Never Come Back

by David Bell

  I nodded.

  “You know that’s illogical, right?” Dan said. “I mean, he’s your brother, so if your mom died—”

  “I didn’t say it was logical, Dan.”

  “Right,” he said. “Well, just because you have those feelings doesn’t mean you would really act on them.”

  “But I did act on them,” I said. “I’ve been absent from their lives.”

  “Well, I know all about that,” he said.

  I turned to him. “What are you saying, Dan?”

  “I guess I’m wondering what you’re here for,” he said.

  “Dan, my mother died. She was killed.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know. I’m just saying, E, that you don’t exactly let people in, you know? You’re not always there for others. At least not for me.” He held his hands out before him. “I shouldn’t be saying all this now. It’s bad timing.”

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I might learn something.”

  He reached up and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re here for. Do you want absolution? Or sympathy? I don’t see or hear from you for weeks, and then here you are on my doorstep. I know your mother died, but I had to hear about it from someone else.”

  I felt my chin quiver. I bit back any tears, holding them in. I looked at the floor again.

  “Do you want to hear the truth?” he asked.

  “I thought I already was hearing it.”

  “It’s possible if you were more involved with your family’s life that you could have done something. But that’s assuming your brother really did this, and that’s assuming there was anything to be done. You could have been right there, camped out in the living room, and the same thing might have happened.” He sighed. “Or maybe you would have been hurt too.”

  He sounded concerned, as though the thought of me being hurt was painful to him. It was sweet to hear, even if he was mad at me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “It’s too late for your mom,” he said. “You can’t do anything to help her. But you can still do what she wanted you to do. You can still take care of your brother.”

  “I’ve seen the will. It makes my uncle Ronnie’s guardian. And that makes the most sense. Paul and Ronnie get along well. Paul is patient. He understands what Ronnie needs.”

  “Ronnie still needs you. You can play a role in his life. A big one.”

  “Unless…” I almost couldn’t say it. “Unless the worst is true about him, the things the police say.”

  Dan didn’t have any words of wisdom to share about that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I woke up between the familiar sheets of Dan’s bed. My head felt foggy from the beer and the sleep. I rolled over and found the other side of the small bed empty. The clock read eight thirty.

  “Dan?”

  He came in the door dressed for school, which meant he was wearing a flannel shirt and ratty jeans. But he’d showered, and when he lay down next to me I could smell the shaving cream and soap. He wasn’t as dirty as he looked.

  “I have to go in a few minutes,” he said. He put his arm around me and pulled me close. I drank it in. “What are you doing today?”

  I yawned. “I think I need to get my life in order a little bit,” I said. “I’m trying to get back to normal. I’ve been neglecting school the last few days. I don’t want to get miles behind.”

  “I understand that,” he said. “Do you need help with anything?”

  “No, thanks. My nose is just above the water. I can keep it there.”

  “You can always withdraw for the semester, or take an emergency leave. Everybody would understand, and they’d hold your funding for you.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said.

  Dan must have heard a hint of irritation in my voice because he said, “You don’t like that I said that, do you?”

  “This is why I don’t like spending time with you,” I said.

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m sorry. I just mean… you know me too well.”

  “Well,” Dan said, “we can’t have any of that, can we?”

  “One day at a time,” I said. “Okay?”

  “Sure. And your brother and the stuff we talked about last night?”

  “I’ll see him later. And I’ll check in with Paul. You know, if my mom wants me to help take care of my brother, I need to stay in school and get a job. I can’t help him out if I’m working at McDonald’s.”

  “Then I’ll get off your case.” He kissed the top of my head and stood up. “I have to go. But we can talk later, if you want.”

  “Sure,” I said. “And, Dan? Thanks. It was good talking to you.”

  “I’m glad you came by,” he said. “And don’t worry.”

  He didn’t explain, so I asked, “Worry about what? My family?”

  “About me,” he said, smiling. “I won’t assume that this means anything. You know, you staying here and sleeping with me.”

  My face flushed. “Dan.”

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m glad you came by because I really needed to get laid.”

  • • •

  I had just enough time to go back to my apartment—which seemed smaller and darker than the last time I was there—shower, dress, and grab my things before going to campus. I felt like I’d already missed too many classes. Anyone who has ever been in graduate school would understand what I was experiencing: sheer panic. I assumed the academic world had passed me by, that all the best resources had been given out to my peers, that all the great ideas and themes had been written about, that I was hopelessly behind and would never catch up. Indeed, as I drove the ten minutes from my apartment to campus, I convinced myself that my future did indeed lie in a McDonald’s restaurant somewhere, that I would spend the rest of my life wearing a hairnet and dishing up salty fries.

  But the reality wasn’t that bad.

  Everyone had heard the news by then, and everyone understood. My fellow grad students offered their condolences, and I even found a bouquet of flowers sitting on my desk and a card signed by almost everyone I knew, including Dan. My professors were sympathetic and encouraged me to take my time getting my personal life in order and catching up. Even the biggest hard-asses among them expressed sympathy, and I realized a fundamental truth about humanity: we all have mothers, and no one wishes ill on anyone’s mother.

