Picking Up The Pieces

by Brenda Adcock

  “Miss Shelton? This is Dr. Stephens at Landstuhl Medical Facility.”

  “Is Athon all right? Is something wrong?”

  Stephens cleared her throat. “She suffered a seizure while we were preparing her for transport.”

  “Oh, God,” Lauren moaned. “I have to see her again, please.”

  Stephens looked up to see Athon’s gurney being rolled toward the ambulance bay. “We’ve stabilized her and she’s being taken to the ambulance for transport now. Are you flying to the States?”

  “I was going out the door to catch my flight when you called. It leaves in two hours.”

  “I’ll call a colleague at Walter Reed. When you get there ask for Colonel Beverly Thompson. She’ll be expecting you.”

  “Dr. Stephens, thank you. I...I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s what I’d want. Having a loved one nearby is important for a patient’s recovery. Have a safe trip.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Duvalle, Texas October 1987

  GENTLE ROCKING LULLED Athon into a deep sleep. The pain was gone except for a dull lingering throb around her eye and through her shoulder, along with a persistent headache. Her mind drifted back to the beating she’d suffered at the hands of the man who was supposed to be her father. The man who was supposed to take care of her. He’d taken care of her all right. Although she thought she’d die at the time, she vowed it would never happen again.

  The sun was already climbing its way toward noon on Friday when the woman, who introduced herself as Bridget Fitzgerald, pushed Athon’s wheelchair out of the emergency room doors. Her father, whom Athon learned was Pudge Fitzgerald, had left to bring his car around to pick them up after Athon refused to stay in the hospital. She tried to find a comfortable way to sit in the wheelchair, but there was no place on her body that didn’t ache. Only medication had lessened the dull throb in her shoulder, which the doctor discovered had indeed been dislocated. A sling held her left arm close to her body to prevent further damage to the fragile joint.

  The car stopped in front of Athon and Bridget and Athon tried unsuccessfully to lift her sore body using only her right arm. Pudge swung the back door open and he and Bridget were able to help Athon stand and rotate in order to sit in the back seat. When everyone was reasonably situated, Pudge started the car and looked at his passenger in the back seat.

  “Where to, girlie?” he asked. Athon was growing accustomed to the deep, gravelly voice. Pudge Fitzgerald had stayed as close as possible to Athon during the long hours she had spent in the emergency room and held her hand as the doctor stitched up a couple of deep cuts on her face.

  “Buena Ventana Trailer Court,” Athon answered through gritted teeth.

  “Why you wanna go there?” he asked. “Ain’t nothin’ there but a bunch of abandoned old trailers.”

  “Home, sweet home,” Athon mumbled.

  “Where’s your mama?”

  Athon took as deep a breath as her body allowed. “Jail,” she muttered.

  “And your daddy?” Bridget asked.

  “Don’t know or care. Drunk or high somewhere.”

  Pudge squinted into the rearview mirror. “Well, I can either take you to my place where we can look after you, or to that shitty old camper we found you in,” Pudge said.

  “Just take me to Buena Ventana,” Athon said. “I can get in.”

  “Maybe I should call Child Protective Services,” he said, turning his head to look at the battered teenager in his back seat.

  “I ain’t no child!” Athon said, pulling her body up by grabbing the front seat with her good arm. “Stop the fuckin’ car!”

  Pudge pulled the car to the side of the highway and stopped.

  “Daddy?” Bridget started, but Pudge waved her off.

  Athon jerked the car door open and forced her body to swivel into the opening. She slid out and tried to stand up. Her knees buckled and she fell face first into the grass and weeds next to the car before rolling down the embankment. When the pain in her shoulder and ribs subsided, she struggled in an attempt to get up as Pudge watched her, a grin on his lips.

  “How long you gonna let her lay there like that, Daddy?” Bridget huffed.

  “Until she figures out she needs help,” Pudge answered.

  After several failed attempts, Athon dropped onto her back, panting.

