Next To You

by Sandra Antonelli

  ‘Caroline … I didn’t mean …’

  ‘Sure you didn’t.’

  ‘Honestly I—’

  ‘Go.’

  ‘Look, I’ve been insanely angry for so long and I’m trying to do the right thing here.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that wasn’t the right thing.’

  ‘Please. I want to explain. It’s still there. You know it is. You feel it too.’

  ‘No. I don’t.’ She pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘You can’t make this go away by trying to sleep with me. Things don’t work that way. Regardless of what you still think, sex is not a band aid for anguish.’

  ‘That’s not what I was trying to do.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘You’re sleeping with your next-door neighbor. Doesn’t that make you feel better?’

  ‘I’m not sleeping with anyone. And why should it make a difference to you if I was? What business is it of yours?’

  Alex didn’t believe her for a second. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know I’m out of line here. I know I am. I know I have … for Christ’s sake, this has all been so confusing. Nothing ever seems to get sorted out because the pain overwhelms us and then we get pissed off. Acute stress disorder, postpartum depression, what a crock of shit I thought that was. You thought so too, but maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know. I can’t sleep. I have obsessive thoughts, some of them so incredibly sadistic I don’t know where they came from. I don’t seem to have any good feelings about anything anymore. I thought you … I thought your stretch at Linden Oaks would cure something for you, but you’re still so remote, so unreachable. I thought it would settle my mother, I thought it would satisfy me, and I’d be able to forget about Drew like you have.’

  Her mouth sagged. ‘I haven’t forgotten about Drew,’ she said.

  ‘He was so young. So young. I’m an open lava pit and you’re as unaffected as that Australian woman who said her baby was snatched by a dingo. You’re still so blank.’ His shoulders rose and fell. ‘How do you do it? By God I swear I’m not trying to be vicious here, I am just so tired of living this way. Tell me what it is you’re doing because I’m all over the place, Caroline. I thought about hurting you. I thought about hurting you a lot, and I almost did. I came so close. I can’t live like this. I can’t be this way anymore. Can you help me? Can you help me get to where you are, to that numbed, frozen unfeeling part?’

  ‘Blank?’ Caroline looked at him, at the enduring squally agony evident behind his gray-blue eyes and knew he would always blame her. He had that entitlement. And yet … ‘Why is it that there’s this expectation, this idea that a person has to react, that they have to deal with grief is some particular way, that they have to carry it around with them at all times, forever and ever? My spending time in Great Oaks was a perfectly acceptable response to the tragedy in my life. Losing my mind was a satisfactory reaction for losing a child, but I am only allowed to recover as long as I still behave as if I am weighed down by inconsolable grief or guilt. Why? Why do you think that?’

  ‘Because you’re not the Caroline you were before.’

  ‘And I never will be again.’ She rubbed a hand across her forehead. ‘I’m not numbed or unfeeling. I feel five things all at the same time. There are times I can’t figure out which thing I feel is the most important, and it’s almost overwhelming, but I keep going on. I’m not wearing my guilt or my grief on my shoulders. You don’t have to like it, and I don’t have to behave in some way you, or your mother, or anyone else thinks I should. Keep your expectations of how I’m supposed to be. I am going on. I was ill. I was institutionalized. I live with what happened, with what I did, with where I was. Mental illness is stigmatized in society, but I’m not ashamed I got help. I needed help to grab life by the balls, and I don’t want to grab your balls, Alex. I want to grab my own balls. I want a normal, average life. You don’t know how much I want to be humdrum, ordinary, unremarkable, and just plain run of the mill like everyone else. I still need help, so I can’t help you.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’

  ‘No, I can’t. You need to talk to someone professional.’

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘But I don’t want to talk to you. See a doctor about your nose, and find a therapist, see a counselor, talk to a priest. Tell them what you told me. Maybe then we’ll be able to talk to each other.’

  ***

  Caroline watched from the bay window. Alex got into his old Mustang and drove off south, toward home. She let the dog free and sat on the couch in the living room.