  Even the students in the introductory section of American History One I taught had heard the news and sheepishly nodded their sympathy to me when I walked into the classroom. I had prepared nothing to teach. Nothing at all. If someone had put me on the spot and asked me to name the first president of the United States I would have been stuck for an answer. But I soldiered through. I reached into the professor bag of tricks, put them in small groups, and let them discuss the day’s reading assignment, which was something I hadn’t even read yet. It worked, and I made it through my first day back.

  When I walked out of that classroom, I felt spent. It was late in the afternoon, nearing four o’clock, and I hadn’t checked in with Paul all day for an update on Ronnie’s condition. I looked at my phone as I walked through the hordes of students, and the only thing that brought me a measure of relief from guilt was the fact that Paul hadn’t called. I would have felt worse if he had contacted me, if he had needed me, and I had missed it.

  “Hey, Dr. Hampton.”

  I stopped. The voice sounded familiar but I couldn’t locate its source in the crowd. I had almost started walking away, thinking that maybe I had been hearing things, when the voice called again.

  “Over here, Dr. H.”

  And then I knew the source.

  I turned, and as the crowd thinned and parted, I saw my summoner. Neal Nelson. He stood over six feet tall and soaking wet couldn’t have weighed more than 130 pounds. He wore a scraggly beard, one that would have looked more at home on the face of a fifteen-y
ear-old than on a college student. And he wore a thick green army jacket even though the temperature remained warm and comfortable. I walked over to him.

  “Hello, Neal.”

  “Dr. H. Good to see you.”

  “I’ve told you before you shouldn’t call me ‘doctor,’” I said. “I’m a graduate student, not a professor. I don’t have my PhD yet. I don’t even have a master’s degree.”

  “Bah,” he said, waving his hand in front of his face. “What’s that word people use? Semitics?”

  “Semantics.”

  “That’s it,” he said. “You’re my favorite professor.”

  “You’ve only been in my class for a month, and you’ve only showed up half the time.”

  “And you’re not a dick about it,” he said. “That’s what I like about you, Teach. I’m sorry I wasn’t there today. Something came up, but at least I’m here in the hallway now that class is letting out.”

  He smiled down at me, one side of his mouth curling up. His eyes were blue, and he knew how to squint them in just the right way that I couldn’t be mad at him. He wasn’t that much younger than me, probably just five years or so, and I made certain to leave enough space—both physical and emotional—between us.

  “Well,” I said. “Maybe you’ll make it to class again this semester.”

  As I was turning away, he said, “I’m real sorry about your mom. It’s a shitty thing.”

  I turned back. “How did you hear about that?” I asked. “Did you actually come to class when they announced it?”

  “I read the paper,” he said. “People need to know what goes on in the world, so I follow the news.” He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “I also saw that it was foul play.” He shook his head, his face sincere. “I don’t know what I can say about that. It’s brutal. I’m sorry, you know? Your mother and everything. Shit.”

  “Thanks, Neal.”

  “I had an uncle once who met with that kind of trouble.” He shook his head again. “It rips your guts out, Teach. Totally out.”

  On that point, he was onto something—I hadn’t heard it put better.

  “You’re right,” I said. “It does.”

  “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know. My old man, he knows things.”

  “Things?”

  “He likes to help people,” he said. “And so do I.”

  “Thanks, Neal. But if you want to help someone, help yourself. Come to class more often.”

  • • •

  I ran into Dan as I was packing my things and getting ready to leave for the day. I hadn’t seen him since he left his apartment that morning, and I suspected he’d been trying to give me a certain amount of space while we both did our work. But he found me just before I left and asked if everything had gone okay on my first day back.

  I heaved a theatrical sigh. “Well, I didn’t break down crying. And I convinced a roomful of students that I possessed some degree of competence. I’d call all that a success.”

  “Great.”

  I knew he wanted to ask me where I was going and what I was doing. But he didn’t. He gave me all the space he thought I wanted.

  “Have a good night, then,” he said and walked away.

  He did exactly what I wanted, and I hated it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I arrived at Dover Community after five o’clock and signed in at the nurses’ station.

  On my way through the hallways, I passed shuffling patients, their eyes either glazed by drugs or open wide as though they had just woken up and seen the truth about something. Maybe it was the truth about where they really were, or maybe it was some larger truth about the world we all careened through. Whatever it was, they didn’t like it, and their unease figuratively knocked me back a couple of steps.

  When I turned into the last hallway, the one where Ronnie was, I heard a woman’s voice screaming over and over, “Help me! Help me! Help me!”

  I can’t, I wanted to yell back. I can’t even help my own brother.

