Every Little Piece (13 page)

“You’ll never be in the way,” they said together.

Tense silence filled the room, and Dad broke it first. “Where will you go?”

I pondered this. I hadn’t fully thought out the plan. “I’ll figure it out and let you know.” I stood. “Is that all?”

They paused, worry etching their faces, their lips pressed together. They wanted to say more but they could see it in my face and hear it in my voice. I’d made my decision. Finally, they nodded.

Up in my room, I sank down on my bed. The tears that came so easily had dried up. A steely resignation had taken their place. I’d move on, find a different life, and spend every day making up for my sins.

I pulled out my duffel bag and started packing.

I woke later feeling groggy, and my head pounded behind my eyes. I felt like I slept a week but my clock read 7:00 p.m. I wished to sink back into my pillow, but I grabbed a sweatshirt, Seth’s, and pulled it up over my nose. I breathed deep and smelled him. Eventually, day by day, the sweatshirt would lose his scent. I pushed it away and grabbed one of mine.

The corkboard was still up on my wall and plastered with all my memories. They stared back with their bright, happy colors. The faded pieces of paper laughed at me, their curling edges already hiding the memories. The ticket stubs, the photos, the written messages on scraps of paper all blurred together.

I left the room.

I didn’t go back for the rest of the night. My room was more like a museum. I understood Mom thought I was making a rash decision, but I wasn’t. It was hard to stay in the room with the echo of voices of everything I’d lost. I ate a quick dinner with my family and we watched a movie. I could be normal. Do normal stuff. When I saw their frown lines smooth out a bit and their secret smiles when they thought I wasn’t looking, I felt a sliver of happiness. Giving washed away some of the bad stuff rotting, festering on the insides.

Halfway through the movie, someone knocked at the door. I had no idea who was here or why. I swallowed down a lump as I realized this was something Brin did on a regular basis. My parents got used to it. When her mom was gone or being a mean drunk, she’d crash here. But no more.

I heard it again.

Dad threw off the blanket covering him and mom. “Are you home or not?”

He was so sure it was for me. I nodded. “Home.” Why the hell not?

He opened the door and their voices stayed muffled until he opened it further. Justine stuck her head into the hallway and her body followed. She glanced around, taking in our humble abode, and then found me. She sucked in a breath. God, I must’ve looked like crap for her to respond like that.

“Hi, Haley.” She gave a small wave and moved to the brink of our living room. “Um, can we talk?”

Mom patted my leg. “Go ahead, hon. We can finish this up tomorrow.” Mom was just happy for me to have social interaction. A strange creeper could come to the door and ask to take me out, and Mom would push me out the door.

I followed Justine outside, and we sat on the steps. Cars passed by at the slower speed limit, knowing this was a neighborhood with small children. They were being careful, responsible drivers. The words from Driver’s Ed came back to me.
When it’s raining, drive at least five miles below the speed limit. Patches of water cause hydroplaning.
Or it went something like that. I’d go back in and add to it, “so no one tries to speed through the rain to find their boyfriend who is driving drunk.”

Justine stayed quiet. I was happy to not say anything. She’d talk when ready. Her foot tapped on the cement step and her finger stuck in her hair, twirling it around her finger. She was nervous but I couldn’t imagine why. Finally, she cleared her throat and clasped her hands. I braced myself.

“My parents wanted me to attend Harvard, Dartmouth, Yale, one of those big schools. My dad wants me to follow in his shoes and enter the family business.” She paused and her knuckles were turning white. “But what I’ve never told him is that I don’t want to. And lately he finally had to admit that my grades or my GPA wouldn’t cut it. No matter how many strings he could pull with those schools, I’m just not smart enough.”

She puffed her cheeks, then let out a whoosh of air. For the first time in a long time, I was distracted. It was nice to listen to someone else’s problems instead of them waiting to hear about mine with that sad smile that said they understood. When really, they were just thankful it hadn’t happened to them.

“What my dad doesn’t like to admit is that I have an uncle who lives a couple towns over. He’s the complete rebel of the family, and he loves what he does. No regrets. He runs a seaside inn and diner. While I figure out what I want to do, my dad is letting me live and work for my uncle, starting next week.”

“Wow, that’s great,” I said. And meant it.

Not what I expected but sounded like a plan. Her words, no regrets, stuck with me. Second time I’d heard them. First from Noah, and now from her. But I still wasn’t sure why she came all this way at this time of night to clue me in on her plans for the fall. Sure, it was a surprise. Justine was a dead ringer for Ivy League. Or maybe I’d misjudged her and assumed too much based on their mansion of a house.

