Every Time You Go Away

by Beth Harbison

  “Ben,” I said again, and I could have sworn there was a shift in the entity. Toward me? Maybe away, I couldn’t tell. But it was a reaction.

  “Willa,” I heard, but it was as faint and far away as the wind at the shore. It could have been the water or the air-conditioning kicking in.

  But I was sure it wasn’t, I was sure it was my name.

  “Ben, please. Answer me. Tell me where you are. Come back and just talk to me for a minute.” I felt a bit like I was pleading with a criminal. “I won’t tell a soul, no one needs to know, just come talk to me. I don’t care if it’s breaking some rule or other, I need you!”

  Then, as fast as it had gotten cold, the air warmed up and the vision disappeared. I didn’t know if it was because I had approached it and spooked it away (imagine—spooking a ghost), or if the vision had simply run its course. They all seemed to, didn’t they?

  I remembered the boy on the beach with the kite. Had that been another vision or a real boy? I couldn’t recall if the air temperature around him had been different, because the wind was so strong.

  But he’d looked so much like Jamie, and therefore like Ben. On top of that, I hadn’t seen the kid since, even though I walked Dolly along the shore a couple of times a day. It had only been a couple of days, of course, but a windy couple of days; wouldn’t he have come back with his kite?

  Now I was being too fanciful. It was madness to start wondering if people I was actually seeing were real or not. I mean, that had to be the definition of madness, didn’t it? There were probably textbook cases.

  The solution was obvious. I needed to not be here alone. I needed someone else to confirm or deny what I was seeing or hearing (although I’d be subtle, I’d have to be—no point in letting anyone else know I was losing my mind).

  I thought again of Jamie. Of how these visions seemed to be telling me something about him. About us. I hoped they weren’t a warning, but suddenly I was worried about how I couldn’t get ahold of him or get an answer from him.

  It was probably just a symptom of our estrangement, as I had long thought, but once I had the idea in my head that something was wrong, I couldn’t quite shake it. I tried his phone. No answer.

  So I called Kristin. She answered on the first ring.

  “Have you seen Jamie?” I asked her. She lived three doors down from us, though the truth was I never even noticed the neighbors who were three doors up, so if she hadn’t seen him, that alone was nothing to be alarmed about.

  “Actually, yes,” she said. “I was going to tell you. Believe it or not, he was out mowing the lawn earlier!”

  Relief flooded me. “Of his own accord? That’s impossible.”

  “Exactly what I said. I thought I was seeing things, so I asked the kids if they saw it too, and they did.”

  That was a familiar story.

  “Well, that’s good news. It’s damn near impossible to get him to call me back.”

  “Kids.”

  “Right? But it’s worrisome.”

  “Want me to go check on him?”

  “Oh, would you?”

  “Sure! Give me five and I’ll call you back.”

  Relief flooded through me. She’d call back and everything would be fine and I’d have nothing more to worry about. Except, that is, for everything that was happening to me in the house. But that was nothing compared to worrying about a child.

  It was about five minutes later that she called back. “No answer at the door and his car isn’t here.”

  The relief I’d expected ran out of my veins, chased by a shaking agitation. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure, but I’m also sure there’s nothing wrong.” She gave a laugh and it sounded sincere. “When I think about how many times I was just gone, and with no cell phone for my mother to pester me with, well, I just know karma is going to come back with these kids and bite me straight in the ass.”

  It was true. I’d done the same thing to my mom. There was always a seemingly good reason to stay out longer, to not bother finding a phone or trying to reassure anyone. I always went back and never understood what the big deal was. I was not only a teenager, I was immortal, and I was sure that’s how Jamie felt.

  “Are you okay?” Kristin asked, when I waited too long to respond to her.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine, I’m sure you’re right. He’s just off being a selfish teenager like it’s his job.”

  “It is.”

  “I miss that job.”

