Next to Me

by Allie Everhart

  "It wasn't that. That's not why I didn't show up."

  "Then what is it? Just tell me."

  She takes a breath. "Last Saturday, with everything that happened, I forgot to get the mail."

  "Yeah? So?"

  "So I got it this morning before breakfast and when I looked through it I saw a letter addressed to my mom. It was from someone my mom went to college with. She invited her to some kind of reunion. I don't know how she got our address but when I saw the letter, I broke down. I know it's just a letter, but—"

  "You don't have to explain," I say, pulling her into my arms. "It sucks when people don't know. It's just another reminder that..."

  "She's gone," she says.

  There was a finality to her tone, like she's finally allowing herself to believe it. Does that mean she'll start letting go? Start living her life again? God, I hope so.

  She keeps hold of me for a moment before backing away. I'd like to take that as a sign she's no longer mad at me about Saturday, but it could be that she held on because she needs to be comforted after seeing that letter.

  "Did she leave a phone number?" I ask. "The woman who wrote the letter?"

  She nods. "Yeah. She asked my mom to call her. I have to tell her...but I don't think I can do it. Not yet. I'm still—"

  "I'll do it. I'll call and tell her."

  "You don't have to. I just need more time. I know it sounds crazy, but just saying the words out loud, I..." Her voice trails off.

  I hold her hand. "It's not crazy. I told you what a hard time I have telling people about Becky, and that was almost eight years ago. I'll take care of this, okay? I'll do it today. Where's the letter?"

  "It's at home."

  "Can you give me your key so I can go get it?" I hold my hand out but she doesn't give me the key. "Callie, I promise I'll go in the house, get the letter, and leave. I won't touch anything."

  She reaches in her jeans pocket and pulls out her keys and gives me the house key. "I'll stop by your house after work and get it. Thanks for doing this."

  "It's no problem." I give her hand a squeeze. "I'm here for you, Callie. Anything you need. All you have to do is ask. I'll see you soon."

  On the way out, I pass Lou at the counter.

  "Nash," he says, stopping me. "Everything okay in there?" He hitches his thumb toward the kitchen. "She came in here this morning not looking so good. I asked her what the problem was, but she wouldn't tell me."

  "I talked to her. I think she's feeling better now."

  "Good to hear." He smiles. "You two dating yet?"

  I smile back. "Not yet. But I'm hoping. I'll see you later, Lou."

  I go in Callie's house and see the letter on the kitchen table. It reads just like she said, telling her mom about the reunion and how great it'll be to see everyone again. It came at the worst possible time. I'm trying to get Callie to accept that her parents are gone and then she gets a letter written as though her mom is still alive.

  I take the letter and stuff it in my pocket, and on my way out, I notice the Patterson book isn't on the table. And the knitting basket isn't on the floor. I told Callie I wouldn't touch anything but I didn't say I wouldn't look around. I walk over to the corner where the bin of toys used to be but it's not there anymore.

  A grin lights up my face. "You did it, Callie. Holy shit, you really did it."

  I walk down the hall to Ben's room. The door is only open a crack, so I push it open all the way and see the toy bin that used to be in the living room. It's sitting in the corner. I go over and peek inside. The toy cars that were on the dresser are now in the bin, along with the stuffed animals that used to be on the floor. As I glance around the room, I see that all the toys have been put away except for a stuffed monkey, which is sitting on the bed.

  "I'm so damn proud of you, Callie." I'm still smiling. "It must've hurt like hell to do this, but you did it anyway."

  This is the happiest I've felt in a really long time. Callie took a step forward. A giant, monumental step forward. She's been stuck in the same place for a year, but she finally took a step forward. And that makes me happy. So freaking happy. Deliriously happy.

  Callie's happiness makes me happy? I think that means something. Something I already knew but wasn't ready to admit. I think it means I'm falling in love with her. Or maybe I already am.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Callie

  After work I stop at Nash's house to get my key. I find him in the living room, taking measurements of the floor.

