His eyes close and he fights back tears.
“Dad…” I whisper, helpless.
They separate and he gives Lorna a guess-this-is-goodbye exhale, turning to follow Mom into the real world where I no longer exist.
I can see it on their faces.
They haven’t accepted it yet.
Neither have I.
Lorna closes the door, turns to the one that leads to our deck, staring at Abby through the glass as she squares her shoulders.
“Not used to taking care of other people, are you, Lorna? Don’t fuck this up!”
The door closes between us.
Suddenly I’m outside with Abby without trying or intending to be, like I’m controlled by something else. My soul?
I’m watching her look up, feeling Lorna’s approach. She’s not heartened by it.
Can’t blame her.
Never met a colder woman than Lorna Lyons.
“Abs? I need to hear your voice.”
It takes her a second, but like she hasn’t talked in days, Abby whispers, “I don't know what to do!”
Lorna lays her head on my wife’s shoulder. “Nothing. That's what you do. Nothing. Just rest and…” Lorna blinks a few times, out of things to say. “Time. They say that thing about time.” She glances up and mutters, “I won't bore you with the adage.”
With sarcasm I laugh and shout, “You’re lucky you didn’t say Time heals all wounds, because I would’ve haunted you for eternity! How’s that for TIME!”
I go silent as Abs starts to speak.
“Then time doesn't know me very well. I will never get over this.”
Chapter 10
Max
Been six long fucking months of not being able to talk to anyone. I was at Abby’s work today. Don’t go there often. It’s too depressing watching her stare at a computer screen, email people, and not talk to anyone except when she has to.
I keep her company every night, though. Take the train with her to and from the office. I’ve gotten used to people walking through me now. With commuter traffic it didn’t take long. I’ve been waiting for someone to see me — a psychic maybe? — but they all look and walk right through me.
It’s painful to see her so silent every night. Watch her making dinner for herself, basic meals with zero presentation and no music on, like we used to do. Abs and I used to see live bands nearly every weekend. It’s how we met Arthur. But she hasn’t gone to one since.
She even cleans the house in silence. We used to put on Motown for that, dancing it out, because of course it’s no longer a chore when you’re being goofballs.
More than one cleaning session turned into sex on the kitchen counter, the floor, or the couch with the vacuum cord at its full extension patiently waiting to tangle after we did.
Every day she accepts less phone calls, declines every invitation from her friends.
And she’d better not have sex, or I’ll haunt her for the rest of eternity. Not in the nice way I’m doing now, either.
Outside of the grief counselor sessions where she numbly talks about our history, telling stories that break my heart as much as hers, Abs sits at home after work, like she knows I’m here with her and wants to be alone with me.
But that’s crazy.
I know it is.
She’s got no clue.
While she was sleeping, I visited the two travel destinations I’d always planned on seeing — Belize and Belfast. ‘The Double B’s’ I used to call them, because that’s all they have in common.
As an Irishman who’s sadly never been to Ireland, I had to go. ‘Walked’ around Dublin, too. The islands surrounding Ireland all got a good look from these ghostly eyes.
And who doesn’t want to visit Belize?
Just as pretty as in the photographs.
And just as lonely without Abby.
So I stopped exploring.
Why be anywhere else?
She’s my love.
It was empty without her. And I certainly couldn’t enjoy myself knowing the state she’s in. That’s why I went when she slept.
When Abs awoke after I visited Ireland, I started rambling on as she got ready for work, her face blank. It hurt not to be able to share with her what I’d seen.
Turns out I can feel pain as a ghost.
Pity, that — as my mom likes to say.
A habit I acquired in the repetition of teasing her about it.
I can’t feel Abby.
But I can feel pain.
Sucks.
Had to ditch Abby’s office just now. She was talking to Jennifer about something and I just vanished without trying to. That’s how bored I was.
Thought I’d visit my parents, at their second home outside of the city, a cute cottage on the beach.
“What’re you working on?” I ask Mom while she types on her laptop that has the fake-wood cover I gave her for Christmas two years ago.
Sunlight shines on the back of her bobbed, dark chocolate-brown hair, fingers typing away without pause at my question. She’s sitting with her back to the window — ‘views distract a writer,’ she once explained — while Dad is over in the kitchen, staring out a window, longing for a distraction.
I lean in to check out her story that’s spreading faster than I can read.
I chuckle, “Have you ever had Writer’s Block, Ma?” happy she’s doing what she loves.
After a while, Pops walks up to us with two coffee cups in his hands. Tucking my hands under my biceps like I used to do in life, I stand by. My form to me seems tangible, still. Maybe it just makes me feel alive to stand like this, walk rather than float, talk when nobody can hear, gesture with hands even though I don’t really have any.
Perhaps I’ll give up the habit one day.
Stop trying to be human.
Doubt it.
But who knows?
As Dad sets Mom’s cup down, she surprises me by grabbing his arm. They locks eyes, hers saying she’s here for him when he wants to talk. She gives his hand a loving squeeze.
“Stop typing and go do something fun, Ma. Get him out of this place.”
But she doesn’t do it.
Probably on a deadline.
