Pieces of it All

by Tracy Krimmer

  "You're dating him?"

  "Not exactly, not anymore. We had a pretty major fight. Mark witnessed us arguing and he came to check if I was okay. We didn't exchange names or anything, and I only saw him the one time, so that's why I couldn't figure out who he was. I took off and haven't talked to Harvey since." Come to think of it, she hadn't heard from him, which both surprised her and stung a little. He didn't even care to try and contact her? She reached for her phone in case he tried to call. "Crap. My battery's dead."

  Heather snatched the phone from Beth. They pushed through the heavy wooden doors that dumped them back outside to the sidewalk. The air was thick and hot but in a few weeks as school would start, Beth would be back here with a jacket on. Heather pulled her to the side and out of the way of oncoming foot traffic. "We'll charge it when we eat."

  "Charge my phone at the restaurant?" Beth crossed her arms. "How is that even possible?"

  "All the on-campus places have charging stations, a must with college-aged kids in this technology laced world. Trust me, this will happen more than once." She handed the phone back to Beth.

  She shoved it back in her pocket. "Okay. This will take some getting used to."

  "What will?" Mark jogged up behind them, dressed in light khaki pants and a green polo, a gym bag on his shoulder.

  She tried not to stare, but Mark's glimmering eyes and extra long lashes sucked her in. Dinner with this hunk? Not a bad idea at all.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Anyone under twenty-one ended up at Teetotaler's Pub, located on campus, but close to the city. Designed for college students, the cute establishment served coffee, soda and tea, a safe option for those underage. It sat on a corner lot, aluminum blue siding twisting from the front to the side of the building. A striped red awning protected four windows and the entryway, with a large tan sign reading "Teetotaler's Pub" in cursive writing.

  Mark held the door open for them, Beth certain he caught a glimpse of her tight shorts as she stepped past him. Good.

  The inside surprised her. The building didn't give off an impression of hipness, but the decor said otherwise. Immediately to their left a bar dominated the space, a solid wood top curving around, high back stools resting in front already filled by patrons. Bright bulbs burst out of the silver holders, hung high from the ceiling. Specialty teas stocked the shelves behind the bar instead of bottles of alcohol. A fancy coffeemaker was placed at the far end. The remaining portion in the front of the pub contained booths, and they found an empty one and sat down.

  Beth shifted her butt as the cold leather attaching to her thighs. "Okay, I smell pizza. Must have!"

  Heather took a seat next to her, and Mark claimed the other side. "They only have pizza and burgers, so good choice." He waved his hand and a server approached shortly after.

  Who was this guy? He just flicked his finger and people came. Big man on campus? The waiter took their order, a large cheese and sausage pizza, and quickly brought them a pitcher of soda.

  "So, you and Heather have known each other a long time?" Beth tried to move her butt, but the leather just kept molding itself to her. Finally, she put her hands underneath.

  "Since we ran around in diapers. Our moms are best friends. How about the two of you? What's the story?" His finger darted between them. They were long, but not feminine. Not in the least. Usually the visibility of veins in the hand or arm grossed Beth out, but Mark's invited them. They showed them off. They owned them. She couldn't even glance at his hands and not imagine what they'd feel like touching her.

  Snap out of it, Beth. Answer the question. "School. We went to high school together."

  "I assumed."

  "You assumed correctly then." She removed her hands long enough to point back at him.

  "Oh, Beth! Give me your cell." Beth handed the phone to Heather, who reached over, opened a small hatch on the wall, which exposed ports and cables. She plugged in the phone and the light turned on indicating the charge had begun. Sweet.

  "I'm sure you're excited to have your own place." Oh, God, he was rubbing his hands together.

  "It's not actually. I'm staying with Heather. Her dad rents the apartment. Where do you live?"

  "I rent a house with three other guys, a four bedroom colonial in the older side of town. I don't have to go far to get to the pool since it's close to campus. I love being able to practice so much. The place is expensive, but we work our butts off to afford it." He smirked at Heather. "Not all of us can be so lucky to have our daddies pay for our apartment."

