“I’m always alone with my thoughts, they never leave me.”
“I know, but that place is different. You’re separated from any distractions. You have your writing to focus on now, and you’re getting to spend more time with Shaun, and I think it’s an overload.”
“I like writing, I love being with Shaun.”
“I know you do, but this is the first time since Elle that you’ve had a chance to slow down and realize where you’re at. For fuck’s sake, man, you’re a single father of a child with special needs who lost his wife—you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed sometimes.”
“But it’s more than that,” Evan said, turning away from Shaun’s room. “I feel like I’m losing it sometimes.” It was as close as he could get to the truth.
“And that’s perfectly natural. I don’t know if you’ve allowed yourself the time to actually grieve.”
“I grieve every day,” Evan said. “There’s not a moment that goes by that I don’t miss her and regret the day of our accident. If I could go back and stop myself from suggesting we go see that movie, we would’ve never been there at that intersection and Shaun would be fine.”
“You can’t do that to yourself, there’s no way you could’ve known about the accident or Elle’s cancer.”
Feeling deflated, Evan sank into the sofa, unconsciously checking the basement door’s reflection in the blank TV screen. “I know, it’s ...”
“It isn’t fucking fair, that’s what it is,” Jason finished for him. “I’m sorry, man, about everything, but I think a few months to decompress would be good for you, give your mind a chance to recoup some lost ground.”
Evan smiled wanly. “Is that a jab?”
“Of course.”
“God, I don’t know. I wonder sometimes. I wonder if there’s someone else that’s living our life, the life we should’ve had, and somehow we got theirs by mistake, like a big cosmic joke.”
“I don’t know about that, man, but I do know my best friend, and he’s the most dedicated, loyal, loving father any kid could want. There’s no better hands Shaun could be in. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, but at times I don’t feel like it.”
“Well, I’m telling you there isn’t. Sometimes people are too close to their own lives to see what’s wrong or right, but I’m looking in from the outside. You’re doing excellent.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“By the way, how’s Lily and Lisa?”
“They’re good. Lily’s doing soccer this summer. She’s all jazzed up about it, broke one of Lisa’s plates the other day kicking a ball around inside the kitchen.”
Evan laughed. “How’s work?”
“It blows, but it pays too well for me to tell the board to get fucked.”
Evan smiled and nodded, feeling drained and somewhat foolish.
“Seriously though, man, think about what I said. I’m no psychologist, but you do have one on hand—if you’re not using her for something else.”
“God. I’m hanging up now.”
“Kidding. But if you need to talk about anything, don’t hesitate.”
“I never do.”
Jason laughed. “All right, I got a game to get back to here.”
“Yeah, I’ll let you go.” The image of the doll lying facedown in the basement returned, and he quickly devised a way to fix the issue. “Hey, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“That doll that’s down in the basement, the one with the blue eyes?”
“Doll ... doll ... oh yeah, that’s Lily’s old doll. My grandma gave it to her for her second birthday.”
Evan’s heart sank. Thoughts of throwing the thing away evaporated. “Oh, gotcha.”
“Why? Does Shaun want to play with it or something?”
“No, no,” Evan said, too quickly. The idea of Shaun playing with the thing made his guts squirm. “No, I saw it down there, and it looked strange with the duct tape over its mouth.”
Jason’s end became quiet, and then he laughed once, dry.
“Yeah, I forgot about that. Lily put the duct tape over its mouth when we were up there staying for a long weekend quite a few years back. She was only six at the time, going through a phase, I think.”
“What kind of phase?” Evan asked, the hairs on his arms beginning to rise.
“Oh, you know, kid stuff.” Jason laughed again, louder this time. “She said the doll would talk to her at night, that’s why she put the tape over its mouth.”
Gooseflesh rolled over Evan’s entire body, and he swallowed, his throat constricting to a pinhead.
“Anyway, just one of those kid things, imaginary friends and whatnot. She grew out of it.”
“Yeah,” Evan answered, his voice like sandpaper.
“Okay, buddy, I’ll let you go. Call me soon.”
“Will do.”
“Bye, man.”
“Bye.”
Evan shut the phone off and sat staring into space for a long time. Shaun rolled over in his bed, and the sound brought him out of the trance. Moving like a ninety-year-old, he crossed the room and flipped the kitchen lights off. He made it only two steps into the living room before going back to the kitchen and propping a chair beneath the basement door’s knob.
With the house as quiet as a grave, Evan got ready for bed and turned out the last light, letting darkness cover everything with its heavy embrace.
~
“I don’t want any more chemo,” she says, gazing at him through the haze of drugs. “They said it won’t do any good anyhow.”
“But you never know, something could happen on the next round.”
She smiles at him. “Evan, look at me, I’m wasted away.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, unwilling to look at how thin she’s become. “You’re going to be okay, you’re going to make it.”
She squeezes his hand.
“I brought something from home, it’s in my bag. Before you leave, I want you to hand it to me.”
“What is it?” he asks, glancing at the bag that sits near the door.