Pieces of it All (2 page)

"Okay. A lame attempt at a joke. I actually came to borrow chili powder. I didn't realize mine was gone until I was almost done making dinner. I thought I'd see if you had any." He pulled a container out of his pocket. "Jackpot."

"Be sure to give it back," Heather warned. "Beth likes things hot." Beth's fist made contact with Heather's arm. "Ouch!"

"Anyway, what's the party for?"

"We graduated from Grant High this morning. It's Beth's party." Heather always seemed to keep the conversations going. Of the three, she certainly was the most outgoing. She often said whatever crossed her mind with no regard as to how the recipient would respond. Sometimes it was irritating. Other times, informative.

"Well congratulations to all three of you then." His eyes remained focused on Beth's, and her body temperature raised several degrees.

"I've never seen you before. You said you live right down the street?" Lucy questioned. Why hadn't Beth seen him before? She wouldn't have missed someone this cute.

"You're quite the interrogator, young lady." She grunted at the terminology. "I got back into town today. Anyway, I should be going. I needed to borrow this and should get dinner finished. This seems like a family affair, anyway."

"Nice to meet you, Harvey," Beth spit out.

"You, too. I hope to see you again sometime. I'm only right down the street. Hopefully I'll run into you."

"That'd be great."
Nice ass,
she thought as he walked away.

Heather's perfectly manicured nails dug into Beth's arm. "Beth, he was cute and wow, he totally flirted with you!"

Lucy crossed her arms. "Stay away from him."

"Excuse me? We met him five minutes ago. Why should I stay away? And who knows if I'll even see him again."

Lucy had an irritating over protective complex, like Beth was a little sister instead of a best friend. Beth blamed Lucy's strong arm on her reluctance to join the school newspaper (
Too much competition)
, for not signing up for the 5K the school hosted to raise money for breast cancer (
You're barely in shape. You won't make it half a mile)
and for being too much of a coward to ask Mitch Beaumont to prom (
He's only into blondes).

"Trust me. His dad's no good. I know that last name. He frequents the bar in town, usually leaves drunk and with a different tramp every night."

It never seemed to end. She'd just met this man and already Lucy found a way to butt in. Her heart couldn't even maintain a rested pace when these 'discussions' began anymore. She may not have ran the 5K, but her pulse said otherwise. "I don't know where you get your information from, but maybe you should stop being such a gossip." She finished the rest of her drink. "While you're at it, stop trying to make decisions for me. Excuse me." She shoved past Lucy and made her way to the porch.

"What happened in there?" Lucy joined Beth on the porch seconds later. "I don't make decisions for you."

Beth took a seat on the chaise lounge. She crossed her legs, pressed her arms on the cushion and looked up at the moon radiating the sky. "It seems like sometimes you try to stop me from everything I want to do."

"What?"

"You heard me." She kept her stare with the moon. If there was a man on the moon looking back at her, she would win the staring contest. "I watch you and Jackson together, and I'm jealous of you two. You did so many things all through high school and I sat on the sidelines, like your sidekick. I barely know this guy, and you're already trying to stop me from seeing him."

Lucy swept her dark bangs out of her eyes. She stared at Beth, who didn't break her gaze with the moon. "I'm sorry, Beth. I never thought of it like that." She sat down next to her. "I'm afraid of you getting hurt."

"I'm going to get hurt in life. That's how it goes. Besides, how do you
know
I'm going to get hurt?"

Lucy wouldn't win this argument. Not this time. For years, Beth was the doormat, but it was her turn to walk. No more. Adulthood stood on the horizon, and as an adult, Beth needed to take charge. Fight back. Stand up for herself.

"Fine. But I know I'm right. It'll happen. You'll get hurt."

Beth nodded her head multiple times. "You're right. Always right. Right?" She wasn't going to wave a white flag.

Lucy hopped up. "I'm out of here. Have a nice time in college."

As Lucy slammed the car door and drove off, Beth tried to calm her shaking hands and legs. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she managed to hold them in. When the taillights no longer illuminated the road, a single tear broke through, guiding itself down her cheek and traced her lips. All the years they'd been friends, a guy had never come between them. Spats between them were few. Despite Lucy's overbearing ways, they had a solid bond, a fountain of love and laughter that kept refilling.