  Heather wrapped up a napkin and tossed it across the table, landing on Mark's lap. Heather's parent's wealth wasn't a secret, but they didn't typically flaunt their money. They had a moderate sized home and both worked. Each drove a Lexus, decked to the nines. Next to their house, the vehicles were probably the most expensive thing they owned. They spent two hours a day commuting to Illinois for work, so a comfortable car made sense. Comfort came at a price.

  "I'll admit I'm lucky. Don't get me wrong, but your parents aren't exactly broke."

  The pizza arrived and they halted their conversation as the waiter gave them each a plate. Making no qualms about it, Beth reached in and grabbed the first piece, the others quickly followed.

  Mark took a bite of his pizza. "No, they're not, but they're not quite as well off as your family, either." He thumbed the corners of his mouth, catching a stray piece of cheese. "I have to help pay for my place."

  The silence following Heather and Mark's tiny spat made Beth a little uneasy. She chewed on her pizza, taking in the scenery around her. The establishment was pretty busy with almost every booth filled and each stool at the bar taken. Her phone dinged with a text message. She wiped the grease off her hands and scanned the display. Harvey inquiring on her whereabouts.

  "Anything important?" Heather asked.

  "No. Lucy telling me to say hello to you." Beth hated lying, but talking about Harvey wouldn't have made the best conversation with Mark. She didn't want to bore anyone, or dump her problems on them. Seconds later, the dinging started again. Based on the time stamp, her messages were catching up from when the battery died. She'd review the texts when she got home.

  "Jeez, Beth. Are you sure it's not a jealous boyfriend?" Heather smiled. "Perhaps Harvey?"

  She pushed her phone back into her pocket and pulled at her shirt. Mark cleared his throat, picked up his soda and swirled the glass, the ice clanking against the sides. "So, Beth, what's your major?"

  "Beth's a nerd." Heather teased, popping a piece of pepperoni in her mouth.

  "Come on. Just because I like academics doesn't make me a nerd," Beth argued. She had spent her entire grade and high school career defending her desire to learn. She didn't want to have to do the same in college.

  "Some say that's the exact definition."

  "Not all of us could be cheerleaders." As much as she loved Heather, sometimes she got on Beth's nerves. So what if she'd rather pick up a book than a pair of pom poms? Cheerleading crossed her mind for about ten seconds in the sixth grade. Once she realized her dancing bordered on disastrous, she marked the activity off her list, and immersed herself in books instead.

  Mark interrupted. "I happen to think a smart woman is sexy."

  No one had complimented her with that before. Hopefully the dim lighting masked her red cheeks. "Education. My major is education."

  "Considering the nerd status Heather gave you, you'll excel in your classes. Good for you. The world needs awesome teachers." He finally took a drink, his lips touching the rim of the glass while his eyes remained on hers.

  Beth accepted the kind words, happy Mark seemed genuinely interested in learning more about her. "I know you said earlier you're working on your basic classes now. Any clue on your plans?"

  "Go to the Olympics! Long shot, though, so not the most reliable option. I guess business. A nine to five isn't really for me. I wouldn't mind starting my own company." Mark moved his empty plate and cup to the edge of the table f
or the server to pick up. "Enough about school. What do you like to do for fun?"

  Reading was her go-to answer, but how much of a nerd would she admit to being if she responded with that? Although he considered smart sexy, she doubted a homebody wrapping herself in a book was the kind of sexy he referred to.

  "Not too hard of a question, I thought," Mark nudged her for a response. Heather kicked her foot to respond.

  She shrugged. "Can I say the typical: listen to music, hang out with my friends?"

  "You can say whatever you like. I enjoy listening to you." His elbows met the table and he rested his chin on his fists.

  Never before had a man been so interested in what she had to say. She enjoyed the attention. Heather broke their mutual flirtation. "I'll tell you what Beth doesn't like - including her friend in conversations, apparently."

  "Ouch. I guess we have been monopolizing the conversation." Mark leaned back in his chair.

  "I say we shoot some pool," Heather suggested.

