Next to Me

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Next to Me Page 4

by Allie Everhart


  At least I got rid of everything at the other house. The house I'm living at now is our summer home. It's a couple hours south of Chicago. We got it as a place to go to get away from the city. My mom and Greg were both teachers so we lived here all summer long.

  My mom chose this town because it reminded her of the town in Michigan where her parents had a summer home. My grandparents are gone now, but before they died, my mom and I would go visit them for a week every summer. That was when it was just her and me and we lived in Ohio. When I was nine, she met Greg. They got married when I was twelve, then we moved to a suburb of Chicago. A few years later, my mom had Ben.

  The first summer we lived here was right after I graduated from high school. I remember being mad that I had to live here instead of Chicago where all my friends were, but my friends ended up coming down and visiting that year so it turned out to be okay. The next summer, fewer friends visited. They'd moved on with their lives, which is what happens as time passes and everyone goes their separate ways. I'd finished my first year at Northwestern and hadn't kept in touch with them, except for Trina, my best friend from high school. But I never saw her. We just talked on the phone. She goes to fashion school in New York and had an internship there that summer.

  The accident happened last May, soon after we'd moved here for what would have been our third summer. My mom, Greg, and Ben were on their way to the Wisconsin Dells, a town that has water slides, amusement parks, mini golf, and other stuff for kids. It gets super crowded during the summer so they went in May hoping to avoid all the people. I was going to go with them but then decided to stay here. I'd just finished a week of finals and wanted to veg out in front of the TV for a few days.

  But now I wish I'd gone with them. If I had, I wouldn't still be here. I know that sounds morbid, but it's how I feel. I shouldn't be here. I should be with the rest of my family. They were all I had. I don't have grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. Not even on my dad's side. My dad died when I was a baby. He went biking one afternoon and got hit by a car. He was an only child and his parents passed away a few years ago.

  So now I'm left with no one. Feeling lost. Alone. Unable to move forward. I feel like I'm frozen in time, even though the days and months keep going by. Every day I do the exact same thing. Get up at seven. Have breakfast. Shower. Check the mail. Watch TV. Go to work. Get back from work. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Go to bed at ten. It's the same every day. And on Saturdays, I clean the house, do the laundry, mow the grass, and go to the grocery store. I have a schedule and I never veer from it. The schedule provides order, and I need order to get through the chaos in my head.

  "I need to get to work," I say to Lou, focusing on my cookies.

  He sighs, shaking his head as he walks away. He's frustrated with me. Or maybe he thinks I'm crazy.

  I hope I'm not crazy. When I do these obsessive behaviors, like the counting, I tell myself it's because I'm grieving, and everyone grieves their own way.

  The counting started after the police showed up at my door, telling me my family was dead. When I was little, my mom used to make me count to ten when I was upset in order to calm myself down. It always worked, except I'd usually have to count to twenty.

  As I got older, I no longer used the counting trick, which is probably why I fought with my mom so much during my teen years. I'd get angry about something and take it out on my mom. She put up with my behavior, saying it was just a phase I was going through as I exerted my independence. She taught high school so she was used to dealing with teens. But looking back, I regret how I acted back then. Getting drunk. Breaking curfew. Dating guys she didn't approve of. But at least I managed to keep my grades up and graduated near the top of my class.

  My mom was always proud of me no matter what, but I know I was a challenge to live with during those years. When she had Ben, I thought he was my replacement. Her re-do kid because the first one was messed up. So I didn't like him at first, but that quickly changed. He was freaking adorable, with his chubby cheeks, those dimples, that mop of brown hair, and that sweet smile. He smiled all the time. And laughed. He had the cutest laugh.