  “Well, this is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” Bridget grumbled as she opened the passenger side door and stepped out of the car. She squatted down and lightly touched Athon’s abdomen.

  “Girl, you ain’t never met any human as stubborn as my daddy,” Bridget said as she looked into Athon’s pain-filled, bloodshot blue eyes. “He’ll sit out here all damn day in this heat watching you squirm around like a worm on a hook. We been up most of the night and I’m plumb tuckered. The beds at Daddy’s house are a lot more comfortable than these weeds and rocks. So how about I help you back into the car and we all get some rest?”

  “I...I can’t pay him and don’t want no ch...charity,” Athon managed. “I gotta go to work.”

  “He’ll find a way to make you pay so don’t you worry none about that,” Bridget said with a laugh. She looked into the car. “Daddy! Daddy! Wake the hell up! I can’t lift this girl by myself.”

  Pudge sat up and shook his head, rubbing a meaty hand up and down his face. “Finally come to her senses, did she?” he grunted.

  “Let’s get her home,” Bridget said.

  Athon was surprised at the old man’s strength when he lifted her into his arms. He backed into the back seat and sat down, still cradling her body. “You drive, Bridge,” he said. He scooted to the far side of the vehicle and let Athon slide out of his arms with her head resting on his lap. As Bridget started the car and pulled back onto the highway, Athon felt his rough, callused hand stroke her hair and she felt safe for the first time she could remember.

  THREE DAYS LATER Athon sat at the small table in Pudge Fitzgerald’s kitchen shoveling a mound of scrambled eggs into her mouth and washing it down with a cup of the best hot fresh coffee she’d ever tasted. Her shoulder still ached, but the sling was thankfully gone.

  “You gonna be okay to return to school today?” Pudge asked.

  “I don’t have a choice. I’m behind enough already.”

  “Don’t let anyone run into you today. You’re still pretty bruised up. What did you do to deserve such a beatin’?”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it. I probably deserved it.”

  “Nobody deserves a beatin’ like that. I’ll drive you to school and give them your note from the hospital.”

  “I can do it. You ain’t my daddy, you know,” Athon bristled.

  “I ‘spect I’m a damn sight better than your daddy, girl,” Pudge snapped.

  Athon scratched her bruised cheek, hoping the old man didn’t catch a glimpse of the hurt in her eyes.

  He cleared his throat and softened his voice before saying, “Since neither of your folks is around, I’ll watch out for you until you can take care of yourself.”

  “I appreciate what you did for me, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’ll find another place to stay by next weekend. I can go back to work tonight.”

  “You can stay here. Or in that old camper. I figure in another week or so you can start workin’ off what you owe me. If you leave I’ll never get my money back. Where you workin’?” Pudge eyed Athon and took a deep breath.

  “Tiny’s.”

  “I ’ll go by and tell him why you ain’t been there.”

  ATHON HATED THE thought of everyone staring at her and snickering as she followed Pudge into the main office of Carver High School later that morning. She brushed her shaggy hair over her forehead and tried to keep her head down as much as possible as she shoved a hand into the front pocket of her jeans. When Mrs. Fortenberry saw her she winced and sucked in a breath.

  “Lordy mercy! What on earth happened to you, Athon Dailey?”

  “Had an accident.”

  “Did y
ou walk in front of a vehicle?”

  “No, ma’am,” Athon said, trying not to move her jaw any more than necessary.

  Pudge slid the hospital release form, along with a doctor’s order, across the counter. He leaned closer and whispered something Athon couldn’t hear to the secretary. Mrs. Fortenberry nodded and smiled at Pudge. “How’s Bridget doing?” she asked nonchalantly. “She get her beautician’s license yet?”

  “Takes the state test in a couple of weeks, Ellie. Then she can start getting’ paid to fix hair. I been settin’ up a little shop for her in the old garage. Looks real nice.”

  “Tell her to give me a call when she’s ready,” Mrs. Fortenberry said. She wrote a pass out and handed it to Athon. She stuffed the pass in her shirt pocket and turned to leave.

