The Fight — Hindsight, Chapter 5, Part 2

The doorbell rang.

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Hindsight by Neil Shooter (photo by author)

May 2024.

The doorbell rang.

Bill slouched on the couch, nursing the last of his morning coffee.

Brian sat in the big chair at the window. Juss’ chair. Looking out at the view of the lake, as she had. The greenery, the fields, the lawn. “I’ll go,” Brian said. “You’re not expecting anyone?”

“Of course not,” Bill said.

He heard the front door open. “Uh. Hi. Is Will around?”

“Oh, shit.” Bill got to his feet.

“Uncle Bill, some guy is here for you!”

“I’m not some guy! Who the fuck are you? And why are you here?”

“Maxwell, take it easy!” Bill rounded the corner, in sight of the door. “Come in.”

Brian stepped back, out of the way.

“Did some hatching, I see.” Maxwell kicked off his shoes.

“Of course.” Bill was embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up about it.” Maxwell leaned in and gave Bill a hug. “I was worried. You’ve been ignoring me.”

Brian returned to the chair by the window.

Bill tried to change the subject. “Where are the kids?”

“Activity day run by the library.”

“Really? Outside?”

“Yes, outside. Lockdown ended. Some kind of life has to go on.”

Bill looked away.

“Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“No problem. How have you been?”

“Fine—but how are you? I could have been here for you. We are a bubble, Will.”

Brian spoke up from the window. “There are no bubbles anymore.”

“Well we were in a bubble together. Who the hell do you think you are? It’s not your business!” Maxwell turned to Bill. “Who is this punk, anyway? Why is he here?”

Brian defended himself. “I’m not a punk.”

“My nephew.”

“Well, shit. The kid from the fridge! No way. Well, good, I guess. At least you haven’t been alone.”

“He just got here. Not sure if he’s staying. His mom’s in the hospital.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. With 23B.”

“Shit. Sorry, Will.”

“Yeah, well. He’s got no one else, and I’ve got the room.”

“Don’t tell this dude about my life, Uncle Bill.”

“I’m not some dude, kiddo. I belong here way more than you, so shut the fuck up.”

“Guys, relax!” Bill put his hands up, and there was a moment of calm.

“Don’t you have … issues with his mom?” Maxwell said, quietly.

“Yes, but not with him.”

“Does this dude know everything about my fucking life already?” Brian turned toward the other two who were still up in the hallway near the front door.

Bill turned to Brian. “Jesus, just shut up for a minute, would you? Maxwell’s my friend!”

“You’ve got no right to tell him my business! What the hell!”

“Will can tell me what he likes, Brian. And what’s with this Bill nonsense anyway?”

“Why does he know my name? Hey! Keep my name outta your mouth!”

Maxwell ignored the comment. “Will—why is he calling you Bill?”

“Bill’s my name. Was my name. I went by Bill, or Billy, before I met Juss.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“And now she’s gone—what? That part of you has gone too? You want to erase all those years? You want to revert to who you were before you met her? Is that it?” Maxwell’s voice was rising.

“How dare you!” It was too close to the truth.

“You and Juss were there for me when I had nothing. Nothing!”

“I know.”

“So why would you want to erase those years? I know I don’t want to erase mine, my years, my past. I’d lose all I have left. You know? Is that what you’re trying to do? It’s a fool’s game, Will!”

“A fool, am I?”

“I’m not saying that! Come on!”

Brian said, “Maybe you should just leave, dude.”

“Is that right? You just turn up out of the blue and start giving orders, eh? Like anyone gives a fuck what you say?”

“He’s my uncle! And you just wandered in off the street!”

“If you care about Will so much, explain it to him! He can’t pretend the best years of his life didn’t happen!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Bill yelled. “If I think about her too much I’ll just break!”

Neither Brian nor Maxwell spoke into the echoing silence that followed.

“I can’t keep hearing that name! Every time I hear it I see her! I can’t take it! I can’t be Will without her!”

Bill staggered, and Maxwell caught him. Held him. Put his head to his shoulder.

Bill sobbed, and both young men remained silent.

*

Bill came back to himself. He looked up at Maxwell, and pulled away. “Sorry.”

“No, you don’t need to be sorry. But you’re not alone. You don’t have to be alone. I know you have Brian now too. But you still have me, okay? Don’t forget that.”

Bill nodded. “Cup of tea?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll do it,” said Brian, and stepped past them.

“Come on,” Bill said. “Let’s sit down.”

They went to the couch.

“I’ve not seen you since January.” Maxwell looked dazed.

