When You Were Older (retail)

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

Here it comes, I thought. My gut turned to concrete and steel, preparing for the hit. I thought again about – or maybe just felt about – that phone call I’d finally made to Kerry. My silence had already told her everything she needed to know. The call was just to confirm. I steeled myself for the assault I felt coming.

  ‘… actually, there were two times I was alone. But not for long. And it was near the beginning. I was on a lot of painkillers. I felt like I couldn’t think clearly. I knew you’d ask me if we would ever see each other again. I didn’t know what I would say. I needed more time.’

  ‘Will we ever see each other again?’ I felt disinclined to prolong my misery.

  ‘See? I was right about that.’

  She waited, probably to see if she’d made me laugh. Even a little bit. But I wasn’t in a laughing mood.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘This is why I’m calling. This is what we have before us to be discussed.’

  A great rush of excitement came up through my pathetic, useless armor.

  ‘You mean we might?’

  ‘Well, of course we might. Might is easy. The hard part is knowing what you really will do. For sure.’

  ‘Where are you? Go ahead and tell me.’

  ‘I am in Kafr Dawar.’

  Her words reverberated inside me, as if I were entirely hollow. As if I were a cave in which she could set off an echo.

  ‘You’re in Egypt?’

  ‘Yes. My father took the insurance money and flew us back.’

  ‘I could send you a plane ticket.’

  ‘And how would you afford this? They’re not cheap.’

  ‘I’m selling my mom’s house. When the sale goes through, I’ll be all set again. Plus I just had a good job interview. I might be working again soon. But I’ll buy you a ticket right now if you want. I’ll put it on a credit card. I’ll be paying them off soon enough, anyway.’

  ‘I can’t go back to that place. That awful little town with those awful little people. I couldn’t live there after what happened.’

  ‘Well, you’re in luck. Because I’m back in New York.’

  ‘But … Russell …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was easier when we lived in the same town, and we could just go on getting to know each other. Let’s say I fly there. And … what? We are then living together? After knowing each other for how long?’

  In the silence that followed, I breathed in and out about three times. I purposely made the breaths deep and slow. I closed my eyes and wished for the right words. Not the words most likely to manipulate her into doing what I wanted. The right ones.

  ‘Here’s what I always tell myself in situations like this. I’ll give you the same advice I’d give myself. Picture yourself looking back on the decision ten or twenty years down the road. Let’s say you try it, and it doesn’t work out. How much will you regret it? Now let’s say you don’t try it, so you never know. Then how much regret?’

  I’d guess it was about thirty seconds that I sat there. Looking at the empty spot on the skyline. Watching snow swirl weakly outside my window. Wondering when she would speak.

  ‘I miss you,’ she said. ‘I have to think about this. I’ll call again.’

  ‘I can’t call you?’

  ‘No. You can’t call me. I’ll have to call again. When I can. I don’t know when that will be.’

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. But she sounded unsure.

  ‘Do you think war is always pointless?’

  ‘That’s a strange question. That’s not what I thought you were going to ask.’

  I wanted to explain, but my thoughts were too much of a jumble. Nothing came out.

  ‘I don’t know if war is always pointless,’ she said. ‘I know it’s always tragic.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. Feeling a little better. ‘I can live better with that.’

  ‘What was— Oh. My father is home. I have to go.’

  And then the click.

  I sat there on the floor by the window until after three in the morning. Not really even thinking. I can’t recall thinking much of anything. Just echoing. Reverberating. Like an empty vessel. Maybe that was the good news. Maybe emptying out was the first solid step toward a genuine reset.

  16 December 2001

  THE PHONE WOKE me at the crack of 11 a.m.

  I grabbed it up before it could finish its first ring.

  ‘Is that you?’ I asked desperately.

  ‘Hmm,’ a male voice said. ‘Yes and no. I am me. But I have a funny feeling I’m not the me you were hoping for. Officer Nick Michelevsky. From your lovely hometown. The thriving metropolis of Norville.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. What else could I say on such short notice?

