Leaving The Pieces Behind

by R. M. Demeester

  In the distance, someone or something came toward me.

  "Oh my god, Serenity! Are you all right?"

  I blinked once, twice. William’s fuzzy form emerged in my vision. Where was he a few minutes ago? Where was he when I needed him the most?

  "When the call cut out, I came running. Are you okay?" The concern in his voice was uplifting, at least.

  "They took my phone." Tears pricked my eyes, blurring my vision. Why was I crying? They didn’t hurt me. They took my phone, but they didn’t hurt me. The tears finally fell. Another thing I couldn’t afford to replace.

  He kneeled so we were eye level. "Who's they?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. It was dark. There were two of them." I paused to think. "One was female, for sure. The other one… I don’t know. I don’t know. It was dark," I whispered. My body quivered. This was what happened when I didn't stay home, where nobody could get to me, where I was safe.

  He swung one arm around me and helped me to my feet. "My office is just down the block. We should get you cleaned up.”

  I nodded in agreement. Anywhere was better than sitting in the middle of the street, feeling sorry for myself. We approached a grand building, with large windows and countless floors. I read the sign: Johnson's Financials. So, he worked at an accounting or investment firm. That was more than I knew about him just ten minutes ago.

  William pulled a key out of his jacket and fumbled with the lock. With a click, the front door opened. By the wall, he punched a code on the security keypad, disarming the alarm.

  “I need to lock the door behind us. It’s after hours.” He locked the door from the inside before taking my trembling hand and guiding me into the deserted hallway. The office doors were closed and the lights were out.

  A man in coveralls with a mop firmly planted in a yellow wheeled bucket emerged from a nearby elevator. “What brings you here tonight? Forget paperwork?"

  "No, my friend was robbed on our way to meet."

  The janitor glanced at me. "You poor thing. Let me grab the first aid kit. Get her something to drink, why don't ya?"

  William walked me a few more feet to a door. "This is my office."

  He let me in and pulled out a seat for me. Once again, I thought about how thankful I was for him. As I struggled to catch my breath, William handed me a foam cup from the water cooler. "Here."

  Grateful, I accepted and took small sips. The janitor soon returned with a first aid kit in hand.

  “Thank you,” I tried to say, but ended up mumbling instead.

  "Here, clean up the poor gal,” the man said, “and be sure to lock up on your way out, Will."

  William smiled at him. "I will."

  The janitor left, the squeaky wheels of his mop bucket echoing in the hall.

  William opened an antiseptic packet. "May I?"

  I nodded. He dabbed my forehead, and a stinging sensation followed. I winced.

  "I'm sorry," he murmured, "I should have given you a heads up that it might sting."

  I shrugged my shoulders. It was common sense, yet he was sensitive to my feelings. I appreciated it. A glimpse of light on this overall depressing night. In the many homes where I’d lived, I never had someone care as much about me, and my feelings, as William did right now.

  "It's just a small cut, Serenity. It doesn't look like you'll need stitches." He closed the first aid kit and passed me a clean napkin. I wiped my head; the bleeding had stopped.

  "Thanks."

  William glanced past me, biting his lip. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I should have picked you up from your house. But I..."

  "This isn't your fault,” I blurted out. “Not even a little."

  Our eyes connected, and his mouth opened a fraction. He didn't speak, but he wanted to, I could tell. There was something on his mind, sitting on the tip of his tongue.

  "Let me call the police," he said.

  My insides twisted. “No, don’t call them. I’ll be fine. I promise.” I tried to smile.

  “But, they robbed you.”

  Ever since the police took me away from my home, I didn’t trust them. They wouldn’t be able to help me anyway. Whoever those two were, they were long gone.

  “They won’t help anyway. I’ll just have to figure out how to replace my phone.” I bit my lip. Those two thugs really screwed me over. I felt my face flush, and William touched my shoulder. The tension melted away.

  “Would you like me to take you home?

  I looked away. I didn't want to leave for home yet, per se. However, I didn't have the confidence to tell him that.

  "How about a late-night drink, instead? You're over twenty-one, right?"

  It was more like a statement than a question to me.

  "Yeah,” I felt my cheeks redden for some reason. “I'm over twenty-one."

  "Would you like for me to drive you home first to change?"

  I glanced down at myself and then back up at him and nodded, feeling small and meek. I looked rough.

  “Yes, please.”

  He locked up and took us to his car, the same one he’d driven on my first day at the bakery when he’d brought me that coffee. William unlocked the passenger door for me and opened it.

  Standing there, an instant feeling of what am I doing entered my mind. It was dark. I had just been robbed, and yet here I was, getting into the car of someone I didn’t know. He had helped me out so many times, but that didn’t mean I knew him, or even that he knew me. I looked around at the shadows lurking in every corner. The closest thing to any life were the nightclubs in the ritzy area of the downtown core.

  “Everything all right?”

  I was brought out of my stupor and stared right at William. Even in the darkness, I could see his frown.

  “Yeah, sorry.” I sat in his car, praying I hadn’t just made a fatal mistake.

  We sat in the spot for a few moments in awkward silence, not moving. Why wasn’t he driving? My anxiety shot through the roof.

