By a Thread

by R. L. Griffin

Cory, the shop manager, piped up, “I can rub her down while you smoke.”

  “Don’t think about touching Stella,” Richard rebuffed.

  Cory put his hands up, “Fine, fine, I was just trying to help.”

  “I bet,” Patrick muttered under his breath.

  “How’s it look?” Stella asked.

  “Exactly like we thought it would, it’s awesome in a gross way.” Patrick smiled and got out of his chair to examine her finished tattoo. “It certainly makes a statement.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Patience grasshopper, you know how Richard is...” Patrick smirked.

  Stella laid her head back down on the chair. Her desire to get this tattoo was two-fold. It served as both a memory of Jamie and a warning sign to stay away from the girl-with-the-disgusting-tattoo-that-takes-up-half-her-back.

  “Okay, okay...” Richard walked in and stood her up in front of a floor-length mirror and gave her a handheld one so she could see her back. “Whatcha think?”

  “It really is perfect, Richard, thank you so much.” It was exactly how she had pictured it. A depiction of her lack of heart, destroyed when Jamie died. Now everyone would know.

  “Lay back down for a minute and I’ll get you out of here.” Richard washed his hands and then rubbed salve all over Stella’s left shoulder blade, covering her entire tattoo in a thick coat of ointment, and then a patch of white gauze and medical tape. “Alright kid, good doing business with ya.”

  Stella hugged him.

  “I got a favor to ask.”

  “Anything,” Stella answered.

  “I want to get a picture of this one for the display. It really is one of the best I’ve done. You okay with that?”

  “Not a problem, Richard. I’ll come back in when it heals.”

  Chapter Ten

  “No, I’m not going to my parents’ house.” Patrick and Stella were running with wool caps on. Patrick held Cooper’s leash as they ran through Old Town in the early morning a week after Thanksgiving.

  “Come on, El. It’s Christmas.” Patrick’s breath billowed out in front of him.

  “No, I can’t be around them. I just can’t.” Stella closed her eyes for a few steps and felt the ice sting her lungs. “I’m barely making it here Patrick. I can’t handle the scrutiny of the people from home, even if they don’t mean it. They don’t know me anymore and I can’t pretend for them. I don’t fucking care about Christmas or presents or joy.”

  They kept pace together as they ran several blocks in silence. Stella had been thinking about this since Thanksgiving. Again, life went on for everyone else. In DC, at least, she could deal with it because no one knew who she was before. Before, when she loved Christmas and would make Jamie drive her to a Christmas tree farm to pick out a tree for her apartment. The day after Thanksgiving they would explore the entire farm before deciding on a perfect tree. Jamie would effortlessly throw it in the back of his truck. Before, he would unload the tree and she would decorate it. Every time she broke an ornament she had to take off a piece of clothing. Before, when she bought him the best, most thoughtful Christmas presents because she was so thankful to have him. Before, when she brought him to her parents’ house for Christmas Eve. They would wake, eat breakfast casserole, and open presents. Then they would drive to his parents’ house for Christmas Day and Christmas dinner. Before, when she couldn’t stop smiling. Before…

  She’d made the right decision, she thought, the decision that would hold her together. She was held together by a thread. Not even strong fishing wire, but the kind of thread that could fray and break in the wind. A thread that could unravel at any moment, scattering and smashing all the pieces of her that she was trying desperately to keep together.

  She was a horrible actress, even before. Her emotions always gave her away. Jamie used to tell her she was the worst liar. Now, her insides were exposed, bare for all to see. Her face was hollow and sallow, which mirrored how she felt in her chest.

  Her self-awareness had increased exponentially in the last few months. As she cautiously began to put things together, she was made painfully aware of her weaknesses. She had to be careful, or all the tentative steps she had been making would be erased effortlessly by a thoughtless stranger, or even a caring family member. When she stuck to Billy, Patrick, and Finnegan’s she was safe. She could make it through each day.

  When she got home from her run, she composed an email she hoped would convey her love for her parents, but also her inability to come home.

