New Life

by Bonnie Dee

  “Oh.” Cindy seemed disappointed for all of a second, then got on her phone and began texting, lining up another victim to listen to her bridesmaid rant.

  “See you next week.” I slid off the stool and headed out.

  When I reached my car, I sat in it for a while, changing radio stations and figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my evening. Not so long ago, it would’ve been a no-brainer. For that reason alone, I missed Tim. Having an automatic plus one for any event, a dinner or movie companion as needed, even if Tim often bugged the crap out of me, was easier than being alone. Probably that was why I’d stayed with him as long as I had, trying to change my pattern of brief flings. Over the past weeks, I’d had to relearn how to be a content single. Some nights were harder than others.

  The gym, I decided. That was what I needed to flush the toxic week from my system and rouse endorphins to dispel my gloom. Unfortunately, I had to go home for my gym bag, and the moment I collapsed on the couch, I knew I wasn’t going out again. I cracked a beer and settled in to solve a cold case in some made-for-TV movie. I was able to stop thinking about work and concentrate completely on solving the case—way before the TV detective, I might add.

  A bag of microwave popcorn later, I was engrossed in a cheesy “based on true events” movie about a guy who’d been beaten nearly to death and how he’d recovered. As I watched the actor pretend to learn to walk, talk, and feed himself again while losing his friends and girlfriend, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. Was this truly what it had been like for him, rebuilding his life from scratch?

  Jason’s dry sense of humor and seeming lack of bitterness about his situation impressed me. He was different from everybody I knew, particularly my ambitious and impatient ex-boyfriend. Jason had a stillness about him, a sense of depth and thoughtfulness that intrigued me more than I cared to admit. I wanted learn more about the man he’d been before the accident and the person he’d become, but it wasn’t as if our paths naturally crossed. Setting an official “date” might give him the wrong impression, so how could I casually bump into him? That was harder to solve than the cold case in that movie.

  Chapter Four

  “Have you been keeping up on your bills? It’s very important you make your payments. You don’t want your electricity or water shut off. I can help you get organized, or set up automatic payments from your account. That might be best.”

  That was my dad.

  “Have you been going to your group? It’s very important you keep trying to make connections with people. Being alone too much isn’t healthy. Do you have any new friends?”

  That was my mom.

  “Keep copies of everything. That’s going to be important come tax season.” Dad.

  “Are you eating right? You can’t survive on frozen dinners or Chinese carryout. You have to have fresh fruits and vegetables. And it’s important you keep up with your physical therapy. Are you doing the exercises Dr. Gorman gave you?” Mom.

  “I hope you’re remembering to lock up. Be very careful walking in your neighborhood. It’s not that safe.” Dad.

  “You still have the pepper spray I bought you?” Mom.

  “If you need money, I can write you a check.” Dad.

  Me: “No, thanks. I don’t need anything. You’ve already helped me more than enough.” I pointed at Katie charging past on the field. “Look. I think she’s setting up to make a goal.”

  My parents’ spotlight finally turned away from me, and I relaxed on the hard wooden bleacher as best I could with my aching hip. I reminded myself that it was normal for parents to be concerned about their children even under regular circumstances. It was hard for them to let go and trust that a twenty-four-year-old knew what he was doing. But every time they started grilling me with questions, doubting me with their tone, undermining me with their comments, I fought to hold back a surge of resentment.

  Dr. Gorman had given me techniques for controlling the spurts of emotion I’d experienced since the accident. Sudden sorrow or anger were symptoms of my brain injury. I’d learned to mostly control crying jags in public places or red-faced shouting rages, but when I was around my parents, the tension grew inside me like a spring coiling tighter and tighter. All I could do was bite back my anger and press it down.

  Katie’s team made a goal, and everyone jumped up to cheer. I rubbed my hip and leaned toward Mom. “I’ve got to walk a little bit.”

  “Your leg hurting? I’ll come with you.”

