“The rain shouldn’t be pouring off the side. It should be running smoothly through and out. Over here.” Emmett pointed with his cigarette hand. “That’s why it feels like we’re inside a car wash when we’re in the house. Because your gutters need cleaning out.”
“Oops. I didn’t know that. I kind of like the sound it makes,” she said. She liked the sound it made falling on the hood of her slicker, too. She watched the rainwater spill out of the gutters, listened to the dulcet drip-drip-dripping. “Supposed to ease up in the morning…sure…maybe you could do it then? I’ll pay you in breakfast and coffee?”
Coping mechanisms: cigarettes, fresh air, finding cats in the rain, listening to the baseball game, cleaning out gutters.
“Right on,” Emmett said. He smoked and got quiet as the baseball game stretched into the seventh inning.
* * *
By the time Tallie’s power was restored, the Giants had won the World Series. She and Emmett had come inside, hung up their wet things. Tallie put a towel beneath the coatrack to catch the rainwater. She opened her laptop and ordered her vitamins, donated to the nonprofit against sex slavery she’d thought about earlier. She put the kettle on while Emmett and his backpack went to the bathroom.
He’d left the backpack inside when he’d gone out on the porch. Jackpot. Tallie had unzipped it quietly in the dark, shoved her hand in, felt around, making sure there wasn’t some violent evil inside. She touched the little ring box he’d shown her. Something else wrapped in paper—a book? Books? Another small box or book and some clothes—cotton, denim, wool. Plastic bottles. She couldn’t see a thing, just felt around. Lifted the backpack with one hand to see how heavy it was—not too heavy, not too light. She put it down quick, in case he came inside.
Tallie was right about his energy—that lilac puff. She stood in her living room chewing her thumb, looking down the hallway, picturing Emmett behind her bathroom door with that backpack. He didn’t have a gun or a severed head in there. It was mostly soft things; she knew that. But she still jumped and slapped her hand to her heart when the teakettle surprised her, screaming from the kitchen.
EMMETT
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: i still care about you too
Yes Tallie, I am trying. Finally. And I appreciate you saying it, because I really am. And you’re right. I should’ve treated you better—my parents remind me of that a lot. They’re not letting me off easy, just so you know. You’ve asked tough questions, but I will try my best.
My love for Odette is different, but I don’t know if I can explain it. It was a surprise. I do want to be a good man. I’m trying to be a better man. If what you’re asking is whether or not I love her more than I love you, the answer is NO. It’s just different. And I fucked it up with you. I am trying not to fuck it up with her.
It feels very strange to be a father and I don’t think it has sunk all the way in yet. I can probably answer this question a little better down the road. I can tell you I love my daughter fiercely even though at this point she just sleeps and cries. And yeah, I mean it feels weird to have a baby with a woman who isn’t you. I always thought it’d be you. Wanted it to be you. We tried so hard. You know all this.
You sound different and I mean it in a good way! I truly don’t know where we go from here, if anywhere, but I’m so glad you reached out. I’m so glad, Tallie. And I haven’t texted or talked to Lionel much since the divorce and am not sure if it’s okay for me to contact him anymore…I know he’s still pissed at me, but if you wouldn’t mind telling him I miss him. And he’ll always be my brother…even if he hates me.
I’m getting emotional writing this, so I’ll stop. But if you don’t mind, I do have a question for you. Are you seeing anyone? (Is that too weird to ask?) I’m asking because if you ARE seeing someone, I hope he treats you right. I hope he’s the complete opposite of me.
Hope to hear from you soon,
J
* * *
“Funny Girl? You said this was your favorite?” Emmett asked Tallie, slipping the DVD case off the shelf and holding it up.
“Definitely.”
“Do you want to watch it?”
“It’s pretty long.”
“I don’t mind if you don’t. Seems relaxing,” he said, flipping it over. “I’m guessing it’s funny?” He smiled, looking at her.
“You’re clever,” she said. “You were upset earlier, when the lights went out. You’re feeling better?”