  Another dry chuckle. “Tell me about it. So listen, I thought I’d come late Friday night, will that be okay?”

  “Okay? That would be awesome. Seriously, I will be so glad to see you.”

  She clearly heard the desperation in my voice and asked, “Do you need me to get out sooner?”

  It was already Wednesday, it would be selfish for me to ask her to get away any faster. “No, I’ll be fine.” And I would. I might be scared, but I would be fine. “I’m warning you, the Realtor gave me a pretty ugly list of things that need to be done.”

  “Well, we’ll whip it right on into shape, then,” she said, and we hung up, promising to talk in the meantime.

  She was picking up on the tension in my voice. Even I could hear it, and I was the one who was trying to keep it under control. But what could I do? If I told her over the phone what was happening, it would be nothing short of alarming. Better to get her here and see if she saw anything herself. Dolly did, so why not another person? On Ghost Hunters, they frequently all saw or heard the same thing. Maybe that was the nature of ghosts, who knows?

  Maybe I should call them in, I thought.

  Before I could pursue the idea, I heard a rattling at the front door. My first instinct was to hide. Hide! This was getting ridiculous. I wasn’t going to be this timid person! I was going to face whatever came my way head-on. Enough with the bullshitting around.

  I went to the door and threw it open, then stood in shock.

  That dark hair, those blue eyes, the slightly muscular build twisted into that slightly defiant stance I’d seen a million times.

  I just couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Jamie was here.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Willa

  The relief of having Jamie here was unexplainable. It wasn’t like I thought he would protect me from anything, or, indeed, that I needed protection from anything. I had come to believe, and somewhat accept, that what was happening to me was in fact supernatural in some way.

  Not that I was super-comfortable with that, but it wasn’t like Jamie could do anything about it any more than I could.

  I did wonder if he’d see Ben as well, and, if he did, if that would be bad for him or good for him. I still wasn’t sure which it was for me, so there was no telling what it would do to a kid.

  All I knew was that poor Jamie had lost his father at a hell of a bad time—at fourteen! Is there a worse age than fourteen?—and he missed him in ways I couldn’t begin to comprehend. Of course, I missed him in ways Jamie wouldn’t understand, it was just the nature of relationships, but maybe what he needed from his dad he needed so badly that even this pale echo would at least partially fit the bill.

  He came in and looked around. His expression was one of … distaste? Fear? Whatever it was, it wasn’t nostalgia or anything pleasant. My heart clenched at the idea that this might only be painful for him. I had honestly hoped, and I think even believed, that when he got here some pieces would fall into place and he’d feel better about his loss. Like a puzzle piece was missing, and it was a major one—maybe Mona Lisa’s smile—but the rest of the picture was still fully intact and recognizable.

  Then again, if you lose one piece, how hard is it to conceive of losing another? Particularly since I was selling the house. The mouth was already gone. What if the house was an eye? Eventually the dog would go, as she was already getting up in years—a piece of the hair or the folded hands? And his grandmother—jeez, this could go on and on. Even landing on me at some point—at any poin
t, we had learned—leaving Jamie with none of the people he was supposed to be able to take completely for granted as pillars of his life.

  Sure, he’d get new pieces; he’d have girlfriends, a wife someday, children almost certainly. New dogs, old dogs, houses near or far away, but they’d never be part of this original puzzle. They’d never fit into the work of art that was, so far, our life together.

  As much as that made my heart ache, I realized it was also true for me. Pieces were missing from my puzzle too. In fact, I was going to lose most of the same pieces Jamie was too. If it had just been background or even hair, then, sure, I could inch along without them. I could rationalize that I’d had the great gift of my life but that I’d lost it early on.

  But didn’t I want a whole puzzle—a whole life—myself? If I didn’t live fully I wasn’t only doing myself a disservice, but Jamie too. Having seen how tenuous life was, I needed to get back on track with him, and fast. I needed to be sure that I was a piece of his puzzle that really mattered.

