When I'm Gone: A Novel (8 page)

Luke was about to grab the phone again when his bedroom door swung open. Clayton, blurry-eyed and disheveled, squinted against the light.

“Hey, buddy, whatcha doing? It’s almost . . .” He glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand, but it blinked 12:00 from a random blackout over a week before. He’d never reset it. What did a three-year-old know about time anyway? “It’s really, really late, buddy. Do you need a drink? To go potty?”

Clayton hoisted his tattered baby blanket over his shoulder. “I need Mommy.” He stuck the tip of his forefinger into his mouth. He looked so tiny standing across the room, his head barely up to the doorknob of the bedroom door. Luke put out his arms and waved his son toward him.

“I know, buddy.” Clayton crawled up on Luke’s lap, curling up into a ball like a little lapdog. Luke kissed the crown of his head, surprised he still smelled a little of Annie’s perfume. “I miss Mommy too. But we have each other. You can sleep in here tonight if you want.”

Clayton gasped and yanked his finger out of his mouth.
“Mommy!”
He lunged across the bed, wrapping his wet fingers around the blue cover of his mom’s phone. “I found Mommy.” He expertly flipped through the app icons, tapped the video application, and searched through the videos Luke still didn’t have the heart to watch.

So, now Clayton’s mommy was a phone. When her voice came across the speakers, Luke tried not to look as he crushed the pause button glowing on the screen.

“I’m sorry I took the phone. Do you want to keep it in your bed?”

Clayton nodded. “I want to sleep with Mommy tonight.”

“That’s fine; you can sleep with the phone.”
That phone is not your mom,
Luke wanted to say. He had a real mom, with flesh and blood and a heartbeat he could feel and hear. A heart he grew under for nine months. A body that fed him for another ten. Arms that held him for three years. How did he forget? How could he think this piece of technology could replace his mother?

Luke didn’t say anything. He carried Clayton back to bed, tucked him under his pirate sheets, and kissed his forehead before hitting play and running out the door. When he guided the door to a quiet click, he could hear Natalie reading
Goodnight Moon
and Clayton sleepily repeating the words like they used to do when she was alive.

He shook his head; he wasn’t angry with Clayton. That child knew who his mother was, and thanks to Natalie’s recordings, he’d have some special memories of her even as his real ones started to fade with age. He
was
angry though with Natalie and those letters, for making him doubt her in a way he’d never doubted her when she was alive.

Luke didn’t care how late it was; he had to take some time to think. In the corner lay an uneven pile of dirty clothes he’d been putting off washing. Rummaging through the heap, he found a pair of shorts and an old Michigan T-shirt. Within minutes he was in the basement, colder than the rest of the house by at least ten degrees. Almost sick with anticipation, Luke rushed through the ritual of wrapping his hands, forgetting to count how many times he circled his hands with the cotton strips, not caring that he could barely feel his fingers.

Right now he needed two things—to hit the bag hanging in the corner and to think. As soon as he tore the last bit of tape with his teeth, Luke lunged across the room, landing a blow in the center of the heavy maroon punching bag. Jogging back and forth, he hit again, and again, losing himself to the rhythm of the routine. Sweat gathered on his forehead and soaked his hair as if he’d just taken a shower. Each blow he landed sent drops of perspiration flying through the unfinished storage room.

When his lungs burned and he could no longer feel his hands, Luke stepped back from the bag with a little clarity. Wiping his face with the towel hanging from one of the pipes in the ceiling, he knew what he had to do. Even if his fears were irrational, even if he was jumping to conclusions, he needed to know what Natalie was hiding about Dr. Neal. If anyone would know Natalie’s secrets, it was Annie.

CHAPTER 8

By the time Luke unwrapped the sweat-drenched bands from his hands, he had a firm, simple plan for the morning. Basically he’d rap on Annie’s front door and ask, or demand, anything she knew about Dr. Neal.

But in reality, as soon as Annie appeared from behind her door the next morning, he lost his nerve. There was a part of him ashamed he could be suspicious of Natalie. She’d never given him any reason to doubt her while she was alive. Then there was another part of him, a small but significant part, that worried he’d been made to look the fool.

Not sure how to bring up such a sensitive topic, Luke avoided his plan altogether, walking around in a fog, grouchy and preoccupied.

Yet he had to do something. He considered calling Dr. Neal’s number, the one that seemed to mock him every time he opened the phone. Or he could use his advanced tech skills and try to get access to the deleted texts on the phone. Or he could go to dinner with Annie and Brian like Annie had begged him to do for a week. There, he could find an opportunity to ask some of the questions he needed answers to. Dinner seemed like the least insane of the options.

Luke smelled of cologne and was wearing a pair of jeans with a belt. He balanced on a wobbly barstool in a somewhat seedy bar while Jessie was at home with the kids. Will was technically old enough to watch May and Clayton, but Luke never felt comfortable leaving him with them for very long, at least when bedtime was an issue. Clayton and May gave Luke a hard enough time going to bed every night; he wasn’t going to make his fourteen-year-old son take over that responsibility. He’d rather pay Jessie to do it. Maybe he should pay her to do it every night?