  There was a basket filled with photo albums under the side table. A hazy spot of chocolate ice cream had dried on the table’s top. She rubbed the mark with a dampened finger, then pulled a thick blue leatherette album from the basket, opening it in her lap. She wasn’t quite sure why she she’d opened the book when looking at them last time had been an acid bath dissolving away flesh and bone.

  Surprisingly, the wedding photos were easy, but the photos of Drew as an infant, the ones where his red hair stuck up in tufts, the shots of him on the beach with Alex, those images remained caustic—yet only enough to only sting.

  She turned the pages, looking at Drew. He had been so young in the captured-in-time images, and so young when he’d died, and she waited to hear his cry, that thin horrible cry, but it never came, and she realized she was smiling. She was smiling because, instead of remembering the dismaying, soul-destroying pieces of her past life, she remembered having fun with the Jones boys, and she laughed.

  Then she laughed harder because she couldn’t decide if she was happy-laughing over happy memories, or relieved-that-she-wasn’t-a-sniveling-mess laughing, or absurd-laughing because Alex had wanted her help. Maybe she was gurgling with laughter because—

  The phone rang beside her with an electronic jangle and she jumped. Coughing, she stared at it on the sofa cushion. When the phone rang a third time, she picked it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Caroline.’

  ‘William?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His voice sent a flutter of tiny wings up her spine. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Is it late or early?’

  ‘It’s both early and late for me. Did I wake you, were you napping?’

  ‘No, no.’ Caroline dabbed at her watering eyes and nose. Coughing again, sniffling, she wiped under her eyes. ‘I just came in with Batman. It’s chilly outside.’

  ‘You’re not crying?’

  ‘Okay, sort of,’ she said. ‘I was laughing so hard I cried a little.’ He was quiet. She thought they’d lost the connection. ‘William, are you still there?’

  Will sighed. He imagined the sound traveled from India up to the satellite link and bounced from relay station to relay station, until it reached Caroline’s cell phone. ‘I’m still here,’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

  She sniffled again. ‘Alex was here. He was upset and I was upset, and then it was all so funny.’

  Will sighed again, harshly. ‘He always upsets you,’ he said, and then his mouth got away from him. ‘Every time you see him he upsets you. Do you know he has no respect for you? Do you understand that?’

  ‘He’s angry and has a right to be.’

  ‘I think the man is volatile and you ca—’

  ‘I hurt him when Drew died, William. I took away something very precious to him and he has every right to be angry with me. It’s justified.’

  ‘His behavior toward you is justified? You can’t really believe that.’

  ‘Sometimes I don’t know what I believe, but I can only blame myself.’

  ‘Caroline, if … if …’ If only you would open your eyes a little wider. This was going nowhere and Will could hear her sniffling, so he pressed his lips together.

  ‘If what?’

  ‘I don’t know. It must be late. I forgot what I was going to say.’

  She sniffled. ‘Batman bit Alex, got him right on the nose.’

  Will chuckled. ‘What a smart little dog.’ A second later he heard Bat
man’s warf-warf-warfing.

  ‘Sorry, William,’ she said. ‘Someone’s at the door. I think it’s Bonnie. Can you hang on a second or can I call you back?’

  ‘No, no. It’s okay. I called because I can’t sleep, and I thought I’d let you know Gilligan’s Island seems even funnier in Hindi. Blow your nose before you answer the door. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Okay?’

  ‘All right. Bye.’ Caroline ended the call and crossed to the entry. She made the dog sit before she opened the door to Dennis and Arch.

  Both men wore concerned frowns.

  Batman moved into the space between the two guys. He gave them both a good sniff, his hackles slightly on end. Once he decided they were no threat, he wandered back to the edge of the rug and kept an eye on things.

  Dennis bit his bottom lip as he smiled. ‘Hi, Caroline. You doing all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Would you like to come in?’

  ‘Love to,’ Arch stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, crossed the open threshold, sauntered into the living room and proceeded to look around. ‘Nice. This is such an improvement over Reginaldi’s Aqua-Velva fifties Rat Pack retro décor.’ Arch grimaced. ‘Aw, crap. I forgot he was your uncle. I’m sorry. Mouth, meet foot.’