  Note to self: Just say hello. Don’t assume it is Anat.

  ‘You sound asleep.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Isn’t it later where you are?’

  ‘I was up most of the night.’

  ‘Right. Well. All sleeping habits aside. You’ll never guess who turned up on my doorstep this morning. Seven o’clock sharp. With his full entourage. I bet you’ll never guess.’

  ‘I bet I won’t even try.’

  ‘Chris Kerricker. Plus controlling dad, crying mom, and nervous attorney. All of a sudden he has a new version of events. All of a sudden it turns out he just might have been in attendance that night, after all.’

  ‘That’s … bizarre,’ I said. ‘I tried everything to make him admit that.’

  ‘So we all noticed.’

  ‘What changed?’

  ‘Two things. According to him. Time. I guess you can bear the weight of a thing like that for a while, but it gets heavier as time goes on. But I don’t think that was the main thing. I think the main thing that got under his skin was this article in the paper about your mutual friend Vince Buck.’

  ‘Right. I know. I read it.’

  ‘I think it confused him. He told me they were calling that night “Make a Muslim Pay Night”. That was their cute little felonious nickname for it. Figuring somebody had to pay for what happened to Vince. Now it turns out they should’ve been taking it out on some blond-haired, blue-eyed American family. Apparently Vince’s death at the hands of the enemy was the one thing he could really hold on to in all this. Made him feel justified.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not confusion. Maybe he really gets it now. That it’s not all so black and white.’

  Michelevsky snorted laughter. ‘I wouldn’t go that far. Kerricker’s a pretty basic thinker. I looked into his eyes a couple times and didn’t see anything quite so nuanced. Anyway. Now we got a situation on our hands. Because his statement this morning is pretty much exculpatory for a certain blood-relative of yours we all know and love. Wouldn’t be for somebody else. But for someone with Ben’s … capacity …’

  ‘What did Chris tell you?’

  ‘He still claims he wasn’t a key player, but at least he admits Ben wasn’t, either. He says he stayed pretty far back – him, Chris, not him, Ben – too far back to hear most of what was said, but he saw Jespers pour the gasoline, and he wasn’t liking the turn of events so well by then. I think he didn’t know the night was about to go in quite that heavy a direction. So he was just about to take off. But then he saw what happened. He says Ben didn’t exactly throw the match. He said it was more like Ben dropped the match. Jespers hands it to him, and keeps badgering him to do it, but Ben isn’t doing it, so then Jespers kind of … you know … barks at Ben. And it makes Ben nervous, and when Ben gets nervous he gets clumsy. You know that as well as anyone.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ I said. ‘That so totally sounds like Ben.’

  Finally. Finally a version of events that made sense.

  ‘That’s what we all thought. So now we have a bit of a problem. This could spring your brother.’

  ‘Could? Why could? Why not will?’

  ‘Well. I think it’s still up to the doctor in charge. I could actually be wrong about this, because I ha
ven’t run it all by them, yet. And this is the first we ever had one of these around here. This could take some looking into. But I think somebody at the hospital would still have to certify that he’s no danger to himself or others. Granted, this was the only thing we had on paper to say he was. So let’s just say if the doctors and the hospital employees haven’t seen anything to suggest otherwise … I can’t say for a fact it’ll go this way. Like I say. It’ll take some looking into. A little legal sorting. But, now, let’s just say he gets sprung, which could happen. Here’s the problem. What the hell are we supposed to do with him?’

  ‘That’s not a problem. I’ll come get him.’

  I swung my feet over the edge of the bed. Looked around for my shoes. Then I realized it would take days to tie up the paperwork. And that Ben was in Kansas, not down in the lobby.

  ‘Ben in New York? That’ll be some kind of transition. That, I’d like to see.’

  ‘I bet he’ll like it better than where he is now.’

  ‘I’m just glad it’s you making the transition with him, and not me. That’s all I’ve got to say.’

