Pieces of my Heart

by Jamie Canosa

  “Enough!” Caulder’s rage crashed around us. “You don’t—”

  “No.” Grabbing a handful of his coat sleeve, I tugged Caulder back. This was my fight. I was done letting others fight it for me. I was stronger than my fear.

  Turning to face my mother, I reiterated my one word rebellion to her. “No. I’m done listening to you. You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore. You don’t get to say cruel, hurtful things and blame them on the alcohol. You’re wrong, I don’t need you. Maybe I did, but not anymore. Now it’s you who needs me. And I want to be there for you, Mom. I want to help. I love you. I miss you. I want to come home. Be a family again. But not like this. If you want me to stay, it’s not going to happen through guilt. Not anymore. I’m willing to try again, to give us another chance. I want to make this work, but you have to want it, too.”

  “When you wake up and realize just how damn lucky you are to have someone like Jade in your life, you can call. She’s coming home with me.” Caulder’s arm came around me, curling my body into his solid chest.

  I somehow made it all the way to the car before her words sank in. My hands started shaking all over again. I’d just walked away from my home. My family. My lower lip went the way of my hands and I knew it was only a matter of time. Sucking in a few quick, shallow breaths, I attempted to stave the tears already building in my eyes.

  “It’s okay.” Caulder reached across the seat, prying the sheet of paper I hadn’t realized I’d taken with me from my hands and threading his fingers through mine. With a quick glimpse of the document, he shoved it down between the seats, out of sight. “You did it. You survived. And I am so proud of you.”

  Proud? He was proud of me?

  The tears sank back to where they came from. I was still hurt. And afraid. And lonely. But I was a little bit proud, too. I’d stood up to my mother. For the first time in my life, I demanded that she acknowledge my needs instead of just her own. It may not have been the response I would have liked, but I did it. I was getting stronger every day. And I knew why that was.

  “I couldn’t do this without you.” My fingers squeezed around Cal’s. “Any of it. Life. I couldn’t do life without you.”

  He leaned into me, pressing his forehead to mine. “You’ll never have to.”

  ***

  I couldn’t sit still. Residual anxiety coursed through my veins, fueling my restlessness. I’d dealt with one problem. Or at least taken the first step toward dealing with it. But I’d been made aware of a much more immediate problem.

  I may have been lounging in comfort at the Parks’, but Mom wasn’t. She needed my paycheck and I wasn’t providing. Things must have been getting pretty tight at home. For her to have shown up at all, she must have been getting desperate.

  “So, Mom’s shift wraps up in about twenty minutes. I thought I’d go pick her up and take her out to dinner. Come with. We can celebrate.” Caulder sat perched on the edge of the sofa in the living room, watching me pace the floor like a caged animal.

  I knew he was only trying to help take my mind off things, but I wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate. The thought of eating some fancy meal, while Mom was probably rationing canned goods, made me sick to my stomach.

  “Actually, I need to run into work. Check the schedule for next week. Maybe another time?”

  I could have just as easily picked up a phone and called to check my schedule, but I needed to get out of the house. I needed some time alone to think and process everything that happened. Caulder got that. He was every bit as understanding as he was supportive, a combination I couldn’t have done without.

  Snagging my wrist, he brought me to a halt and pulled me down beside him.

  “Alright.” His fingers combed through my hair, wrapping around a lock to give a playful tug. “But next time I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  Only Caulder could make me smile at a time like that. “Deal.”

  I planned to use the drive to The Brewery to consider my options regarding my mother. It turned out . . . I didn’t have any. I’d played my hand. I’d given my mother the second, third, fourth, fifth—I’d lost count—chance I needed to. Now, it was her turn.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out what her decision would be. Not at first. But forcing her to make it, to acknowledge the fact that she was choosing alcohol over her own flesh and blood . . . it had to make an impact. I had to believe that.

  “Hey, stranger.” Simon greeted me with one of those chin-lift things that guys do from behind the counter where he was up to his elbows in caramel sauce.

