A Life Worth Living

by Lorrie Kruse

  This wasn’t the Matt she knew.

  “One more,” the waitress said. “And then I’m cutting you off.”

  He watched the waitress move away, the short shorts creeping up, showing off twin pale crescents of soft flesh. When she moved out of view, he turned his attention to the most-recently emptied beer bottle, picking at the label with a fingernail that needed cutting.

  “Damn, that waitress might be right. I must be damn drunk ‘cause I can’t believe I told you about Crystal and Derrick.” His eyes raised to her. “I haven’t told anyone, not even my parents. They think I left town because I needed a change of scenery. They had no idea part of it was because I couldn’t stand seeing Derrick, knowing he’d been messing around with her.”

  She touched Matt’s arm again. “I’m sorry.”

  “He’s back there, in Fuller Lake, still working for my dad, while I’m stuck in this hell hole of a city in a life I hate with a body that doesn’t work.” He lifted the beer bottle and peered into its depths.

  She fought the urge to comfort him more. “Maybe you just need to find something you like to do and start doing it.”

  “I already have.” He tipped the bottle toward her. “I enjoy drinking.”

  With a nod at his collection of empties, she said, “Then you need to find something more challenging because you’ve mastered the fine art of drinking.”

  He peered into her eyes with the same intensity he’d given the beer bottle. “What I need is to stop being such a fuckup. When I asked Crystal to marry me, I thought I was finally getting my life together.”

  “You’re not a…you know. It’s understandable you’re feeling down, but you and Crystal breaking up isn’t a reflection on you.”

  “You don’t understand. Dad married Mom the day after her high school graduation. He’d just turned nineteen. Brad was born nine months later, me a year after Brad.”

  “My parents married young, too. That’s what people did back then.”

  “It’s still how it’s done in my family.” He tipped back an empty, shaking it against his tongue before setting it back down. “Where’s that damn waitress with my beer?”

  She placed her hand on his, hoping to distract him from the alcohol he didn’t need. “You’re far from being an old spinster, or whatever they call it for guys.”

  “Tell that to my dad. My twenty-fifth birthday he takes me aside and tells me I’m not getting any younger and that it’s time I think about settling down. I met Crystal two months later and six months after that we were engaged.”

  “You asked Crystal to marry you just to make your dad happy?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “No. I mean, I would have asked her to marry me anyhow, but I would have waited if it’d been up to me.”

  “You wouldn’t get back together with her just to make your father happy, would you?”

  “No. I’d do it to make me happy.” His voice cracked. His Adam’s apple stroked his throat as he swallowed hard. He turned his face away. Keeping his head down, he pulled a crumpled wad of bills from his shirt pocket. “Tell the waitress she was right. I’m plenty drunk.” He dropped a ten on the table and then wheeled out of her life.

  §

  “Talk about baring your soul,” Matt grumbled as he wheeled to his apartment door. He should have known better than to turn to Abby. She had a way of digging all of his deepest, darkest secrets out of hiding.

  He reached into his shirt pocket for his keys and got nothing but air and lint. He patted his front jeans pockets. Nothing. “Happy welcome home.” He wiggled the doorknob. Locked. “Just frigging great.”

  Couldn’t even break in like he used to do back in Fuller Lake, not from the wheelchair. Sure bet Derrick wasn’t going to happen along with his key ring either.

  Where’d you find them?

  In the tool trailer behind the miter box under the sandpaper.

  He closed his eyes against the memory, but he could still see Derrick in his hospital room holding up the key ring.

  “I don’t need you,” he snarled as he leaned forward to check his back pocket even though he knew he’d never have put the keys there. Being paralyzed, his balance was already compromised. Being drunk only made it worse. Gravity sucked at him and, before he knew it, he was tumbling forward. His forehead smacked against the doorjamb on his way down.

  “Perfect. Just frigging perfect.”

  The center of his forehead throbbed.

  Just kill me he thought as he lay there. He had no desire to try to get back into the chair. Just let me die, right here, right now.