“Hey Dad, you gonna drink that coffee?” I smile, as he sets it down and picks up a book from a stack on their table. “Because if you’re not, I’ll take a sip.”
I cross to him as he thumbs through the book and notices a bookmarked page. He’s in no hurry to see where he left off, and when he opens to the old spot, Dad gasps.
I flash to his side, staring at a photograph of me at age seven, when my hair was light brown. It darkened as I hit my teens. I’m smiling my ass off, standing on one leg, arms spread and other leg extended like I was about to do a cartwheel and decided against it, so he could take the picture.
Wow.
Yep.
I can still feel pain.
Dad closes the book. We both look over at Mom to see if she noticed his discovery — when did Pops last read this book, anyway? Had to be years ago — but she’s typing away like she found a solution to something that wasn’t working.
Dad returns to staring at nothing.
Only this time he’s got company in me.
I wish you could solve my problem, Ma.
Wish you could solve mine.
I whisper to no one…
To anyone…
“Why am I here?”
Chapter 11
Max
“Where ya goin, Abs, jogging?” I ask as my determined wife tugs on black workout pants and matching top, both so skintight I wish again I were human.
I’d strip those right off.
Yes, I would.
Dammit!
I follow her into the bathroom, appearing on the other side as she walks in. “Putting your hair into a ponytail, huh? You know I love those. Tell me you’re going jogging! Yes! Exercise! Anything!”
Abs tugs the elastic tight around her red hair, “I don’t want to do this,”
frowning at her reflection. “I really don’t want to do this.”
“Yes, you do! Jog!” I follow her out, “Not too hot. Not cold at all. Not that I can tell the difference anymore. Don’t feel temperatures.” She tugs on her sneakers over black socks. “You always got cold before I did,” I smile. “This gives me hope, Abs! This is good!”
Her ponytail sways as quick strides take her to the door, and she snatches her phone, keys and a Metro card from the kitchen counter on her way. “Metro card, huh? Taking the subway to where? Central Park?” She grabs the doorknob and stops, puts her forehead against the wood, closing her eyes, shoulders tense. “C’mon, Abby. Go! You’re gotta do something other than work. Anything, baby. Go see Jennifer…Lorna!” On second thought I mutter, “Don’t know how much she can help with depression, but anyone is better than this!” Raising my voice I beg her, “I’ll be here either way. I promise. Now go!”
She takes three deep breaths, opens her eyes, backing up.
“Did you hear me?” I demand, stepping in front of her, hope pulling at my heart. “Did you hear me just now? Can you hear me?!!”
She reaches through me and yanks open the door.
“Okay…guess not,” I mutter.
But as she walks out of our building, I bounce back into action, flashing to outside so I can wait for her to join me, revel in the sight of her in workout clothes on a weekend. So much better than the couch reading all those books she reads.
I’m not into fiction, much to the chagrin of both Abby and Ma.
I have enjoyed watching movies with Abs, binging television series after televisions series — that’s been fun. We’ve got the same taste as far as they go. And time flies when you’re in a story.
Still, she’s human.
Humans are made to move.
Finally figured that out.
Since I’m not one anymore.
“Where are we going? Because I would love to see Central Park with you. We can walk through The Mall, maybe buy some art?” I move out of the way of a well dressed old man and his dog. Lucky bastard. How’d he get to stick around until totally grey? Shrugging it off I ask Abby, “Remember how we used to wonder why they called it The Mall when it’s just rows of trees on a path? How we wouldn’t look it up because it was more fun to wonder?” She doesn’t see a guy checking her out and I watch him turn to admire her ass in these workout pants. “Never gonna happen, pal!” Returning to Abs, my voice softens. “Promise me you’ll never look it up.”
Her eyes show no sign of hearing me, as usual, and so I stop talking and just stay as her journey swings west onto Spring Street. We pass Crosby and it dawns on me, “You’re taking the 6 train! Going to Union Square? That’s cool with me, too. You love the farmer’s market. You can get that bread that you like. Maybe buy some flowers?”
But she stops walking and turns to look behind her. I glance back, too, wondering what she’s looking for.
I suddenly realize she’s having second thoughts.
Jumping in front of her I beg, “Please keep going! You came this far. You can do this, Abs, you can. I know you can.”
She looks at her phone.
There’s a cute photo of us bundled up last winter, holding pizzas like trophies, the backdrop on her lock-screen. I remember that night. We were out with Tom and Jen and they challenged us in an eating contest — winner gets a hundred bucks. Abby and I creamed ‘em.
“Why are you staring at the time?” I step back like I’ve been hit as I realize she’s meeting somebody. A guy. That’s why she said she didn’t want to go, that she couldn’t do this. “You have a date, don’t you Abby?” I ask her, voice pained. She blinks back in the direction of our place on Mercer. I whisper, “How did that happen? While you were at work, is that it? A client?” Spinning around I yell, “Shit! I knew I should’ve stayed there!” Abby descends the steps into the 6-train subway on Lafayette and Spring, the one we’ve taken hundreds of times together when it was me taking her on dates — married or not yet.
I can’t watch.