  “Hey, yourself.” The place was deserted, so I wander over to the register and leaned against the display case.

  “You look better.” Peeling off his gloves, he swiped his hands on the dish towel looped over the faucet.

  “I feel better. That’s actually why I’m here. I’m ready to come back to work and wanted to check my schedule.”

  “Alrighty, then. Let’s check it out.” Simon tugged open the drawer beneath the register and pulled out the oversized kitten calendar that listed all of our weekly schedules. Flipping to a picture of a fat, orange cat that reminded me of Garfield, he ran his finger along the week marked in purple ink and frowned. “You’re not on here.”

  “What?” Tipping my head, for a better angle, I scanned the upcoming week on the off-chance Simon had forgotten my name again. It was nowhere to be seen. “That doesn’t make any sense. Stewart said two weeks when I spoke to him on the phone. It’s been two weeks.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a mistake. He probably forgot.” Somehow I doubted that. “Don’t worry. I’ll call Stew and—”

  “Jade.” Karen stepped out of the back office, wiping her hands on her apron, looking startled to see me. “I . . . um . . .” Her gaze flicked from me, to Simon, to the calendar, and back again. “I was going to call you.”

  Why did that not sound good? “What’s up?”

  “It’s Stewart. He, uh . . .” She sighed. “Look, I like you. So don’t shoot the messenger here, okay? Stewart said he had to let you go. He said the hours weren’t . . .”

  The rest of her words were lost to the sudden influx of blood to my head, rushing through my ears. Let me go? I’d been fired? A wave of dizziness crashed over me and I gripped the counter to steady myself.

  Beside me, Simon had gone pale. “He can’t do that. It’s not her fault—”

  “I didn’t say it was. I’m not the one who—”

  “Karen! You can’t just—”

  “Stop.” The word croaked out of me. “It’s not her fault. She’s just doing her job.”

  “Jade, don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to Stew. I’ll—”

  “Don’t.” It wasn’t worth his job, too. Any one of us was easily replaceable. “It’s okay.”

  “Jade . . .” His eyes said he knew damn well it wasn’t.

  “Really. There’s got to be a million other places I can work where I won’t end up with a caffeine buzz every day.” I tried to laugh and nearly gagged on it. “I gotta go. There’s somewhere I need to be.”

  “I really am sorry.” Karen looked miserable.

  “Don’t be. Really.” I backpedaled toward the door, desperate to escape.

  I slipped out as a crowd shoved its way inside. Through the front window, I saw Simon watching me go, his shoulders slumped. But then a line started forming. Work demanded his attention. And I was lost to another round of orders.

  Fired. What was I going to do now? Mom may not have been the world’s best provider, but she’d never let us end up in some box under some bridge somewhere. I’d counted on her for that and now she was counting on me. And I was letting her down.

  The light turned green and I pressed on the accelerator, not really seeing where I was going. Pins and needles pricked my fingertips, my grip on the wheel so tight it cut off circulation. I could feel that steel band wrapping around my chest, beginning to squeeze.

  The car suddenly felt too small. The urge to pull ove
r, get out, and run was nearly overwhelming. But where would I go? Somewhere nobody knew me. Where nobody counted on me. Where nobody could be disappointed by me. Where the weight of responsibility didn’t sit like a steel beam across my shoulders. But it was a pipe dream. Such a place didn’t exist because running away from responsibility didn’t make it disappear.

  I had to find another solution. That’s what I did. I took problems and I solved them. I always had. Whether it was how to cook a meal without any ingredients, or how to pick my drunken mother up at a bar without a license, or how to pay bills without any money, I always found a way.

  I’d just have to do it again. And again. And again.

  No matter how many problems I solved, that weight was never going to go away. It was beginning to wear me down.

  Stripping off my coat, I fished in the closet for a hanger. The dumb metal hook caught on another and frustration swelled. Why did everything have to be so friggin’ difficult? With an aggravated shout, I tore the hanger free and watched with dismay as it sailed across the foyer.