  Mom and Dad,

  I know this is a horrible thing to do, but I can’t come home for Christmas. I don’t think I’ll make it, emotionally. It has nothing to do with either of you. I’m barely able to put one foot in front of the other these days. Nothing I want you to see, but I’m trying, I really am. I can’t be happy right now. I love you both. Thanks for understanding. I’m sure Patrick’s told you he is staying with me.

  Stella

  Christmas morning she got up, made coffee, and got out the bottle of Bailey’s she’d purchased the day before. She cooked the casserole last night and popped it in the oven to warm while she waited for Patrick. Stella moved soundlessly to the couch to watch the Christmas Day parade, Cooper’s head in her lap.

  Look at all the happy people, she thought. What she would give to be back to that, happy and oblivious to the shit that life could throw? She was hard, numb. The hardness had come about recently, spreading slowly through her brain and chest. She worried that if she were hit hard enough she would just crack.

  Patrick opened the door and was met with the smell of coffee and breakfast casserole. Smiling, he walked over to Stella, staring at the television, and kissed her forehead. “Morning.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she said, devoid of any Christmas spirit.

  “Back at you.”

  “Thank you, Patrick. Thank you for being my person.” Stella nudged Cooper off her lap and checked the oven. She slipped on the oven mitt shaped like a pig, it was Billy’s.

  “Your person?” Patrick poured himself coffee and added Bailey’s.

  “You are my person. You got my back, and front, for that matter.” She set the casserole down on the counter. “You’re spending Christmas with me, when you should be at home. I’m selfish and I want you here. So the least I can do is thank you.”

  “Your person, huh?” Patrick ruffled her hair.

  “My person.” Stella confirmed looking up at him, “I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

  “Sure you would’ve.” Patrick smelled the casserole, his mouth watered.

  “No, that’s where you’re wrong.” She cut a corner piece for him and put it on a plate. After she put the plate down, she went downstairs and got his present.

  He looked at her, stopping mid-chew. “We’re doing presents? Fuck.” He put down his fork.

  “Patrick, you have already done so much for me. Think of it as a thank-you, not a Christmas present.” He ripped the paper open. Patrick’s eyes widened. “Stella…” He looked from the gift to her face and back to the gift.

  “Thank you,” she said, putting a piece of casserole on her plate. She sat down to finish watching the parade.

  “This is too much,” he said pulling out the brand new Glock 23 and inspecting it. “How did you know I wanted this?”

  “You’re my person,” she answered, without even looking away from the parade.

  Chapter Eleven

  Patrick made his way down to her room, which was dark as usual. “El?” He turned on the light. “What are you doing?”

  “Get your fucking eyes checked if you can’t see me still sleeping.” Stella yelled from under the pillow she had over her face. She was still in a heap. Cooper jumped up, tail wagging, and went over to Patrick. “Traitor,” she called after her dog.

  “He just needs to pee and it looks like you aren’t getting up anytime soon.” Patrick walked back to the door and let Cooper out into the backyard. He lay down in the bed beside h
er.

  “It’s been five months, Stella, you stink, and you can’t pay rent. Billy and I can’t keep covering you.”

  “Well, nothing like honesty first thing in the morning, huh?” She didn’t move the pillow from her face.

  “It’s afternoon.” Patrick pulled the pillow from her face. “You’ve got to start living again.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to.” Patrick looked over at what used to be Stella. “Jamie would hate this.”

  “Well, he’s not here, is he?”

  “No, I guess it’s up to me then. I hate this. Please tell me what to do, Stella.”

  “You can’t fix this.” She rolled onto her side so that she was looking at him. “You can’t fix me.”

  “I bet I can.” Patrick sat up and swung his legs off her platform bed. “Get dressed, I’m taking you to your new job.”

  She stared at him dumbfounded, “New job?”

