I grabbed a glass of water for myself. “That’s fine. What’s up?”
“Well, I have a new project for you. I think it would be great, but you should know something.”
“What is it?” I asked, putting my glass on the counter.
“Well, it’s from Sebastian—”
“Tara, I’m not interested.”
“Your contract isn't up, and of all the things they sent over, this is the best one for your career.”
Damn me for not cutting ties when I had a chance, I thought, putting my hand on my forehead.
“Fine, what is it?”
“Sebastian is starting a new magazine, called The Real, and is partnering with National Geographic to do it.”
“And they want me, too?”
“They want you to be the main photographer for it. You would travel around the world, shooting people from all walks of life. The rich, the poor, everyone, and it will be featured in The Real. Everything would be paid for, of course, and you would get a team…”
My eyes shifted to Eli, who sat comfortably next to Taigi, petting his fur. “Find another project, Tara,” I said.
“Gwen, this is amazing, you would be opening yourself up to so many opportunities —”
“Tara,” I said as softly and as sternly as I possibly could. “Find another project for me to do to finish up my contract, all right? I will talk to you later. Thanks.” I hung up before she could say anything else.
“Is everything okay?” Eli straightened some.
“Everything is fine. Did you find anything to eat?” He looked like he didn’t believe me, but looked through his phone anyway.
“What are you in the mood for? Thai? Chinese?”
“How about we get a hamburger and fries? The more I think about it, the better it sounds,” I said, walking over to him and offering my hand to help him off the ground.
He took it, standing up. “That works. How do you have so much energy after—”
“After last night?” I grinned, holding the door open for him. “I have no idea, but I’m sure it will hit me later. For now, I want to eat. The cereal and toast we had this morning was nowhere near enough. Bye, Taigi.”
I closed and locked the door. He took my hand, leading us to the elevator. We both stopped when we saw Toby there, slouched with a half-bottle of whiskey in his hands. He looked up at the numbers above us.
“This…isn’t…my…floor…” He hiccupped, slipping backward.
Eli ran to catch him.
The bottle slipped from his hand, falling to the ground.
“Toby,” Eli called to him.
“Dr. Davenport?” He laughed, patting his shoulder and trying to stand straight. When he came back up, he had the neck of the broken bottle in his hand. “You are a son of a bitch, you know that?” The elevator doors closed again. Eli shook his head when I tried to come closer and I pressed the button for Toby’s floor.
“You doctors can’t do shit.” He laughed again, and when Eli tried to hold him steady, he pushed him away. “All you did was make my daughter feel worse! And then you come in all proud and mighty like you are some fucking god, and stop trying to save her! Time of death, 8:43 PM. You know, that is all I hear now! Every goddamn day, that’s all I hear. Time of death, 8:43 PM. What gives you the right, huh? What gives you the right to say my daughter's dead!”
“Toby—”
“And you!” He cut him off, turning to me.
The moment he did, Eli stood right in front of me.
“You and your stupid, goddamn fucking painting! You weren’t helping anyone! Every time I look at it, I want to set it on fire. Why did you have to go draw it? You should have put an X over everyone’s face—”
The doors opened again, and he collapsed, shaking.
“Call an ambulance. He most likely has alcohol poisoning.” Eli was on his hands and knees.
I was already on the phone as Eli turned Toby’s body to the side to help him breathe, keeping his head elevated at the level of his knees. The fact that we lived so close to the hospital had never come as more of a relief than it did in that moment when the ambulance pulled up. I waited for them outside and held the door open as they, alongside Eli, helped Toby from the elevator onto a gurney.
“I’m going to go with them to the hospital, go ahead—”
“I’m coming too. I’ll be there soon. Go.”
Nodding, he kissed the side of my head before heading into the ambulance with them. When I saw them racing down the street, I finally allowed myself to take a deep breath and calm down.
Every time I look at it, I want to set it on fire. Why did you have to go draw it? His voice screamed in my mind as I walked down the street, gripping on to my bag. I hadn’t thought of how he would feel looking at a painting of his family when everyone in it was dead but him. It most likely didn’t bring him any of the same joy I hoped my work brought Meryl, Logan, and Eli.