  “Where am I going?” William spoke up first.

  Relieved, I shot off my address. Don’t be a fool, Serenity.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked as he pulled from the curb.

  I nodded. “Just a little headache.” Which wasn’t a total lie; there was a dull pain in my forehead, threatening to explode into a full-fledged headache.

  It didn’t take long for William to pull up to my place. He stared out the window at the bungalow, the most beautiful home on the block.

  “Nice place,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

  He turned to me and smiled. “Take all the time you need.”

  I walked into the house to find Sophia playing her classical music on full volume, complete with the luxury of her terrible singing. I walked past her, into the kitchen, to grab a glass of water before heading to my bedroom. Okay, I’d better not keep him waiting too long. As I reached into my dresser for a change of clothes, Sophia emerged in the entryway.

  "Man, do you look like shit." She stood with her hands on her hips. Observing her pink pajama bottoms and pink spaghetti-strap tank top, I guessed she wasn’t heading anywhere tonight. But little did she know, I was going to go out for drinks with a guy. A rich guy at that. How would she feel about that?

  "Thanks, I guess." I twirled my fingers in my hair. I didn’t have any time left to worry about her.

  She shrugged as she passed me into the kitchen, moving to the fridge and opening it. "When are you planning on buying your share of the groceries?" She pulled out a can of soda and stood to stare at me, anticipating an answer.

  I glared at her. "When I get paid." God, I don’t like her. I really wished she would just move away.

  "You don't need to be snarky."

  I mumbled an apology, turning my back toward her and whispering, "Then don't ask stupid questions."

  I put the empty glass into the sink and headed upstairs to the bedroom to get changed. Maybe I should stay home. I could explain t
o William that I had a headache. Just as I was formulating what to say in my head, Sophia turned her godforsaken music on again. My decision was made for me.

  Hanging out with William, headache and all, was the better of the two options. I changed into a turtleneck and jeans. Right now, I didn't care to impress anyone. I headed toward the front door where, much to my annoyance, Sophia stopped me yet again.

  "Where are you going?" she asked.

  "Out."

  She sighed. "You come home looking like you got beat up, and there is some strange car out front. I'm just worried, all right?"

  I took a deep breath to keep from screaming in her face. Since when did she care?

  "Fine. I'm going out with my friend," I finally said.

  "Okay, text me later."

  I gazed at my feet. "Okay." I didn't want to tell her about my ordeal. Sophia and I weren't friends. Never would be friends. I knew she didn’t care if I texted her or not.

  Not that it mattered; my phone was gone anyway.

  Outside, I got into the car. William was on his phone.

  "I’ve got to go, okay, Mom?" He whispered something else and hung up the phone, then turned his attention to me.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, my mom just called. It’s nothing.” He paused and smiled. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I am, but can we maybe go somewhere a little more private. I’m not dressed to go out.”

  “Sure,” he smiled. “We can drive around and talk, or maybe grab a coffee at the campus café. It’s open until one, so we still have time to make it.”

  “Okay,” I said. My stomach twisted. I had mixed feelings about the university, and all the rich kids who attended there, but I didn’t want to be rude.

  “Great!”

  He drove back through downtown, toward the university campus.

  "Did you attend school here?" I asked.

  "No, but I wish I had. My business partner and I visit this café often because it’s one of the only ones in town open so late." I couldn’t help but sense a hint of dismay in his voice.

  "Why?"

  "Family issues."

  Before I could ask, not that I wanted to, he changed the subject. "You'll like this little cafe. They sell the best donuts." He paused. "But not as good as the ones you make."

  I smiled.

  "I'm sure they're lovely."

  However, my mind kept going back to a few moments ago. Did he have a troubled relationship with his family, as well? My relationship with my mother was strained these days, but still, I tried. Nobody could replace her, and I couldn't change what happened, as much as I wanted to.

  My thoughts returned to his statement. Was I overthinking it?

  “And here we are,” William announced.

  We pulled up to a small, unassuming café between two large buildings near the main campus hall. A few months ago, Sophia had mentioned it was an extension of the culinary arts department. I wondered if the chefs were learning anything. I figured I could put them to the test.

  William and I entered. To my surprise, the interior was quaint and charming. There were cute little wooden tables with hard transparent plastic over them and wooden benches. A plaque on the wall said the interior had been made in the workshop on campus.

  “Looks like we’re the only ones in here,” William stated.

  “Yup.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Above the counter was a clock. It was quarter to one in the morning, so we had to order quick.

  “I’ll have water,” I told the cashier, almost forgetting I had no money. How stupid could I be to forget that small detail? Payday wasn’t for a few more days.

  “I’ve got it,” William offered. William went ahead and ordered a dozen glazed donuts and an extra-large coffee. Both the cashier and he stared at me.

  “Uh…a-a hot chocolate?”

  The cashier muttered a total, and William paid.

  “Thanks…again,” I said as we went to sit down.

  William fidgeted in his seat. “You can stop saying thanks all the time. Can’t I just do a nice thing for you? As a friend?”

  “A friend?” I questioned him back. All this time, I was trying to put a name to what we called us, but this confirmed it.