I turn away, muttering to myself, “And what if I had stayed at the office? Couldn’t have stopped him, whoever he is. She can’t fucking see me! What good am I?”
I grunt as she walks through me, because I didn’t see her coming back up, and I still can’t get over how I feel nothing when she touches me.
In my soul I can.
But no skin left to feel.
Sighing, I study which direction she’s going in, watch her swaying hips and ponytail as she walks fast because someone’s waiting for her.
Or maybe she’s ditching the bastard?
Going home?
To sit in silence.
I’m torn.
This is excruciating.
I want her jogging, or whatever, just not with some asshole I can’t punch. I flash to her and soon figure out where she’s headed. Washington Square.
“Why the 6 train?” I wonder aloud, realizing, “It was a mistake, huh? You weren’t aware of what you were doing, where to go. Your mind isn’t working right anymore. Believe me, I get it.”
Abby starts up one of the shady paths heading in the direction of the iconic fountain. Her sneakers slow as we pass where a classical pianist plays his grand piano every week when the weather is good. He’s on a break, seat empty, tip-buckets, too.
Looking tortured, she spins around,
“Abby, why’d you say yes to him?” I punch a branch hanging from a tree, and it moves, leaves rattling. Abby glances to it.
I blink in surprise, “I do that?”
She flops down on a park bench, stares at her phone and dials.
Jennifer’s photo lights up the screen and as Abby lifts it to her ear, I hear Jen say, “Hey you! Where are you?”
“You’re seeing Jennifer?” I start laughing. “That’s great!”
Abby frowns, eyes scanning the park, the happy people, kids skateboarding, picnics on the fenced-off grass, while she blatantly lies, “I decided to stay home. Watch TV. I'm so sorry.”
Suddenly, and without knowing I’m about to, I flash to the Arc de Triomphe replica where Abby’s best friend is stretching in workout clothes. She drops her leg, confusion in her eyes.
“She’s not home, Jen! She’s over there! Look behind you. Down that path right there!!!”
Abby’s voice comes through the phone. “None of the stuff I'm doing is working, Jen. I just...I don't fit here.”
Jennifer frowns, “Here?”
I flash back to Abby, watch her explain, “In this city. That job.”
Jennifer’s voice comes through as if I’m still in front of her, “From the woman who was destined to be king of the company one day?”
A reluctant smile pulls at my wife’s lips. “Not queen?”
“No. King!”
I squat in front of Abby, begging her, “Go see Jen! Tell her you pulled yourself out of the apartment, that you actually walked all the way here and you haven’t walked anywhere this far since I died! Confess that you are right fucking here!”
She’s staring through me, sunlight dappled on her face, eyes sad as she tries to help her friend understand, “What they don't tell you is that when someone you love dies, you realize how short life really is.” Abby blinks around the park like she’s searching for when she loved it. “I was hustling all the time, for what? All that stuff we were buying, who cares about any of it?”
“You’re grieving,” comes Jen’s voice, kinder now. “But you are worrying us.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t accepted the invitations. Please tell Tom I said thank you for trying.”
“Abby, what are you doing?”
“Yeah, Jen, I’m wondering the same thing!”
Abs sighs and presses the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “I quit yesterday.”
My mouth drops open as I stare at the most ambitious woman I’ve ever met. “You quit?”
“That’s why I wanted to get together and hear what’s going on in your head! What are
you going to do now, Abby? You just walked out of the office. It was crazy!”
“Well shit, the one day your office wasn’t boring and I missed it.”
Abby drops her hand and stares ahead, voice flat, “I’m leaving Manhattan. I notified our landlord that I’m out. He’ll rent it quick. It’s a beautiful space, outdoor deck.”
“But you love Manhattan even more than I do! Where are you going to live?”
I stare at my wife, watch her lungs rise to say something I never thought I’d hear. “I’m moving to our cabin.”
Chapter 12
Abby
Everyone thinks I’m crazy.
I don’t feel that way.
I’m just…
Exhausted.
Capital E.
Manhattan is too much for me.
Maybe I’ll go back.
Not sure.
I just want…
Max.
Driving over the George Washington Bridge, radio off, only one huge suitcase in the back of our SUV and one hand on the steering wheel, I can’t stop replaying the last few days of my life.
My boss, Jonathan, wasn’t as shocked as I thought he’d be. “You’ve been absent for months, anyway,” he grumbled, disappointed I was no longer the rising star he competed with as much as encouraged. I’d taken the fun out, and he wasn’t sorry to see me go. My assistant will be promoted, of that I am sure, so Peter’s hug was half happy for himself.
Alice came over to help me pack our stuff for charity. “Abby. You're not keeping any of this? Isn't that a little extreme?”
Every single thing donated, save for what’s in that suitcase.
Over cardboard I pulled the tape tight, like my nerves. She’d arrived without invite. “We have dishes and furniture and everything we need at the cabin, so…” The serrated edge on the tape-dispenser made a nice ripping sound I liked, so I did it again and used more than was needed.
My mother-in-law waited until I straightened up to call me out, “We?”
I blinked at her, and realized I still talk about Max as if he’s here.
I went for the next box.
Just One More Kiss: Based on the Motion Picture Page 4