  Mark brushed the top of his head. "I'm pretty good. I don't know if I'd do that."

  "Actually, Beth is pretty good at it, too."

  His eyes widened. "Really?" He crossed his arms. "I never would've guessed." He thought about it for a moment. "I suppose there isn't a specific type of pool player. You just don't come across as one."

  "I'm okay. My dad and I used to play a lot when I was younger."

  "Want to make it interesting?"

  "What? Like a bet?"

  "Yes, a bet. Aren't you a gambling girl? If I win, you go out on a date with me," he said.

  She wasn't sure she wanted to make a wager, even though her chances were pretty good. She might even teach him a thing or two. "What if I beat you?"

  He smirked at Heather, and then said to Beth, "You go out with me."

  She laughed. "Okay, so either way, you win." She knew, however, she'd win, too. Mark was simple, relaxing, and a breath of fresh air compared to the mystery and darkness surrounding Harvey.

  He tapped his hands on the table. "Seems that way. Let's play."

  Three billiard tables centered down the room on the other side of the establishment. No one claimed the table on the far left. While Beth and Mark selected their cue sticks, Heather went to the jukebox and picked out a play list.

  Mark set the balls up in the triangle, the mix of stripes and solids intertwined with the numerical ordered balls. He slowly lifted it off and handed the cue ball to Beth. He winked at her. "Ladies first."

  She took the ball from his hand and set it on the starting point on the table. If she messed up the break, she'd look like an idiot. Ugh, why did Heather have to tell Mark she knew how to play? She squiggled the tip into a square of chalk, and then rubbed some powder on her hands, and up and down the stick.

  "A professional, I see." Mark said to her.

  "I'm hardly a pro, but I do know how to play." Since Heather let the cat out of the bag, no point to downplay it.

  Mark waited on the opposite side of the table while she leaned over to break. She noticed his intense stare on the white ball, not the view from her shirt, a change of pace from Harvey stealing a peek any chance he got. Did this mean he wasn't interested? No. Win or lose she had a date with him.

  She didn't have time to worry about what it meant, if anything. She pulled the stick back and slammed into the ball, pushing it across the table. The balls separated from each other, spread out across the felt. Her feet left the floor in excitement and relief when the striped yellow six ball went into the corner right pocket.

  "Yeah! Way to go Beth!" Heather gave her a high five.

  "Okay. I'll admit my pride is a little broken, but plenty of opportunities lie ahead of me."

  Heather bopped her head to the tune on the juke box while she watched Beth and Mark compete back and forth, the game an even playing field. Twenty minutes later, only the eight ball remained. Beth stared at the black ball sitting on the table. If she missed, she'd be going on a date with Mark. If she made it, the outcome didn't change.

  She worked her way around the table, checking out every angle. She had two choices guaranteeing a win. As she approached each pocket, she saw Mark out of the corner of her eye trying to read her thoughts.

  The last time she played she was fourteen. Her dad spent months teaching her, and he taught her so well eventually she won every game. She thought he let her win them all, until she annihilated him ten games in a row, and he sulked on the couch. His face was full of defeat, and she hated it. Hated what her own pride had done. They never played pool together again.

  She didn't want Mark to feel the same way. If he did truly like her, and wanted to go on a date with her, surely he would change his mind if she beat him. She glanced over at Heather, who gave one nod, agreeing with Beth's strategy.

  She bent into the table, lining up her strategy. "Center," she called and pointed to the pocket.

  He tapped the cue stick on the floor. "Are you sure?"

  She studied the area again, pretending to try and find another spot to shoot. "Positive," she said confidently. She took the shot, and as she'd hoped, she missed.

  Mark let out an unconvincing sigh. "Ah, too bad. Pick you up at six tomorrow."

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  The music box sat on top of the picture, claiming its own seat in the car. Harvey barely slept the night before. If his mother stood right in front of him, what would he say? Would they pick up where they left off years ago? That didn't seem possible. His stomach twirled like a roller coaster as he played the event in his mind. After all these years, finding his mom should be a happy time, but she took off for a reason. The fault could be laid on him, maybe he had been why she packed up, left, and started over, like Beth. People leaving him seemed to be a recurring nightmare in his world.