Crickets sang their songs while fireflies played hide and seek against the black night. Three cars remained in the driveway, and Beth was anxious for them to leave. Faking being happy wasn't easy for her, and she'd have to put on a smiling face when she reentered the party. It'd be simpler to run down the gravel driveway, across the street to the field of suffering corn where she could sulk like the stalks.

"Beth."

Her mom's voice axed her escape plan. She probably wouldn't have ran away anyway. The Little-Miss-Too-Afraid-to-Try-Anything and Miss Play-It-Safe nicknames fit her perfectly, along with Unusually-Responsible-Teenager.

She surrendered to the stare down with the moon and met her mom's eyes. "Hi, Mom. How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know you finally stood up for yourself. I'm proud of you."

She sighed. "Thanks. Now she's mad at me." She kicked her foot in the air, not sure of what she was trying to hit.

Her mom put her hands in her jeans pocket. "It's okay. Let her be upset. She'll get over it." She pinched the bridge of her nose, squinting her eyes.

"Another migraine?"

She removed her fingers. "Not yet, but it's coming."

"Go see a doctor, Mom. It's been going on for over a month now. Do you have any days of relief?" At least four days a week her mom locked herself in the bedroom with all the shades shut sleeping off the most severe headache she's ever had.

Her mom leaned down and gave Beth a kiss on the forehead. "Some."

It was definitely coming. The moment her mom's voice went from normal to a whisper, she was trying her hardest to push the pain away. Her mom's lips tightened, and wrinkles overpopulated her forehead. "Let's get everyone out of here. Besides, I'm sure Lucy and Jackson drove together, so I better get inside so he can catch a ride with Heather."

Once everyone was gone, Beth had herself a good cry on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life.

Chapter Two

Harvey slammed the door and tossed his keys on the table. "Hey buddy," he reached down to pat Bullet's head. The pug's tongue flicked out at him, accompanied by heavy snorts. "Go lay down now."

The pan sat on the stove. He switched the cooktop on high and dumped the ground beef in, his stomach grumbling as he stirred the meat. The four hour trip back from Pine Falls didn't include any stops. A McDonald's or Taco Bell drive through would've gotten him fed sooner, but his cash flow was nil and the warmth of his own bed called his name.

Relief set over him when his father wasn't home to welcome him, not that it'd be a great reception anyway. The chance he still was a heartless prick like before Harvey checked into rehab was good. Now clean and sober, Harvey vowed not to touch alcohol again. Unlike the others in the facility who came and went and came back, he planned on never returning. His therapist helped him get past many of the things that happened between him and his father before he left, and he didn't want to end up like him. He got close eight months ago before he checked himself in to keep his sanity and gain sobriety. The last fistfight leaving him with a black eye and almost a broken jaw wasn't enough to do him in. The crash finally tossed him into rock bottom.

He dropped the spices into the meat, folding them in to allow the flavor to soak in. "No lettuce or tomato?" he complained as he shut the refrigerator door. Sour cream and cheese had to do. He combined everything onto a soft shell and wrapped it up tight. The paper sat on the table. Good, something to keep him company while he ate, besides Bullet begging at his side, who was the only thing he truly missed over the past months.

He munched on his dinner as he flipped through the pages. Nothing too interesting, the same old things as before he left. The police blotter bored him - some elderly lady had twenty dollars stolen from her purse, a vehicle break-in, and someone called the cops over loud music. Nothing exciting ever happened in a small town like Grant.

Tacos - a damn good choice after the crap he ingested at the rehab center. He used to hate milk, but the smooth coolness tasted heavenly now. He loved a tall glass after working out, usually chocolate. Redirection was key to avoiding the bottle. Bulging biceps and defined pecks were evident of that.

"You home Harvey?" His father's voice shot through his ear. He waltzed into the kitchen, his face as unshaven as when he left. "Well son of a bitch, you're out, and you came back here?"