  “I’ll pick you up when school lets out,” Pudge said. “Out front.”

  They watched Athon sling her backpack over her good shoulder and walk slowly into the hallway.

  “Know much about her?” Pudge leaned his elbows on the counter. Everyone knew Ellie Fortenberry was the biggest gossip in town and never minded spreading what she knew. Ellie looked around to make sure no one else was nearby.

  “I knew her mama when she was a student here at Carver, but that was years ago. Come from a real good family. I think her daddy was a lawyer or something. Then she discovered drugs, booze, and boys, not necessarily in that order. She left home and was working over at the Rusty Spur before she even graduated, servin’ drinks and strippin’ for the men until she got pregnant. With Athon, I guess. I heard Hank Dailey is Athon’s daddy. He went to school here too, off and on. Always in trouble, like Athon, and dropped out because he was so far behind. He claims he isn’t Athon’s daddy, but who knows.”

  “The girl says her mama’s in jail,” Pudge said.

  “Probably is then, again. I suppose Athon’s raised herself for the most part. It’s a shame because her teachers all say she’s smart as a whip.” Ellie paused and lowered her voice even further. “I heard she’s a...lesbian.”

  Pudge chuckled. Ellie shushed him and leaned closer. “She don’t exactly make it a secret and that’s what gets her in trouble, mostly for fighting. She’s got a hair-trigger temper and the other students know it. All they have to do is say something she takes offense to and the fight is on.” Ellie drew herself up and looked at Pudge. “Otherwise she seems like a nice enough kid. She’s always been polite to me and Lord knows she hasn’t had many breaks or role models in her life. At least this is her last year at Carver.”

  ATHON OPENED THE door to her classroom and walked in, her jaw raised defiantly. Snickers rippled through the room when the other students saw her face. She handed the pass to the teacher and limped down the aisle to her desk. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Craig Hickson grin as she sat down and began pulling her notebook and pen from her backpack. She ignored them and leaned back to wait for the teacher to begin the day’s lesson. Once everyone had begun working, Ms. Davenport made her way to Athon’s desk and knelt down next to it.

  “Before you leave you can pick up the folder of make-up work from my desk. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Let me know if you have any questions.”

  Athon nodded and glanced up to see her classmates still staring at her. She’d avoided any mirrors in Pudge’s house that morning, but guessed her face was pretty messed up. When Ms. Davenport stood and ordered the students to resume their work, Athon noticed Lauren Shelton continued looking at her. Athon lifted the side of her mouth in a semi-smile. It hurt too damn much for a real grin and when she did the stitches on her cheek and over her eye pulled. She lowered her head to work, but periodically glanced in the girl’s direction. A tap on her sore arm startled her and she visibly winced.

  “Guess you ran into someone tougher’n you,” Craig muttered. “Sucks to be you, Dailey,” he said with a giggle.

  Athon turned her head toward him and forced a smile before responding, “Catch you later, dickhead.”

  “You threatening me, perv?”

  She simply smiled at him and continued with her work. About five minutes before the bell rang Ms. Davenport called Athon to the front of the room.

  “The note requested I let you leave a few minutes early to make it to your next class.” When Athon started to return to her desk to get her backpack, Ms. Davenport said, “Lauren, can you assist Athon to her next class?”

  Lauren nodded and packed her things quickly before retrieving Athon’s old backpack and walking to the door.

  As soon as they entered the hallway, Athon said, “I can handle it,” and reached for the backpack.

  “I got it,” Lauren said. “What happened?”

  “A disagreement. No big deal.”

  “When someone kicks the crap out of you, it is a big deal,” Lauren said with a frown. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m always okay.”

  Athon glanced around the hallway to avoid looking at the attractive mocha-skinned girl next to her. She had cinnamon eyes accented by the reddish tint of her hair. She was beautiful. It was all Athon could do not to stare at Lauren’s moist, full lips. She wished she could think of something suave to say, but the truth was she didn’t feel very suave at the moment.