  When Ben was around two, I noticed how much he watched everything I did and that's when I started straightening up my act. I was his big sister and he looked up to me and I wanted him to be proud of me. And he was. To him, I was like a super hero. He was only three when I went off to college, and even though I was only a half hour away, he was so sad when I moved into the dorms. But he'd get so excited when I'd come home. He'd follow me around the house and climb all over me when I tried to watch TV. I called him my little monkey man because his little arms and legs would cling to me like a monkey. One day, he was out shopping with my mom and spotted a stuffed monkey and asked Mom to buy it for me so I wouldn't forget him when I was at college. So she did.

  I still have that stuffed monkey. Ben set it on my lap after he hugged and kissed me goodbye before they left that day. He said the monkey would take care of me until he got back. He begged me to go on the trip with them, but I told him I was too tired from school and promised him we'd have fun when he got back. We'd go swimming at the lake and the pool and whatever else he wanted to do.

  But that never happened. Because Ben died. Along with my mom. And Greg, the only dad I ever knew.

  I inherited everything. The house, the cars, and all our possessions. I was only 20 and had no clue what to do with all their stuff. It was too much. I couldn't deal with it, so I told the lawyer handling the estate to sell everything, including the house. Normally a lawyer wouldn't do all that, but he'd been friends with my parents so he did as I asked and arranged for an estate sale and sold the house and gave me a check when it was all said and done.

  After the house sold, the lawyer asked if I wanted to see it one last time, but I told him no. I didn't want to go back there, or back to Chicago. Instead, I stayed here. This became my new home. We'd only had two summers here, so there were fewer memories. If I'd gone back and lived in the old house, or even just seen it, the grief would've overwhelmed me. I don't think I would've survived.

  My cell phone rings. I slide the sheet pan in the oven, then answer the call.

  "Hey, Callie." It's Trina. "What's going on?"

  Trina and I only talk a couple times a month and she never calls me at work. And from the awkward inflection in her voice just now, I get the feeling she was put up to this. I glance over at the window to Lou's office and catch him watching me. He quickly looks away, pretending to type on his computer. Freaking Lou! He needs to mind his own damn business.

  "Nothing new here," I say to Trina. "How's New York?"

  "Same as always. Loud. Crowded." She's trying to make it sound lame so I'll feel better about being here instead of someplace exciting like New York. She always does this. She tries to downplay her exciting life so I won't feel bad. But it's pointless. I know she's loving every second of her life in New York. She has a loft apartment in Greenwich Village that she shares with two other girls. She has a hot, rich boyfriend who graduated from NYU and is now interning on Wall Street. And she's living her dream, working a summer job at a fashion magazine.

  "Trina, I know you love it there. It's what you've always wanted to do."

  She sighs. "I know. But I do miss home. And I miss you, Cal."

  If that were true, she'd call me more. I've given up calling her because she always took forever to call me back, which I assumed was a sign she no longer wanted to be friends. She assured me that wasn't the case and that she was just super busy, but I think the real reason we've drifted apart this past year is because she doesn't want to deal with the new me.

  In high school, Trina and I were the type of friends who would party together, go on double dates, and go shopping. We weren't the type of friends who would talk about anything serious. Trina likes to live in a world where everything is perfect and nothing ever goes bad, so when the accident happened, she avoided me. We went from talking every day to talking once a week, if that. I became withd
rawn and depressed while she continued on with her life, following her dreams, achieving her goals. Now we're in such different places in our lives that she has no idea how to interact with me. And to this day, she's never mentioned the accident or even asked me how I'm doing.

  "I was thinking I'd fly home in a few weeks. I haven't been home since Christmas and I could use a break from here." She pauses. "I thought I'd come stay with you for a few days."

  I glare at Lou in his office. He totally put her up to this. He probably even offered to pay for her plane ticket, even though her rich parents can easily afford it. But that's how desperate Lou is to fix me. Having lost his wife in an accident, he should know you can't be "fixed" with a visit from a friend. It doesn't work that way.

  "I don't think that's a good idea," I say to her.

