Pieces of it All Read online

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.

  His sponsor, Maggie, meant everything to him. She had contacted her cousin Nelson regarding a job opportunity for Harvey. In their last therapy session before being set free into the world, Maggie told him she couldn't be prouder of how far he'd come and he deserved a fresh start. Employers wouldn't know recovering drunk topped his resume, but only completing school through the tenth grade and not even having a GED to show certainly wasn't an asset in the hiring process. He and Maggie became friends, despite the rule against personal relationships. She made him feel as though a mother would - cared for and loved. True, loved was a strong word, but Maggie may be the closest he'd ever get.

  He arrived at Rivertown Auto Parts with fifteen minutes to spare. Perfect. He had to make a good first impression. The job wasn't his just because Nelson was Maggie's cousin. In his workshop about finding work after rehabilitation, the instructors stressed the importance of punctuality. Always late in the past, usually after a day or night of drinking kept him pinned to his bed in a near coma, he swore to be different this time. Maggie promised a fresh start. "This is your chance to start new, to be a brand new man." That was what he strove for now.

  Damn, the summer was relentless. It only just begun, but the meteorologists predicted a long, hot season, which meant every hick in town would spend the next three months complaining about the heat, followed by seven months of it being too cold. Make up your fucking minds, people.

  Standing in front of the building, Harvey wasn't sure if the muggy air or his nerves took his breath away. He cleared his throat and quickly rehearsed a few interview answers in his mind. I learn fast. I take pride in my work. I left my last job because ... if that came up, game over. He straightened his light green polo shirt, sliding his hands down his khakis to release any of Bullet's hair. Time to impress.

  The ding of the door startled the man behind the counter when Harvey walked in. He tossed his magazine aside. A quick glance at the cover showed Maxim. Harvey couldn't help but laugh. He picked that up whenever he had a chance. "Hello," he said, his voice cracking. "Ahem," he released the tension in his throat. "Hi. I'm Harvey Etheridge. I have a ten o'clock appointment with Nelson."

  The man pointed at Harvey as if to say something, but returned his hands to the counter for a quick pat on the Formica. "Nelson! Some guy is here to see you!"

  Real tactful, Harvey thought. He didn't know the first thing about being professional, really, but this guy wasn't it. The man told him Nelson would be right out and excused himself. Awkward conversation was something Harvey wanted to avoid, so he simply nodded. His nerves didn't leave space for small talk with this asshole.

  A place to sit would've helped him to relax a little. It wasn't like a waiting room existed, but a chair could do the job. The manager at least had an office. Interviews weren't typically held out in the open, were they? He imagined having to stop answering a question to allow Nelson to ring up a sale, or a customer observing Harvey's failure to impress, hiding the embarrassment of the situation with a smile. The clock ticked above the counter. Only three minutes passed? He put his hands in his pockets, immediately taking them back out to check the top and sides of his hair. Ninety degree weather and this mop on his head weren't friends. He must've fed it half a bottle of hairspray to try and keep the frizz at bay. Was there enough time to find the restroom and check for armpit stains? Ugh. Probably not. At least Nelson wouldn't forget him.

  "Harvey?" A balding man held out his hand. "I'm Nelson Anderson. Good to meet you." He was tall, lean and the hair he did have was entirely gray. The round glasses reminded him of Harry Potter.

  More anxious than moments before, his throat swelled as his sweaty hand made contact with Nelson's.

  "It's okay, Harvey. Don't be nervous." He patted him on the shoulder. "Come on back."

  He guided Harvey behind the counter, down a small hallway to a door with a marquee that said NELSON ANDERSON. "Have a seat." He shut the door behind them.

  The chair, a deep maroon plastic piece of junk Harvey would have seen in his high school cafeteria, didn't provide any comfort. Even readjusting his back against the synthetic material didn't help, but caused more pain. The sterile room only had one thing hanging from the wall - a diploma from some school Harvey had never heard of. Bold, cursive words reading "Associate Degree in Business Management" stuck out from the yellowing paper.

  Nelson sat behind a wooden desk with a cluttered table top. "Do you have a resume for me?"

  "No." Shit. Not the first impression he wanted. "Maggie said I shouldn't need one. She gave you my information."

  He shuffled through some papers. "Yes, you're right." He pulled out a piece of paper with handwritten notes on it. The upper left of the page was torn. "She called me and told me you know how to fix cars, so you'd know the inventory well, and that you're a quick learner. Seem to catch on pretty fast."

  His polo shirt began to stick to his chest. "Um, yes. True on all accounts."