“I feel like being quiet, watching this, if that’s okay. I’m really comfortable here.”
“It’s hygge. You’ve heard of it? The Danish word? It’s about making things cozy, comforting. It’s like an American fad now, but sort of a way of life for some people. Making things as comfy as possible…it’s what I do—” Tallie stopped and changed the expression on her face, like an engine slowing, then revving back up. “I use the idea of it in my classroom.”
“I’ve never heard of it, but I feel it here. It’s overwhelming. And I mean that as a compliment,” Emmett said.
“I accept it.”
(The jumping candlelight cuts through the rising tea-mug steam. The steam looks like cartoon smoke. Six tea lights in a half-moon on the table. The walls of Tallie’s living room are the color of creamed coffee.)
* * *
They started Funny Girl, and Tallie picked up her knitting and began slipping the needles and yarn through her fingers. Fast. She barely glanced at it, knitting around and around, scooting small neon-colored plastic markers across the cord connecting the needles when she got to them. Emmett watched, appreciating how soothing and hypnotic it was. She mouthed along with parts of the dialogue—the songs, too. He enjoyed it for a while but soon found he couldn’t focus. He hated that he’d contacted Joel, the subterfuge of it. If Tallie got something out of the emails she couldn’t have gotten otherwise, when he left her, he wouldn’t feel so guilty. Even when he did dumb shit, his tender conscience was a crutch. It’d plagued him his whole life. He took on other people’s emotions, absorbed them without wanting to, like an abandoned sponge.
“Y’know earlier when you were talking about how it feels for Joel to get something he wanted so much…his baby…I’m sure part of it does feel wrong and weird for him. Doing it without you, since he always thought it would be you,” Emmett said.
If what he said surprised Tallie, she didn’t let on. Instead, she kept her face plain, shrugged.
“What’s something small about him you miss? Christine would drink from my water bottle. I’d leave it somewhere and come back to a pink lipstick print on it that tasted like strawberries or cherries. I miss that.”
Tallie put down her knitting and paused the movie.
“A sweet memory. Thank you for sharing it with me,” she said, crossing her legs on the couch.
“I don’t really talk about this stuff to anyone,” he said.
“That’s why I mean it when I say thank you for sharing it with me.”
“You’re easy to talk to. I’m sure people tell you that all the time.”
“I’ve heard it before, yes,” Tallie said.
Barbra Streisand was frozen on the TV screen—a silent witness to their conversation.
“It’s okay if I mention something I don’t miss about him first?” she asked.
“Such a rebel.”
“I am.” She smiled at him. “Joel was obsessed with the news and would get constant notifications on his phone. Wanted to keep CNN on all day long. Drove me mad! I stopped keeping up with the news after he moved out. I hate it.”
“Understood,” Emmett said. Another reason to love Tallie—she hated the news as much as he did.
“A little thing I miss about him is that he would sometimes leave his bag of chips on the side of the couch when he was done instead of putting it back in the pantry. It used to annoy me, but I found myself missing it once he was gone. I’d put a bag of chips there myself, to
feel like he was here. And this is embarrassing, but his…lunulae…the, um, half-moons on his fingernails. They’re really pretty. He has really nice hands. It sounds so ridiculous to say aloud now,” she said.
“Don’t be embarrassed, please. And it doesn’t sound ridiculous to me,” he reassured her.
Not much surprised Emmett, and not much sounded ridiculous to him, either. He had his own nights when he’d stayed up, wrecked and crying. The longest nights of his life. Nights he’d slept with Christine’s T-shirts on her side of the bed, hoping to wake up next to her. Nights he’d sat alone in the chair in his living room, rocking and rocking, thinking of Brenna, Brenna’s eyes, Brenna’s voice. Brenna had been real; he knew it. But where had she gone? There were wide cracks in his sanity, something he’d been so sure of before.
After had devoured before, leaving him crumpled.