Making a conscious effort, he placed his plate into the sink instead of whipping it at his father's head. He hadn't expected so much anger to fill his body upon seeing him. His father never bothered to come visit. It'd be a cold day in hell before he did. The therapist labeled him an enabler. Harvey just preferred to call him an asshole.

"Make any for me?" His thin frame had filled out in Harvey's absence. His father's weight often fluctuated depending if Harvey was around to share the food. His infatuation with alcohol molded into a protruded gut through the years; however, this belly wasn't just a beer belly - it was fat. The chair squeaked as he sat down.

"No."

"Why the hell not? Do you think now because you're sober you're better than me or something?" He cocked his head to the side, a half-smile donning his face. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, his hair oily and unwashed.

Every cell in Harvey's body screamed the word yes, but he knew better than that.
Don't start anything my first day back.
"No, sir. A little is left in the pan, if you'd like some." Deep breaths, they taught him. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Then punch him the fuck out. No. One, two, three...

"So what made you come back here? I wasn't expecting to see
you
again."

Harvey picked up the rag, squirted soap on, and began washing his plate. He didn't exactly have a list of places to go. "My options are limited without a family."

"What do you mean? You got me." A laugh followed, finished off with a belch.

If only those words spoke truth. He didn't qualify as a parent. It amazed Harvey his father raised him alone for seventeen years, and he managed to stay alive. Amazingly, the worst he found himself in was alcohol. If he knew anything about his mother, where he could find her, he may have a chance. Maybe he'd even finish high school, get a GED. He stared out the window at the empty space in the backyard. "You know what I mean."

"Not exactly. But I don't give a shit right now. I want to eat and get a drink." He scratched his graying beard.

The story of his life. Drink after drink after drink. Harvey had to leave the house as soon as he could. He and alcohol didn't have a trusting relationship yet. Add his father into the mix and a dangerous situation developed.

"You better find a job, Harvey. Don't think you're living here free. You're not mooching off of me."

He turned and rested his arms on the sink. "I have an interview tomorrow at Rivertown Auto Parts. The rehab center arranged it."

"Hope it pays okay. Your rent's three hundred a month."

Harvey kept walking.

When Harvey awoke the next morning to his radio alarm instead of one of his father's drunken episodes, it was consoling. He used to wake to those far too often. At the rehab center, wake-up occurred at dawn and his day consisted of meetings in groups and individual therapies, along with group projects. The center labeled these activities as
Learning to work with others effectively
. Why not call it
How to not get pissed off enough to drink?
He learned some practical coping tools, but a few he'd rather live without. Yoga and meditation? Yeah, right. They tried to shove the pussy practice down his throat. The only good thing about those sessions was the hot, young instructor brought in to teach. A fit blonde with a tight ass in a downward dog? Class left him with plenty of images to rub one out when he returned to his room.

A long yawn escaped him before he tossed the covers aside.
Fuck
, his eyes rolled back into his head. A few slaps on the face woke him up. "Come on, Harvey. Let's get this done." He stretched his legs out and swung them onto the floor. Once standing, he lifted his arms overhead to release another yawn. He'd get used to the early mornings, which meant early nights as well. He couldn't stay up late like last night. He watched
The Color of Money
on cable before passing out after his dick and the image of Beth's head bobbing up and down on him relaxed him enough to do so. The last time he remembered seeing on the clock on his nightstand was 2:42 AM. Present himself for an interview after only five hours of sleep? He had to.

With the meeting at ten, he had a little over an hour to shower, fix his hair, and rummage through his closet for "business-like attire," whatever the fuck that meant. He made the few steps across the faux wood floor to his dresser, where he pulled out a clean pair of boxer briefs and a tee shirt. The top of the chest was a mess of combs, razors and year old colognes underneath a mountain of dust. With his razor and favorite comb in one hand and his underwear and shirt in the other, he headed to the bathroom.

Ten minutes in a hot shower woke him from his slumber. He missed his own bathroom. His biggest complaint about rehab, besides the over the top positiveness which made him want to puke, had to be the showers. The water didn't get hot enough, and the low flow screwed up his hair. The chin length hair often earned him the stereotype of a skater, druggie, or drunk.
One
of those rang true, at least up until he signed the paper which admitted him to the clinic.