  "So what happened? Did you talk to her?"

  "Yeah, I called her as soon as I got home." He sets his tape measure down and walks over to me. "After I told her about your mom, she felt really bad. She was put in charge of invites and was given a list of names and addresses and just sent the letters out."

  "Was she friends with my mom?"

  "They were friends back in college, but it didn't sound like they were close. She told me to tell you she's really sorry about your mom and that she'll take her name off the mailing list so this doesn't happen again."

  "Thanks for calling her. I know I should've done it myself but—"

  "Callie, don't worry about it. I understand why you didn't want to call her."

  "I need to go change from work. Do you have my key?"

  He takes it from his pocket, and as he gives it to me, he holds onto my hand, his face serious except for the slightest uptick of his lips.

  "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Because I saw what you did. I didn't touch anything at your house, but I noticed that you'd packed away a few things."

  "Yeah," I say quietly, dropping my head.

  "So how do you feel?"

  "Sad. Like they'll think I don't care about them anymore."

  He lifts my chin up to look at him. "They wouldn't think that. If anything, they'd be proud of you. Just like I am." He pauses, his eyes on mine. "I know how hard that was for you."

  He really does, because he knows what it's like to lose someone. He lost his best friend, and then his mom.

  After Nash left my house on Saturday, I thought about what he said, about Becky and her love of country music living on through him. He's right. The people we love do live on through us. My mom, Greg, and Ben influenced me to become the person I am, or used to be before they died.

  I look just like my mom, and we both liked to cook and watch old black and white movies and collect funky jewelry from art fairs. Greg always challenged me to do things I thought were too hard or too much work, like take the hardest classes at school, compete on the track team, and apply for a top college. Those were all things I wanted to do, but wouldn't have if Greg hadn't pushed me to do them.

  And as for Ben? He brought out the soft side in me. Before he came along, I played the role of bad-ass teenager. I didn't give hugs, I got angry a lot, and I kept a wall up to keep people out. I'm not sure why I was that way. I think it was just a phase I was going through. But then Ben came along and my heart melted and the wall came down. I adored my little brother, giving him hugs and kisses and tickling him. I was still Callie, but a Callie who wasn't so mad at the world.

  And now? I've let myself become someone I don't recognize. I'm losing all the traits my family gave me. But I didn't realize that until Nash made those comments last weekend. That's what made me start to pack away my family's things. As Nash said, they're just objects, not a connection to my family. They don't live on through those objects. They live on through me. That's my connection to them. The things they taught me. Their influence on me. They made me who I am. But this past year, I've lost that connection to them because I haven't been me. The Callie they knew. The Callie that existed before they died. I've been holding onto things that don't matter and losing myself in the process.

  I can't keep living like this. Part of me knew I couldn't continue this way forever, but the other part of me liked the safe bubble I'd created for myself, never having to move forward and face the fact that they were
n't coming back. But Nash burst that bubble with the words he spoke last Saturday. He thought I was mad at him for saying them, and at the time, I was. But then his words sunk in, and I was grateful that he said them. It made me finally realize that I need to change or things will never get better.

  I know that change won't come overnight, but I've begun the process by taking their things out of the living room, which was hard, but not as hard as packing away Ben's toys. That nearly killed me. I cried so much it took me forever to finish, but now it's done. The only toy that remains is the monkey he gave me before he left that day. The one he said would take care of me while he was gone.

  Nash's eyes are still on me, waiting for my response, so I say, "I couldn't have done all that if it weren't for you."

  His brows rise in surprise. "What did I do?"

  "You told me why you like country music." I smile a little.

  He nods and murmurs under his breath, "Becky."

  "Yeah." I turn and walk to the door. "I have to go change. I'll be right back."

  "Callie, if you're not feeling up to it, you don't have to work today," he says as I leave.

