The Final Piece (6 page)

“I don’t want you to, honey. I just need you to know that I ache every day in my heart for what happened.” Her voice breaks on the last word and I listen silently while she sniffles and collects herself,” Gran tells me that you are finally opening up,” her voice instantly brightens.

I twist the telephone cord around my fingers and tap my foot against the floorboard. “Yea, well it is the least I can do after everything,” I mutter.

“That’s not how they see it. They want to be there for you more than anything. You are their heart, Beth. All Pops talks about is how you are his little kindred spirit and Gran can’t stop herself from bragging about how smart you are. You are so special, Beth.” Her words surprise me.

“Thank you, Mom,” I whisper as tears spill, relentlessly down my chin.

“All they want, all I want, is to find a way to make things right.” I hear the emotion in her voice and can feel the sincerity behind what she is saying but she is wishing for impossible things.

“I know that is what you want but this can’t be made right. Everything is ruined. I am ruined!” I sob.

“No, baby girl. You aren’t ruined, you are magnificent.” Her voice is a soft caress, “We are all broken in one way or another. It’s how we put those pieces back together that matters. You, my darling, are going to fit the pieces back together again, you’ll see.” My shoulders slump, my chest heaves but hope grips my heart at my mother’s words.

“Mom?”  Cautious, I reach out to her, my first piece. “Sobriety really suits you.”

Chapter 10

A loud whistle rings across the water, snapping me out of my reverie. “Here, take the line!” Pops shouts as he cuts off the engine. A little dazed from my daydream, it takes me a minute to soak in the sight. We’re drifting onto a sandy patch of shore where Uncle Rob’s boat is already anchored. In the water, Tommy and Ryan have secured the line and are pulling us in. Uncle Rob and Aunt Melissa are lounging in a couple of beach chairs set around the makings of a fire pit.

“Hey squirrel, I mean girl!” Rob hollers. Melissa swats him on the back of his head. “Easy, babe, I am just teasing.” His boyish, goofy grin makes an appearance as he leans to kiss her cheek. I smile and wave to them but they are already nose-to-nose cooing over one another. The ease at which they show affection makes me fidgety but it is as natural to them as breathing. I don’t like shows of affection; it confuses me. It’s hard to get much out of such things when you are constantly wondering about ulterior motive. Somebody always wants something in return. Nothing comes free.

As I study the rest of the beach set-up, my attention is drawn to the water. Eyes popping wide, I am dumbstruck at the sight of a shirtless Ryan guiding the boat to shore. His shaggy blond hair is raining drops of water down his chest, making my heart somersault. I dip my head as my face flames, I have seen him in his board shorts millions of times, but there is something about the way his lean muscles strain against his skin that makes me giggle nervously. I peek without lifting my head to find Ryan eyeing me curiously.

I want to die.

“Blossom, you want to help me carry some of this?” Gran interrupts.

Thank you, Gran! I jump up to grab a cooler and work my way toward the back of the boat. If I busy myself, maybe my face will return to its normal shade of pale and freckled. I give Tommy and Ryan a curt nod as I wiggle off the end of the boat and wade through shallow water toward camp. I’m just beyond Ryan when water hits my back so hard it sprays over the top of my head. Still gripping the cooler, I spin toward the culprit. Ryan is crouched down with his hands spread out along his sides, sluicing the water between his fingers, and his green eyes glow with mischief.

“You looked a little warm under the collar there, Beth,” he smirks.

I swallow the lump in my throat and try to feign indifference, but I am mortified. I roll my eyes at him, give a disdainful, ”Whatever,” and proceed to drag my humiliation to shore.

“That was mean, Ry!” Aunt Melissa is wagging her finger at him “That boy is such a teaser,” she tsks.

“How is my tenth grader? Come here, you sweet thing,” she chirps as she wraps me in a towel. “How does it feel?”

I pretend to adjust my towel and glance over my shoulder. Ryan is still in the water, unloading a bag of charcoal from the boat when he turns my way.

