Missing Parts

by Lucinda Berry

  I awakened to the sound of David calling my name. I opened my eyes, searching wildly for him before remembering where I was. I’d been having the same dream I had most nights. In my dream, I was stumbling in a dark house, trying to find a way out and becoming more and more frantic because the house was a maze filled with doors. I’d run to a door hoping it would open only to find it locked. I’d beat on a door with my fists, screaming to be let out, and then his voice would break into the darkness, calling out for me. I always turned to look for him, but that was the point where I jolted awake each time. I never got to see his face. Never got to hear what he had to say to me.

  I didn’t know how I was going to live without David because it wasn’t possible to live with your heart outside your body, but I couldn’t cry anymore. I’d spent months sobbing while I drove, the incessant and unbearable pain of losing him tearing me apart as if my insides had been savagely ripped out, but my grief was fading into a chronic, dull ache that would never leave me even though the tears had dried up. Emptiness settled over me, covering me with a numbness that grew more familiar each day.

  Thoughts of David always led to wondering if Rori was still alive. Had she made it through her illness? By taking Phil’s life, had I stolen hers too? Rori was intrinsically linked to Phil and the memories clawed at my throat. Pictures of Phil’s body in the hotel room flashed through my mind. It was an image that no matter how good I got at forgetting, I would never erase. I willed myself to shove all of it—the images, the memories, the loss, and the lies— into a tiny room, buried in the recess of my mind. My secrets would be mine to know and mine to bear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I bent to fill their coffee cups with the steaming liquid to warm their insides as I watched the snow fall in thick sheets outside.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” Mrs. Anderson said as her fingers glided on her knitting sticks, a ball of yarn in her lap. She’d knitted me the pink hat I wore on my walk to work every day. Her latest project was a blanket for her ninth grandchild due in April.

  She and her husband had been our only customers all day because of another blizzard, but I wasn’t surprised they were there. They never missed their Tuesday morning breakfast no matter what the weather was like.

  It was hard to believe I’d been working at the Little Crane for almost three months. Getting acclimated to my role as a server had been the hardest transition I’d had in a place of employment which was ironic given the high pressure jobs I was used to. But everything was different now as I moved in a world no longer mine.

  I’d had no choice but to reintroduce myself to the outside world because the four walls of my tiny cabin had begun to suffocate me. My exhaustion was replaced with insomnia and without sleep, there were only empty hours to fill. I drifted through the cabin, sifting through the phantoms of my past. The loneliness was all-encompassing and grew unbearable. I lived in a prison of isolation with bars I’d created myself. The shadows on the wall had begun to take on a life of their own and I couldn’t stay inside any longer.

  It wasn’t easy so I started slow. I began taking long walks through Triton. It was a small town like I’d read about in stories, but didn’t know existed—one where everyone still went to church on Sunday. It was so small there wasn’t a school. Instead, the kids were bussed to the closet town where three towns came together in order to have enough students to fill a school. The town itself consisted of one main street holding everything it had to offer—a church, a liquor store, a small hardware store, the gas station, a bar, a post office, and tackle shop. The Little Crane was a small café at the end of Main Street right before the street opened up into expansive forests.

  Every business doubled for another. The small hardware store also housed DVDs to rent. The Baptist church held services on Sundays and Wednesdays, but also functioned as a meeting place where city council meetings were held. I couldn’t imagine what they voted on. The gas station doubled as a grocery store since the nearest town with a real grocery store was over fifteen minutes away. Triton had so few occupants that it didn’t have a police department, but I was sure they didn’t need it. I doubted many crimes took place and if they did, I had a strong suspicion everyone had a gun in their home since every person I’d met was an avid hunter, even the women. If you wanted to take in a movie, eat at a restaurant or do anything resembling the city, you had to drive two hours to what they referred to as “the city.”

  It was quiet and simple. The pace was slow. Nobody was in a rush. Everyone took their time as they walked down the street and meandered through the gas station. I liked it. It was comforting and soothing. I’d expected people to be nosy like the small town I grew up in, but they weren’t. However, their lack of questions may have been because I looked strange and didn’t act right since I’d lost the ability to carry on conversations. The casual social encounters that used to flow so easily for me were gone and replaced with awkward pauses and one-word responses. It wasn’t as if I didn’t want to talk to people because I did. I just couldn’t. I froze when people started conversations with me, stumbling over words and when I did manage to string a few sentences together, the cadence was all wrong as if I was autistic. It kept people from asking me too many questions. Mostly, people talked to me about the weather. It didn’t take long for me to discover they were infatuated with weather conditions and never tired of reporting them.

  The cabin community I lived in was even more insulated than Triton. It was a small world within an even smaller one. I rarely saw anyone in the other cabins. Most of them were empty except for the occasional couple who arrived for the weekend and were gone as quick as they’d come never stepping outside their doors. The only other people around were the fishermen who came every day. I’d watch them from my front step as I sat sipping coffee cuddled in my thick winter coat I’d somehow had the presence of mind to buy. There were three groups. There were those who came in the early morning before the sun was up carrying their gear out onto the ice. They were all business as they marched onto the lake and set up their spots. They hardly spoke to each other. Then, there were those who came late in the morning or early afternoon who carried large coolers full of beer and weren’t as serious about fishing as they were getting drunk. Lastly, there was the night crew. They came right as the sun was going down and were often some of the same people who fished in the morning.