  “No. You watch Katie.” I made my way down the bleachers to the packed dirt with tufts of sad brown grass struggling to grow in it. The soccer fields were just as I remembered from when I used to play back in middle school. I had a lot of holes in my memory, but one fall afternoon was shining clear. I remembered running across that field, heart pumping, legs burning, ball flying in front of me as if directed by my very will. Racing toward the net, kicking, scoring—the memory was a small treasure.

  I headed toward the concession stand, thinking I’d make the trip last as long as possible to avoid more twenty questions from my parents. I was waiting in line to buy a soda when someone called my name.

  “Jason Reitmiller?”

  I turned toward the woman standing there, looking expectantly at me. She was young, pretty, and unfamiliar.

  She came toward me. “Lisa Brightman, from high school. I was Chrissy’s best friend.”

  Chrissy. Suddenly a whole slew of recovered memories whirled through my mind like bits of confetti. Chrissy. Yes. I remembered a girl smiling at me, laughing, yelling, kissing, crying. Seemed we’d always been in the middle of breaking up or making up, and I’d completely forgotten about her until now.

  “It’s all right if you don’t remember.” Lisa’s tone was gentle, as if I were a child. “I’m sorry about your accident.”

  “No. I remember,” I assured her. “Chrissy and…you.”

  I sort of did remember Lisa, constantly attached to Joe Somebody like an extra appendage that chattered a lot.

  Reassured that I wasn’t a slobbering idiot, Lisa perked up. “How have you been? It looks like you’ve recovered well.”

  “A little gimpy, but I’m okay. What are you up to?”

  “Going to school at Barry. I’m home for the weekend, visiting my folks. How about you?”

  “I’m working now. Custodial services.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at the sign in the refreshment stand that listed prices. “I’m here watching my little brother play.” She indicated one of the other fields.

  “My sister,” I said, jerking a thumb toward the other side of the parking lot.

  That seemed to scrape the bottom of what we had in common. I willed Lisa to flit off to wherever she’d come from. “Nice seeing you again.”

  “Good to see you too, Jason.” She started to turn away, then stopped. “Chrissy wanted to come and see you at the hospital, you know. She talked to me about it. She wasn’t over you, even after everything that happened between you guys. But she couldn’t bring herself to go, especially after how things ended.”

  How had things ended? What had we been through?

  “You were a real jerk,” Lisa added, her sweet voice laced with glass shards.

  “I’m sorry?”

  She studied my face so intently I felt like flinching. “You don’t remember.”

  “Not really. I remember Chrissy. And you, sort of, but…my memory’s hazy. What happened?”

  “Never mind. It’s ancient history. You were a different guy back then.”

  Apparently an asshole.

  Lisa pulled a pen and a scrap of paper from her purse, jotted down her phone number, and handed it to me. “If you ever want to talk about old times or whatever.”

  I accepted the number on the back of an old receipt. “Thanks.”

  I wanted to ask more questions right then to learn why I’d been a jerk, but Lisa was already walking away. She vanished as quickly as she’d come into the crowd of people waiting to buy salty pop
corn and soggy pretzels.

  I felt a little nauseated as if I’d just gotten off a Tilt-o-Whirl. Memories of Chrissy, Joe, Tyrone, even Lisa tumbled through my mind. Suddenly it was my turn at the concession counter, and I couldn’t remember why I was there. I mumbled an apology to the pimple-faced kid taking orders and hurried away.

  I barely made it into a stall of the restroom before I threw up. This might sound like an extreme reaction to meeting an old friend, but when a barrage of images and emotions hits you like a semitruck, trust me, it has that effect.

  I splashed water on my face from the tap and stared at the guy in the mirror. Chrissy. Atkins was her last name. She’d been my high school girlfriend. We’d gone to games, parties, movies, the mall. We’d had sex at her house when her parents were gone. I suddenly remembered that as clearly as if it were yesterday. I wondered how I could possibly have forgotten her until now.