  Nelson dropped the paper to his desk. He chuckled and scratched the top of his head and then ran both hands down either side of the graying hair left behind. "Loosen up, Harv."

  He hated being called Harv. It was bad enough to go through life as Harvey. Shortening his disastrous name to something as lame as Harv irritated him, but if a prospective boss wanted to call him Harv, fine. He'd let Nelson call him anything as long as he offered a job.

  "I'll be honest with you. I don't need to hire anyone on right now."

  Hope drained his body, and he was sure any air conditioning had been turned off. "Okay. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

  Nelson put his hand up. "But, Maggie is my favorite cousin. We grew up together. If she thinks you can do a good job, I'm willing to hire you on for a part-time basis. You can cover people on their days off and when they call in sick."

  "I'll take it. Thanks for the opportunity." Harvey couldn't believe it'd been less than 24 hours and he had a job already! Maggie was a miracle worker.

  "I can offer you nine bucks an hour. I assume that's sufficient."

  "It's perfect. Thank you so much. I'll start as soon as you need me."

  They shook hands again. "Welcome aboard, Harvey." He pulled Harvey's hand to pull him a little closer to him. "No drinking on the job, you got me?"

  Maybe second chances didn't come as easily as he thought.

  Chapter Three

  The gentle breeze danced against Beth's skin, a welcome interruption from the still, humid air. Given the choice of wrapping her body with a blanket protecting her from the cold air conditioning or the soft wind tickling her, she'd rather enjoy her book outside. The trick lies in dressing for the occasion, in this case a knee length black puffy skirt and pastel green A-line tank. Her legs enjoyed the exposure to the air as she curled up on the chaise lounge. The porch, which lined the entire front of her house, relaxed her as long as she had a book in hand.

  Three weeks and not a peep from Lucy. Not even a quick text checking in. Beth stalked Lucy's Facebook page more often than she cared to admit, and seeing selfies uploaded pissed her off. An empty timeline didn't sting as much as an active one. Okay, so Beth hadn't put life on hold either, but a little pining would've been nice. Being cut out of her life hurt as badly as it sounded.

  Ugh, she had to give in at some point. No matter who apologized first, they'd remain best friends. Damn! Giving in meant Lucy won. How many times had Lucy triumphed in the past? All of them, Beth figured. The wind caught her hair, strands escaping into the air. Fine. After reading another chapter, she'd call Lucy.

  "Ahem."

  The book fell onto her lap as she let out a gasp. Harvey Etheridge stood at the bottom steps of her porch. The Harvey. He still looked damn good. A clean shave exposed his smooth-looking skin
, and she fought a gravitational urge to press her finger into the deeply set chin dimple. His simple white tee shirt clung to his chest, and his jeans had to be pasted on as well in this heat.

  "Beth, is it?" Jealousy engulfed Beth as he placed his fingertip in the dimple. Lucky finger.

  She grabbed the book off the ground and tossed it on the chair as she stood up. "Yes. Beth. Harvey, right?" Two could play this game.

  A smirk covered his face. "Yep. We meet again." He combed his fingers through his hair, scratching the top of his head. "My dog, Bullet, ran away. Did he come this way? He's a tiny little thing, a brown pug with some gray above his eyes. Scrappy fellow for eight years old. Even in scorching hot weather, he sure can run and hold his own."

  At least forty minutes had passed since she came outside. The street was so quiet - a gravel road tucked away behind a subdivision. Squirrels scurried across the lawn, and birds chirped in surround sound. If Bullet found his way to her yard, she wouldn't mistake the pounding paws on the lawn. Her book engrossed her, though, and she didn't even hear Harvey approach. "Sorry, I haven't. I'll keep an eye out for him." She removed her hands from the banister, letting them fall to her side. "Bullet, you said?"

  He wiped his forearm across his forehead. "Yeah. My father loves guns, so he thought Bullet would be a funny name."

  "I like it. If he shows up, I'll let you know. Friendly little guy?" She ran through topics in her head to keep the conversation going. What else could she ask about a dog? Was he a purebred? Did he snort? Did he eat a lot? Think. Anything.

  He put his right leg on the stair, perching himself. "Sweet as can be. I'm sure he'd come to you and you could bring him home to me."

  Harvey shoved his hands into his front pockets, loosening them more on his waist. She peeked at the little bit of skin exposed on his abdomen. Six pack, possibly? She hoped. "I better check a few other houses, and then pick up a new battery for my car before work tonight." He pointed to a bike he had parked just down the driveway. "Typically I wouldn't be driving this thing around town. I feel like I'm twelve years old."