  He touched his forehead and then looked at his fingers. No blood. Another wish unfulfilled.

  The outside door clicked as someone opened it. One short walk down the breezeway and they’d be at the main hallway. Just what he needed, one of the tenants finding him lying here smelling like a brewery. He could say goodbye to the apartment manager job. Make dear ol’ dad real proud.

  Even though it was too late to cover the fact that he’d fallen, he grabbed hold of the wheelchair, hoping the tenant would ignore him if he looked like he had things under control.

  Trying to hurry, he fumbled with the wheelchair’s brake. A simple device that he seemed to have forgotten how to operate. Part of him wanted to say the hell with it, let him be discovered in his drunken heap. Let him get fired. It wasn’t like he was all that fond of the job, anyhow. Heaven knows, he’d had his fill of Milwaukee. Then, he remembered his father, how disappointed he’d be learning that Matt couldn’t even handle a job that required no skill. That was enough to get him moving again.

  From the sound of the footsteps, the person would be entering the main hallway any second now. No way would he make it, but he wasn’t ready to give up. With his head throbbing, he worked himself upward.

  “Ma…att.”

  Abby?

  He lost his grip on the chair. He didn’t fight as he lost his balance and flopped onto his side. Please, God, just kill me now.

  Abby crouched next to him. She brushed his tangled hair away from his face. “Matt, are you okay?”

  Her fingers against his skin felt nice. He soaked up her touch. “Never better.”

  “Do you often take naps in the hallway?”

  “As often as I can.” A horrible thought came to him. She’d expect to be invited in. He’d have to tell her he’d lost his keys, like it wasn’t bad enough she’d caught him in a drunken heap. “Thanks for asking. You can leave now.”

  Abby flopped down and crossed her legs. Settling in for the long haul. Leave it to Abby to do the opposite of what he asked.

  “Very nice,” she said. “I can see why you like sleeping here. Saves on changing the sheets, too.” She ran her hand over the industrial carpet, and he imagined her caressing him that way.

  Shit, man. She gives you a hug and now you want the whole package—a package you don’t need. “What do you want, Abby?”

  “Mainly, to give you these.” She held out his keychain.

  Where’d you find them?

  In the tool trailer behind the miter box under the sandpaper.

  The thought of Derrick brought an ache deep in his chest. His eyes watered. Crying was bad enough, but doing it with an audience was unacceptable. He closed his eyes and felt his lip quiver. Stop it. Pick yourself up.

  He didn’t think he could. The ache had already buried itself too deeply.

  Maybe if he started crying she’d leave.

  Or…she’d comfort him.

  Hugs. Holding hands. Sitting with Crystal snuggled in his arms. He missed it all so much. The tears pooled behind his closed eyelids. He turned his face toward the floor as a tear broke free. How frigging pathetic.

  He heard movement. Abby leaving? He’d be alone. Free to cry. He didn’t want to be free to cry. He didn’t want to be alone. He opened his eyes to find Abby turning toward his door. The keys jingled against each other as she looked for the proper key.

  Would she open his door, help him insi
de, and then be on her merry way? That’d be best but it wasn’t what he wanted.

  “And…?” he asked as he tried to sit up. The combination of his throbbing head and Miller-induced coordination complicated the task.

  The jingling noise stopped and she turned to him. Creases formed between her eyebrows as she gave him a confused look.

  He’d managed to sit upright. “You said you came mainly to give me my keys. That means there’s another reason.”

  “I was worried about you. I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

  He puffed out a sad laugh. “And what did you decide?”

  She crouched down with her arms resting on her knees. “Messed up beyond belief.”

  “Thanks.”

  She smiled a nice, warm, comforting smile. “But it’s temporary.”

  Damn, he hoped so.

  “What do you say we move the party inside?” she asked. “The carpet is comfortable, but I’m sure your couch is even better.”

  §

  Abby followed Matt into his apartment, wondering why she hadn’t just given him his keys and been on her way like she’d planned. Of course, she hadn’t expected to find him lying on the floor looking so lost and helpless.