  20 December 2001

  THE WOMAN BEHIND the desk at the state hospital got talky with me all of a sudden. Which was odd. She never had before. Maybe it made a difference that my status had just changed. I was no longer next of kin to one of the dangerous loonies she helped incarcerate. My next of kin had proven well short of dangerous. And besides, he’d been officially released. We were just waiting for him to be brought out.

  ‘So, did you fly out here?’

  ‘No!’ I said. As if she’d asked me if I’d just jumped off a tall building or through a ring of fire.

  ‘I don’t blame you. Nobody wants to fly now. My friend in LA took a plane. She’s cavalier. She says they’re watching airports more than any place, so it’s safer than most other things. But you know what she told me? They have soldiers in uniform at the LA airport. Standing by the security checkpoints, holding AK-47s. Soldiers. Like a GD war zone. That would freak me out way too much. So how did you get here?’

  ‘I drove my mom’s old car again. I have no idea how many more miles it’s got in it, but I took it for a check-up and a service, and it seems OK. I really hated to drive all this way again. I just drove home a few days ago. But I didn’t like my chances of getting Ben on a plane anyway. I can think of a dozen parts of the experience that could freak him out. Besides, I don’t even know if he has a picture ID.’

  ‘Oooh. I never thought of that.’

  The big door buzzed, then popped open. Ben emerged, accompanied by a psych tech I’d never seen before.

  ‘Hey, Buddy,’ I said.

  In typical Ben fashion, he raised his head to look at me, but missed by a mile.

  ‘Did you come to take me home?’

  So here was my moment. I’d had more than two full days on the road to negatively anticipate this moment.

  Now I had to tell him that the only house he ever remembered living in was being sold. That all of his belongings were gone. Because I’d allowed them to be sold or disposed of. I had to tell him he was going with me to a new place, and would never again see the town he’d lived in all his life. That every routine he’d ever clung to was gone. That every moment of his life would be unfamiliar from here on out. My only mitigating factor was the hope that all of this would be better than where he’d just been. Still, this was going to be one hell of a tantrum.

  I remembered Michelevsky saying he was glad it was me making this transition with Ben, not him. Just for a split second I wished I was Nick Michelevsky.

  ‘Here’s the thing, Buddy. I am and I’m not. I’m here to take you out of this place. But we’re not going to the home you know. We’re going to my home. It’ll be a new home to you.’

  Then I waited for it.

  ‘Will you be there, Buddy?’

  ‘Yeah. I will.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

  We were on Interstate Route 35 toward Kansas City. Looking to pick up the 70 into Missouri. In other words, we’d been on the road a while.

  Ben had been silent. Absolutely silent. Just looking out the window, but not aimlessly. Really looking. In whatever direction there was something to be seen.

  Finally he said, ‘I didn’t know all this was here.’

  ‘What, the world?’

  ‘All this.’

  He looked around some more. For a couple more miles.

  ‘Is it a good thing to be seeing it now?’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘You seem different.’

  He looked in my direction. His gaze made it about as far as the gauges on the dashboard.

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘You seem quiet.’

  ‘It was too noisy in the hospital. I hate that. I like it quiet.’

  Then he went back to looking out the window.

  Ben fell asleep somewhere in Missouri. Slept most of the way into Kentucky. I’d purposely struck a southern route because the interstate was snowy and slick in places.

  Somewhere on the home side of Louisville, I needed sleep, too. So I took an exit with four lodging signs, and cruised around until I saw the word ‘vacancy’. I parked in their lot and shook Ben by the shoulder.

  ‘Come on, Buddy. Let’s get us a room.’

  But it was absolutely impossible to wake him. No matter how many times I shook him, he kept snoring lightly.

  I got out and walked around to the passenger’s side, and opened his door. I let his seat down. All the way back. Nearly flat. So he’d be more comfortable. Then I got back in on the driver’s side and did the same with my own.

  What could I do? I couldn’t leave him in the parking lot by himself.