“Yeah.”

“And then I got the call from Tracing, and we were flagged for isolation.”

Bill nodded. Of course they had been. He hadn’t thought that through. It made him feel worse. “Sorry.”

“No.” Maxwell shook his head.

“Look, I’m sorry. You’re the type who needs people to help you process this shit. I’m the type who needs time, and space, to process it on my own. When we fled Toronto, we kept to ourselves. You were the exception to that, sure.”

“I get that. People are different. It just hurts. I lost her too. She was better to me than my own family. She was family. You are family. And when I can finally get away, someone else opens the door. It all just—hurts.”

“Sorry.”

Maxwell sighed. “I’m not blaming. I’m explaining.”

Bill nodded. “She said that to you, once.”

“Yeah.” Maxwell shook his head. “I couldn’t come sooner. I couldn’t leave the kids. Didn’t want them to be here, the first time after .... So this Day Camp was my opportunity. And with official bubbles being over, I had to wait until lockdown was over, too.”

“I know. I was grateful. For the time alone. I wished the lockdown would never end. Stupid, really.”

“Well, lockdown keeps people away. I guess it makes sense.”

There was the sound of stirring from the kitchen.

Brian came in with a cup of black tea, a jug of milk, and the sugar pot. He set them all down on the coffee table in front of Maxwell. “Don’t know how you take it.”

“Brian, man, I’m sorry. I was out of line.” Maxwell held out his hand.

The gesture seemed old-fashioned, and oddly out of place. Bill hadn’t seen a handshake in years. And even with the local lockdown having ended, it was against regulations. But then, so was the hug.

Brian reached out and took the offered hand. “Me too. Truce?”

Maxwell nodded, and almost smiled. He started fixing his drink.

Brian returned to the kitchen, and brought Bill’s tea, and his own.

After a minute of holding his hot mug, Brian said, “Sorry, I’m a bit on edge.”

Maxwell looked up from his own. “Sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks.”

“And Belleville’s gone back into lockdown.”

“It has?” Bill hadn’t realized. That meant Brian wouldn’t be able to cross the district border to get to the city, or the hospital, or the funeral, if it came to that.

“Yeah.” Brian’s voice was full of bitterness.

“I’m sorry, Brian,” Bill said, quietly.

Brian shrugged.

*

Bill stood at the kitchen window and waved as Maxwell’s pick up truck backed out of the driveway.

Brian hung back.

“Are you okay?”

Brian turned away. “He’s a jerk.”

Bill went to the kitchen sink, and did the dishes.

Brian put the news channel on.

Bill heard the sounds of people protesting in some city or other. Gunfire. Screams. He sighed. Everything was going to shit.

*

Bill sat beside Brian on the couch. It was an American city. Somewhere in the South. He wasn’t sure which side was marching, or what the point was anymore.

“Doesn’t it get on your nerves?” Bill asked. The noises rattled in his head, like warning bells, or an alarm clock, preventing him from thinking anything. He stared at the coverage of some white lady being beaten by masked police.

Brian flicked the TV off.

“I didn’t say you had to do that.”

“If it’s bothering you, I’ll watch the slow descent into anarchy later.”

“Okay.” Bill was exhausted.

“I don’t like it, that guy knowing all about my life, my problems. I don’t know anything about him.”

“His—”

“I don’t want to know anything about him. I don’t like him. He rubs me the wrong way.”

Bill sighed. “For the last four years, he was the only friend we had.”

“So you had to tell him about your sister’s failings, and your gawky nephew from the fridge?”

“Why not? And the reason we left Toronto. And other things from Before. If you’ve never had a friend like that, I can’t explain it. It’s like—a family that you choose.”

“Instead of the one you are stuck with?”

“That’s not—”

“Instead of the one that gossipped about you behind your back?”

“What?”

“You’re a hypocrite! You didn’t like Mom talking about your business to other people, but you don’t mind talking about her business—and my business—when you feel like it. What a double standard!”

“It’s not like that!”

“Yes it is! It’s exactly like that!”

“You know, you sound exactly like that bitch!”

“You—” Brian couldn’t seem to find the words.

Bill’s anger bubbled up through him. He clenched his fists, and forced his arms to his side, aware of how much energy he suddenly felt surging through him. He fought it, and fought it, and pulled himself back from the brink.

“You—”

His voice quivering with rage, Bill said, “You know what? You better put yourself on the Registry. Look on Nextdoor. Figure it out. I can’t live like this.”

It had been the original agreement, but it now came out as a threat.

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