When You Were Older (12 page)

‘That doesn’t sound like Ben.’

‘So I’m hearing. It may help to know that he just
finally
got it last night about our mom being gone for good.’

‘Oh. Poor Ben. I mean … poor you, too. My condolences about your mom. So …’

‘So. I just needed to come and tell you.’

‘Am I missing something?’ he asked. ‘Do you need my help with this in some way?’

‘No. I’m just telling you he isn’t coming in to work today.’

Amazingly, he continued to stare at me in obvious confusion. I almost said something short to him. I almost said, What part of this are you having trouble with? It seems straightforward to me.

‘Ben doesn’t work today,’ he said. ‘It’s his day off.’

I dropped my head back and looked up at the barely light sky.

‘Are you kidding me?’

‘He’s off Tuesdays and Wednesdays.’

‘And he doesn’t even know that?’

‘God’s honest truth? I don’t know what he knows. I just know he’s working out good here. I just know he shows up every Thursday through Monday, without fail, and never showed up on a day off yet. I don’t know if he knows it, but then he got upset and forgot, or if your mom used to keep his schedule for him.’

I brought my head down, and into the shelter of my hands.

‘You have no idea,’ I said, quietly, ‘how much I wish I knew where she kept the owner’s manual on him.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘Sorry to take your time for nothing.’

‘Oh, hell, don’t worry about that.’ Then, just as I was walking away, ‘Rusty.’

I stopped, and turned.

‘Russell. I go by Russell now.’

‘Russell. Sorry. I don’t really know you. But in another way I do. I mean, I sort of watched you grow up, but from a distance, you know? Anyway … if you don’t mind my asking … you going to put him in a home?’

‘No.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. No.’

‘Good for you.’ Just when I thought that would be all, he added, ‘Probably shouldn’t tell you this …’

But you will, I thought. And I was right. He did.

‘We were sort of … taking bets. Almost. Not that money changed hands or anything. But a lot of us figured you wouldn’t come back at all. Just make a phone call and get him put somewhere. But then we knew you’d have to come back for your mom’s funeral, so that was a stupid thought. So most of us figured you’d come home for maybe five days and get him put somewhere. Can’t recall that anybody thought you’d come back and really take care of him. That can’t be easy.’

‘It’s not.’

‘I can imagine. Anyway. My point is … I didn’t know you well enough to judge you, I guess none of us did.
And
we obviously got it wrong. So, sorry about that.’

I examined the inside of myself for a moment to see if it was worth being offended. It felt like too much trouble.

‘Oh, hell,’ I said. ‘I’d probably have bet against me, too.’

He smiled. And that was my chance to break free. But I didn’t. I walked closer to where he stood, still framed in the sliding door of the market.

‘Let me ask
you
a question,’ I said. ‘Ever patronize the bakery?’

‘I don’t, no.’

‘Any special reason?’

‘Gluten allergy.’

‘Ah. Good reason. Still, you could do me a favor. You see a lot of people every day in your work. So if you could encourage anybody to go back in, that would be great. The El Sayeds are hurting. Think how you’d be hurting if practically nobody came in your store for a week. And no end in sight …’

‘I know, huh? And just because they’re Arab.’

‘They’re Egyptian.’

‘Oh. Middle Eastern. Middle Eastern, I guess I meant.’

‘I better get back to Ben. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to be leaving him alone. I don’t know if my mom left him by himself. I don’t know …’

‘Good luck finding that manual.’

And he laughed. Even though we both knew it wasn’t funny.

I think we also both knew I’d end up writing my own from scratch.

Driving by the bakery, I couldn’t help looking into the glow of the kitchen. I saw a figure cross by the window. It was not Nazir. It was Anat.

My foot hit the brake as if of its own accord, and the tires skidded slightly.

By the time I’d managed to pull up to the curb, my heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst free. And not in a good way. I couldn’t breathe, which didn’t help. And I thought, Why doesn’t love feel good? Why does it make you feel like you’re about to die? Why doesn’t it make you feel like you’re about to live?

My thighs felt trembly, and barely got me to the door.

It was open, so I stuck my head in.

‘Have I got my days mixed up?’ I asked, wondering if I sounded as breathless as I felt.