  ‘He does that all the time, Caroline. It just pops right out, especially when he’s worried,’ Dennis walked into the living room and stopped beside the overstuffed armchair.

  Arch plopped onto the couch. He picked up the photo album Caroline had left open on the cushions, paging through it.

  ‘Would you like some coffee?’ Caroline said.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Dennis gestured casually. ‘Bonnie sent us up here, you know. Will told everyone you had a stalker, some dude who can’t bear to let you go. He asked us to be on the look out for him. Bon said your dog bit him, and you brought him upstairs to clean him up. We saw him leave, but she wanted us to make sure you’re okay. Are you okay?’

  ‘Hey, Denny, these boys here have the same hair as you!’

  Dennis turned to look at the photo Arch held up. ‘Is that your family, Caroline?’

  Nodding, her mind stuck on Will told everyone you had a stalker, she remembered Alex saying: You sicced your boyfriend on me. Clearly, William thought very little of Alex, but telling people he was a stalker, even if he’d admitted to following her a few times, was irritating … sweetly gallant, and completely absurd.

  ‘Who’s this boy?’ Arch pointed to a photo with the title handwritten below. The Big Boy on his Birthday 2001

  Caroline glanced at the image Arch held up. ‘That’s Drew.’

  ‘And this handsome lad?’

  ‘That’s Alex. My stalker.’

  Chapter 11

  Bernadine cleared her throat, politely. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Collins, Mr. Murphy.’

  Will looked up at his secretary. She was giving him the motherly stink-eye that said he should’ve been at home in bed, allowing his circadian rhythm to readjust, particularly after two changes of international time zones in a single week. ‘What is it Bea?’

  Bernadine huffed with maternal distain. ‘Mr. Murphy, your friend Caroline Jones called from downstairs. She doesn’t have an appointment. Shall I have her come up or tell her you’ve already gone home to bed?’

  Quincy waggled his eyebrows, cocked his head to one side, and made a giddy-up sound.

  Yawning, Will kicked him under the table. ‘Pardon me. Tell her I’ll come down and meet her. Thank you, Bea.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Mr. Murphy. Now, you get home soon and have a good rest. I’ve cleared your schedule for tomorrow.’ Bernadine closed the door, but Will had caught the maternal squint that said the circles under his eyes stood out like bruises in his even whiter than usual face, and that he needed to get his ass home and in bed or wind up with a strep infection like he had last time.

  Quincy said, ‘Tuesday’s a go for nine-thirty. Now we’re absolutely sure that’s the last Mumbai tender Perry made?’

  ‘That’s it.’ Will stacked up a pile of folders. ‘Are you sure you want to take over the project personally?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Quincy sighed and gathered up the folders. ‘Thanks for coming in straight from the flight. Go home and get some rest. I know how tired you are. Your eyes have that speed wobble. Thanks again for going. I know you hate it there.’

  ‘I don’t hate it.’

  ‘You can’t lie for shit, Murph.’ Quincy rose, folders in hand. ‘Well, I’d love to say hello again to your pretty little married church mouse, but I’m off to meet Jans and his wife’s cleavage. Anita is made of cleavage, you know.’

  Will chuckled. ‘I have to admit your sister-in-law reminds me of Fredo’s wife in The Godfather II. I’ll ride down with you. We can meet Caroline.’ Will yawned again and rubbed his tired eyes, fingers poked beneath his tinted glasses. He followed Quincy out to the elevator.

  As they waited, they took turns spitting out random lines from The Godfather, Quincy mumbling in a crappy Sicilian accent about leaving a gun behind and taking cannoli.

  Will responded with, ‘Luca Brasi sleeps with the fairies.’

  ‘Fishes.’

  Will frowned. ‘I said fishes, didn’t I?’

  ‘No. You said fairies. You said Luca Brasi sleeps with the fairies. Shit, you’re dog-tired, you’re absolutely drained.’

  Will started laughing and then couldn’t stop.

  ‘Yeah, you’re off with the pixies already.’ Quincy snorted as they stepped into the elevator car. ‘You’re gonna fall right on top of Care-o-line.’ Then all of a sudden he went serious, lips pressed together.

