Next to Me

by Allie Everhart

  "I...I was going to donate them." I take a breath. "I just haven't had time."

  She points to the Patterson book. "That's Greg's book, isn't it? He always read Patterson."

  I don't answer her.

  She runs down the hall to the bedrooms. It's too late to stop her so I let her go. "Oh my God," I hear her saying, over and over again.

  She runs back, stopping right in front of me, out of breath, a pained look on her face. "Callie, why?"

  "Trina, relax. It's not a big deal. I just haven't had time to redecorate."

  "Redecorate? Callie, you haven't touched this house since the day they left. It looks exactly the same. Ben's room looks like he was just in there playing. It's like he never even—" She covers her mouth with her hands and takes some deep breaths.

  "You're overreacting. Let's just go to lunch and I'll explain everything."

  "There's nothing to explain." She comes up to me and takes my hands. "You need help, Callie. This isn't normal." She glances around the room. "This is so not normal."

  "You don't understand. You can't make judgments when you don't understand."

  She squeezes my hands. "Then tell me why you did this. Tell me why you're living in a house that looks like your family still lives here. Make me understand."

  My eyes go to the floor. "I can't. I don't really know why." I lift my eyes back to hers. "And as my friend, you should accept that and stop judging me."

  "Callie, you can't live this way. You'll never move on if you spend every day surrounded by their things."

  "There's nothing wrong with keeping things that remind me of them. Not everyone throws everything away."

  "Yes, but you haven't touched this room since they died. Your mom's knitting? Greg's book? That's creepy. And Ben's toys? How can you stand being around this day after day?"

  I yank my hands from hers. "Obviously, I manage just fine. I have a job. I take care of this house and the yard."

  "That's not what you should be doing. You're 21. You're supposed to be going to college, hanging out with friends, going on dates, partying. But instead you're hiding out in this house, in this town where you don't even know anyone." She stands up straighter. "I've tried to keep quiet, thinking you just needed more time, but you've had enough time. This can't go on." She scans the room again. "I had no idea it was this bad."

  "It's NOT bad," I spit out. "And it's not your life. It's mine. And I can choose to live it however I want." I storm over to the door. "Get out of my house!"

  "I'm not leaving." She quickly shakes her head as she walks to the kitchen. She reaches under the sink and pulls something out.

  "What are you doing?"

  She returns to the living room holding the wastebasket. "This needs to end." She goes to the side table and picks up Greg's book and drops it in the wastebasket.

  "No!" I run over to her. "Stop!"

  She darts around me to the basket on the floor, and grabs the yarn and knitting needles and half-finished scarf and throws them in the trash.

  "Trina, stop!" I grasp her arm but she pushes me back.

  "I'm sorry I have to do this, but it's for your own good." With the wastebasket in hand, she runs down the hall to Ben's room and slams the door.

  I run after her, but when I get to Ben's room, the door is locked. I bang on it. "Let me in!"

  She doesn't answer and the door remains locked. I hear the clink of Ben's toy cars and know she's throwing them away.

  I'm sobbing now, tears soaking my face. "Don't throw them away. Please! I'm begging you!"

  My body sinks to the floor. She's destroying Ben's room. Taking his things.

  I dig into my pocket and yank out my cell phone and call Nash. Please answer, please answer.

  "Callie?" He sounds surprised because I never call him.

  "Could you come over here?" My voice is hoarse and shaky.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Just get over. Please! And hurry!"

  He doesn't answer. I get up from the floor and go across the hall to my room and see him sprinting across my lawn. I run to the front door, opening it for him.

  "What is it? What happened? Are you hurt?" His eyes sweep over my body.

  "It's Trina." I point to the hall. "She showed up here and she's taking all their things!" My voice is frantic and I'm shaking. "She's touching them, and moving them, and throwing them out!"

  He holds my arms. "Where is she?"

  "She locked herself in Ben's room." I drop to my knees, sobbing. "She's taking Ben's toys. Please make her stop. Please!"

  He kneels in front of me. "I'll make her stop. It'll be okay."

  I nod, but it's not going to be okay. It's too late. She's destroyed everything. Taken all I had left of them. And left me with nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nash

  I was in the kitchen looking at wood samples for the living room floor when Callie called. She never calls so I knew this wasn't good. From the terror in her voice, I thought someone was over there attacking her. I dropped the samples, threw open the back door, and sprinted to her house. She was waiting for me at the door, crying and shaking and completely hysterical. Now she's on the floor, sobbing, and I'm down the hall, banging on the door to her brother's room.

  "Open the door!" I yell at the girl who's in there. What's her name? Tracy? Tammy?

  "Who's out there?" she yells back.

  "Callie's friend. Now open the damn door or I'll break it down."

  There's noise, like she's setting something down, and then the door opens halfway.

  "Where's Callie?" the girl asks. She has long straight blond hair and she's wearing a dress and a lot of makeup. She doesn't seem like someone Callie would be friends with, but maybe the old Callie would. I know very little about the old Callie.

  "She's in the living room, crying her eyes out because you're destroying her house."