  I think I dozed for about an hour before my cell phone rang, snapping me awake again.

  I shook the sleep out of my head, and answered on the second ring.

  ‘Hello?’

  I learn.

  ‘Oh, good,’ my favorite voice said. ‘You’re there.’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘I’m somewhere.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Kentucky.’

  ‘What are you doing in Kentucky?’

  ‘I have to tell you something.’

  Something that could ruin everything. Something that probably would ruin everything. I kept hearing Chris Kerricker saying, ‘She sure as hell won’t want to spend her life with the guy who set her business on fire. Right under her hands and knees.’ I’d been hearing that a lot lately. Ever since I offered to take Ben back.

  ‘All right. Tell me.’

  ‘I have Ben with me again.’

  ‘Oh! You got him out of jail. That’s wonderful. How did you do it?’

  ‘Well …’ Needless to say, I was thrown by her reaction. ‘Turns out it never really was any of his doing.’

  ‘Of course. I knew that. Didn’t you know that?’

  But that proved a difficult question to answer.

  It was cold in the car. I wondered if Ben was warm enough. Maybe we’d have to drive again. Just to run the heater and stay warm. I breathed out and watched my breath turn into an icy cloud.

  ‘So you might still come back?’

  ‘Are you still willing to pay for a ticket?’

  ‘You know I am. I won’t be home for another day. At least. But then I’ll check the prices.’

  ‘From Cairo,’ she said. ‘I’ll travel by ground to Cairo.’

  ‘I could just wire you enough money.’

  ‘You could wire it to the American Express office nearest the Cairo airport.’

  ‘When will you come?’

  ‘That’s the part I don’t know.’

  ‘Will he try to stop you?’

  ‘Not physically. He knows I’m a legal adult. But he will try to talk me out of it. And I’ll need someone to help me. I can’t even pack for myself, not to mention carry heavy bags. He will try to prevent anyone from helping, but that’s probably all. But all the same, I
’ll go when he’s not around. It will break his heart. That’s the biggest thing I needed to think about. If I was willing to break his heart. But then I decided … I decided your father raises you, and then he needs to let you go to start a family of your own. Your father is the past. Your partner is the future. It’s nice to keep a good relationship with your father, but for that to happen he must tolerate the partner you choose. It’s just the way life is. So I hope I can have some contact with my father. But that will be up to him.’

  That stopped the conversation for a moment. I lay still in the frozen air, watching the clouds of my breath.

  ‘I hear you say you really are coming. But I’m having trouble letting myself believe it. It feels too good to be true.’

  ‘You know I never stopped loving you, Russell.’

  ‘I wish I could honestly say I always knew that.’

  ‘How did you think those feelings could go? Where did you think they would disappear to?’

  I pulled a deep breath. And said it. ‘I had an experience. With a woman I guess I thought I loved. Something bad happened, and she was associated with it in my head. I couldn’t get the two untangled again. It did kind of seem like the feelings went away. And to answer your question, I don’t know where they disappeared to. I only know they disappeared.’

  ‘Let me ask you this, then. You say you guess you thought you loved her. That’s not a very strong endorsement. Were the feelings you had for her as clear and strong as what we’ve felt?’

  ‘Not even close.’

  ‘There’s your answer, then.’

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t come home if I had Ben. I let you go all over again in my head, because I thought when I told you he was here, that would be that. I thought I had to decide between the two of you if I went through with picking him up. But what else could I do? No one else will take care of him. How could I leave him in that hospital when I know he doesn’t deserve to be there?’

  ‘If you did,’ she said, ‘if you would, then you would not be the person I thought you were. And then I would not come back, because why try to make a life with a person who would do such a thing as that?’

  ‘I wish I could be more like you. He’s been acting weird. I can’t understand it. He’s been really quiet. And agreeable. He says everything’s fine. At first I thought they broke his spirit. But I’ve been watching him. And he doesn’t seem broken. He seems kind of … satisfied. I don’t know what to make of it at all.’