  "It would just be for a few days. It'll be fun! Just like old times." Her voice rises like she's trying too hard to be enthusiastic about this. She doesn't really want to come here. When she was home last Christmas, I met her for lunch at a town halfway between here and Chicago because I didn't want her coming to my house. It was a horrible lunch. I was agitated because the trip interrupted my strict schedule, and she was agitated because she didn't know what to say to me. It was awkward and I have no need to repeat it.

  "How about if we meet in Chicago?" she asks. "I'll get us a hotel downtown and we'll have a girls' weekend."

  "I don't think so." I'm still glaring at Lou, who I'm now positive is the cause of Trina's sudden interest in me. He's shuffling papers around his desk, trying to look busy, but I know he can feel me staring at him.

  "Come on, Callie. It's been months since we got together and we didn't get much time to talk. This time we'll have all weekend."

  "Trina, I have to get back to work. I'll call you later."

  "Okay, but I'm coming out there so I guess I'll just plan to stay at your place."

  "Wait, what?" I almost drop the phone. "No. You can't come here."

  "Why not?"

  "Because..." I need a reason. What do I tell her? "The house is a mess. I've been doing some renovations and I can't have people staying there."

  "What renovations?"

  "I'm, um...I'm fixing the sidewalk."

  "That doesn't affect me staying there."

  "It'll be loud and messy and...you just wouldn't want to be here."

  "When are you fixing the sidewalk? I'm sure that won't take all summer."

  She's really pushing this. Normally she'd accept my excuse and stop bugging me. I guess I just need to be honest.

  "It's not about the sidewalk. I just don't like having guests."

  "I'm not a guest. I'm a friend. And I'm coming to see you. Let me check my schedule and I'll get back to you about when I'll be there."

  "No! Trina, you can't—"

  "Oh, shit, it's late. I have to get to a meeting. I'll talk to you later. Bye!"

  And then she hangs up.

  I storm into Lou's office, holding up my phone. "Did you put her up to this?"

  He leans back in his chair, resting his hands over his fat belly. "I don't know what you're talking about. Did you finish the cookies yet?"

  "Don't lie to me, Lou. I know you called Trina and told her to come here. How did you even get her number?"

  He stands up and goes around me. "Get your butt back to the kitchen and get to work. I don't have time for chit-chat. The lunch crowd will be arriving soon." He walks off, leaving me in his office.

  I curse to myself as I make my way back to the ovens where a timer is now beeping. As I'm removing the baking sheets, I feel my anger rising. There is no way Trina's staying with me. Nobody stays in that house but me. I haven't even let anyone come into my house until today, and technically I didn't let Nash inside. He invited himself in, or more accurately barged in after I told him not to.

  But I won't let him do it again. Hopefully, I won't have to speak to him again. We're neighbors, but that doesn't mean we have to be friends.

  Chapter Four

  Nash

  After spending an hour working on the piece of shit lawn mower, I discovered one of the parts was too rusted out to use. Luckily I was able to get a new one at the hardware store downtown. It's one of those old-fashioned, family-owned hardware stores. I'm surprised it's survived, having to compete with all the big box hardware stores that have sprouted up in what's considered the other part of town. The area where the year-round people live. It's newer and more developed than the area where I'm staying.

  I'm in the old part of town, the tourist area, close to the lake and the state park. A lot of people have vacation homes here but don't stay for the whole summer. That seems to be the case for the street I'm living on. Aside from my house and Callie's, the rest of the houses seem to be unoccupied. I'm guessing their owners show up for a couple weeks, then leave.

  As I'm heading out of the hardware store, I spot Lou's across the street. I'm starving and have no food at my place so decide to stop for lunch. Maybe I'll run into my little firecracker while I'm there. I laugh to myself just thinking of her. I still can't believe she thought I was shooting at her. Why the hell would I shoot at her?

  "Sit wherever you'd like," a smiling blond woman says as I walk in. "I'll be with you in a minute."

  The place is filling up with people so I take a seat at the counter. The menus are lined up in a metal stand so I grab one and look it over. It's a small menu. Mostly sandwiches and a few salads.