  “Yep, it’s perfect, you’ll love it,” he said in a fake tone. She stood up reluctantly and stretched. Since Jamie died she had been sleeping in his college baseball jersey. Patrick reached over and swatted her butt. “Wear something cute.” He laughed and then walked upstairs.

  After her meeting with the manager of Cosi restaurant in Old Town, who just happened to be a friend of Patrick’s, and getting all the details of her new job, Stella and Patrick walked to Finnegan’s. She sat on a bar stool and stared into her Black and Tan. Patrick was talking; what he was talking about she had no idea. What she did notice was the hottie bartender kept looking at her. She could feel his eyes on her. His eyes were greenish grey, reminding her of smoke. They were intense. His features were almost perfect, tainted only by a nose that looked like it might have been broken a time or two. Although it had been awhile, Stella recognized the look he was sending her. Stella didn’t know what she thought about that look.

  Interrupting Patrick, she leaned into his ear. “Why is the bartender staring at me?”

  Patrick tilted his face and looked at the bartender. “George always looks at you, El.”

  “He does?” She looked back at her glass, now half-empty, unconsciously running her fingers up and down the glass.

  “Yes, he does. So do lots of other guys in the bar, but this is the first time you’ve noticed.” Patrick sat up straight, stretching his back. “So, you want to grab dinner before we go home?”

  “Sure,” she said, smiling and then draining her glass. She stood on the lower rung of the bar stool and leaned up over the bar. “Hey barkeep, can we get our check?”

  He smiled and nodded at her as he set someone else’s drink down on the bar. It was like Stella was seeing George for the first time. He was probably around Patrick’s age, a few years older than her. He had tattoos on his forearms, numbers maybe. He wore a white long sleeve button-down with sleeves pushed up to elbows that had obviously seen better days, but the fabric stretched over his chest subtly gave away the muscles underneath. He was wearing a red Nationals baseball cap and gray New Balance tennis shoes; she noticed because Jamie had worn the same pair.

  “You guys done?” he asked Patrick.

  Stella redirected George’s attention to her. “Here,” she said as she slid her debit card across the bar to cover the bill. Stella put on her navy pea coat and pulled a wool cap down over her messy hair.

  “El...” Patrick chastised.

  “What? You always pay, I have a job now. I can contribute.” Stella sat back down and fussed with her bag on her lap.

  “You working, Stella?” George inquired politely.

  “Right down the road actually, I just got a job at Cosi.” She looked at Patrick, “I think I’ll weigh about 300 pounds after working there awhile.”

  “Oh, that’s one of my favorite lunch spots.” George took her card and walked over to the computer. Stella watched his ass as he walked away. It was nice.

  When George came back with her receipt Stella said, “Maybe I’ll see you there.” She signed her receipt, added a pretty hefty tip, and put her card back in her bag.

  “Oh, you’ll definitely see me there.” George smiled a smile that was so big it took over half of his face, showcasing two delicious dimples.

  She smiled at him, looking him in the eyes for the first time since she started going to Finnegan’s. George seemed a little taken aback, and looked to Patrick, who put his arm around her shoulders. “See you, George.”

  “Yep,” George called over his shoulder, making his way down the bar.

  Chapter Twelve

  Physically, Stella was still alive, but barely. She had finally looked through the documents Jamie had scattered all over their desk. Jamie had opened a bank account with the right of survivorship to her. To her surprise the account contained several thousand dollars. She’d been able to pay Billy and Patrick back and still had some left to cover rent for awhile. Stella felt like she could only deal with life right now by staying where she was. She still refused to listen to voicemails or read text messages. No one here knew her with Jamie, how she was before he died. Hell, she didn’t even remember who she was before he died. Had she always cussed so much? She was still staying in bed more than necessary, crying at least three times a day. But it was progress. She was moving forward, even if it was one tiny step at a time. Patrick was almost livid that she wasn’t making more progress, but he was trying to let her grieve in her own way.