  My mom had tried to prompt my memories by having me look through family photos. Hadn’t I seen a prom picture or two? That time immediately after I got home from the hospital was hazy. I was on a lot of pain meds still, so it’s no wonder some things fell through the cracks. But my memories were unlocked now. All except why Lisa thought I’d been so horrible to her friend.

  By the time I finally left the restroom, I’d sort of forgotten which field Katie was playing on. I stood for a moment, blinking in the bright sunshine and wishing all the noisy people would disappear.

  “Jason?” My father approached me through the crowd. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine! There’s nothing wrong with me,” I snapped.

  “Okay. Take it easy.”

  I hated when he used his “reasonable” voice, calming me as if I was a five-year-old about to throw a tantrum. But he had no reason to believe I wouldn’t. For a while after the accident, I was likely to lose control at any time.

  Don’t blame the parents, I reminded myself and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I just saw somebody I used to know from high school, and it unlocked some memories. Dad, do you remember Chrissy Atkins?”

  “Of course. You dated her for two years. Is that who you saw?”

  “No. Her friend. Lisa. Do you remember why I broke up with Chrissy?”

  My dad laughed. “Are you kidding? You wouldn’t tell me anything about anything back then, especially your relationship with a girl. Neither your mother or I knew why you broke up with Chrissy. We figured it was because you were going to different colleges.”

  As we walked back toward the soccer field, I thought about what he’d said about never knowing me when I was a teenager. Probably not during my college days either, because I’d hardly ever come home. And now I was still trying to distance myself from my parents, despite the fact that I owed them everything.

  “I’m sorry if I was an asshole,” I said.

  “It’s okay. I was to my parents as a teenager. You can call up Grandma and ask her.” My dad slung an arm around my shoulders. “You’re getting better. I can tell you’re working to control your temper, and you came to your sister’s game today.”

  “So I’m not such a douche?”

  “You’re growing up.”

  He gave me a hug, and I realized the coil of tension I’d been pressing back earlier was gone.

  ****

  I spent most of the weekend cleaning out closets, doing laundry, and making sure I was one hundred percent prepared on every case assigned to me. As a first-year associate, my work was mostly comprised of research, a glorified paralegal gathering statistics and facts to support the lead prosecutor. That was why I’d been thrilled to be allowed to present the Paulik case and given a chance to prove myself to the firm. Or to prove myself incompetent, as it turned out. If I got another chance to step forward, I was going to be ready in every conceivable way.

  Sunday afternoon was sunny and gorgeous, so I went jogging in a nearby park, followed by a cool-down walk that took me to an open-air market. I browsed a book stall, poked through vinyl albums, bought a sketch from an artist whose bold work was a stark contrast to the handicraft booths around her. I was heading home, satisfied with my purchase—I’d been waiting for just the right piece to fill a particular spot on my bedroom wall—when the sound of puppies yipping drew my attention.

  In the grass behind the row of booths, a makeshift fence contained a half-dozen puppies. Gold, tan, brown, black-and-white, they were a mixed bag of fun of no discernible breed. A woman sat in a camp chair beside the enclosure. I couldn’t resist joining the ring of people exclaiming over the pups and leaning over the fence to pat them. Everything about them was adorable, from the way the black-and-white one scratched his ear with a hind paw to the bright eyes of the tan one, who kept a distance from its siblings and seemed to study the people looking at it. If I were in the market for a pet, the tan one would be the one I’d choose.

  “Please! Daddy, please,” a girl begged her father.

  “Your mom wouldn’t like it.” The man smiled. “Okay.”

  I frowned at the weekend dad treating the commitment of getting a pet as a move in his divorce chess match.

  I took one last look at the tan pup just as it opened its mouth and yawned. A pink tongue unfurled over perfect little white teeth. I reminded myself I was not in the market for a dog, and then I asked the woman in the chair, “Is that tan one a male or female?”

  Next thing I knew, I was buying a leash and puppy chow at a store, with the puppy squirming against my shoulder. Talk about impulse buying. I had no room to judge the bad dad. But at least I was a single woman with no other obligations. I wasn’t inflicting the dog on my significant other just to cause trouble. Besides, the puppy was so damn cute I couldn’t resist her. I named her Baby. Too cutesy, but all I could think of when I saw her standing apart from her litter mates was, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.”

