’t live to see it. My mouth opened slightly as Andy picked up his cup of coffee and held it in front of his face.

  “Didn’t you tell me you’d be off by noon?” A man wearing a puffy vest and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows pushed through the door. His massive presence filled the whole entryway. “I don’t like being lied to.” He pointed a meaty finger at the counter and lowered his chin.

  Ellen stood near the kitchen window, our plates of hot food in her hands. Her mouth opened and closed. “Dale,” she finally said, her voice soft and scared. “I’m on until three today.”

  Dale walked the rest of the way into the diner and the door swung shut behind him. The bells that normally tinkled with cheer as a customer entered the restaurant gave an aggressive jingle as the door hit its frame with force. The only sounds in the diner were a slow, crooning 50s song, and the hiss and sizzle of the chef working the grill.

  Andy set his coffee cup on the formica table top and slid out of the booth.

  “Andy,” I said in a low voice. I reached out a hand to grab at him, but he was already steps away, walking towards Dale and Ellen. Panic ripped through my chest as I watched his broad shoulders. Was this it? I wasn’t sure exactly when or how Andy’s accident would take place, and the thought of this crazy lumberjack walking into a diner and stabbing my uncle made my head fill with a high-pitched noise. Everything in my line of vision went white. “Andy!” I said again, louder this time.

  “Ellen, everything okay here?” Andy stepped up to Dale, who was easily twice his weight and three times his age.

  Dale’s attention turned from Ellen. His eyes were unfocused and glassy as he looked down at Andy’s tightly-wound, athletic frame. He scanned my uncle with a sneer on his face. The way his nostrils flared reminded me of a bull in a field, pawing
at the ground with one angry hoof.

  “Who the hell is this kid?” Dale hooked a thumb in Andy’s direction.

  Ellen shifted into action when she realized that Andy had placed himself in the line of fire. She set our plates on the empty counter and took a step towards Dale.

  “Honey, this is a regular. He’s just a kid,” she said soothingly, putting one hand on Dale’s thick, hairy forearm. The way her small, finely-boned hand looked on his giant, muscular arm stood out to me. I realized in an instant how frail and helpless a woman could be in the presence of an angry man. With a shaky breath, I slid out of the booth and walked up behind Andy. No matter what happened, I wanted to be there as back-up.

  Dale assessed Andy and looked at me next. “You got a couple of young studs here to flirt with all afternoon. Why would you want to come home to your husband?” His eyes were mean, the pupils dark and filled with suspicion.

  “Dale, don’t be ridiculous,” Ellen scoffed, putting her other hand on his arm to guide him back to the door.

  At this point, the cook looked out the window of his kitchen and took notice. “Dale,” he said, setting two plates on the counter between the kitchen and the dining room. “Get the hell out of here. Go sleep it off.” The cook waved a hand dismissively. “You’re a damn drunk, and Ellen doesn’t need your crap today.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dale lunged forward, knocking Ellen’s small body out of his way. She stumbled and caught herself on the counter, her hands searching for something to grab onto. She caught herself, but in the process, she also swept our plates off the counter. They clattered to the floor. Eggs, pancakes, french fries, and my sandwich all hit the ground as the plates broke against the tile.

  “Hey!” Andy said sharply. He swung an arm out and grabbed the back of Dale’s collar. The tendons in his hand flexed and tightened as he gripped Dale’s flannel shirt, twisting the fabric to tighten it around the man’s weathered neck. Dale spun on him, unable to wrench his shirt free from Andy’s hand.

  “Andy, don’t,” Ellen said. She put both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. “I can handle this.”

  “This guy is a bully and a jackass,” Andy said, using all his strength to hold Dale at arm’s length. “You really married this drunk?” He made a face as the man’s beer breath filled the area between them.

  “He’s not always like this,” Ellen pleaded, reaching out her hands and tugging on Andy’s jacket helplessly. “Trust me, Andy. I can get him home. He won’t even remember this. But you have to let him go.”

  I could see that Dale’s massive chest and strong arms would actually be a match for Andy (in spite of Dale’s advanced age) under different circumstances, but Dale was just drunk enough that Andy would probably win this one.

  Or so I thought.

  In one fluid movement, Dale jerked free of Andy’s grip and put both hands around my uncle’s neck. He pushed Andy’s spine into the sharp edge of the counter, forcing him to bend over backwards as he choked him, their faces just inches apart.

  “This little boy needs to learn how to mind his own business,” Dale hissed, his spit flying into Andy’s face as he tightened his grip. “My wife. My business,” Dale said. His eyes bulged as he put all of his exertion into squeezing the life out of Andy. “Pancakes and football games and college girls are your business, you hear me?”

  “Dale,” the cook came out of the kitchen, rushing across the diner to stop Ellen’s husband from killing a customer on top of the breakfast counter. “Let him go.”

  I was still watching the scene unfold, disbelief holding me fixed to the spot just feet from Andy. But the image of the cook coming to my uncle’s rescue shook me out of my shocked state. I flexed my hands and took a step towards Dale, approaching him from behind like a predator sneaking up on its helpless prey. Without warning, my own hands flew at the back of Dale’s graying black hair, pounding his skull with thick, heavy punches that sent pains up through my wrists all the way to my elbows.

  Dale let go of Andy and turned to me, eyes wild and red from his beer drinking. He reached out a hand and I knew instantly I was in over my head.

  “Dale!” Ellen shouted forcefully. It was the loudest and most alert thing she’d said or done since her husband had stormed into the diner. “Keep your hands off that child!”

