The Other Side(58)
It should’ve been you.
Yes. It should’ve been me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Present, May 1987
Toby
“Toby’s here if you need anything, Grandma. I’m going to work, but you get some sleep and I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.” The words are hushed. Chantal’s talking in the soothing voice she usually only uses on Joey. That means Mrs. Bennett’s having a really bad day.
When Chantal walks out of the bedroom the sadness in her expression hardens to the stoic mask she puts on for the rest of the world. She’s wearing her uniform and I can’t help but notice that her name tag is upside down. Much like her life. Gathering her coat and purse, she doesn’t meet my eyes but talks quietly to give me the babysitting rundown. “Grandma’s having a bad day. She should be asleep any minute.”
“Has she eaten dinner?” I ask because she’s always finishing up when I get here. Mrs. Bennett is a creature of habit and follows a routine down to the minute.
Slipping into her coat and throwing the strap of her purse haphazardly on her shoulder, she answers distractedly, “Yeah, an hour ago.” She looks like she has a million different things on her mind.
Walking to the playpen in the corner next to the TV, she bends over and kisses Joey on the top of his curly head. He’s sitting up by himself, that’s new and I can’t help commenting on it. “He’s sitting.”
She straightens and repositions the purse strap that’s slipped down to the crook of her elbow back up to her shoulder. “Yesterday.” A wistful smile bullies its way through every other emotion and comes out on top. The oversaturation of warring emotions tamps it down, but it’s there.
I nod.
“I’d better get going. I’ll see you around eleven. I’ll be home a little early, I need to talk to you.”
I nod again and when she’s in the hall and the door’s almost shut behind her, I call out, “Name tag,” loud enough that she’ll hear me. Because everyone at work doesn’t need to know where her head’s at. Hopefully escaping this apartment for a few hours will allow her to clear it a little.
Dropping my backpack next to the couch, I walk over to Joey in the playpen. I know it’s a necessity to safely contain him when Chantal needs a few minutes to take care of her grandma, but I hate seeing him in it even when he looks content like he does now chewing on the slobbery trunk of a stuffed elephant. He looks up at me expectantly with his big eyes that darken by the week. Before I can lean over to pick him up, he does something he’s never done before. He reaches for me, arms extended and little chubby fingers flexing in anticipation. He only does this to Chantal. The gesture makes me freeze bent at the waist and I can’t help but smile.
Yes, smile.
And then I pick him up and hold him high above my head. He squeals in delight like he does every time I do this, but this time it’s followed by a giggle. That’s new too. I’ve never heard him giggle like this and it’s the type of sound that demands voluntary, even enthused, reciprocation. Before I know it, I’m laughing with him.
Yes, laughing.
It’s not until I lower him against my chest that it hits me how natural the laughter felt at the onset but how it felt equally as foreign. Almost like we’re both laughing for the first time in our lives. And as it fades, I just feel hollow again.
Before I sit down with him, I walk to Mrs. Bennett’s bedroom door and peek in to make sure she’s fallen asleep. She hasn’t. Her twin bed is parallel to the door, and she’s lying on her side looking at me like she’s heard us laughing and it made her happy.
“Come in,” she says, sweetly.
I take a few steps inside the doorway and squat down so I’m eye level with her.
She reaches out and strokes Joey’s cheek with a shaky hand. “I love the way you’ve always been able to make her laugh, Irvin.” Her milky eyes shift to mine, and even in the darkness of the room, I can see the innocent distance in her stare. She’s not living in the here and now, she’s lost in her mind, in a distant past that she retreats to more and more.
I can hear Chantal’s instructions in my head telling me to correct her and try to bring her back to the present, but like every other time, I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Do you remember when I was pregnant? I was so sure she was going to be a boy and you were so sure she was going to be a girl.”
When her faraway eyes flick to mine, I do the only thing I can do—nod.
The gesture makes her smile. “You were right. You were always right about everything, my love.” She pauses and I try to think of something to say, but she beats me to it. “I should get up and make you some breakfast so you can get to work.”
It’s my turn to pause because no matter how much I want her to have this necessary, self-created comfort, I don’t know if I can talk through the lump in my throat. She looks so frail today. Not only is the light draining out of her eyes, it’s draining out of the rest of her too. I know she won’t be around much longer. I clear my throat and adjust Joey to the opposite hip to stall.
When I finally speak, my voice cracks, “I already…ate.” The muscles in my jaw are tense, working stiffly against the tears sitting in the back of my throat.