  Why was it so hard? He was my son, for god’s sake! Why couldn’t I just step it up? Why did I feel this strange pull-back from him? I had to push past it.

  “I know it’s a peculiar feeling, being in here after all this time,” I said to him carefully. I definitely didn’t want him to turn and run back to Potomac.

  “It sucks.”

  “Jamie!”

  He turned to face me. “I’m sorry. It’s just weird here. It feels weird. Like, Dad died here, this was the last stuff he saw.”

  The idea gave me shivers, as it did every time. It’s so easy to do that, isn’t it? To imagine the last impressions and thoughts of the dead? Did she see the car swerve in front of her or was she just humming along with the radio, looking at the blue sky, and thinking about dinner?

  Had he felt funny that day in some way? Had he paused on his rounds in the house, sitting down to rest now and then and not knowing why his chest felt tight? Had he had any inkling he was about to go, that there would be no tomorrow for him?

  I was tired of all these maudlin thoughts. It was more than enough; now was time to just be happy my son was here and to take joy in that.

  “Was Roxy upset that you left?” I asked him, opening a door that may or may not reveal something important.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you worried we might break up or something?”

  I smiled. Poor Roxy had become our one “joke” together, although not a funny one. “I certainly don’t want you upset,” I said honestly.

  He waved the notion away. “I’m not upset. Nothing to worry about here. I’m actually kind of glad to get away.”

  “Really.”

  He waited. “Not going to ask why?”

  “I’d hate to be one of those butting-in mothers,” I lied. “It’s none of my business.”

  “I guess you’re right,” he agreed, nodding thoughtfully.

  A moment passed.

  “Why?” I asked, hoping I sounded playful and not demanding. “You know I’m a butting-in mother. Why are you glad to get away?”

  He laughed. It sounded genuine. “I knew the curiosity would get to you.”

  “Well, of course it has!”

  He sobered quickly. We didn’t have many of these moments of hilarity between us and I wanted to hold on to it as long as possible. “She was just starting to drive me a little crazy.”

  “All that whining?” I immediately regretted saying this because, although I assumed he agreed, I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to introduce something new for him to be self-conscious of her for.

  Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice my slip. “She’s really pushy,” he said. “She always needs me to do this or that or something, and if I don’t want to she’s, like, suicidal. I just want to be away from all that.”

  Interesting that his relationship was characterized by distance. Would he say that characterized our relationship as well?

  “Honey”—I put my hand on his shoulder—“that is the last thing you need at this point in your life. You should be having fun, enjoying life, playing the field, not anchored to someone who ransoms your affection. Or, rather, your sense of duty.”

  “I guess.”

  I gave his shoulder a squeeze, then let go. “Well, now that you’re here, I hope you’ll let go and have some fun. Maybe you’ll meet another girl here.”

  He looked doubtful. “She’s kind of still my girlfriend. I couldn’t cheat.”

  The words made me want to scream even while I was proud of him for his loyalty. It’s just that that girl didn’t deserve it and this was a perfect opportunity for him to be away and meet someone totally new. That’s what I wanted for him. And I suspected that, deep down, that’s what he wanted for himself as well.

  “Maybe you need to talk to Roxy and make sure you’re both on the same page, then,” I suggested. “Whatever that page is.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jamie

  She’d looked shocked to see him. He should probably feel like a jerk, that it surprised her so much that he’d come to do what she needed. Instead he managed to feel insulted, which was really asinine, since he nearly hadn’t come anyway.

  It was bizarre being back.

  “It sucks,” he said when she’d called it merely peculiar. The words had spat out of him before he even really realized how true they were.

  You could put whatever fancy spin on it that you wanted. Unsettling, strange, sad, tragic, heart-wrenching coming back … but the simplest fact was that it just sucked. It blew. He wasn’t shaking and sobbing in a corner, he was more together than all that, but it just … sucked.