  This time it was his turn, except he was walking into someone's life. The restless sleep at least sobered him up, but he couldn't drag himself into the shower. The thought of eating made his stomach churn even more, so once he finally decided to roll out of bed, he only brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair. He didn't bother to shave, leaving a layer of stubble on his face. His father laid passed out on the couch when he sneaked past at seven.

  During the drive to Sue's house, his cluttered thoughts bounced between how to start the conversation as well as how Maggie would react when she got a hold of him. Nelson tattled on him like a whiny first-grader. What a stupid fuck! Not only did he need to mend things with Beth, but now Maggie. He flushed his sobriety down the drain, so much progress lost. He couldn't erase what happened, at least he could start over, a clean slate. He'd be working again, his mom, Beth and Maggie back in his life, pushing him through and supporting him. He'd move in with his mother and get away from his asshole father and be happy. Yeah. That was the plan.

  Seven-twenty seemed too early to knock on Sue's door, but Harvey couldn't take the time to care. The courage sitting in the pit of his stomach started to dissipate and he had to get this done. Years of searching came to this particular moment. He pulled into the driveway, a shiver darting through his body. He put his foot on the brake and the car into reverse. He couldn't march up to that door and just burst into her life. He wasn't fucking crazy? Who did that? Leaving him to put the pieces of his life together, motherless and practically alone, qualified as insane, too, if not more so. No. This must be done. He deserved this moment. He placed the car in park, grabbed Leslie's pissy music box, and hopped up the stairs.

  The door stared back at him, and he took a glimpse of himself in the tattered window to the left of the entryway. A shower may have been a good idea, and a better choice of clothes. His Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt paired with ripped blue and gray plaid shorts didn't give the best impression. He cleared his throat, and clutched the music box to his chest. His heavy fist hovered in the air, fear pushing back at him. He inhaled deeply, exhaling loudly as he tried to release all the tension, and knocked.

  A lock wrestled and the door opened, Sue sta
nding before him, nostrils flaring. "What the hell do you want?"

  He froze, his hands hot and sweaty as he pushed the trinket into his stomach. Say something. Anything. "I brought the music box." Sue opened the door a crack to grab the item, but he tightened the hold against his body. "Can I come in? I need to talk to you."

  She peered at him, her eyes burning through his, her fury over what he had done speaking through the flecks of blue. "I would rather you didn't. I don't want to speak to you. In fact, I'm a little shocked you'd show up here asking to step foot in my home after what you did." This time when she reached for the box, Harvey obliged. She opened and closed the cover, and flipped it over, making sure there wasn't any damage. "Everything appears in order. No dents or markings. Please leave now. There's nothing for us to discuss."

  Harvey grabbed the door knob as she tried to shut him out. "Please." He said calmly, yet the pleading in his voice stern. "I won't take up a lot of your time, I promise."

  She scoffed at him. "You promise? That doesn't mean much coming from a thief."

  Ouch, those words hurt, but she was right. He was a thief. A lot of what he owned originally belonged to someone else, yet plenty was stolen from him. His childhood, his mother, his sobriety. "Sue, please. I'm begging you to talk to me." He held his hands together in plea, the photograph stuffed between them.

  Ralph called out in the background to Sue. "It's okay, Ralph," she turned to say. "Harvey is returning the music box. I'll be right up." She pointed to a bench outside on the patio. "I'll talk to you, but over there. I don't want you in my house."

  "Fair enough." She didn't sit next to him. She just closed the door behind her and stood over him, her arms crossed.

  "Say what you need in five minutes and then get off my property." The concrete took a beating from her tapping foot. "Or I'll call the police to remove you."

  He examined her, trying to match his features to hers. Did they resemble each other? Did he have her eyes? Were there any prominent dimples on her face? If they didn't look the same, possibly his bee allergy came from her. Did she alway play with her hair too? These were all questions he needed answered.