  “Jade? Is that you?”

  Crap. I hadn’t realized Mrs. Parks was home. Caulder must not have taken her out to dinner after all. She emerged from the living room with a book dangling from her fingers, which she set down the minute she saw me.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Feeling like an even bigger fool, I reclaimed the hanger and stuffed it into my coat sleeves.

  “Honey, if something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me about it.”

  “I know. It’s just—” I pressed my lips together and shut my eyes, determined not to cry in front of her. Drawing in a deep breath, I ground the words out between my teeth. “I lost my job today.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She paused for a moment and I knew she was considering her words. “I’m sure there are other coffee houses where—”

  “It’s not the job I care about.” I hated that dumb job. “It’s . . . it’s the paycheck. Without it, I . . .” Without it, I would be just fine thanks to the Parks, but . . . “My mom . . . She can’t . . .”

  Pay her rent. Or bills. Or buy food. She was going to lose everything.

  My lip began to quiver and I bit down on it hard. Dammit. Tears wouldn’t fix anything.

  “Sweetheart, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Your mom’s heat, electric, cable, her debt, all of it has been paid. And her rent is covered until the end of the year. Okay?”

  “What?” My brain was still processing all of this, but the rest of my body seemed to understand. My hands started to tremble. “How? Why?”

  “I took care of it. Because we love you. And you love her.”

  I felt that weight shift. It wasn’t gone, but it was shared. Lighter. Bearable. I gasped as relief hit me so hard it physically hurt. I could suddenly breathe, but I couldn’t all at the same time. Like I’d gone from suffocating to having too much air. It was taken care of? All of it? Everything? There was nothing left to worry about?

  “I . . .” I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t even catch my breath. All I could do was surrender to the relief and let the tears come.

  Mrs. Parks gathered me in her arms and I clung tightly to her. The shining example of what a mother should be like. And for a very selfish moment, I wished she were mine. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay, now.”

  “What are you doing to her, Mom?” Warmth filled Caulder’s voice as I felt his heat draw near to my back.

  “I’m hugging my girl. You wait your turn,” she chastised lightly, and I only cried harder.

  Her girl. She called me hers. Maybe she was mine after all.

  Maybe they both were.

  Twenty Four

  Stretching my arms above my head, I heard my shoulder pop. Jeez, I was eighteen going on eighty. The dreary gray weather outside my window was good for one thing and one thing only. Sleep. Something I’d had an abundance of if the clock on the bedside table was to be believed.

  Caulder had sacrificed his manhood to watch one of his mother’s ‘girlie romance movies’ with me, but I hadn’t made it halfway through before I was sound asleep on the couch. That had been around nine-thirty. It was now almost eleven. I couldn’t even remember coming up to bed.

  Thirteen-and-a-half hours of sleep doesn’t do the body as much good as you’d think. My head felt heavy, my body ached, and my internal clock had fallen off the wall, entirely. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to run around and get myself moving, or bury my head deeper in the pillow and shut my eyes.

  The house was unusually quiet. I generally woke to the sound of the shower running, or footsteps in the hall, or someone shouting about breakfast. Sounds of home. Sounds of family. Sounds of life. Sounds I loved. But this morning, it was dead quiet.

  A chill wrapped around my arms the minute I threw back the covers, making me grateful for the thick carpeting beneath my bare feet as I shrugged into one of Mrs. Parks’ old robes. Coffee was the first step on the journey back to the land of the living, but first there were some things I needed to take care of. Like an epic case of morning breath.

  Securing the sash around my waist, I shuffled into the bathroom and flipped on the heat fan. If I designed a house, those babies would come standard in every last room. Warm air circulated down from the ceiling, helping to thaw my bones as I ran one brush over my teeth and another through my hair.

