See You at Harry's(32)

When Holden gets back, my dad decides to make us lunch after all, but we barely eat. We clean up, then sit on the couch again. Every so often, my dad goes upstairs to check on my mom or answer the doorbell to receive condolences from friends. But he doesn’t invite anyone in.

I wish my mom would come down and check on us. My dad keeps saying she’ll be down soon. But when?

I know it doesn’t make sense, but it feels like she disappeared with Charlie. And the more she stays up there, the more it feels like she isn’t coming back, either.

That night, Holden and Sara try to get me to come upstairs to go to sleep, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to feel the empty corner where Charlie used to lull me to sleep with his steady breathing.

My dad comes over and puts his hand on my head. “Come on up, honey. You shouldn’t stay alone down here again.”

“I’ll be OK,” I say quietly, staring at the firefighter.

He sighs in a worried way. “Just for tonight, then.”

“I’ll bring you a blanket and pillow,” Sara says.

Later, wrapped in the blanket in the big chair, I wait for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I reach down and pick up the firefighter and hold him close. I trace his plastic body with my finger. There are dried bits of something on his stomach, as if he had a messy meal. I imagine it was soggy Cheerios from Charlie’s fingers. But instead of disgusting me, I hold it against my heart and close my eyes so I can see Charlie. Charlie singing in the bathtub. Charlie banging his legs in his too-small high chair. Charlie pushing Doll in my face, insisting I give her a good-night kiss. Charlie.

Charlie.

Charlie.





THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up to the sound of coffee beans grinding. Sara, Holden, and my dad are already in the kitchen. My dad pours a tiny bit in a mug for me and fills the rest with milk, then lots of sugar. My mom doesn’t like it when I drink coffee, but my dad says it will grow hair on my chest. Charlie always thought that was so funny.

I put my cup down and glance over at the refrigerator. It’s covered with Charlie’s magnetic letters.

My dad clears his throat and looks at each of us. He opens his mouth, but it takes a long time for him to form any words. Finally, he says, “I’m going over to the restaurant today to talk to the staff. I — I’ll need them to help me make . . . Arrangements. Your mom. She can’t —” He grips his coffee cup. “Will you guys be OK if I leave?”

“Sure, Dad,” Sara says, putting her hand on his back.

I nod, looking inside my own cup.

He finishes his coffee and puts the mug in the sink. Then he hugs each of us. When he gets to me, his huge belly squishes against my chest. His plaid wool shirt scratches my face, and I close my eyes and try to hide in it. He squeezes me extra hard before he lets go, then leaves us in the kitchen.

Holden pulls out his phone as he walks out of the room. I turn to Sara, who glances over at the phone on the wall.

“There are so many people we’re going to have to tell,” she says. “I don’t know how that works. I can’t imagine any of us doing it, you know?”

I nod. “Maybe Mona could do it. We could give her Mom’s address book.”

“That’s a good idea. Let me see if I can catch Dad.” She runs outside to wave him down, leaving me alone. I walk over to the answering machine and stare at the flashing numbers showing all the messages we have. I remember helping Charlie record a new message just the other day. He made messages practically every week. Slowly, I press the PLAY button.

There’s a fumbling noise, then the faint sound of me whispering, “OK, now.”

And then Charlie in his little robot voice. “Hel-lo. Mom-my, Dad-dy, Sa-wuh, Hold-en, Fern, and Chah-lie ah not at home to take yo-uh call. Please leave a message, and we will call you back as soon as poss-ih-bull. Thank you. And see you at Hawee’s!”

I put my hand on the machine, as if I am touching Charlie. I lift it to my face. I play it again. “Hel-lo. Mom-my, Dad-dy, Sa-wuh, Hold-en, Fern, and Chah-lie ah not at home to take yo-uh call. Please leave a message, and we will call you back as soon as poss-ih-bull. Thank you. And see you at Hawee’s!” And again. “Hel-lo. Mom-my, Dad-dy, Sa-wuh, Hold-en, Fern, and Chah-lie ah not at home to take yo-uh call. Please leave a message, and we will call you back as soon as poss-ih-bull. Thank you. And see you at Hawee’s!”

His voice vibrates against my wet cheek as I play it over and over. Finally, I unplug the machine and carry it to the hall where my backpack is. I unzip my pack and hide the machine inside just as the front door opens. “Caught him,” Sara says, out of breath. “I’ll go get the book.”

When she comes back a second time, she tells me she’s going to try to get Mom up and out of bed. I want to tell her that shouldn’t be her job. I want to tell her I’m scared that it is. But I don’t say anything, because I think she already knows.

While Sara is upstairs, I slowly walk around the house, gathering up Charlie’s toys and things. I move his high chair into the kitchen closet and put his shoes and coat in the closet in the hall. I find whatever toys and books are lying around and put them all in the antique trunk we use to hide them in when guests come over. Each time I touch something of Charlie’s, I can see it in his small hands. I can see his beaming face looking up at me, begging me to play with him. And it hurts. It hurts so much. But I keep going.