  He and his mom had one of their usual back-and-forths. They were talking, leaning on their dynamic, both silently admitting to each other, confiding to each other, that they weren’t okay. Maybe that was progress in their relationship. Maybe, just maybe, she’d crack and become her old self. How long had it been?

  It seemed like for years now all they did was throw diversions at each other every time the going got tough. He remembered a time he’d fallen off his bike and gotten a huge gash in his knee. They’d gone to the ER, and while he was getting stitches she talked to him about dinner. That was a small, literal example of what they did all the time now.

  Something would happen, and they’d distract each other. They were good at it. It was okay when it was a skinned knee or she’d gotten into an argument with a friend or had had words with a student’s parents or something. But ever since his dad had died, the need to distract each other and avoid the reality was just too real and too frequent. It was becoming all they had.

  It was who they were.

  He wondered how aware of this she was. Maybe she wasn’t at all. Maybe her vision of him had become rose-colored, and it was more comfortable that way.

  On the one hand, he could see that perhaps they needed to be more real. On the other, there was no part of him that wanted to sit down and look into earnest eyes imploring him to articulate all the ways that life had taken a real Bullshit Turn in the last couple years.

  He could handle it if this was how it was for now. But looking at his mother now, her eyes the size of pool balls, her posture so meek, he wasn’t sure she was okay. He kind of had thought they were individually handling their … whatever. But what if she actually wasn’t okay? What if she was on a decline and he hadn’t even noticed?

  Even after she knew it was him at the door, she looked all bugged out like she … what, like she doubted it was really him?

  “So where should I…” He’d held up his bag.

  “Oh … well, wherever you like. I’m up there in the guest room. There’s your old room, or … or the master, but if you want it…”

  It hung between them like spit. She didn’t want to sleep in the Room Where He Died.

  He didn’t blame her. Hell if he was sleeping there.

  He wasn’t sure where to sleep. His old room seemed a little weird to revisit. He’d never slept in the other guest room.
He’d probably just sleep on the couch, really.

  A small, juvenile pang hit him, and he felt like he might sort of rather sleep in the same room as his mom. Camaraderie in their unconsciousness. The compulsion humiliated him, even in the privacy of his own head.

  He tossed his bag down on the floor. He’d figure it out later.

  The doorbell rang. It was so loud.

  It also reminded him of pizza.

  Grotto pizza that they were one hundred percent having later. His stomach gave a gurgle of anticipation.

  “Oh, that’ll be the plumber,” said his mom, going off to the door. “Probably,” she added. “God willing, he’s going to finish up today.”

  He furrowed his brows at her. Huh.

  Dolly was in the archway between the two rooms, he noticed now. The dog had never not come hurtling toward him, all paws-on-roller-skates and happy whimpers. Instead, now, she had crept so quietly into the room that he hadn’t even noticed. And even though Jamie was here now, and he hadn’t been, Dolly’s eyes, whiskers, and hackles were directed only at the front door. She hadn’t even acknowledged him.

  “Dolly. Hey, Dolly girl.” He crouched down. She panted in his direction for a split second but then went back to looking at the door.

  When his mom opened it, Dolly’s head dropped lower. She looked so much more canine now than she ever had.

  “What is it, what’s your deal?”

  “Hi, yeah, come on in,” his mom was saying. “Wha—oh, yeah the dishwasher’s fine, thank you. Yeah, sure, go right ahead.”

  The man she let in was middle-aged and looked a bit like a cartoon. Jamie could tell from the width of his torso and build of his arms that he’d probably been a weight lifter or at least been jacked when he was younger. Once upon a time, a million years ago. Now he looked sort of creaky, but Jamie was willing to bet he was older than he looked.

  In the depressing, extremist way that he had been lately, he immediately imagined the guy dying. He’d only caught a glimpse of him, but already felt like that would be a shame.

  Jesus. If he started picking up not-even-acquaintances to grieve over their un-deaths, he’d really be not okay.