  Athon limped slowly down the hall. Periodically Lauren reached out to steady her. Athon felt the warmth of her hand on her back and tried to ignore it.

  “So do you like the school?” Athon asked.

  “Yeah, it’s okay. Not as many students as my old school so that’s kind of nice.”

  “Your parents moved here on purpose?”

  “My father’s the new pastor at Eastside Presbyterian Church.”

  “You’re really pretty,” Athon blurted.

  Athon watched Lauren’s skin turn that amazing, indescribable color when she blushed at the remark.

  “Thanks.” Lauren laughed at the compliment and Athon enjoyed the sound of it. “You can be my first friend here,” Lauren said.

  Athon shook her head. “Hangin’ with me isn’t a good idea if you care about your reputation. I’m okay alone. Always have been.” She took her backpack from Lauren and rested against the wall outside her next class to wait for the bell. “Thanks though.” Athon refused to look at Lauren as she walked away. She couldn’t stand to let anyone see how defeated she felt despite her bravado. She wouldn’t let anyone see that.

  Chapter Twelve

  Duvalle, Texas October 1987

  ALTHOUGH ATHON WAS grateful to Pudge for helping her, once she was back on her feet she convinced him to let her convert the cab-over camper into her temporary home and offered to pay rent. He flatly turned down the rent, but agreed to let her use the camper. Tiny gave her the rest of the week off while Bridget helped her carry a load of cleaning supplies to the camper before hauling a pile of sheets and cleaning rags back to the house to be washed and dried.

  Any light coming through the camper windows was muted by several years’ worth of dirt and grime. Athon found two large plastic cat litter containers and filled them with water and poured a few capfuls of cleaning solution into an old bucket and wrung out the excess water to begin cleaning up the inside of the camper shell. By the time she finished there were no more dust motes floating around her and she could see out the window next to the elevated sleeping area. It was the cleanest place she’d ever lived. She made a list of things she would need to live independently.

  Every day Bridget picked Athon up from school and drove her to the junk yard. When she entered the camper, she almost always found something Pudge no longer needed or used that made her life a little easier. She was particularly glad when she found a couple of old lanterns, a camping stove, and a rusty cooler stacked outside the camper door. She checked books on survival out of the school library and, in her spare time, learned to set up a cooking area and a solar shower. She dug a hole outside the camper in a shaded area and buried the cooler three-fourth of the way in the ground, leaving the d
rain open. She kept a few items in it and bought a bag of ice every two or three days. It wasn’t ideal, but she felt comfortable and safe. Bridget always cooked too much food and dropped off a plate for her most nights or she made something simple on the camp stove. Occasionally, Pudge stopped by to chat and kill time while they sat on a couple of old car seats Athon found and was using as lawn chairs. No matter how much she fought it, Athon was becoming attached to the gruff old man and his daughter.

  EXCEPT FOR THE one class they shared, Athon didn’t see Lauren often. Once or twice Lauren attempted to chat her up, but Athon saw the way other students looked at them and brushed her off. It was a blustery October Saturday when Athon opened the bay doors at Tiny’s Garage and prepared for another day at work. Early that morning she walked to a small diner downtown that was looking for a dishwasher for the evening shift during the week. She’d never have a social life, but the extra money would come in handy. Neither of her jobs required more than t-shirts and jeans. She wasn’t required to talk to anyone or smile at people she had to pretend she liked. Each job allowed her to remain anonymous to everyone around her and she preferred that it remain that way. She only had seven months left before she could escape Duvalle.

  Athon put away the tools Tiny had used during the week, wondering how he ever found the one he needed on the cluttered work bench. Her job that day was to take all the old oil gathered during the week and pour it into fifty-five gallon barrels. The recycling truck would be by at the beginning of the next week to haul it away. She would rather be working on a car, but in every job there was a chore no one really wanted to do. There was always sludge in the bottom of each oil pan and she had to scoop it out. It took a miracle to avoid coating her arms with the black substance. When a miracle didn’t occur, Tiny accused Athon of trying to make herself as black and beautiful as he was.