“Some big things I miss about him are…how funny he is and honestly, his body…ugh, I was just so physically attracted to him it almost made me sick. And…I also miss sharing sadness. Now, lucky me, I get it all to myself,” Tallie said. “We spent a lot of time alone together. Entire weekends in this house, only us. I guess that’s why I find myself thinking…was I making all that up? Where the hell did it go?”
“You weren’t making it up.”
Tallie scrunched her face, then straightened it. “What’s something big you miss about Christine?” she asked, pulling her hair over her shoulder.
“Her messy aliveness. She really went for it, y’know? So full of life and couldn’t get enough of even the things she hated. She really rocket-burned out instead of simply fading away,” he said, the answer breaking through quickly, requiring almost no brain energy from him at all.
“That’s beautiful. Tragic and beautiful.”
“Well, yeah…that’s a perfect way of describing her.”
He let his mind drift, and Tallie seemed to do the same, both of them transfixed by the quiet and the weight of the conversation and Barbra’s face on the TV screen. When she spoke again, Tallie asked Emmett to tell her something he loved about himself.
“I’m good in the kitchen,” he said.
“That you are. What else?”
“Not a proper answer?”
“No! I was only wondering what else you’d say.”
“Um…I’m a hard worker. I don’t half-ass things. Except my bridge jump…yeah, I guess I half-assed that, but it wasn’t all my fault. You’re partly to blame, you’ll have to admit,” he said, smiling at her. She looked uncomfortable, but he kept smiling. Kept smiling and smiling until she finally smiled back. “There we go,” he said.
“I didn’t like that joke.”
“Sorry. But yeah. I’m normally pretty emotionally resilient. An easy heart. I can usually deal with a lot…more. I have before.”
“Easy heart. I can see that in you, but we all have our weak moments, for sure.”
“What’s something you really love about you?” he asked.
She took her time and thought about it before answering. “Well…I’m patient and rarely rude to anyone. And I try to look for good things in people, even when I’m hurting.”
“And that’s why you didn’t kill your ex-husband in his sleep?”
“Exactly why. And when I do get lonely, I spend a lot of time with Lionel and his family,” Tallie said.
“How many kids does your brother have?”
“One. A boy. He’s six. I’m knitting this sweet little sweater for him.” Tallie held up her yarn and needles before grabbing her phone. She swiped through and held it out, showing Emmett a photo of a little brown boy grinning, missing teeth. “His name is River…and I don’t want that name to trigger anything for you because of the bridge and yesterday. It’s okay for me to keep going?”
“Yes. And no one else is like you, by the way,” Emmett said, taking the phone from her, looking closely at the photo of River—the little boy whose picture was stuck to the fridge more than once. “He’s super cute,” he said, feeling as if his heart had been wrenched open, scooped out.
“You haven’t mentioned any siblings. You don’t have them?”
They were surrounded by candle flickers. The house went wavy and shimmering, like they were being consumed. Deuteronomy 4:24; Hebrews 12:29. God as a consuming fire. And the devil, always there, too. Confusing him, telling him to give up, to let go, that there is only one way out. The constant grappling. Dissociation again—the swirly, conflicting feeling of floating gravity. No matter how fast or far he ran from it, it caught up to him. He stood, closed his eyes.
“Are you feeling okay?” Tallie asked.
“Sometimes I get dizzy.” He lifted his weighty eyelids, focused on her.
“I’ll get you a glass of water,” she said, walking to the kitchen.
“I’m making too much trouble for you.” He followed behind her.
“You aren’t. I want to help you, but you have to let me. Are you on antidepressants? They can cause dizziness. You should sit. I’ll make some more tea,” she said. She handed him the water and went to the table, pulling out a chair for him. She put the kettle back on.
(The chair is quieter than expected as it slides. The walnut wood of the chair matches the walnut wood of the table exactly. There are four chairs. The kitchen tile: gray sunbursts on white. The sunbursts are connected by thin gray lines. Tallie’s breath smells like tea.)