  I’d begun paying my rent every week to the woman, Rosie, who lived on-site. She was as private as I was and never asked me how long I was staying. I assumed she lived alone because I never saw a man on her property, but she had three children who scampered through the place in their snow pants and stocking hats pulled tightly over their ears. They were the quietest children I’d ever met. I wouldn’t have known they’d been running around if it weren’t for the footprints they left in the snow.

  There wasn’t any Wi-Fi in my cabin, but it didn’t matter because I no longer had devices to connect me to the online world. I hadn’t even turned on my TV. It felt like the rest of the world didn’t exist and made it easy to pretend there was nothing else out there except the world I lived in now.

  I didn’t set out to find a job at the Little Crane. It happened by accident after I met the owner during one of my walks. I liked to walk early in the morning before the rest of the world was awake and the town looked as if it’d been abandoned. I rarely saw anyone so I was surprised to find him shoveling salt on the sidewalk as I passed by.

  “Be careful, dear. It’s really icy today. I don’t want you to slip,” he called out.

  He was more unsteady than I was as he stiffly moved the shovel in and out of the sand bag. His body was frail, slightly hunched over as if the next strong wind might blow him over. He stopped to lean against his shovel, his rapid breath coming in quick puffs of white. It was so cold you could see it. Deep wrinkles carved his face and small wisps of gray hair poked out from underneath his black cap.

  “It’s cold out here today, eh?”

  “Yes, it is.�
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  “How long you in town for?”

  I stepped backward, almost losing my footing.

  “Whoa, dear, calm down. I been here as long as Triton’s been around. I built this town so I know everyone in it and I don’t know you.” His bright blue eyes twinkled and his lips turned up into an amused smile at my reaction.

  I smiled back hesitantly. “I’ll, um…. be here for a while.”

  “How you liking Triton so far?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You have family in these parts?”

  “No. D-do you?” I looked away, ashamed of my stutter. I’d never had one before.

  “I did.” The lines in his face pulled down into a frown. “My wife passed away four months ago.”

  “Oh…. oh…. um-um, I’m sorry. Can I shovel?”

  I didn’t wait for him to respond. I was supposed to say something, offer some kind of condolence, but the right words to say were locked in my head inaccessible to me. I grabbed the shovel from him, avoiding eye contact and began sprinkling the sand on the ice. Once I’d finished the area in front of us, I grabbed the bag and continued down the sidewalk. When I reached the end of the sidewalk, I carried the shovel and bag back to him feeling embarrassed I’d salted the entire sidewalk rather than try to talk to him about his wife. He was resting against the storefront glass.

  “Thank you, dear. That sure was nice of you. You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

  I stood holding the shovel awkwardly. “It’s okay.” After a long pause, I added, “you’re welcome.”

  “Let me make you a cup of coffee.”

  “I…. uh…. I don’t know…. I n-n-need to go.”

  How had I turned into such a social degenerate?

  “Nonsense.” He pushed open the door and motioned for me to follow.

  I thought about walking away, but I’d look even more awkward than I already did so I followed him into the quaint cafe. It was like stepping into a wildlife sanctuary except all the animals were dead. Two huge deer heads were mounted on the left side wall. Every inch of wall space was covered with mounted fish and different birds. Their eyes were all wide open as if any moment they’d jump from their mounts and race along the floor.

  The old man pointed to the fish mounted next to the counter. “That’s the largemouth bass I caught with my dad when I was ten.” He beamed with pride. He hung his coat and hat on the hooks behind the counter. The long counter was filled with pies and an old-fashioned cash register on top. A white board displaying the handwritten menu and yesterday’s specials hung on the wall behind the counter. “Sit. I’m gonna grab the coffee.”

  I eyed the restaurant, choosing one of the tables in front of the window. There were only five tables in front and eight on the other side of the L-shaped room. I rehearsed what I’d say about his wife over and over again while I waited for him to return.

  “How’d your wife die?” I blurted out before he’d even reached the table. It wasn’t what I’d rehearsed. I was supposed to tell him I was sorry for his loss. He set a cup of coffee in front of me and slid into the seat across from me.

  “Esophagus cancer even though she never smoked a day in her life.” His blue eyes filled with tears. “Seems unfair. Real unfair. It took her quickly.” His gaze was fixed outside as if he was waiting for her to walk across the street. “She got a sore throat and we figured she had a cold. Nothing to worry about, but it just wouldn’t go away. Then, one morning she woke up and she’d lost her voice. Totally gone. It was the worst thing that could’ve happened to her.” He giggled like a school kid. “I forgot you’re not from around here. She loved to talk. You couldn’t shut her up so she ran to the doctor when she lost her voice. They diagnosed her with laryngitis.”

