Me: I’m fine. She just seemed a little strange.
Casey: She IS a little strange.
Me: You’re funny. How’s it going? Troy make it in?
Casey: Yep. He’s already running the place and I haven’t even hired him yet. What are you doing?
Me: Going to the store. Doing laundry.
Casey: Don’t overdo it. I can go to the store if you tell me what we need.
I thought about telling him I needed tampons and other unmentionables, but decided to go easy on him. Then I smiled knowing there would come a time when I’d thoroughly enjoy seeing his reaction to such requests. He’d undoubtedly say yes, but I’d want to see his face.
Me: I won’t overdo anything. I feel fine.
Casey: Did you call your brother?
Man. Those two were a pair. It was a double-edged sword having my brother, Reggie, and Casey becoming friends. Since Reggie returned to Chicago last week, they were in—what seemed like—constant communication. I’d call him, but I could just about predict the whole conversation.
He’d ask how I was feeling. I’d ask if he’d talked to Nora lately. I’d say fine; he’d say no. He’d ask me if I’d remembered anything about that night—again. Same as every time we spoke.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Reggie. I wasn’t intentionally avoiding him—okay, I was. I didn’t want to talk about it. That night. And he was relentless. I might be a practiced liar, but I was never good at it. Changing the subject and saying things were still fuzzy wasn’t going to last long with him.
Just like when he witnessed Casey and me at the airport and made me spill my guts, he wouldn’t give up until he knew.
Me: I’m about to.
Casey: Good. He’s cool and all, but that dude can be scary.
Me: Please. He’s harmless.
I grinned at my phone. I was a lucky girl to have so many people who cared about me. It was a small thing, but if my calling gave them peace of mind, it was the least I could do.
Before my eyes, my family was naturally becoming his. Or, rather, our two families were blending into one. Just like a we and an us should.
Monday, June 14, 2010
“YEAH, SHE’S DOING CONSIDERABLY better. Thanks for asking,” I assured Nora from behind my desk. Calling her from the waiting room in the hospital last week had been a weak moment. We hadn’t spoken much over the past year, until that night. Now she was calling almost every day to see how my little sister was doing. The sound of her voice was calming, and in those minutes, the repetitive chatter inside my head muted. She’d always had that effect on me.
Clarity.
“Good, so how are you?” she asked.
That was a loaded fucking question.
How was I?
I was focused. I was driven. I wasn’t about to let myself fall back into the fantasy that I could have it all, because I couldn’t. We both knew how this would end. If you could even call it an end. It never really began. Unless you call a few hot nights with a woman who doesn’t understand the concept of monogamy, the beginning of anything—other than a huge pain in the ass.
That wasn’t totally fair. We had a friendship too, but that wasn’t enough. Not for me.
“You know me. I’m good.” What I wanted to ask her was how is whoever they are keeping your bed warm at night? But I knew it wasn’t worth the effort asking for two reasons: She wouldn’t tell me, and she never let anyone stay long enough for the sheets to get warm.
“Well, I’m glad everything is working out. They’ve had a rough road.”
I must have missed that it was Understatement Day on my calendar. The messed-up part was even though we were only making small talk, only approaching un-touchy subjects, it made me feel better knowing she was there. Still. After all this time. I may never know completely what her feelings for me were, but it was undeniable she had them. It was a huge fucking shame we could never agree about certain fundamental ideas on relationships.
Like I wanted her to be mine and she didn’t understand the concept.
My phone beeped indicating I had another call coming in. Blake. Of all the times for her to call me back, she picked now.
Lovely.
“Listen, are you going to be around for a little while?” I stood and looked out into the city. From the fifty-fifth floor I could see everything.
“What’s a little while?”
“Ten minutes? My sister’s calling,” I replied, trying my damnedest not to be compulsive. Not to count. Not to tell her to wait.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll call you back in ten minutes, Nora. If you can’t talk, don’t answer. It’s that simple.” I hated speaking to her like that. I missed the times when things were easier. When we’d chat on the phone, or have dinner, or share a drink after work … before the arbitrary lines she’d drawn had been crossed.
“Bye, Reggie.” She hung up. She never was one for fighting back. Why would she? Bottom line: she didn’t need me.
“Hello,” I answered with a bit of forced cheerfulness as I switched lines.
“Hello to you,” Blake said.
She sounded infinitely better than she had on Saturday. I had no doubt in my mind Casey was taking care of her. Watching him go through hell, like the rest of us, waiting for her to wake up in the hospital, only proved one thing. He loved the fuck out of her. And, beyond that, I knew the rest was just semantics.
“How are you doing today?”
“Better. I’m about to go to the store.”
That was a pleasant surprise. I never wanted to see her the way we’d found her that night again. Beaten. Battered. Broken.
“By yourself?”
“Yeah, all by myself. I’m driving a car, and I even have my own money.” And there was her sarcasm. She was back to being a little shit again. The return of her gusto was welcome.
She’d changed a lot since the beginning of the year, and seeing some of that fight return was definitely a great thing. It was especially good, because I had some news she probably wasn’t going to like. She’d need that fight.
“Well, before you head out, we need to talk.”
I looked at my watch. Eight minutes to call Nora.
“About what, Reggie? I’ve told you I can’t really remember anything,” she recited for exactly the thirtieth time in the past week.
I stopped her before she could finish. “I didn’t want to say anything to Casey, but you know my friend Paul, the cop?”
“Yeah.”
“He called me yesterday. He heard at the station that Grant changed his story. Since he’s looking at a pretty steep fine, probably even a little jail time for the stunt with the gun, he’s looking for a way out. Paul says Grant’s claiming Casey did that to you and that’s why he had his gun drawn. To protect himself and you.”
“No. That’s not true,” she snapped, almost shouting.
“I know it’s not true, because I rode over there with Casey. I told Paul that, but Blake, if you can’t remember, it’s just his word against ours. He’s saying it to get himself out of trouble. If they have a reason to believe he was acting in self-defense, they might drop some of the charges.”
“He can’t do that. Casey didn’t hurt me. Grant did.”