Justine played with her fingernails. Nervous again. I waited, curious.

“I was thinking.” She gave me a sideways glance. “Considering everything that’s happened, I thought you might feel a little lost, that you might want, I mean—”

“Spit it out, Justine.” I smiled to reassure her I wasn’t going to beat her up or anything.

She shifted her body on the step and for the first time I noticed the gentleness in her hazel eyes and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “Would you like to do it with me?”

“Huh?” I was confused.

“I talked to my uncle and there’s a second opening. You’d have room and board, subtracted from your pay, of course.” She smiled shyly. “I figured it might be good to, you know, to get away. But it’s not too far away so if you wanted to come home…”

I hadn’t even thought about college, but I needed to. My plans had been all about Seth and I. The idea of college faded and slipped into the fog. I didn’t want to waste my parents’ money, and I refused to live out dreams. Without them. Without Kama and Brin.

“Definitely. I’ll do it.”

“What about your parents? Don’t you want to talk to them?” she asked.

“I will, but this is my decision.” I’d go in and talk to them right away. They’d understand and support me. I needed to get away from this place and this was perfect. Escape. Be on my own.

We said goodbye, and I promised to call her the next day. But in my mind it was already settled.

Though my parents were a bit skeptical about the plan, they said yes. Their eyes and body language revealed their fears that I might not make it through this disaster my life had become. They wanted me to go to college, but more than that, they wanted me happy. So they said for now, for this coming fall, and the next year, this might be good for me.

I stood in front of my corkboard. The memories screamed of my time with Brin and Kama. I found a box in the attic and piece-by-piece, I took down my life with them and placed it in the box. I started slowly and carefully, not wanting to rip a play program or bend a photo. But I had a lot up here and it needled the edges of my heart. I moved faster, trying not to see the memories. The last quarter of the board, I tore down and threw into the box. I wasn’t looking, not remembering. The last photo fluttered to the floor, and I slammed the tops of the box down and duct taped it closed. Maybe I’d be able to deal with them when I was an old lady.

I placed the box in the back of my closet and closed the door and then flopped onto my bed. A week until I’d leave this part of my life. Justine was moving in and waitressing for her uncle in a couple days.

I’d start clean in a place where no one would know me or know what happened. And I wouldn’t tell a soul. A fresh start. It could happen. Right?

Real life calls to me every day, a siren blasting.

The laughter of a couple in love and hanging all over each other. The old couple shuffling in, the joys and heartaches of life etched on their faces with every line and wrinkle. The fisherman who orders his morning cup of joe before heading out for a day at sea, a joy shining in his eyes from doing something he loves.

But I’m safe. I get lost in the clinking of plates, the shouts of orders, and the smells of breakfast. I’m a waitress and it’s all I’ve known for the past year.

The Seaside Inn booms with business. Must be the start of the summer crowd. Justine and I haven’t had a chance to take a break since we opened the doors this morning. The sun streams through the front windows and even though the air outside is still crisp and cool, summer’s coming. Inside, the smell of bacon floats from the kitchen.

I carry two empty plates to the counter, balanced on one arm. Justine loads up her arms with plates of scrambled eggs and bacon, and pancakes while carrying three mugs of coffee. I tried that juggling act once and when I broke mugs and sent a flood of coffee across the floor, Justine’s Uncle Tom said it was okay to carry less.

The dirty plates clatter into the tub, even though I try to set them down gently. “When’s your uncle going to hire the summer help?”

Justine’s hair frizzes out, and the pencil behind her ear suffers from what looks like a poodle attack. I’ve told her that customers don’t care to see her teeth marks as she takes their order, but she consistently brings in higher tips than me.

“Soon! I hope.” She heads to her table but stops and sticks out her hip. “Hey, Hales? Will you tuck an extra salt in my pocket?”

I grab an extra salt and do as she asks. Customers frown into their empty coffee mugs. “I’ll make the next coffee round.”

“Great, thanks.” A question flickers across her face. “You got the invite last week, right?”

My heart stutters, but I nod and then hurry away with the coffeepots, one caffeinated and one decaf. I didn’t answer but I’m not sure she expected me to. Of course I got my mail last week. She knows that. Her Uncle Tom has dropped it by our doors every day since we moved in last summer. But she’s talking about one certain piece of mail that we both received. It’s a plain white envelope, my name written with a black ink pen, the corner a bit crunched from when I almost tore it in two. Instead, I placed it in the very farthest back corner of my nightstand drawer, and that’s where it will stay.