  He talked about his wife Lois for the next hour as I listened and drank two more cups of coffee. Her laryngitis didn’t go away. She was diagnosed with throat cancer three weeks later and shortly after that her scans revealed she had cancer throughout her lymph nodes. She was dead within two months as it travelled quickly into her brain and overtook her. He’d held her hand as she took her final breath. He was weeping by the end of his tale.

  “I just miss her so much. I spent forty-two years with her. Forty-two years, can you believe that? She was the love of my life. I don’t know how to live without her.” I reached out and put my hand on his. I hadn’t touched another person in so long. His skin was leathery and soft underneath my fingertips. “Look at me. Going on and on. I just can’t help myself.”

  “Who are you?” Not the question I wanted to ask. I tried again. “I mean, what’s your name? I don’t even know your name.”

  He slapped his hand on the table and threw his head back, roaring with laughter. The tears were gone as quickly as they’d come. “Oh my goodness. Now that’s funny. Here I am telling you my whole life story and you don’t even know my name. Frank. My name’s Frank.”

  “Sarah.”

  He stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Sarah.” He stood, slowly lifting himself out of the seat. “I’ve held you up long enough. I’m sure you’ve got a job to get to.”

  “I don’t have a job.”

  “Do you want one?” he asked.

  “Huh, really? I…. I…. I’m not….”

  His eyes smiled with his lips. “I could sure use the help. I’m a bit lost without Lois and all my teenagers are back at school. The last one left last week. It’s just me and the cook. Oh, and Meredith, but between you and me, she misses half her shifts. I can’t fire her, though. No way. Lois would roll over in her grave. She’s got two kids and her husband is in Iraq for another year.”

  I said yes and agreed to start by the end of the week. I spent the rest of the day talking myself out of it and practicing what I would say to Frank when I told him I’d changed my mind, but I felt differently when I woke up the next morning. I couldn’t live off the money I’d taken with me much longer. It was going to run out no matter how deprived of a lifestyle I lived. Also, I hadn’t been without a job since I was nine-years-old and it might feel nice to do something normal again.

  I felt the first tiny sparks of excitement rise in me, but they were quickly distinguished when it occurred to me I didn’t have anything to wear to work. I’d been wearing the same clothes over and over again, but none of them fit anymore because of all the weight I’d lost. My jeans were too big and I had to tie a rope around my waist to hold them up. My t-shirts that had been bright and fresh when I’d packed them were now worn and stained from being worn so much and washed in the sink. I couldn’t walk into my first day at a new job with baggy jeans tied with a rope and a dirty t-shirt.

  The thought of driving into the city terrified me. What if the car triggered another breakdown? The darkness was only beginning to leave, but I didn’t have any other choice if I wanted to go to work. I forced myself to get in the car and was pummeled with waves of visceral memories of the throwing up and psychotic driving I’d done—how I’d gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white and my stick arms that were full of deep mangled scratches from the way I raked my nails across them. There were still blood stains on the steering wheel. The smell of insanity lingered in the seats.

  I talked myself through the trip, telling myself it wouldn’t take long. The Target sign was my signal and I pulled off the freeway as soon as I spotted it. In my old life, I wouldn’t have dreamed of buying clothes at Target for a job interview. Target was reserved for toiletries and things for the house, but it didn’t matter in my new life. In this life, Target was perfect.

  I didn’t know my size anymore and was shocked to discover I was a two. I’d never been that skinny even as a teenager. It felt disorienting to look at myself in the mirror. I no longer cared what I looked like which was odd since I’d been obsessed with how I looked since I was thirteen. I’d grown into one of those women who refused to leave the house without make up, but I was no longer that woman. The towel in my bathroom still hung over my mirror but I was fo
rced to look at myself as I stepped into the dressing room with full-sized mirrors on every wall. I’d spent so much time in my life preoccupied with losing weight and wishing I was skinnier, but being rail thin didn’t look good on my body. My large bones stretched against my skin made me look even ganglier. The new slenderness made my hip bones stick out and look wider without the usual pounds to round them out. My face was the most unsettling. I reached my hand out to touch the glass, fingering my pointed nose and sunken in cheekbones, staring into my haunted eyes. Pale blue veins created a tangled web across my cheekbones. I looked like I’d returned from a concentration camp.

  How was I going to be around people looking the way I did? It was bad enough that I didn’t know how to interact with them anymore, but it made it even worse to look so frightening. I was going to need more than clothes that fit.

  I found Supercuts behind Target. The woman who cut my hair into a cropped boyish cut tried her best to hide her questions when she looked at me, but I could see them swirling in her eyes. She gave up trying to make small talk with me after a few failed attempts and focused on fixing my hair.

  Despite my new clothes and haircut, I still felt intensely self-conscious as I walked into the Little Crane on Friday. My shyness was acute. Frank has happy to see me.

  “Hi, dear. Put your coat up and let me show you around.”

  He led me into the back, pointing out the freezers before introducing me to a short, bald man stacking dishes and wrapping silverware.

  “Ben, this is Sarah. The one I was telling you about.”

  Ben turned around and stuck out his hand covered in tattoos all the way up his arm and disappearing underneath his shirt sleeve. “Hey,” he said. His handshake was firm. He barely glanced at me before returning to his task.