  She wasn’t leash trained yet, so when I tried to lead her home, she balked and whined. I ended up having to carry her all the way to my apartment. By the time we reached home, it was almost dusk. I spread old newspapers on the kitchen floor and blocked the doorway to keep Baby from wandering. Her cries followed me into the bathroom, where I stripped and quickly showered. When I returned to the kitchen in pajamas, Baby was howling, loud wails of distress.

  “Shh.” I picked up her trembling body, and she nearly wiggled out of her skin, she was so grateful. A pang of new-mother love flooded me. “It’s okay. You’re going to have to get used to being alone, you know. I have to work during the day.”

  If I was going to break in a new pet, I should’ve gotten her on a Friday so we’d have a couple of days together to acclimate. I hoped she wouldn’t howl all day while I was at work.

  The pup had spilled her water and food, then tracked through both of them so the kitchen floor was a mess. I cleaned up, got her interested in eating her chow, then started making my own dinner.

  Baby sat on my lap as I curled up on the couch with a dish of vegetables and pasta. She nearly knocked the bowl from my hands in her eagerness to see where the delicious smells were coming from. I was a hair’s breadth away from feeding her from my hand but forced myself to practice tough love and train her not to beg.

  Cuddling with my new pet, I wondered what had kept me from getting a dog before now. The adoration in those brown eyes was a wonderful thing. A dog was a truer companion than most men I’d dated. Baby was a good antidote to the pervasive sense of loneliness I’d been feeling lately.

  But later, lying in bed with my new little buddy curled beside me, my mind wandered back down other channels, better-to-be-forgotten corridors polished by a dark-eyed janitor with a quirky smile.

  Chapter Five

  Working a second-shift job leaves a lot of daylight hours free, assuming you don’t sleep half the day away. Without much money to spend or friends to do things with, filling those empty hours can be hard. I have a vague memory of being busy all the time with school and sp
orts, hanging out with friends, partying. But after the accident, that old life and those friends fell away like dead skin sloughing off. Many of the things I used to do aren’t possible for me anymore. Simple functions I once did with a fraction of my attention take much longer and require concentration. If I lose focus on each step of taking a shower, for example, I’m likely to go around all day with conditioner in my hair.

  Since I stopped going to rehab, I spend part of every day doing physical therapy exercises. Insurance wouldn’t cover more therapy, and I’m capable of doing the exercises by myself. So a good portion of my day is filled with accomplishing tasks, but that still leaves a long stretch of time between waking up and going to work. Time to veg in front of the TV, or practice hand-eye coordination by playing Xbox. Time to hang with the other loafing losers in the park. Time to think about how I was never going to go on a date with someone like Anna Stevens.

  I’d seen her full name on some papers on her desk while I was cleaning. Then I worked all weekend to try to get that name out of my mind. Funny how it stuck like glue when there were so many other facts I couldn’t retain for anything.

  The next week I chose not to act like a stalker and “accidentally” run into her at work. Instead, I went to work at the usual time, plodded through my normal routine, went home, slept, got up, and started the thrilling routine all over again. The hall floors had never been so shiny. I’d never felt so dull.

  And then there was that conversation with Lisa to think about. Old memories wiggled their way into my dreams at night. Chrissy. Lisa had said things ended badly between us, and I almost felt like I knew why, but when I tried to pin it down, the memory skittered away like a cockroach. There were other people from the past I probably could’ve contacted to try to learn the answer, but honestly, I didn’t want to know. I looked up Chrissy on Facebook but didn’t ask her to friend me. What would I say? Remember me, Jason Reitmiller, the guy who treated you like crap in high school? Let’s get back in touch.

  Days passed and I continued to tread water until my legs were like lead. It’s amazing how a lot of doing nothing can tire you out. I actually missed the survivors group, but I couldn’t show my face there again.