  “Yeah,” he said, as he wrinkled his brow. “We are friends, right?”

  “Sorry, yeah. Friends,” I answered. My face turned hot.

  After an eternity, the cashier brought us our drinks and the donuts, neatly packaged in a brown paper box.

  William opened it and handed me one.

  “Enjoy.”

  I took it from his hand and took a bite. The surface was gooey, sugary, and melted in your mouth. “These are pretty good.”

  “See, I told you.”

  He shoved half a donut into his mouth. Little bits of the sugary glaze fell around his lips. He wiped his face with his sleeve, and I cringed. Up until this point, I had thought he was all proper. But, it was kind of refreshing—if a little weird—to learn he had a few traits I admired.

  We sat and made small talk. I was going through the motions, all the meanwhile staring at him, studying him. There was something mysterious about William. Behind the kindness and the charming personality was something I recognized. He was hiding something. Not something sinister, but something he didn’t want to share. Who was I to judge?

  Chapter 3

  The rest of my weekend dragged on. Friday night, despite a strong beginning, was a bust. After leaving the café, William was distant. His mind was preoccupied, in an entirely different dimension. When he pulled up in front of my home to drop me off, his goodbye was weak. Even his smile and “Have a good night,” lacked energy.

  I sighed as I walked to work on Monday morning. Passing the corner where those two hooligans had jumped me, my heart sped up. I looked both ways, holding my breath, half expecting one of them to jump out. I kept alert. I glanced at every turn, sprinting past every back alley. The sky was still pitch black, and the early shift almost didn’t feel worth it anymore. I arrived at the front door and the supervisor, Zina, let me in.

  “Good morning,” she said. “You’re here early.”

  I glanced at the clock above the front counter. I’d arrived ten minutes before my shift. Of course. I reached into my pocket, removing my hand when I remembered I no longer had a phone. Zina, no longer concerned, turned to the back of the store. I sat on a wooden bench by the front door, taking a moment to enjoy the calm before the store opened. Some days it got busy in here, and the extra seating was appreciated among customers.

  All of a sudden, William’s car pulled up. He rolled down his window and smiled at me through the glass door. I lifted a hand and waved. He returned the motion, rolled up his window, and drove off. I sat there dumbfound. What was that?

  After a while, I turned and walked into the back to get changed for my shift. I put on an apron and headed to the workstation beside Zina.

  “You can start on kneading the dough.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “So, you and that young lad going out?” Zina said. “He’s friendly with the owner. I never caught his name, though.”

  “William. And no, we aren’t going out. We’re just friends, I think.” Were we just friends?

  Zina laughed, and I turned to look at her. Her toothless grin stared back. “You don’t think I notice him showing up whenever you work? He drives by here every morning.”

  I flushed red. He had started to drive by a lot of mornings, but he usually stopped and waited for me. This morning was different, but I just couldn’t put my finger on why.

  “You know, I can tell when a girl is interested.” Zina handed me a rolling pin. “I have a daughter. All through school, she had her eyes set on this one guy. Now, she tried to convince me they were just friends, but I knew better. I raised her. Trust me, Serenity. I’ve been there. I know what it looks like.”

  I smiled, even though her words hurt. I yearned to have that kind of
relationship with my mom. Maybe once I got a new phone, I’d call her. It had been a few months since we’d last spoken. Not because I was busy or anything. I was just a lousy daughter. After one of our conversations, she had stopped initiating them. The shame and the memories were hard for her. No matter how much we fought and made up, we couldn’t connect. But I wouldn’t stop trying.

  I looked down at the dough and sprinkled a generous amount of sticky brown sugar, cinnamon, and a handful of raisins. I liked the smell of cinnamon buns. I remembered that when Mom had extra money, she would make them. It was a rare, sweet treat we all enjoyed. If we were extra lucky, she’d make the creamiest, most luxurious cream cheese icing. Cream cheese was expensive, she said. A rare treat.

  Tears threatened to emerge from under my eyelids. I gnawed at my upper lip, trying to ease my nerves. Mom was a touchy subject. The memories were tainted, and the aftertaste left me bitter. I couldn’t think of her. Not now. Pushing thoughts of my mother away, I placed the cinnamon buns in the oven to bake.

  Zina stared at me sympathetically. She didn’t say anything, but she must have sensed the sadness coming from me. Life always had a way of bringing me down. What I needed right now was a hug. For some odd reason, I wanted William to hug me. He’d been kind to me, been there for me in my time of need. A tinge of guilt entered my mind. I didn’t want to use him as Dayton had used me.

  I started on another batch of cinnamon buns. I had five more to do before the six o’clock crew arrived. At George’s, we never made to order, except for large catering orders, which were quite rare. It was always baking for the next day’s order. But here, at West Hill, almost everything on display was made the day of. The increased price reflected that. But even then, the loaves of bread and dessert pastries were better quality. That, I couldn’t deny.

  I rushed through my load, placed the last order into the oven, and removed the first order I had prepared. The gooey, hot, steaming pan of goodness lifted my despair momentarily. I carefully placed them on a serving tray and filled up the first two rows of the display.