  He thinks I'm upset because of that letter and what happened last weekend, and I admit, I'm an emotional mess. But the last thing I want is to be alone. Being alone this past year has gotten me nowhere. And if I had to choose anyone to be with right now, it'd be Nash.

  When I go in my house, I stop a moment, noticing the missing objects. The room looks bare without them but I'll get used to it. I have to, because I can't put them back. I'm really trying to do this, to get past this horrible tragedy, and in order to do so, I have to make changes.

  As I pass Ben's room, I can't help but glance inside. No more toy cars lined up on the dresser. No more stuffed dinosaurs on the floor. They've all been put away. For good. I blink away the tears and hurry to my room to change.

  When I get back to Nash's place I go in the kitchen and take a moment to look at it now that it's almost finished.

  "It looks great in here," I tell Nash who's coming in from the garage.

  "Thanks. I just need to paint the walls and it'll be done."

  I walk past him. "I'm going to work upstairs today, if that's okay. I thought I'd go through those boxes in the master bedroom."

  "Do you want me to bring them down here? That room stinks."

  "I'll just open a window and air it out. Is Cat up there?"

  "Yeah. He's taking a nap. Tomorrow's Ladies' Night so he's resting up."

  I smile. "He really thinks he'll find a girl at Ladies' Night?"

  "He's hoping so. He's also hoping he can go back and live with you. You think you're ready for him?"

  "Not yet. Could you keep him for a little longer?"

  "I'd be happy to. We get along great. And he's already caught two mice."

  "You have mice?" I jump back, searching the floor around my feet.

  Nash laughs. "You're afraid of mice?"

  "No," I insist. "I'm not afraid of them. I just don't like being around them."

  "Same thing," he says, taking a can of pop from the fridge.

  "It's not the same," I mumble, racing up the stairs before a mouse appears.

  The master bedroom stinks, just like Nash said. It's a mixed aroma of dusty clothes, mothballs, and old man aftershave. I crank open the windows, and while the room is airing out, I go to Nash's room and peek inside. Cat is in his bed, sound asleep, with one of his cat toys wedged between his paws. He seems happy, almost as happy as when Ben was alive.

  I return to the master bedroom and drag the boxes out of the closet. They're heavy, probably filled with more magazines. But when I open the first box, I find photo albums, not magazines. I take one out and flip through it and see family photos of a younger Mr. Freeson, along with a woman I assume was his wife, and a young girl, who must be Nash's mom. I look in another album and see photos of Nash's mom as a teenager.

  Nash needs to see these. I run down the stairs to the kitchen.

  "Nash?"

  "Yeah?" He chuckles. "You looking for some air freshener? I told you that room stinks. I took the mothballs out and it still stinks."

  "It's fine. I have the windows open. I need you to go up there and look at something."

  "Right now?"

  "Yeah. I think you'll want to see this."

  We go upstairs to the bedroom and I show him the box of photo albums. "They're all filled with photos of your mom and her family."

  "Shit," he mutters. "That's a lot of damn photos."

  "I know. You can go through them all later, but I saw these and I was so excited I wanted to show you."

  His lips turn up. "Why were you excited?"

  "Because I thought it might make you happy, finding more pictures of your mom."

  He's looking at me but doesn't say anything. Maybe he didn't want to see these.

  "Nash, I'm sorry. These are hard for you to look at, aren't they? I thought you'd be happy but—"

  "Callie." He puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'm happy about the photos. I'm glad you found them."

  "Do you want to look at some now, or do you want to do it later?"

  "I'll do it later. Would you look at them with me? Like maybe tonight?"

  "Sure." I glance down, then back up. "Would you maybe want to have dinner together? I could make something."

  "I think it's my turn to make dinner, but I don't have anything to cook. How about if I order a pizza? We haven't had one of those for a while."

  "Sounds good." I smile because his comment reminds me of how things used to be. Eating dinner together and taking turns on who would host. Nash used to have to force me to have dinner with him. I was so annoyed with him. But now I'm excited about having dinner with him. I've missed our dinners.