She looked up, and her face lit up to see me. And that made it all worse, though in a wonderful way. But the heart rate, the breathing, the standing up straight or lack of same. Worse.

‘I don’t know, Ben’s brother. I give up. What day do you think it is?’

I stepped inside, feeling like I was walking in a dream again. Or still. Had I ever wakened up in-between? I wasn’t sure.

‘I think it’s Tuesday. And I think your father told me you’re off on Tuesday.’

‘Normally, yes. Normally I would be off. But he wasn’t feeling well last night and this morning. What would you like? He says your money is no good here, so whatever you like. He specifically said that, just as I was leaving. Whatever you eat here, there’s no change. He told me what you did to help him. So what will you have?’

I dream-stepped up to the dream counter.

‘What’s still warm?’

‘I just finished the chocolate glazed.’

‘Sold.’

I leaned on the counter and watched her choose one for me. I tried to look casual, as if leaning was the thing to do. Not as if I might topple otherwise.

‘So, is he OK, your father?’

‘Oh, I think so. I think he just takes everything too hard. Too seriously. Like he can’t let things roll off his back. You know what I mean? And so the stress takes a toll on him. I don’t mean to make light of the situation, because he really is worried about money. But he’s just so … I can’t quite get the word, but he’s more of it than he needs to be.’

‘Intense?’

‘Yes. There you go. He’s too intense.’

She brought me the donut, careful not to look into my eyes. Or, anyway, that was my observation. And though I was definitely the sort to doubt myself, some inner knowing-place observed this with unshakable confidence. It felt strange to know anything for sure again.

And something else came clear to me in that moment: why I’d been a little afraid to see Nazir. It wasn’t his protectiveness toward his daughter, or even his extreme candor on that subject. It was even simpler. He was unable to deal with his stress. And I’d been taking on that stress when I was with him.

I took a deep breath and sat down with my donut, grateful for the clarity.

‘Lot of that going around,’ I said. ‘Ben thinks he’s sick today, too. Last night he seemed to have a sort of breakthrough. Figuring out that our mom isn’t coming back. So today he has a stomach ache. But I suspect stress.’ I lifted the still-hot donut to my mouth. And then it hit me. ‘Oh, crap. I can’t sit here and have a donut. I left him alone. I’m not even sure if it’s OK to leave him alone.’

‘No problem,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll wrap it up to go. Get some coffee, and I’ll bring you a lid for the cup, and give me the donut back, and I’ll wrap it all up to go.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, wondering if I was successfully disguising my disappointment. Here I was about to sit down, unexpectedly, and enjoy a stolen morning with Anat. And now I could feel the expectation of that pleasure pulling out of me, leaving an empty, deflated space in my chest.

I felt like saying, This is so not fair. But that would made me sound more childlike than Ben.

I gave her back the donut.

‘I’m wrapping a jelly-filled for Ben. You tell him it’s
from
Anat. Will you? Tell him I hope he feels better soon.’

‘I will,’ I said, making myself a coffee to go and feeling sulky.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said. ‘Will you look at that? We have a customer. And it isn’t even you!’

I looked up to see McCaskill come through the front door.

‘You open?’ he asked.

Then he noticed me, and nodded at me, and I nodded back. It was a good moment.

‘Open enough,’ she said.

‘Sorry I never come in,’ he said, ‘but I’m allergic.’

‘Gluten?’

‘Yeah. Gluten.’

‘I used to make gluten-free bread, but I stopped, because not enough people were buying it.’

‘I’d buy it.’

‘Good. I’ll make some any day, if you say you’ll be by to get it.’

‘OK. Maybe I will. Thanks. For now, how bout you pick me out a dozen donuts. Just a nice assortment – you pick. Thought I’d put some in the employee break room this morning. Everybody’s been feeling down lately, you know. Been a tough time. It’ll be a treat for them.’

‘What a nice idea,’ I said.

And I made my way to the counter to pick up my to-go bag.

‘Here, for you and Ben,’ she said, as she handed it over. ‘Don’t forget to tell him Anat says get well soon.’

As I took it from her, my hand touched hers. And, in that split second, we looked into each other’s eyes. And I knew. I knew she felt the same.