  The apartment was compact but pleasant, and much cleaner than she’d expected, given Matt’s ragged appearance. The end tables and TV appeared to have been recently dusted and the carpet still bore evidence of vacuum tracks. In contrast, a hairbrush lay on the dining room table and a towel was bunched up on the arm of the couch.

  “Interesting decorating technique.” She nodded toward the toothbrush shoved into an empty vase.

  “I’ve been looking for that.” He grabbed the toothbrush. “Can I get you something? Water? Coke? Beer?”

  “Water would be fine, but I can get it myself.”

  “So can I.”

  She pulled out a dining room chair and sat. “Fine. Water. Thank you.”

  He reached into the fridge. She smiled when she noticed he no longer held the toothbrush after closing the door. He’d be surprised when he found it in the refrigerator tomorrow.

  The path that brought him back to her was a little wobbly, and his aim wasn’t the best as he handed her the bottle of water.

  “I probably don’t need this,” he said as he popped the tab on a can of Miller.

  Darn tootin’.

  “No matter how much I drink, I just can’t seem to drown out the memories. I don’t know what’s worse, remembering the feel of her next to me or seeing them kissing over and over again, like it’s stuck on some endless loop in my head.”

  Having been there herself, she could relate. At least she hadn’t been engaged to Paul or Jovan. And they hadn’t cheated on her with her best friend. That had to hurt. “You’ve told me about Crystal. Now tell me about Derrick.” On the surface, the question seemed cruel, but she sensed he needed to talk about Derrick.

  For a long moment Matt was silent, and she wondered if she’d been wrong. And then, he started talking. “When I asked him to sit at my table at lunch that first time, I never expected we’d turn out to be friends. He was so damn serious, but it was nice being with someone interested in more than seeing how far he could blow milk out his nose.

  “Even after I started dating Crystal, Derrick and I stayed tight. I suppose that was part of the problem. Crystal and I did as much with Derrick and whatever girl he was dating as we did alone. Maybe if I’d dumped our friendship when I got serious with her we’d still be together.”

  “You can’t undo what’s already done.” A wish she’d made more than once in her life.

  With a sad laugh, he said, “I wish we could. Maybe then I wouldn’t have gone out that night and I’d still be walking.”

  And we never would have met.

  “But then…” His gaze kissed her face before landing on her lips. “…I wouldn’t have…” He leaned forward. Like a magnet, she felt herself being pulled toward him. “…met…” He blinked and shook his head. He looked away and set his beer on the table. “Damn, I think I’ve had more than enough to drink.”

  She sat back. Her heart thumped all the way to her stomach. Had they really been about to kiss? No. Of course not. And she didn’t want to, either. Definitely not.

  “I think I need some food.” He wheeled backward, away from her. “Soak up some of this alcohol. You hungry?”

  Food. Something innocuous. Safe. Non-intimate. “Yes. Food. Sounds great.”

  “There’s hamburger and buns in the fridge, or we could order a pizza.”

  Pizza. With pepperoni. Onions. Lots of cheese. And thirty minutes to wait. Thirty minutes for her to think of ways to fill their time. Her attention shifted to his lips. She popped up out of the chair. “I’m fine with hamburgers. I’ll help you cook.”

  Matt opened the refrigerator. “What the…”

  Remembering his toothbrush, she bit her lip, desperately trying to hold back her smile. Surprised indeed. And she’d been lucky enough to witness it.

  He set the toothbrush on top of the microwave. “Never know where that damn thing’s going to turn up next.”

  “I have a pretty good idea where it won’t turn up.”

  He looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

  Two friends. Having fun. Nothing more. And that was more than enough for her. She grinned. “The toothbrush holder in the bathroom.”

  “Since you’re so smart, you can make the burgers.” He handed her a cellophane-wrapped package of hamburger.

  “Only if you make the potatoes.”