  Although she still suffered from insomnia, she started reading like crazy to fill the sleepless hours. Patrick had given her a Kindle. She read three or four books a week. When she read, she was able to shut off her brain and lose herself in the lives of the characters. Drifting through life with no real purpose or feeling was not ideal, but she was making it. She could not escape the memories of Jamie, their four years together. It was eating her alive. She knew she was getting off easy. She was in a city where they had not yet made any memories, and had no history. The pain could’ve been worse.

  Stella had started eating and drinking again, and hadn’t stopped. She had gained about fifteen pounds in the last two months, which she’d anticipated when she started at Cosi. She had gained so much weight from eating smores everyday she was forced to join a gym. Patrick drove her to the gym every morning and they went their separate ways at the door for their workouts. He was the perfect person to make her do what she didn’t want to, like get up at 6:00 in the morning to do squats.

  Stella was pushing through her workout, sweat dripping off her face. Jay-Z pounded through her ear buds; she let her mind wander. Wiping her face and chest with a gym towel, she remembered her graduation from college, and the trip with Jamie that followed. They hadn’t gone anywhere that special, but drove to Savannah for a few days before Jamie left her to go to DC that summer. Jamie had shown her where he grew up, his favorite restaurants, and the baseball field where he fell in love with the game.

  She was so young then, so innocent, and totally in love. They had walked down River Street holding hands, kissing as much as possible, in public or not, and making love several times a day. It was her favorite time with Jamie.

  On their last day in Savannah, he took her to The Old Pink House, a well known historic restaurant on a square just off River Street. They ate and drank wine. When dessert was served she noticed a grey velvet box in the center of the plate. She looked at Jamie and knew he was asking her to marry him before he could even speak with words.

  He took her hand gently and kissed it. “Stella, I am so in love with you. I need you to know how much. You mean so much to me. I know moving to DC and starting our careers will be tough and we were planning on waiting, but I just can’t. I can’t wait for you to be mine officially.” He got down on one knee, still holding her hand and asked, “Stella Murphy, will you make me the happiest man on earth and agree to put up with me the rest of my life?”

  She wiped a tear from her eye and answered, “Of course.” They left the dessert on the plate, got the check, and hurried back to the hotel.

 
Stella’s stomach clenched from the memory. She did lunges, which hurt so badly that she couldn’t think anything other than the physical pain while doing them.

  It was her birthday. She didn’t care, but Billy and Patrick insisted on taking her out to dinner and to Finnegan’s. Stella put on jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops. It was one month before the wedding that she never got to finish planning. Blowing her bangs out of her face, she looked into the mirror. It’s fine, I can make it through today. She walked upstairs and poured herself a tall vodka on the rocks and waited for Patrick to get home. Stella sat on the couch and twisted the engagement ring still on her finger.

  Stella was already on glass number three when Patrick got home. “Happy Birthday,” he yelled.

  “Fucking happy,” she responded.

  “Come on let’s go. Billy’s already there and you’re already drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk yet,” she said.

  The night was blur, she drank so much that she really had no grasp of conversations or events. At one point she fell off the back of her bar stool. Patrick got frustrated and brought her home. Somehow she made it down the stairs to her room, pulled her clothes off, and passed out on the bathroom floor.

  The night was clear and dark. Stars shone like diamonds in the sky. She and Jamie were walking on the beach, hand in hand. Stella was barefoot, wearing her wedding dress and Jamie was in a seersucker suit. She heard a loud crash and tried to find where it had come from. A car was barreling down the sand back from the street and onto the beach. She pulled on Jamie’s arm to get him out of the way, but the car hit them both. Jamie was unconscious, his body twisted and trapped under the car, and Stella was pinned, still holding his hand. The front left tire of the car rested on her chest, she couldn’t breathe.

  She screamed and woke with a start. She hadn’t had a nightmare in awhile. Stella pushed herself off the chilly tile floor and walked upstairs. She opened Patrick’s door, crawled into his bed. His eyes still closed, he turned toward her back and wrapped his arms around her. Feeling her nightmare let go, she let go too, and fell into a restless sleep.