  "I'm not destroying it. I'm getting rid of the stuff she should've got rid of a long time ago." She checks the hall to make sure Callie isn't coming, then says to me, "You know what happened to her family, right?"

  "Yeah, but you can't just barge in here and throw everything out."

  "The way she's living...it isn't normal. She needs to see someone. A counselor...a psychiatrist...or maybe she needs to be admitted somewhere."

  Now I'm getting angry.

  I lower my voice. "Callie isn't crazy. She's grieving. And she's struggling because she's been trying to deal with this alone and it's not working. She needs people supporting her, helping her. And you tossing all this shit in the trash? Not fucking helpful."

  "I had to do something! It's been over a year and she's not getting any better."

  I try to see around her into the room. "What did you do? How much did you throw out?"

  "Not much. A book and a scarf and some of Ben's toys."

  I shove the door open and see the covers on the bed ripped off. "What the hell did you do to his bed?"

  "She goes crazy if you even touch their stuff, so I had to mess it up to prove to her that it's okay if it isn't how they left it."

  "Fuck." I sigh. "If she sees this..." I go over and pull the covers back up, trying to quickly make the bed.

  "Nash!" Callie yells.

  "Shit." I drop Ben's pillows on the bed and say to the girl, "Get out of here. Hurry up."

  We both scurry out of the room and I shut the door. Callie's standing in the hallway. She's no longer crying but she's a mess; hair going every which way, mascara running down her face, her eyes bloodshot.

  "She's leaving," I say to Callie.

  "I'm not leaving," the girl says.

  "If you don't get out I'll call the cops," Callie says to her. "I mean it, Trina. I swear I'll call them."

  Trina. I knew it started with a T.

  She walks up to Callie. "I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to be your friend."

  "Tearing apart my house isn't helping me." She wipes her eyes. "And as for being friends, we haven't been friends since
the accident. After it happened you stopped talking to me. You didn't even go to their funeral."

  "I was in Europe. I'd just started my internship. I couldn't just leave."

  "You could've at least called me. But you didn't." Callie takes a breath. "It doesn't matter. I knew our friendship was over that day. You never stick around for the hard stuff."

  "That's not fair, Callie. Just because I didn't know what to say to you doesn't make me a bad friend. Nobody knows what to do when someone dies. It's awkward and uncomfortable."

  "And it tells you who your real friends are," I say, speaking from experience. I go over and stand beside Callie. "Real friends stick around when bad shit happens, even if it's awkward and uncomfortable."

  "Who the hell is this guy?" Trina asks Callie.

  Callie keeps her eyes on Trina. "Please go. And don't call me."

  She frowns. "Callie, you don't mean that."

  "I'm sorry, but we're not friends anymore. We haven't been for a long time."

  "Fine." She walks back to the living room with Callie and me following behind. She goes over to the couch and picks up her purse and a giant floppy hat, then goes out the door.

  As her car drives away, I bring Callie into my arms. "She's gone. It's going to be okay."

  "It's not." She shoves me back. "It's not okay! She took all their things!"

  "They're not gone. Everything's in the wastebasket. You can take it all out."

  "But she moved them! If I put them back, it won't be the same!"

  How do I handle this? Callie needs to pack those things away, not set them out again. She'll never move on if she does. It's fine if she wants to keep them, but putting them on display is just a constant reminder of what she's lost.

  "Callie, let's go sit down."

  "No. I have to see what she did." She bolts down the hall to Ben's room. I find her on the floor, sobbing, and clinging to a stuffed dinosaur.

  I sit down in front of her.

  "She ruined it," Callie says, her voice trembling. "It was just like he left it, and she ruined it."

  "I'm sorry." I run my hand up and down her arm.

  "Why would she do that? Why would she take them away from me?"

  "She shouldn't have done it, but Callie...they were already gone."

  "No." She shakes her head. "They were here. They were still here until she took them away."

  I'm finally figuring this out. It's finally making sense.

  "When their things went untouched," I say, "it was like they were still here."

  She nods. "And now they're gone. Even if I put it all back, it won't be the same. It won't be how they left it. They won't be the last people who touched it." She sniffles. "They're gone. For good."

  Her hands cover her face and she sobs. I reach over and pull her toward me and hold her in my arms. I hate seeing her cry, but she needs to. In her mind, her family died all over again today. So she needs to cry. It's part of her grieving, part of her healing.

  When her tears dry up, she says, "Will you help me put everything back?"

  Shit. What do I say? I want to tell her no but that will just upset her. I try to remember what my dad did when I lost Becky. He talked to me a lot, but he also asked me a lot of leading questions, trying to help me find my own way out of my grief.

  "Callie, what if we didn't put everything back?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "What if we just put some things back but not all of them?"

  "I want them all back like they were."

  "But you just said it'll never be the same, so should we really put them back? Aren't they just objects now?"

  She pushes away from me. "They're not just objects! They're things that meant something to my family."

  "Some things have meaning, but not everything," I say cautiously. "Does a basket of yarn really have meaning?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because it belonged to my mom."

  "So did the pots and pans in the kitchen, but you still use them. You don't display them on the counter and not touch them."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "That maybe not everything has to be put back where it was. Maybe a few things could be put into boxes for you to look at later."