  “Deal.” He washed his hands and then reached toward the drawer next to the sink. He paused. With his fingers dripping, he looked toward the stove. Looking for a towel, she assumed. Which was probably the one on the couch.

  He opened a drawer, pulled out a fresh towel, and then dropped it on the counter as soon as his hands were dry. She snatched it up, dried her own hands, and then hung the towel on a pull handle on the closest drawer.

  While she patted the hamburger into patties, Matt washed potatoes. When he grabbed the towel she’d just hung up, she knew without a doubt where that towel was going to end up. Bingo, she thought as he dropped the towel onto the counter.

  With a quarter pound of hamburger sandwiched between her hands, she watched as he placed two potatoes on the glass tray in the microwave. “Did you poke those potatoes with a fork?”

  “I was planning on doing that after they’re cooked. You know, when I’m eating.”

  “Were you going to clean the potato chunks off the inside of the microwave before or after you ate what was left? You have to poke the potatoes or they’ll blow up. Get a fork and I’ll show you.” She plopped the patty onto the frying pan and then washed her hands.

  He came to her with the fork. One inch closer and his wheelchair would be pressed against her leg. She could smell spiced cologne beneath the scent of beer. He was so close she could easily thread her fingers through his without moving anything but her arm. She shuffled a bit further away, grabbed the towel from the counter, and dried her hands.

  She started to thread the towel back into the handle and then stopped. With a smirk, she held the towel over the counter. “This is where you keep it? Right?” She let the towel drop.

  “You are such a pain in the ass.”

  “I know. Now, give me a potato.” She jabbed the potato randomly with a fork. He stared at her as though she were doing something complicated.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down like that. It makes you look older.”

  She shoved the fork into the potato deeper than she’d planned. “Older? Thanks. A woman always wants to hear that she looks older.”

  “No. I mean it looks nice. You look older in a good way. Not so…cheerleaderish.”

  “Cheerleaderish?” She yanked the fork free of the potato.

  “I was trying to say you’re…” He shook his head. “Never mind me. It’s the alcohol. I’m toasted, remember?” He wheeled away from her, turne
d, and then held his hand up. “Toss me a tater.”

  Figuring she’d be picking the potato up off the floor and washing it, she gave it a toss. Like a pro, he tipped his head away from where he was reaching, countering his weight, and snatched the potato from the air. Toasted or not, he was an athlete.

  “And the crowd goes wild.” He made some cheering noises as he pretended to slam dunk the potato into the microwave.

  “Interesting the way you mixed baseball and basketball together there.” She thought back to the first time she’d met him and of their discussion on wheelchair basketball, which gave her an idea. Matt needed a new hobby, something other than drinking, and she hoped she’d just found it. She knew someone who knew a guy who coached a wheelchair basketball team that was always looking for new members. Tomorrow morning she’d give him a call.

  “Did ‘em both,” he said as he caught the second potato. “Bowling, darts, pool too. Did it all…” His smile fell. “…with Derrick.”

  Her mental planning came to a halt. Maybe basketball would be too much of a reminder.

  He opened the fridge. She heard the pop, shhhh before she even saw the beer in his hand. Watching him tip back the beer, she figured that doing nothing would hurt him more than any basketball-induced reminders of Derrick would.

  With a little prayer, she hoped she wouldn’t be proven wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Matt stared at his reflection in the TV. He’d taken care of the shaving part, but he still needed a haircut. He could probably find a barber open on Sunday, but he didn’t care enough to hunt one down. Just like he figured he could find a health club easily enough in the phonebook, but he couldn’t summon the energy to look.

  You need to do something more than just sit here and stare at yourself.

  He closed his eyes, no longer staring at himself. A cop out but he didn’t care.

  He should be looking at the bid information his father had sent, but he had no desire to do so. If only he could turn back time. All the way back to when he started dating Crystal. He’d do it right this time. He’d keep Derrick and Crystal apart. Then he’d have Crystal back. He’d still have his friend. He’d still be working for his dad. And not writing up a stupid bid, either.