“Wet.” I deadpan, shooting Ryan the stink eye. His face lights up with laughter as he hands Tommy the charcoal and dunks himself in the river. He pops up out of the water with his arms cast wide in a “ta-da” gesture. Right, like that makes us even. I shake my head at him and turn my attention back to Aunt Melissa. She is looking at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“What?” I ask, sheepish.

“Listen up, Stinkerbell, I get enough sarcasm from your uncle. Don’t you dare blow me off, I want deets!” she nudges. I feel bad for Aunt Melissa. Uncle Rob tends to speak in phrases, particularly his arsenal of idiom originals. It’s hard enough to decipher what he means when he busts out with ‘Never mind the cart’s on fire, keep loading the wagon!’ When you couple that with his sarcasm, it’s almost impossible to decode his lingo.

“It should feel like a huge relief,” I breathe out on a long sigh, “but it hasn’t really sunk in yet, ya know?”

She nods her head and starts shucking ears of corn. “I can see that. Once you have a couple of days of freedom, I bet you’ll feel different. Have any big plans?”

“I am spending my freedom on the porch swing with a book,” I say wistfully.

“Mmm. That sounds wonderful. What are you reading?” Aunt Melissa and I fall into easy chatter about the books I have waiting to read while we set up for dinner. I am engrossed in the task and the conversation, making it easier to push Ryan from my thoughts. By the time the food is ready, the fire in my cheeks has cooled to smoking ash.

After dinner, Tommy grabs his guitar case and plops in sand by the fire. As he starts tuning the strings, I am unable to resist the pull of the notes and move to sit closer to him. He looks up at my approach, giving me a brilliant smile and begins strumming the chords to “Beth” by Kiss.

I groan in mock misery and throw my hand up to my forehead, “Doesn’t that ever get old?” I whine.

He stops strumming and kicks my foot. “Kiss hater,” he laughs, “have any requests?”

I shake my head and wait for him to start again. This time he chooses an upbeat song, laced with a little reggae.

“I like this,” I encourage as I subconsciously begin swaying to the rhythm. He starts singing about how short life is and how we shouldn’t hesitate to grab it before it goes by. Slick move, tricking me with a carefree island beat that carries hidden philosophical words.

“I’m yours-ah,” he exaggerates the last line and chord. His enthusiasm is charming my suspicious nature into submission. As if he can sense a shift in my demeanor, he starts to play one of my favorite songs.   

Brown noser.

I lean back on my elbows and close my eyes as the sound of the notes moving across the fret board flow through me. Tommy starts to sing the first verse and I join him on harmony during the chorus. We drift along, singing in sync together like we have a hundred times before. I open my eyes when the song ends and find Tommy’s eyes swimming with unspoken emotion. “You sound just like your mama.”

The praise makes my heart full. “I do? Thanks, Tommy!” No one has ever said that I remind them of Mom in any way. Mostly I hear about how I’m not like her at all.

“You are more alike than you know, baby girl.” He chuckles.

When I sit up and brush the sand from my elbows, I see Ryan sitting across the fire, watching us. I hold my breath, waiting for him to start making fun of me. One side of his mouth tilts into a lopsided grin that starts my heart tripping again.

“Pretty.” He says.

My mouth drops open in cartoonish fashion at that one word. Tommy’s barking laughter reverberates in my ears and my entire body turns beet red.

“Your voice, Beth!” Ryan stammers, glancing back and forth between Tommy’s amused face and my shocked one.

“I know what you meant,” I lie. For a moment, I had been soaring at the thought of him calling me pretty. I stand and brush the rest of the sand off me, not wanting to stick around for round two of
Awkward Conversations With Beth and Ryan
.

“No! I mean, you are pretty and all,” he is stuttering now. “I just meant...I mean, you have a great voice but...you’re fourteen!” He’s rambling, which has Tommy howling. This only sends Ryan deeper into his despair when he blurts out, “Knock it off, Tommy! It’s not like that, I am not a pedophile!”