  I’d stood up to my mother. Over a week later and I still couldn’t believe it. I’d gone toe-to-toe with her and not backed down for the first time ever. Yes, I still planned to give her money. And yes, I was well aware of what most of that money would be spent on. I was an enabler. I’d learned about them in seventh grade health class and I’d known since that day what my role was in my mother’s life. It hadn’t changed the fact, but I was finally taking steps to correct it. I only hoped I had the strength to follow through. Each day that passed without a word from her, my resolve crumbled just a little bit more.

  The temptation to never leave that room again was real. So warm and cozy. It wouldn’t be an inconvenience to anyone if I just hibernated in there until spring, would it?

  Sighing, I tugged open the door and got slapped with confusion. I’d been so out of it, I hadn’t even noticed Kiernan’s bedroom door, standing open across the hall.

  “Cal?” He was hunched on the edge of Kiernan’s bed, staring blankly at the floor.

  The sheets were still a knotted mess, but the laundry had all been collected. The sneakers were gone. And all of Kiernan’s books were stacked neatly on his desk. There were boxes lying empty on the floor.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Caulder slowly tipped his head toward me and blinked. He just blinked. He looked . . . stunned.

  “Are you okay?”

  His eyes slid over our surroundings without really taking any of it in. “I thought it was time. You stood up to the ghosts haunting you. I thought maybe if I . . . Maybe Mom could . . .”

  “Hey.” I sidestepped one box and climbed over another to reach him, moving with caution as thought approaching a wild animal. He looked ready to . . . something. “There’s no rush. I’m sure—”

  Caulder shifted and my gaze latched onto the item dangling from his fingers.

  “I was going through some of Kiernan’s books and I found this.” His eyes dropped to the notebook before returning to mine, filled with apology. “I didn’t mean to read it. I was just going to give it back to you. But I . . .”

  “It’s okay.” I was proud of the fact that the lie came out smoothly. The thought of anyone reading my work, especially that work, made me want to puke.

  “This is what your life would have been like? With him?”

  “Maybe.” I eased onto the mattress beside him. “Maybe not. I don’t know. It’s a work of fiction, Cal.”

  His fingers drifted almost reverently across the cover of the notebook that looked well-worn though Kiernan had only had it a couple weeks be
fore he died. “You . . . you named your son after me?”

  “That was all Kiernan. His first choice. He insisted. You were his hero, Cal.”

  Caulder curled into himself as though he’d taken a punch to the gut. “No. I wasn't. I couldn't be. I—”

  “No. Cal, no. You can't do this to yourself. There was nothing anyone could do to help him.”

  “Not even his damn hero.” Raw, bitter pain laced his words and cracked my heart.

  Pages fluttered as the book fell to the floor and I slid my hand into his. “I know how you feel. I felt the same way. Kiernan did so much for me and I couldn’t . . .”

  “Angel.”

  Biting back the pain, I forced more conviction into my words than I really felt. “But that wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

  I gave him a moment to digest that, allowing myself a chance to take in everything around me. The scent—the feel—of Kiernan wasn’t as strong as before. I didn’t see him in every detail. Didn’t get bogged down in the weight of the memories.

  “That almost makes it worse.” Caulder’s fingers clenched painfully around mine, but I doubted he had any idea what he was doing. “There’s no one to . . .”

  “Blame?” Caulder’s eyes flicked up to me. He looked almost surprised that I understood. But I knew exactly what he meant. “No one to hate?”

  Slowly, he nodded.

  “So it just stays there, trapped inside. Rotting you to the core.”

  “Jade . . .” He swallowed, thickly. “I can't . . . I can't get rid of it. I can't stop feeling it.”

  “I know.”

  A swift shake of his head sent dark locks tumbling into his troubled eyes. “I don’t want you to know.”

  I knew that, too. Caulder wanted to take on all of this horrible pain and own it himself just so that no one else had to suffer it. But he couldn’t. He was barely surviving his own.

  He carried his heartache like a boulder on his back. And not only his, but mine, and his mother’s. He took them all on himself and juggled them. The weight of all our worlds resting squarely on those broad shoulders of his. But even with all that muscle and strength he wasn’t strong enough to bear that kind of burden. Not alone.