  "What can I get you?" a man asks in a gruff, gravelly voice. I look up and see an older man with thin white hair that he's combed over his balding head. He has a big belly and round face that hasn't been shaved in a couple days. He's dressed in black pants and a short-sleeve white cotton shirt, a big white apron stretched over his middle. His chubby fingers are holding a small green order pad and he's staring at me, seeming impatient.

  I glance down at the menu. "What do you recommend?"

  "People seem to like the chicken salad," he says.

  I find it on the menu. "It's got cranberries in it. I don't like fruit in chicken salad."

  "Finally," he mutters. "A man's man."

  "What?" I look up at him.

  "Nothing."

  "I'll have the reuben." I set my menu back in the holder.

  "It comes with chips or a salad."

  "Chips. And a Coke."

  "Anything for dessert?"

  "I'm not sure yet."

  "If you want one you should order it now." He points to the bakery case behind him. "We're starting to run out and when it's gone it's gone."

  There's a sign for brownies but the tray is empty. "So you're out of brownies?"

  "I think we got a few left." He goes over and props open a door to the kitchen. "Callie, you got any brownies back there?"

  "Yeah, we have eight," I hear her say.

  "Bring one out when you get a chance." His eyes dart to me. "To the kid at the counter. White t-shirt."

  Kid? I'm not a kid.

  The kitchen door falls shut and he walks to the register. "You're new here," he says, punching in my order. "You here on vacation?"

  "No. I'm here to work."

  "Where you working?"

  "I'm fixing up a house a few miles from here. It was my grandfather's. I inherited it after he died. It needs a lot of work done."

  Lou walks back over to me. "Are you talking about Freeson's place?"

  "Yeah. How'd you know?"

  He hitches his thumb toward the kitchen. "Callie told me. She mentioned you this morning. Said some guy moved in next door and was fixing up the house."

  So Callie was talking about me? For some reason that makes me smile. "That's me." I extend my hand to him. "Nash Wheeler. Good to meet you."

  He shakes my hand. "Lou. I don't bother with a last name. You say 'Lou' around here and everyone will know who you're talking about."

  "So you're the owner." I glance around. "Nice place you got here."

  "It needs some work, but for the most part, it's
held up over time."

  I take out my wallet and pull out one of my cards. "If you need some work done, just give me a call."

  He inspects the card. "So you're from Chicago?"

  "Born and raised. My dad started that business twenty years ago. My brothers and I all work for him. So what do I owe you?" I nod at the check.

  "Nine eighty-five," he says, stuffing my card in his shirt pocket.

  "Keep the change," I say, handing him a ten.

  The door to the kitchen swings open and Callie walks out, holding a brownie on a small white plate. She spots me and freezes.

  I smile at her. "Hey. How's it going?"

  "Fine." She takes a step forward. "What are you doing here?"

  "Having lunch. I was at the hardware store getting a part for my lawn mower and thought I'd stop and get something to eat."

  "Oh." She blinks a few times, then scans the counter. "Lou, where's the kid who wanted the brownie?"

  "Right here." He points to me.

  She rolls her eyes as she brings me the brownie. "He's not a kid. You always confuse me when you say that."

  "He's a kid to me." Lou nudges her. "So are you."

  "I'm not a kid. I'm 21."

  Lou points to me. "How old are you?"

  "I'm 25."

  "You're both kids," he says, as he walks away. "Your food will be up shortly." He goes into the kitchen.

  "Well, enjoy your lunch," Callie says, turning to leave.

  "When's your break?" I ask.

  She checks her watch. "In like ten minutes."

  "Would you mind eating with me? I don't like eating alone." It's not really true, but I want to have lunch with my firecracker. It's only been a few hours since I saw her but I kind of missed her.

  She hesitates. "I don't think so."

  "Why not? Are you not taking your break today?"

  "I am. I just..." She chews on her lip as her mind works to find an excuse.

  "I'll save you a seat," I say, tapping the stool next to mine.

 

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