There it is. I can never get too comfortable without something dredging it back to the surface. I picture a neon pink sign flashing bright cursive letters above my head, “Pedophile Plaything.” My subconscious is cruel enough, but Ryan’s words sting like I have been slapped. My eyes blur with my hurt. It is a direct contradiction to the practiced smile I have cemented on my face. Before the tears can spill over, I spin on my heel to scurry out of there.

Within a few quick steps, warm hands grip my shoulders and spin me around. Tommy squeezes me against his chest whispering into my hair so no one else can hear, “He doesn’t know, Beth. He has no idea. He just thinks you’re embarrassed because he said you’re pretty. Shoot, he can hardly see past his own verbal diarrhea. He’s squirming over there.” Tommy’s words rumble deep in his chest, against my ear.

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper back. Who cares whether he’s figured it out or not, it doesn’t change what I am or what’s been done.

“It
does
matter because it is
your
story to tell to whomever, whenever
you
want to tell it.”

Tommy’s words are reassuring, but I still want to find a big hole to climb inside. I let go of him and peek around his back at Ryan. He is sitting with his arms draped across his bent knees. He is shaking his head at the sand, and I wonder if he is replaying the scene in his head, like I am. He lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair while he scans the beach. 

“It’s better if I just scoot. Pops and Gran are packing up, anyway.” I wipe my face and smile at Tommy’s concerned expression. “I love you, Tommy. What would I do without you?”

“You’ve never got to worry about it, baby girl. I am always here. Always,” he promises with a kiss to the top of my head.

“Beth, wait!” I cringe when I hear Ryan call out. Tommy raises an eyebrow at my reaction but stays quiet as Ryan catches up to us. “Hang on a minute. I’m sorry that got so weird,” he sounds unsure, nothing like the cocky boy who doused me with river water. “We’re good, right?” He squats a little to get level with my eyes, but I turn my head away. He catches my chin with his thumb and index finger and brings my face back to his. ”Please don’t be mad at me.” His brows pinch together and his expression is so pathetic, it tugs at my heart.

“I’m not mad, just embarrassed. Okay?” I shift nervously under his scrutiny. I bat his hand away from my face.

“
Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time
.” Nothing breaks awkward like Monty Python.

“
Fetch le vache
!” he drawls out in a terrible French accent. His relief shows through his smile and all is set right again. We snicker at Tommy who is shaking his head muttering about “kids these days.”

On the ride back to the marina, I can’t help but replay Ryan’s voice in my head over and over.

“Pretty.”

Pretty messed up.

Pretty stupid.

Pretty ridiculous.

Pretty pathetic I thought he meant me.

Chapter 11

The week passes by in a blur and my lament over Ryan is forced to the back burner. To appease my worrywart grandparents, I’ve agreed to see a family therapist. For all my complaining, I am really glad that I am going. Despite myself, I am relieved to have a place to talk freely without having to freak out over the reaction I will get.

Dr. Warren is my therapist. She’s my mother’s age with long russet hair and chocolate eyes. She has freckles that skim her nose and cheeks like me, but they look good on her. She is beautiful in a classic Hollywood kind of way and has a Judy Garland quality to her—pretty and approachable. The best thing about Dr. Warren is that she doesn’t cringe, sigh or otherwise when we talk about Drew or home. She always considers me with the same warm smile-and-nod encouragement.

I don’t feel embarrassed talking to her and I don’t have to hide anything, so I bear it. All of it.

“Tell me about your phone calls with your mom. How are things going?” Dr. Warren and I are sitting on the floor playing checkers. Keeping myself busy while we talk helps, I’m a lot more candid and relaxed if I’m not the center of attention.

“Strange,” I mutter as I contemplate my next move. “I feel bad for not being more open with her, she is trying really hard.”

Dr. Warren regards me with her warm eyes. “Beth, we have talked about this. You are not responsible for absolving your parents,” she notes, reaching over to rub my knee. “They are working on their own set of issues, you need to do the same. Focus on forgiving yourself if you want to start to forgive them.”