  "Now you sound just like Trina. So you're taking her side now?" Callie gets up and starts sorting through the wastebasket.

  I stand in front of her. "That's not what I'm saying."

  "Just go. I'll clean this up myself."

  "Callie." I take the wastebasket from her and set it down. "If you don't make a change, things will always be this way."

  She glares at me. "And what way is that?"

  "The way that prevents you from moving on with your life."

  "Why would I move on?" she yells, her voice cracking. "Ben didn't get to move on. Neither did my parents. So why should I?"

  I hold her shoulders and look her in the eye. "Because you're still here. You're still alive."

  "But I shouldn't be." Her lip trembles. "I should be dead, like them."

  "Callie, don't say that."

  "I should've gone with them. That was the plan, but then I didn't go. And now I'm here and they're not. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be getting up every day, going out, doing things without them. It's not fair that I get to do things and they can't."

  My mind goes back to what she said at the bar that night. When she said she shouldn't be here, she didn't mean the bar. She meant here on Earth. Given how she acted that night, I suspected she might've meant that but I was hoping I wasn't right.

  "Callie, please tell me you're not going to hurt yourself."

  She shakes her head. "I'm not."

  "But you feel you owe it to them to not live your life. That's why you stay in this house and won't make friends or go out and have fun? Because they can't?"

  She shuts her eyes, nodding.

  "Callie, look at me." Her eyes blink open. "Living this way is not what your family would've wanted. Obviously I never met them, but I know for a fact they wouldn't want you to stop living because of them. They'd want you to go on with your life. They'd want you to live the life that they couldn't. To make the most of it. To not take it for granted. They'd want you to be happy."

  "How can I be happy? They're gone and they're never coming back."

  "But part of them lives on in you. It's like with Becky and me. She's the one who got me hooked on country music. As a kid I never listened to music, but Becky always listened to country, and since I was always with her, I couldn't help but listen to it. And now I listen to it all the time, and whenever I do, I think of Becky. That part of her, the diehard country fan, still lives on through me. Do you know what I'm saying?" She doesn't answer so I continue. "Like I'm sure you're similar to your mom in many ways, and because of that, she'll always be with you. And that's a hell of a lot more real than holding onto the yarn she was using to make a scarf."

  Callie steps back, then turns away from me and starts sorting through the wastebasket again. Did she not hear what I said? Or is she just choosing to ignore it?

  "What are you doing?" I ask as she takes some toy race cars out of the trash.

  She starts arranging the cars on top of the dresser, placing them in the same spots they were before. "Would you please go?"

  "I don't think I should."

  "Please. I need to do this, and I don't want you here."

  I sigh. "Come over when you're done, okay?"

  "I'm not coming over. It's not a work day."

  "This isn't about work. This is about me being your friend. We don't have to talk. We can just hang out."

  "I don't know. I need to think about it." She takes a stuffed animal from the trash and sets it up in the corner of the room. "I'll call you later."

  There's nothing else I can say, so I leave her there and go back to my house. Around noon, I call to check on her and invite her over for lunch but she doesn't pick up, so I go to her house but she won't answer the door. I continue to call
and stop by but she doesn't answer the phone or come to her door.

  The same thing happens on Sunday. She refuses to talk to me. I keep watch on her house and see lights turning on and off so at least I know she's in there and okay, but she never comes outside. She usually mows on Saturday but she didn't yesterday, so I go over there and mow her lawn. I assumed she'd come out and yell at me for doing it, but she didn't.

  On Monday, she sends me a text saying she won't be coming to work but doesn't say why, and as expected, she won't answer my calls or come to the door.

  Why is she avoiding me? Is it because of what I said? If so, it's fine if she's mad at me. It had to be said. She can't keep living under this cloud of guilt she feels for being alive when her family is dead, just like I can't keep feeling guilty over what happened to Becky.

  I spent last weekend thinking about that, realizing that no matter how much I allow the guilt to eat away at me, it'll never change what happened. The guilt is just a way to punish myself for not taking Becky to work that day. Just like Callie is punishing herself for not going on that trip with her family.

  "Hey, Lou, is Callie here?" I ask him as I walk in the coffee shop. He's got a coffee pot in his hand, refilling cups at one of the tables.

  "She's in the back, rolling pie dough."

  "Would you mind if I went back there and talked to her for a minute?"

  "Go ahead."

  I march back to the kitchen, determined to make her talk to me.

  "Nash." She's startled to see me and drops her rolling pin. "What are you doing here? You can't be back here."

  "Lou said I could." I stand right beside her. "So you want to tell me why you haven't spoken to me in days?"

  "I've been busy." She goes to pick up her rolling pin but I reach over and grab it. "Give it back. I'm supposed to be working."

  "You were supposed to be working this morning too and you didn't show up. You're obviously not sick, so what's your excuse?"

  "I told you, I was busy."

  "Busy doing what?"

  She hesitates, gazing off to the side.

  "Callie, what is it? Is this about putting everything back the way it was? Because I'm not here to talk about that, so if that's why you didn't show up this morning, then—"