“Hey, Will. I’m almost done in here. Come on in,” a voice calls from the kitchen area. My heart starts to pound, and my fingers feel numb from the blood flowing so fast and hard through my body. Somehow, my legs continue to work and I follow Will into the kitchen. A thin blonde, wearing a plain white T-shirt with the sleeves bunched up over her shoulders and a pair of gray sweats, rushes from the sink to a cabinet, stacks of plates in her hands for one trip, fists full of forks and spoons on her next. She glances up at both of us while she works, and her face looks nothing like the trampy whore I’ve dreamt up in my hateful fantasies. This woman looks frail, and tired, and…kind.
“Oh, hey! You must be Maddy,” she says, running her palm along the leg of her sweats and blowing a tuft of hair out of her eyes while she approaches me. My mouth quivers and my ears fall deaf with the rush of blood to my head, but I manage to reach out my hand to shake hers. “Thank you so much for helping us. Will said you and he were good friends, and you knew how much he hated to fly. I’m just…” she pauses and leans her hip out, running her shoulder against her face as her eyes well up. “I’m just so grateful he’s coming with me. I don’t think I can get him there alone.”
I let her hand slide from mine and look over her shoulder at the piles of things yet to do. Unwashed glasses line the counter. Stacks of files sit in haphazard piles, some with sticky notes jutting from the edges. And underneath it all, layers of dust and stickiness from a kitchen that she probably hasn’t been able to clean since the day she moved in.
“I’m glad he can help, too,” I answer, swallowing away so many things I thought I knew.
“I swear I’ll be ready, Will. I just wanted to get a head start on some of this. I was taking advantage of Dylan napping. I had yesterday off too, and our therapist, Wendy…she helped, even though I know she’s not supposed to do housework, but God, I was grateful,” Tanya says, her words vomiting out amid her nerves. Will stands with his hands in his pockets, his posture stiff, and his head sunken in-between his shoulders. The only response he can seem to give her is a fast nod, and I can see it affecting Tanya more and more by the second. She starts to rush around the kitchen, moving things, but never really accomplishing anything. Will steps backward until his legs meet a chair, and he falls back and sits.
“I’m going to scoop up the sheets and put them in a bag. I have a laundry service that’s going to pick everything up while we’re gone. I just need to have it all ready,” Tanya says, her voice wavering as she glides by Will, his eyes wide and his mouth firmly shut.
The moment she slips from our view, I step in front of him, my back shielding her from seeing or hearing anything should she come in.
“What is wrong with you? You’re supposed to be helping her, but you’ve gone completely catatonic,” I say, and my words do nothing more than draw his eyes to mine. They’re still wide, and they’re still scared. I kneel down and touch his knee. The feel of him sends a jolt up my arm, and his eyes fall immediately to my touch, softening as his mouth relaxes, the hard line sloping on the ends toward his chin. His hand lands on top of mine, trapping me.
“I’m not sure I can do this.” His body shivers and his words come out choppy, almost as if he’s breaking a fever.
“Will, that woman is going to fall apart without you. You have to get over whatever the hell…” I stop midsentence, words from a minute before finally sinking in: how much he hated to fly.
“Oh God…” I say, sliding my hand out from under his, my chin coming up just as his is falling. I reach up, not even thinking, and my hands cup his face. He freezes. His eyes close and the weight of his head rests into my right palm. I run my fingers along his jaw on the left side.
“Is there something you can take?” I ask. His body shakes once, a short breath escaping him in a sad laugh. Right. One year sober.
“Will, Dylan’s up! Should we get his things out to the car first? I can get him in the small chair,” Tanya calls from the other end of the house. Will’s eyes rise to meet mine, and the sheer helplessness reflected in them seizes my chest, and I gasp once, tears threatening my eyes.
I breathe in deeply, letting my eyes fall closed for a moment while I search for courage. Not to do something my heart desperately wants to do, but to let go of the hate that’s keeping me from doing what’s right.
“Sounds good, Tanya. Will’s finishing up the dishes for you, so I’ll come in to help,” I holler back. My response snaps Will out of his haze, and he starts to stand and push away from me.
“No, no…I’m fine,” he says.
I ignore him and pull my phone from my pocket, searching for flights quickly.
“American? Southwest?” I ask.
His hands cover mine, but I fight him off this time, stepping back and holding one palm up while my thumb slides over the screen.
“Maddy, this…none of this, is your responsibility,” he says, shaking his head, and I stop with my thumb on the purchase button, looking him right in the eyes.
“It isn’t yours either,” I argue, my breath catching as it hits me. None of this—me, Evan, Tanya, Dylan, and all the damn ghosts—is Will’s responsibility. He chose to carry it. He inserted himself where a blank space was left, and he’s been holding worlds together for people when he had every right to walk away.