  Will quit laughing and rubbed his eyes again. Quincy got solemn sometimes, more so since his son died. He’d become a thoughtful, philosophical man who was not averse to expressing his affection. Will didn’t mind too much. He just hoped he could pay attention and didn’t get slaphappy during all the serious.

  Quincy said, ‘What I said before. You’re like a brother to me, Will. You know that. I love you, so whatever makes you happy, that’s all that matters. You decide who you want, not anyone else, regardless of the … obstruction. So screw the rest of us, okay? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this with any woman. In fact I’d say I’ve never seen you … glow in quite this way before, not even with Yvonne. Except for today. Today you look like a zombie.’

  ‘I feel like a zombie—a well-dressed zombie.’

  Quincy cackled. ‘Have you worked out what you’re going to do? You always do what’s most morally upstanding. What do you think the prudent route is this time, my great white friend?’

  ‘You’re asking me if I’m able to think logically when I’m so smitten I’m completely off balance.’ Will shook his head. ‘Before I left for India my intention was pretty clear, but it seems the husband may have inserted himself back into the picture while I was gone, and I know it’s pretty stupid, but I honestly have no idea. I’m exhausted. I have no intelligent, ethical clue what to do about her.’

  The elevator door opened with a chime, and Caroline was there, waiting beside the bank of elevators, a brown leather compendium under an arm. Exhausted or not, husband or not, Will knew exactly what he wanted to do to her.

  Quincy knew, too. ‘Your current lack of equilibrium is written all over your face, Murph.’

  Seeing Caroline waiting for him made Will conscious of several things. He stood between the elevator doors thinking over the situation, just as he had after Alex had hung up on him in Mumbai. That night, Will sat slightly dazed, his legs over the side of the king-sized bed, the sheet across his lap, as sense of disbelief and dread etched into his mind. He’d called back fifteen minutes later and she answered the phone with a stuffed-up nose. And he knew she’d been crying, despite her saying otherwise. He tried his hand at reasoning with her, but she’d assured him things were fine, she’d even laughed when she told him Batman had bitten her husband.

  It was common for abused women to believe they got what they dese
rved and concoct stories to cover their abuse. Yet the truth was he wanted her. He wanted her, but he understood how impossible it was going to be to circumvent Alex—especially when she wouldn’t let him go.

  Will was torn. He had come to value the simple companionable friendship they shared. Now he wanted more, except the decision to move to more-than-friends had to be hers, regardless if what he felt for her had developed beyond plain-faced desire. Until she was ready, until Alex was gone, he had to maintain the boundary of friendship; he had to be sensible because being older meant the sensible thing fell to him, didn’t it?

  This was so damned complicated, and he was unaccustomed to complications. He’d been living a life of indolent comfort, but he’d overlooked that he’d slipped into a meaningless, rather luxurious rut. As he watched her turn around, saw the smile bloom on her face, Will stepped out of that rut, thinking about what he wanted with Caroline, and what was possible.

  Only Quincy stepped forward to meet her first, giving her a gentle peck on the cheek, and any passing fantasy Will had had of her rushing forward to throw her arms around his neck was lost.

  ‘Mrs. Jones,’ Quincy said. ‘I see you’re keeping steady on your land legs.’

  Caroline made a face, nose wrinkling. ‘You’re going to tease me every time you see me, aren’t you?’ She glanced over Quincy’s shoulder.

  Patient as always, William stood half inside the elevator, his hands behind his back. He smiled, and gave a little nod.

  ‘Yep,’ Quincy said. ‘Until the very day I get you to come sailing again, but I guess we’ll have to wait for spring now to do that.’

  Caroline listened to Quincy as he talked about sailing, but she kept looking past him to William, and thinking about Barbara Stanwyck.

  In Ball Of Fire, Miss. Stanwyck stood on a stack of old books to kiss the very tall Gary Cooper. Caroline wanted to stand on her compendium to kiss the very tall William Murphy. She still wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, but Quincy droned on, and she kept nodding politely, stealing glances at William, and my how much he yawned. He looked tired—so tired she began to think that coming here to see him had been a mistake.