But I couldn’t hang around and express what I knew. I had to put the whole incredible moment on hold until that ‘next lifetime’ of tomorrow morning.

So much was out of my control. Had so much of my life always been out of my control? I couldn’t recall. I could no longer connect with what my life had used to be. That was so long ago. It was … I did the math in my head. The tenth of September was ‘before’, and that had been … eight days ago.

It was all so impossible that I couldn’t think about it any more. I had to file it away under Things That Might Make Sense Later. At that moment, it sure as hell made no sense.

I still wasn’t breathing normally when I got back. Oh, I’m sure it looked and sounded normal. But it was conscious. Not reflexive. The slightest distraction, and I’d just stop breathing. Or, anyway, that’s how it felt.

Ben was in bed, right where I’d left him. Thank God.

‘How’s your stomach?’

‘Bad.’

‘Oh. Too bad. Anat sent you a jelly donut.’

Ben sat straight up in bed.

‘I could eat a jelly donut.’

‘You sure it won’t hurt your stomach?’

‘I don’t think it was my stomach. I think it was more my head.’

‘But not like a concussion.’

‘No. Not like that.’

‘Well, you better come to the table for this,’ I said, unwrapping the donuts.

‘Why can’t I eat it in bed?’

‘Because it has jelly that squishes out when you bite it, and it’s all covered in powdered sugar.’

‘I’m getting up,’ he said.

He dragged his long, only partially responsive legs to the table, still in his flannel pajamas. I put our donuts on plates and set them on the table. Ben bit his donut hard, and directly, squirting jelly out on to his plate. And the table.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Never mind. I’ll wipe it up later. So. Listen. Tell me something, Buddy. Do you know which days are your days off from work?’

‘You mean when I don’t go in?’

‘Right.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Which ones?’

‘The ones when I have to make my own cereal because Mom’s getting ready to drive me to work are the days I go in. The ones when she makes me pancakes and goes back to bed are the days I don’t.’

I sighed, and took a bite of my chocolate donut. It
was
still slightly warm, and made me think of Anat. Then again, what didn’t?

‘Got it. So I need to keep your schedule. That’s another page for my manual.’

‘What is that? What you just said?’

‘A manual? It’s like a book you use to figure out how something is done.’

‘I could use that,’ he said.

‘We all could. Oh, and I forgot. When she gave you that donut, Anat said to tell you to get well soon.’

He looked up at me. Right into my eyes. For the first time since I’d been back. It startled me. I thought he never looked into anybody’s eyes.

‘You like her!’ he said. Loudly. Strongly. A sort of proud accusation.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because you do!’

‘But why did you say it?’

‘Because it’s true!’

‘Let’s try this another way, Buddy. How do you know?’

‘It’s right there,’ he said.

And he pointed, with two fingers of his right hand. Two powdered sugar-covered fingers, pointing right at my two eyes.

If I’d had any doubt at all that Ben’s health problems stemmed from missing our mom, his temper tantrum at dinner would have cleared things up.

I’d thawed and heated up a lasagna I found in the
freezer,
and I was just cutting it when I looked up to see him standing in the kitchen doorway.

‘I want that macaroni and cheese you make from a box,’ he said.

‘Well, we’re having this,’ I said.

‘But I want that.’

‘I’ll make it tomorrow, then.’

‘Mom always makes me macaroni and cheese when I ask for it.’

So, there you have it. That’s simple enough.

‘Maybe because you told her in time, and she hadn’t already gone to the trouble to make something else.’

‘No. Always. If I ask.’

I doubted that. Having known my mom. But I didn’t say so.

‘Well, I’m not Mom.’

I more or less knew that would set him off. But it needed to be said.

He said nothing, but his face twisted, and he launched into his box-pacing, his hands clenched into fists and pounding at his hips, angry tears leaking.

I tried an experiment.

I sat down on the kitchen floor and acted out my frustration in a very big way. Highly visible. And audible. I put my head in my hands. I made a strangled sound in my throat. It had worked once. Maybe it was a key.

No response from Ben.

So I cried.

Not literally. I hate to have to say I faked it. But it was something like that. I made a show of crying.

A second or two later Ben plunked on to the kitchen linoleum beside me and draped an arm over my shoulder.