  "I'll let you get back to work." As he walks out, I check out his tight, perfect ass. Damn, he's hot. And sweet, caring, considerate.

  He's everything I could ever want in a boyfriend, and I want him to become that, but not yet. I want to get my head in a better place before I take our relationship further. I want him to go out with the Callie I used to be, not the one I've been this past year.

  That night, we have dinner in the renovated kitchen. Nash wants to get a new kitchen table, but for now, we're using the one his grandfather had.

  "So you never knew your grandfather lived here until after he died?" I ask.

  "Nope." He takes our plates to the sink. "For years, he was only a couple hours away and I never knew."

  "I wonder why he never tried to contact you."

  "He just didn't have any interest in meeting me." Nash takes a photo album from the box and sits down at the table.

  "But he put you in his will. He gave you his house."

  "Maybe as he got older, he felt guilty for not meeting me and decided to leave me his broken-down house. I'm sure my mom didn't want it."

  "What did he give your mom?"

  "I don't know. Probably the rest of his money. I wasn't there for the reading of the will. Like I said, some lawyer just called me one day and told me I owned this house. He wouldn't give me any other information about my grandfather or my mom." Nash opens one of the albums. The first page is all photos of his mom. "You think she looks like me?"

  I scoot my chair closer to his so I can see. "Definitely. You have the same smile. But you and your brothers all have the same eyes so you must get that from your dad. Do you have a photo of him?"

  He gets his phone out and shows me a photo. His dad has a rugged, outdoorsy look like Nash. He has dark hair with streaks of gray, and blue eyes like his sons.

  "You definitely look like your dad, but you got your smile from your mom."

  He sets his phone on the table and lets out a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his jaw.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, because he seems stressed.

  "He's going to be so pissed."

  "Who?"

  "My dad." He sighs. "I've decided to try to find my mom."

  "Really? When did
you decide this?"

  "I was thinking about it ever since you found those photos of her. I want to meet her. If she tells me she doesn't want a relationship, then fine, but I have to at least try to meet her. My dad will be pissed at me for doing this, so I don't think I'm going to tell him until after I've found her."

  "How are you going to find her?"

  "When I was cleaning out the drawers in the kitchen I found a business card for the place she used to work. I only know she worked there because my grandfather wrote 'Donna's work number' on the back. I called the number and they said she hadn't worked there for ten years, but they gave me the number for one of her co-workers who she used to be friends with. I called the woman but she hasn't called me back."

  "Where was the place she used to work?"

  "It's some manufacturing plant in Moline."

  "Moline, Illinois? As in a few hours from here?"

  "Yeah. So if she still lives there, I'm going to drive there and see her."

  "Your dad never knew she was there?"

  "No. He lost track of her years ago. And he never met her father so he didn't know he lived here." Nash flips through the photo album. "What would you do if you were me? Would you try to find her?"

  "Maybe, but I think I'd be afraid of what I'd find, so maybe not." I put my hand over his on the table. "Nash, what if she rejects you? Isn't that going to be like losing her all over again?"

  "Guess I'll find out if I'm able to track her down." He closes the photo album. "Do you want to go do something? I don't feel like going through these right now."

  I sit back. "But that's the whole reason you invited me over."

  "That was only part of the reason," he says, getting up from the table. "You want to go somewhere?"

  "Not really. Could we just watch TV at my house?"

  "Sure." He helps me up. "Let's go."

  Back at my house, we sit on the couch and I flip through the channels. I find a movie to watch but I'm not watching it. My eyes keep going to the table that no longer holds Greg's book, and the chair without my mom's knitting basket next to it, and the empty space by the wall where Ben's toy bin used to be.

  I turn away from Nash so he won't see the tears that are sliding down my cheeks. But he must sense something's wrong because I feel his hand behind me, curved around my shoulder.