He took another swig of his beer, wondering if it was the alcohol or the silence helping him relax. He didn’t drink often, always afraid he would follow his father down that slippery slope, but tonight he thought it was a good risk to take. Somewhere between the beer and pure desperation, he hoped to finally find the courage to talk to Annie about Natalie’s professor.

Luke was there early, waiting for the Gurrellas at the bar. He watched Annie’s face as she walked in the door and noticed Jose and Tanner, cops about ten years Brian’s junior, hanging out at a table with two pitchers of beer and a plate of wings. She dropped Brian’s hand and pulled off her plum-colored winter coat. She was wearing a black skirt and gauzy white top that plunged in the front and was tucked in at the waist. When Brian went over to see his friends before meeting Luke at the bar, she seemed disappointed but not surprised.

“Hey!” Annie called across the bar after hanging up her coat next to Brian’s on the coatrack. Luke returned the gesture as she headed toward the stool beside him. In his past life, Luke would be with Brian playing Golden Tee with Jose and Tanner from the station, while Annie and Natalie caught up over a few drinks. But tonight he wasn’t there for guy time; he was there to talk to Annie. She sat down beside him, bumping shoulders.

“Hey there.” She smiled before dragging a coaster in front of her and signaling to the bartender. “I’m glad you came out with us tonight.”

“Yeah, it feels strange. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“I think it’s more like we’re the tagalongs here.” She tipped her head toward Brian, Tanner, and Jose, who were harassing each other over the video game.

The bartender made his way across the bar to Annie. He wore a tight black shirt with his sleeves rolled up unnecessarily high, showing off his biceps. Luke thought he came off as trying a little too hard, but maybe that’s how he got good tips. When he rested his eyes on Annie, the man flexed his pecs noticeably. Luke rolled his eyes.

“How can I help you?” the bartender asked, deepening his voice a fraction.

“Just a Diet Coke, please.” Annie didn’t seem to notice the bartender’s attentions. She tapped her fingers on the lacquered wood of the bar.

“You want me to slip a little rum in that Diet Coke?” The bartender wiggled his eyebrows.

“Uh, no, thank you. Designated driver.” She reached across Luke and grabbed the dark-brown bottle from the coaster in front of him, put it to her mouth, and took two long swigs before smacking her lips and replacing it. Luke used to watch Natalie and Annie share drinks. But he was not Natalie. Sometimes Luke wondered if Annie remembered that.

The bartender gave a hearty laugh. “I don’t think that’s how being a designated driver works, but, okay. Diet Coke it is.” He placed the drink in front of Annie and dropped a clear straw in her drink. “My name’s Mick. Call me if you want something stronger.”

“Thanks.” Annie took a long sip from her own drink before turning to face Luke, ignoring Mick completely. “So. How’re things going? You guys like Jessie?”

Luke nodded. “She’s a quirky one. A few days ago I came home to May singing ‘It’s the Hard Knock Life’ while mopping the kitchen floor. Jessie was directing her while singing along. Both were so off-key I’m sure dogs were howling.”

“Oh my. I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Yeah, it was the least effective floor mopping I’ve ever seen, but May was glowing. Honestly”—Luke took a quick sip of his beer, running through Natalie’s description of Jessie in his mind—“she’s not exactly what I was expecting; sometimes she seems to live in a Broadway fantasy world. But the kids love her, even Will. Do you know Will does his homework every night now?”

Annie swirled the ice around with her straw. “Really? That’s great.”

“Yup, and I don’t even have to nag him to do it. It’s done by the time I get home.”

“He seemed almost happy when we texted last week. I was starting to think you’d finally taken him to a therapist or something.” She bumped Luke’s shoulder again. She’d been bugging Luke to take the kids to a counselor ever since it became apparent that Natalie wasn’t going to get better.

“Well, if the therapist’s name is Jessie, then yes, you were right.” He shifted in his seat again, the uneven legs making a ticking sound as they bounced off the waxed tile floor. “Actually I have an appointment for him next week.”

“You do? Good for you. You’re a good daddy.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” He couldn’t help but smile a little. It felt strange on his face and reminded him of why he was really there. Luke checked on Brian. He was still playing video games and refilling his second or third mug with beer. “Listen”—Luke lowered his voice—“I need to talk to you about something.”

Annie tilted her head and leaned it against her fist, all hints of amusement gone from her face. “What’s up?”

The nervousness returned. Why did he think this was a useful idea? He took another sip of his beer, hoping the alcohol would do its job and make him a little less inhibited. But when he put the bottle down and looked up and met Annie’s soft green eyes, the words he’d planned out so carefully disappeared. He glanced away, focusing on a long line of flavored syrups with gold pumps sticking out the top. If he didn’t look right at her, he might be able to get the words out.

“Did Natalie ever mention a guy named Dr. Neal to you? Her professor or something?” He said it quickly and picked at the corner of the yellow and gold label on his beer instead of meeting her gaze again.

“Hmm. Dr. Neal?” Annie tapped her teeth like she did when she was thinking.

Luke got up the nerve to look at her again. Thankfully she was staring up at the ceiling, like the dingy yellow tiles held the answer to his question. She kept tapping her teeth nervously. “I don’t remember a Dr. Neal. I do remember a Pastor Neal though.”