“I’m not on antidepressants,” he said, sitting. His heart beat as if he’d been running. The edges of the world curved in closer, dimmed. Tallie sat, too.
“Have you ever been on antidepressants?”
“Not really.”
“Dizzy spells are the worst.”
“No, I don’t have siblings. I’m an only child.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital? We could go if you’re not feeling well,” Tallie said.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital, Miss Tallie, thank you. Will you hand me my backpack, please?”
“You don’t mind me getting it?”
“No. Will you get it for me, please?” he asked, putting his head in his hands.
TALLIE
She found his backpack next to the couch. Pam had perched herself upon it. Tallie apologized for having to disrupt the cat’s napping area and petted her head. She handled his backpack gently, placed it on the floor at his feet in the kitchen.
“I’ll show you what’s in here. It’s not scary. Just stuff,” he said, unzipping the front pocket and pulling out an unlabeled orange plastic bottle rattling with pills. “Allergy medicine and beta-blockers. The beta-blockers settle my heart, my adrenaline. It’s a low dose, but they can make me dizzy.” He took a small, round orange pill with his water.
Medication: antihistamines, beta-blockers. Antidepressants, maybe?
“Of course,” she said, knowing beta-blockers blocked norepinephrine as well as adrenaline and were also prescribed for anxiety and stage fright, relaxing the automatic fight-or-flight response. She didn’t treat any clients who relied on beta-blockers alone for anxiety management, but at least Emmett had something.
Tallie made two fresh mugs of tea as Emmett put the items on her kitchen table, the things she’d felt but not seen. The fuzzy blue snow hat she’d bought him at the outlet mall. A black lighter, a soft pack of cigarettes. A pair of oatmeal-colored wool socks rolled into a neat thick ball. One pair of white boxer shorts. A navy-blue pocket T-shirt folded into a pair of dark denim. The diamond wedding ring in its ring box. A bag containing a travel toothbrush and toothpaste, a plastic tube of deodorant. An unopened unscented bar of soap. A clean white washcloth, a clean black towel. The snaky cord and chunky thunk of his phone charger. An old plum-red copy of the New Testament—the size of a deck of cards—with a scrap of paper torn from a children’s coloring book sticking out. A brick-size manila envelope. A pair of citron fabric butterfly wings with elastic shoulder loops.
“Can I?” Tallie asked, sitting and holding her hand o
ut.
“Yes,” Emmett said. “Unremarkable, like I said. And I have that Kershaw knife I keep clipped to my jeans if you want to take it from me. So you’re not scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Tallie said. Could she levitate from sincerity? She picked the items up, inspected them as if she were an archaeologist, attempting to glean everything she could from his culture and the time period in which he lived. She felt closer to him immediately, seeing and touching more of his stuff, as if his secrets had taken physical form. When she got to the envelope, she peeked inside and gasped. What had felt like a book wasn’t a book.
“Emmett, how much money is in here?”
“Thousands, around ten.”
“Okay, wow. And you had the nerve to ask me if I was afraid you’d rob me blind. Aren’t you scared to walk around with all this money?”
“I don’t care about the money. I was going to leave it on the bridge anyway for someone to find, hopefully put to good use,” he said. “And I’d like to give you more, for everything you’ve done for me.” He began peeling off hundred-dollar bills, a couple of twenties.
“I don’t want you to give it to me. I mean it. Stop,” she said, putting her hand on his. He stacked the money for her neatly and pushed it to the edge of the table. It wasn’t entirely weird for someone considering suicide to drain their bank account or whatever he’d done; saving money quickly lost its importance next to matters of life and death. But she still asked, “You won’t tell me where you got this?” She touched the envelope with the tip of her finger.
“Not illegally. I promise,” he said.
“Why are you walking around with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Tallie raised her eyebrows. She sat back in her chair, frustrated. Leaned forward, frustrated. Drank her tea, frustrated.
“Look, I know how this sounds, but it’s not dirty money, and it’s mine. I saved it, that’s all,” he said.
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