  And I froze in the hallway, just twenty feet from the door to Ronnie’s room. My feet felt like concrete, my legs like lead. I couldn’t move. I knew it could be bad, seeing Ronnie in there. I lost track of how long I stood there like that, locked in place like a child afraid of entering a dark basement. The spell broke when a nurse came out of Ronnie’s room. She was about my age and slim, her legs pumping with controlled efficiency. She was carrying a packet of papers, and when she saw me, she lifted her glasses up to the top of her head, resting them on her thick hair.

  “Elizabeth?” she said.

  I didn’t process that she had said my name. I couldn’t imagine how she could have known my name. I figured I looked like a lot of visitors to that ward. Awkward, uncertain. Scared. Probably happened every day.

  “Elizabeth Hampton?” she said.

  I looked more closely at her face. I did know her, but her name didn’t come to me right away.

  “It’s me,” she said. “Janie Rader. Well, I go by Jane now. From Dover East.”

  It came back. Janie Rader. We went to high school together and hung around occasionally. During junior year we spent a lot of time together, sipping beer in Janie’s basement, listening to loud music, trying on clothes, and pretending to be more sophisticated than we really were. We hadn’t stayed in touch since then.

  “Oh, Janie. It’s you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, smiling. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m here to see my brother.”

  “I know,” she said. She leaned forward and placed her hand on my upper arm. “I heard about all of that. I’m sorry. And your mom… I thought of calling you when I heard the news. I didn’t even know you were living back in Dover.”

  “I just moved back. For graduate school.”

  “I remember your mom from when we were… when we hung out together in high school. She was always so nice to me when I would come over to your house.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess we didn’t spend as much time at my house as we did at yours. How’s Ronnie?”

  “Oh, Ronnie,” she said, nodding. “He’s doing better now. He’s calmed down.”

  “Did he have a rough night?” I asked. “I was worried he would be anxious after he came here.”

  “Last night was fine,” she said. “We gave him something to help him sleep. No, today was the rough day.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. Janie had always been easygoing and reluctant to say anything bad about anybody. “I know you’re his closest relative, right? There’s just you and Ronnie?”

  “Yes.”

  She paused another moment, then said, “You may want to tell the rest of the members of your family to show some more restraint when they come to visit him.”

  “What do you mean, ‘restraint’?”

  A phone buzzed somewhere on her body. She pulled it out of her pocket, flipped the glasses down, and studied the screen. “Sorry.” She silenced the phone and dropped it into her pocket before looking back at me. “I’m sure you know that Ronnie is in a precarious emotional state right now,” she said.

  “I know. When Mom was…”

  Was murdered. Murdered. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to say that out loud. It seemed too… ugly. Too real.

  “I know,” she said. “And we’re trying to keep him calm so the doctors can do their work. But one of your relatives came by today and got him pretty agitated. If that happens, then they have to medicate more, and it makes it more difficult for the doctors to examine him.”

  “Are you talking about my uncle?” I asked. “He wouldn’t agitate Ronnie. It would be just the opposite.”

  “No, I’ve seen your uncle here. Paul, right? No, not him.”

  “Then who? Are you sure we’re talking about Ronnie? No one else would visit him—”

  “I know it’s Ronnie,” Janie said.
“I’ve been here all day, working a double shift. I know.”

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  My legs no longer felt so heavy. They felt lighter, but not in a good way. I leaned back against the wall of the hallway. The lights overhead seemed too bright, too piercing. And the cries from the helpless patient started again.

  “Help me! Help me! Help me!”

  Janie ignored it. “Someone came by to see your brother today,” she said. “A woman. At first, everything was fine. They seemed to be visiting. Then, I don’t know, things took a turn. Whatever she said to your brother got him stirred up. He became emotional, almost hysterical. When I went in there, the woman was crying a little too, and she left before I could find out what happened. She just apologized and bolted.”

  “Did she hurt Ronnie?” I asked.

  “No, he’s fine. It wasn’t anything like that. I got the feeling she was asking him things, talking to him about family stuff. Maybe she was talking about your mother. I’m not sure, but whatever it was, it didn’t work for him right now. So maybe just spread the word among the relatives to keep everything light when they come here. Just talk about happy stuff, mundane stuff. And bring him flowers or something to add some cheer—”

  “We don’t have any other relatives,” I said, my voice flat and distracted.

  “What’s that?”

  “We don’t have any other relatives.” I looked into Janie’s eyes. Hers were pale blue, the sclera tinted a little red. Tired. But also sympathetic. I welcomed the warmth I saw there, the familiarity and the comfort. It was good to see her. “It’s just Ronnie and me and my uncle. That’s it. Everybody else is dead.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. She reached out and placed her hand gently on my arm again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know if this woman was a relative or not. I just assumed, and that’s my mistake. I know your family’s been through a lot.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Whoever it was, relative or friend, just try to, you know, keep it a little on the cheery side for now. This isn’t easy for your brother.” She nodded toward the door to Ronnie’s room. “He’s asleep now, but you can go on in.”