We go down into the bar and dig into the casserole Melissa made for me. Dakota fires off question after question as we eat, then announces that she’s going to help decorate my new room. She thinks a princess theme is best. I laugh but don’t argue with that. She’s too fucking cute.
“Are you settled in?” Josh asks as we finish eating.
“As much as I can be. I ordered the rest of what I need online and it’s coming tomorrow. Oh, what kind of cable do you use?”
Josh laughs. “We don’t get cable out here. I’ll set you up with the guy to install the satellite though.”
“Thanks.”
“You might be without TV for a while.”
“It’s okay. I have my phone for entertainment, and I have books.” I have a box full of my favorite paperbacks but read mostly on my Kindle. Moving around a lot makes it hard to keep all the hard copies of books I’ve read. And I’ve read a lot. It might sound stupid—and I’ll never admit it to anyone—but for the time when I’m immersed in a book, I don’t feel lonely.
And I’ll never admit to anyone that I’m lonely. Not even myself. Because I’m not. I’ve been on my own most of my life. It’s what I’m accustomed to.
“The last time you were in Summer Hill, you were too young to drive.”
“Legally,” I say with a smirk.
“I do remember you driving.” Josh shakes his head. “Not much has changed, but I can show you around tomorrow. I assume you’ll need to go to the store and get groceries. The Walmart has become a Super Walmart, and we finally got a movie theater. It doesn’t play current movies, though. A tour won’t take too long.”
“Thanks.”
We finish eating, and I tell Josh that I’ll wash the dishes. It’ll give me something to do and an excuse to stay in the air conditioning, after all. Dakota wants to see the apartment again, so she knows how many princess pictures to make. I cover the leftover casserole and take it upstairs with us, sticking it in the old fridge that thankfully still works.
Josh pokes around the apartment a bit, taking notes on things that need to be fixed or replaced. I assure him it’s fine and I can take care of it all, but he insists.
“Baking soda and vinegar,” he mutters, seeing the red ring in the bathtub. “That should take it out. Melissa uses that on everything. Seems to work.”
“I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”
“I should have cleaned this place before offering it to you. I assumed it would be in the same state I left it.”
“Don’t worry about it. You offered it to me, and you didn’t have to.”
A crash comes from the bedroom and we both bolt in there. A rickety bookshelf toppled over and is laying in pieces on the floor.
“Dakota!” Josh screams and scoops up the crying toddler. I check her over while he holds her, trying to quiet her sobs.
“I don’t see any blood,” I say, and then move my hands to her head, gently feeling for bumps. “Did you get hurt?”
“It didn’t hit me,” she hiccups.
“What were you doing?” Josh asks harshly, his fear coming out in disciplining the kid.
“Trying to measure.”
“You can’t climb on stuff like that. You know better than that! You could have gotten seriously hurt, Koty.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. And Uncle Chase. I’m sorry I broke your bookshelf.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. The shelf didn’t look in the best shape when I loaded it with my books anyway. Dakota quiets and moves to the bed while Josh and I upright the bookshelf.
“Oh shit,” I say, then shake my head and look at Dakota. “Sorry.” I pick up my phone, which thankfully is looking like the only casualty in this mess.
“Shit,” Josh echoes. “Sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”
I look at the shattered glass screen. The phone itself still works, but I can hardly see past the cracks, and know one swipe across the screen to unlock it will result in a sliced-open finger. “I can take it in for a repair. There’s not an Apple store around here is there?”
“Hah. Funny. You’ll have to send it in.”
“That’s fine.”
“You need something in the meantime. It could take weeks before it comes back. Dakota, you broke Uncle Chase’s phone. You really need to listen and not climb on stuff.”
Dakota starts crying again, and maybe it’s because I’m not a parent but I want to just give in to her to make her stop. Crying makes me uncomfortable.
“There’s one place in town, and if I leave now I can get there before they close.”
“You really don’t have to. I can order a new one and—”
“You need a phone, and I know how long a brand-new phone can take to get here. Let me get you something in the meantime.”
“Fine,” I say, seeing how there’s no point in arguing. And I really don’t want to wait to have another phone. What the hell did people do for entertainment before smartphones? We leave together, driving into town. An hour later, we’re leaving with an iPhone. It’s secondhand, but it’s the best the little phone service store had to offer and will be fine for the time being. Being assigned a new number was a little surreal. Seeing the area code for Summer Hill feels almost like a trap. Since it’s getting late, Josh drops me off and heads home to get Dakota in bed.
With the sun sinking low in the sky, the air begins to cool. I pick up the rest of the broken bookshelf and then sit at the kitchen table to set up the phone. It was activated at the store, and the guy told me I should probably switch to this network provider anyway since they had better service here than what I was previously using.
I run into an issue when I go to set up the voicemail, and discover that the mailbox is nearly full. The first message is from over a year ago, and all the messages are from the same number. The phone has sat in the shop for months, or so I was told. And no one thought to do a factory reset?
I roll my eyes and wonder if I can easily recover deleted photos since whoever took this to resell obviously didn’t know to clear out the voicemail box. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I hit play on the first message.
“Jake.” The voice is female, and she doesn’t say the name. She breathes it. “A strange thing happened today. I saw an infomercial for cat shelves you put by your window. Someone stole my idea. I knew you’d get a kick out of it, and I wanted to tell you. I picked up the phone and everything. Then I remembered…I remembered that…you’re…that you’re dead.”
Whoa. I was not expecting that.
“That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud,” the woman whispers, voice full of emotion. “I miss you.”
Too intrigued, I listen to the next message, which was left just a day after the first one.
“Calling you makes it feel like you’re still alive,” the woman says, and the sadness in her voice pulls on my heart. “It’s like you’re away at work and you’ll listen to this message when you’re done with your shift. Like we’re only one call away from talking to each other. I keep waiting for you to call me back. It’s been a month, and I keep looking at my phone hoping to see your name. I don’t know when that will go away. I don’t want it to go away. I just want you back. I want us back. I miss you, and I love you. Always.”