The Men Next Door

Ch 37 - Campbell

Time flies by until it doesn't.

And at 2:17 PM, on an oppressively hot day at the end of August, my ringtone stopped every clock in the world.

One glance at the 805 area code was all it took to stop my heart, too. Grandpa Jones always called at 8:00 PM sharp — that was 5:00 on the west coast, and he liked to chat right after he finished dinner — and I didn't keep in touch with anybody else on that side of the country.

Not by choice, anyway. Which pointed to one of two callers.

Before JoJo gave us copies of his will, I would've just let the damn thing ring to see if the person on the other end cared enough to leave a voicemail. That's what I normally did when I didn't recognize a number. But nothing about this call felt normal, and I couldn't risk having that message on my phone to listen to over and over again in the aftermath, so I swiped one shaky finger across the glass surface and lifted the receiver to my ear.

It was the first time in years that I wished I could hear my mother's voice.

That would've been better. Anything would've been better than the sound of the patronizing man on the other end of the line telling me that everything was going to be okay. As if I hadn't done this before. As if I hadn't already lost my father. As if I didn't know that one day, I'd have to do it all over again.

But at least this time, I didn't have to face it alone.

Brooks pieced together what was happening from my robotic answers to the employee at the assisted living community, and he was holding me before the call even ended. Thank God for that, because I wouldn't have gotten a word out through grief's initial chokehold. And over the next few minutes, as teardrops turned to body-convulsing sobs, I clung to the thought that his arms were the only thing keeping me intact.

That image only made me cry harder though, because it reminded me of our last visit with grandpa Jones. It was almost like I could hear him again, mumbling something about me making a smart choice while Brooks took charge after my panic attack. And he was right; I did make a smart choice. I didn't have to worry about the house of cards caving in anymore, even as my sorrow threatened to swallow me whole. My stone house was there, surrounding me with warmth and strength, keeping me safe from the raging storm — just like my grandpa envisioned.

If only I'd listened more closely to all the other words he had to say.

JoJo knew his death was coming. He implied as much the last time we were in California. But I didn't want to encourage that day to come any faster, so I pretended I couldn't sense the urgency to embrace him one more time, before the steady thumps of his heart gave way to silence.

I could've seen him again.

I should've seen him again.

~~~

Just like grandpa Jones had told me, all the funeral arrangements were planned and paid for. I only had to show up, three days after that time-stopping call, as if the squares on the calendar meant anything more than 'before' and 'after.'

I don't remember much about the service, if I'm honest. My mind was elsewhere as Moses sang a beautiful hymn in tribute and Juanita wept into a stack of tissues beside me. But I do remember the pressure in my head, emanating from angry, empty tear ducts. I can still feel the stretch of my neck as I looked around for a way to rewind the clock, and the buzzing ache in my bones when I realized there was no magic do-over button hidden under the folding chairs.

And more than anything else, I remember the moment I went rigid.

Brooks' voice sounded far off as he tried to bring my focus back to him. I vaguely registered him squeezing my hand and scanning my features for proof that I was still alive behind those glossy eyes. But when he finally followed my gaze to the streak of auburn hair in the back of the crowd, he tensed too.