  At the same time, Ellen, the cook, and Andy all reached for Dale from behind, grabbing onto him and pulling him away from me. This was a good thing, because I’m sure my face wouldn’t have looked the same after a meeting with Dale’s cracked knuckles.

  “Let’s get him outta here,” the cook said angrily. Ellen opened the front door and let Andy and the cook drag Dale out by his arms. The last thing I heard was the cook threatening to call the cops if Dale ever turned up drunk at his wife’s job again. Through the window, I watched as the cook pinned Dale up against a dusty green pickup truck, his greasy kitchen apron pressed into Dale’s puffy vest as the cook searched every pocket for Dale’s keys. He found them and tossed them to Andy.

  The cook and Dale were roughly the same size, though I guessed the cook was at least ten years younger, and their gazes and aggressive stances squared off evenly. In the end, Dale backed down. He gave the cook one final shove before he walked towards the main street and started weaving alongside the asphalt as he made his way to who knows where.

  “My god…” Ellen whispered, shaking her head. I had no idea she was standing right next to me, watching the men deal with her husband in the parking lot. “I’m going to have a bill to pay when I get home.”

  I turned to her, all of my naive understandings of life and the world on full display. “You could probably do better than that guy,” I said, hoping that it would make her feel better.

  Ellen looked up at me and I could see amusement in her tired eyes. “You think so, hon?” She searched my face. “You think it’s so easy to find someone to love you?” Ellen walked over to the counter and stared at our food as it cooled on the floor. “It’s not. Sometimes you gotta take what you can get.”

  She didn’t say anything else, she just disappeared into the kitchen to get a broom and a brown plastic bin to throw the food and broken plates into. I turned back to the window and watched the cook talking to my uncle in the parking lot. They continued to watch Dale as he disappeared from view, talking and pointing animatedly as they recounted the near miss between Dale’s fists and my face. The adrenaline that had been coursing through my veins slowed to a steady stream and my hands—which I hadn’t even realized were shaking—stilled.

  Andy. He was cool enough to pick me up from school when I’d made an ass of myself in history class, and cool enough that he knew everyone who worked in a diner on the outskirts of town. Andy hadn’t even hesitated to jump in when a man twice his size had showed up to threaten his favorite waitress at the diner, and now he stood guard outside the restaurant, making sure the trouble had passed.

  My whole life I’d grown up knowing he was someone whose loss the entire family had mourned all the way to disaster, and now I knew why: Andy wasn’t just cool, Andy was a hero. And it was my job to save him.

  20

  December 22, 2016

  Stone

  Lisa sat at the side of her son’s hospital bed, completely unaware that Jenny and the grown woman who was Lisa’s own granddaughter had been in that very room just days before. Her eyes were glassy and distant as she sniffed and rubbed at the nostrils of her red nose. Her hand shook.

  “Want me to get your dad and bring him in?” Lisa’s cousin Sheryl had driven down from Buffalo to sit with her at Daniel’s bedside, and it had clearly been troubling her that Lisa had no intention of picking her father up from the nursing home where he’d lived for the past decade so he could see his only grandchild. “I’m happy to run over and get him. You know he’d want to see Daniel.”

  Lisa shrugged. “That seems like a lot of work.”

  Sheryl’s face contorted as she tried to suppress an eyeroll. Lisa had always been the young, pretty
, favored child of their family, her blonde hair and childlike attitude inviting everyone to baby her and cater to her desires. It had taken years for Sheryl to stop hating her.

  “It wouldn’t be any work for you,” Sheryl said pointedly, “since I offered to do it for you. I just can’t stand to not see your dad here. This is family, and we all need to stick together until Daniel wakes up and we know what’s going to happen next.”

  Lisa shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” She stared at her son, as she’d done for days now, watching for signs of life. As much as his presence had hindered her in life—as many times as she’d secretly wished that she wasn’t a single mother with a quiet homebody of a kid waiting for her to come home with dinner each night—seeing him on the brink of death in this disgustingly clean hospital room made her sick to her stomach with regret. She regretted every time she’d chosen a man over him; every time she’d left a ten dollar bill on the kitchen table and told him to walk to a fast food restaurant; every time she’d taken pills and gone to bed without saying a word to him about school, his life, or his friends.

  “You guess it’s fine for me to check your dad out of his home and bring him over here?” Sheryl asked, trying to get verbal confirmation as she stood up and slipped her thick upper arms into her bulky winter coat. “Maybe hearing his grandfather’s voice will do something good for Daniel.” Sheryl flipped her curly hair over the collar of her jacket and buttoned it up to her chin. She tied a thick, knitted scarf around her neck.

  Lisa reached for her purse. She’d managed to get her prescription for Xanax refilled on the grounds that seeing her son in a hospital bed was causing her emotional distress. As soon as Sheryl was out the door she’d pop a couple into her mouth and rush into the bathroom of Daniel’s hospital room to put her mouth under the tap and wash them down with water.

  Sheryl watched her cousin search her bag with unsteady hands. She knew that Lisa was digging for pills of some sort. With a disapproving shake of her head, Sheryl walked to the door. “I’ll be back soon, hopefully with your dad,” she said, watching Lisa put more energy into finding her drug of choice than she’d put into trying to wake her only child up from his coma. Where were the soothing words that mothers were supposed to whisper in their child’s ears? Where was the caring, gentle touch of a mother who wanted nothing more than to see her son open his eyes again?