“Pastor Neal?” A piece of the label ripped off in Luke’s fingertips, sticking under his nail. He shook it on the floor. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m positive. I swear Nat said he was a pastor.” Annie ran a hand through her short blonde bob. “I came over one morning and he was there, sitting by her bed. She introduced us.”

“He was in my house?” Luke choked mid-drink and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before continuing. “You met him?”

“I did.” Annie patted his back as he gave one more cough. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Luke opened his mouth to answer but didn’t know what to say. What was wrong? What could he say that wouldn’t sound paranoid and disloyal to his wife and Annie’s best friend? This man had been in his house when he wasn’t home, a man he’d never met, a man his wife had never mentioned . . . till now. A man who kept turning up everywhere he looked.

Luke dropped his face into his hands, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Annie’s pats turned into large circles on his back.

“Oh, Luke, I’m sorry. This was too soon.”

“No. It’s not that.” He wiped his fingers around the edges of his eyes to catch any escaping moisture. “It’s the beer. I think it’s making me emotional.”

“What has you all worried about this Neal guy?” Annie settled back on her stool, staring at the side of Luke’s face.

He finished off the last few drops of beer in his bottle, putting the empty on the coaster in front of him. “His number was in Nat’s phone. I’d never heard of him before, but then there was this letter . . .”

Annie shook her head like she was editing herself. “Fine.” She held out her hands. “So, what did she say to freak you out like this?”

Luke didn’t know how to explain it. There was nothing specific in her letter or even in her phone that made him concerned. It was more the lack of something.

“Nothing really. He helped her out of a bad situation at school. The thing is, Natalie and I didn’t keep secrets from each other, and I thought she didn’t keep secrets from you. Look, she even lied about who he was when you met him. Why would she do that?”

Annie spun the straw around in her drink—no quick answer or pat on the back this time. The ice clinked against the glass, loud in the silence between them.

“Okay, I don’t have an answer for that one. But come on, Luke, don’t be an idiot.” She placed her hand on his crossed arm, fingers cold from holding the frosty glass. “Natalie loved you. She’d never do anything to hurt you. What? Do you think they were having an”—she paused and looked around to make sure no one was listening before whispering—
“affair?”

The word made a heavy, nauseous feeling settle in his chest. Did he think Natalie had had a real-life affair with this man? It was almost impossible trying to imagine her sneaking around to sleep with another man. But it didn’t matter; their mystery connection made him feel almost as uncomfortable as the idea of an intimate connection.

“I don’t really know
what
to think. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Annie put her hand on his forearm. He stared at her long thin fingers, nails painted a delicate shade of pink. They were nothing like Natalie’s, but somehow it gave him a similar kind of comfort.

“Think about it this way—when would she even have had time to have an affair? She was too busy with you and the kids and school and, oh, I don’t know, maybe . . .
cancer
.”

Annie was right. How was he worried that Natalie was having an affair when she was weak, nauseous, bald, and living each day scared of dying? The situation suddenly struck him as ludicrous. “Oh, I’m such an asshole.” He shook his head, half laughing. “Okay, I needed to hear that, Annie.”

“Well, if you liked it
that
much, next time I can slap you.” She smacked his forearm hard enough to sting.

“Ouch!”

“Come on; you deserved it.”

“Fine.” He laughed. “I deserved it. Now unless you intend to get violent again, I’m going to use the restroom.” He stood, letting her hand fall off his arm but caught it in his before it hit her leg. “Thank you for always knowing the right thing to say.”

“It’s not hard; I just tell the truth.” She gave his hand a squeeze and let go. “You want another?” she asked, tipping her head toward his empty beer bottle.

“I’m driving so I’d better not.”

“I’m not drinking tonight so others may enjoy themselves more thoroughly,” she proclaimed and gave a semibow, laughing. “Don’t let me waste all that on Brian. I’ll take you home, and we can grab your car in the morning.”

Luke bounced the idea around in his mind. He
was
feeling looser.

“All right, one more.” Luke held up his index finger, heading to the rear of the bar, where a glowing red sign blinked
R
ESTROOMS
. Pushing past a swinging door, he flicked on the cold water and threw some on his face. The chill of the water stung his skin and gave him a slight brain freeze but also felt so refreshing. Three handfuls later, he ran his wet fingers through his hair. It was getting longer than he was used to, but a haircut was one of the least important things on his to-do list.

Between his hair and the fluorescent lights, Luke was surprised at how old he looked. His irises were vividly blue, but that was only because the bloodshot whites of his eyes made them stand out. His perma-stubble was so light he wasn’t sure if it was blond or white. But it was the circles under his eyes that made him look hollow and old. Natalie wouldn’t even recognize him.

He missed her so much it hurt. Two days without reading her letters, and she seemed farther away than ever. Yanking seven or eight paper towels from the dispenser, Luke dried his face, dumped them into the garbage, and then stared at his reflection. Annie was right—he was being an idiot. Forget the beer sitting on the bar waiting for him; he needed to go home, open Natalie’s most recent letters, and bring her back to him.