Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love Page 12

  Take my pain away. Make it stop. Do your job, whiskey.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chance

  The damn clouds are moving in again, but. I need to get moving on this job. I've spent the last hour cleaning up debris and haven't even started with the drip shields yet. I should have told Davey to come in on this one, but I wasn't expecting to have a week of storms like this.

  The owners of the house aren't home. I guess they both work full time, so at least I won't have anyone hovering. If I can at least get some of the roof job started before the rain begins, it won't look like I didn't at least try. According to my weather app, once the rain starts, it's not going to quit until after midnight.

  I wish May would have sent me a message last night to let me know everything was okay with August, but I guess that would be setting my expectations too high. May doesn't know me, and August probably claimed she has no idea who I am. That would make me out to be the creep just sitting in the dark with her.

  Surprisingly, I got a third of the roof shingled and covered with tarp before the rain started. I guess the rain Gods decided to give me an extra hour, which was helpful, but now my day is over, and this job that was supposed to be a quick one is turning my schedule upside-down.

  Just as I finish cleaning up for the day, I relocate the boxes of shingles to beneath the awning on the side of their garage, so everything stays dry.

  I can't remember the last time I had this much free time. I'm not sure I like it. It might be a good time to visit the old folks, though.

  I stop by the bakery to pick up a few coffees and the pastry they like. I try not to show up empty-handed because when I do, Ma feels the need to start cooking up a storm, and that's never my intention when I visit.

  With heavy thoughts on my mind, I pull my phone out before driving away from the bakery. I scroll down to August's number, my newest contact, and tap the message button.

  * * *

  Me: Hey August, it's Chance. I acquired your number last night so that I could check in with you today. How are you feeling?

  * * *

  I don't expect a quick response. I don't expect a response at all, so after a few minutes of staring at the "read" receipt, I pull out onto the street.

  I didn't make it over the other night like I planned, so it's been about a week since I've visited. No one mowed the grass this week, and the trash barrels are lying on their side at the bottom of the driveway. I shake my head as I crank my gear into park.

  Before going inside, I pick up the barrels and the few big branches lying on their lawn. I'll have to check in with their landscaper to see what the holdup is.

  Since I was eleven, I've let myself into the house, knocking on the front door simultaneously so I don't startle them.

  "Ma, Pop, I'm home." It isn't my home, but it's the only real home I had before moving out on my own. This place will always be my home in a sense. I kick off my boots, afraid to dirty up their plushy pea-green carpeting, circa 1990 something, but it's homey, nonetheless.

  "Chancey, is that you?"

  "Is someone else calling you Ma and Pop?" I laugh, making my way into the family room at the back of the house.

  Pop is asleep in his recliner, and Ma is crocheting a blanket. "It's about to storm out again. You got any windows open?"

  I lean over and kiss Ma on the forehead and wave at the sleeping man in the corner. Ma nods her head with dismay. "He's always sleeping. I keep telling him there's plenty of time to sleep when we're dead, but he never listens to me."

  When Pa retired a few years ago, he lost a lot of the motivation and energy he had. I think he sleeps when he's bored. I'd probably do the same, but it's rare when I'm bored, other than today, and a few other days this past week.

  "I think the window might be open in our bedroom, now that you mention it," Ma says.

  "Give me a minute. Oh, and I forgot something in the truck. I'll be right back."

  "Is it a girl?" Ma asks. Ma has been asking me the same question, making the same joke for the last five years.

  "No, Ma, I don't have a girl stuffed into my trunk, but thanks for asking."

  "Real funny, Chancey."

  Padding down the hall to their bedroom, I find a display of disarray, an unmade bed, tissues all over Pa's nightstand, and bottles of hair products scattered across the dresser. Ma has always been an avid cleaner, so I'm slightly concerned about the mess.

  I press down on the window, closing it up and locking it shut. Then, I tend to the unmade bed. I straighten up the bottles of hair products and toss the tissues into the trash bin. I need to be coming over here more often, I guess.

  While stepping back into my boots, I spot raindrops, big fat ones, crashing down onto the walkway, one at a time, growing steadier by the second. I jog out to the truck, retrieving the bag of pastries and coffees, then make it back inside before the rain begins to pour down.

  "I brought y'all something."

  "Chancey, you didn't have to waste your money on us," Ma says.

  I'm glad I did now. I'm wondering if they even had breakfast this morning.

  "It was on my way, and I wanted a coffee." Ma doesn't like it when she thinks I've gone out of my way for her because she feels bad that she and Pa are older than most parents would be to someone my age. Even though they don't like it when I come over just to help them, I know they need the extra hand.

  "Oh my, oh my, you brought me a honey-drizzled croissant. You must really love me," Ma says, sinking her teeth into the flakey crust.

  "I really do love you both," I remind her.

  "Back to this girl situation—" Ma continues.

  I gently swing my head side to side. "Ma, please."

  "I need to know that my Chancey has a nice lady to make him happy."

  "Why do you need to know that?" I question. "You know I'm just fine on my own."

  "At thirty years old, son, you spend way too much time thinkin' of your old folks."

  I squat down in front of Ma's bag of yarn. "Listen, I don't come over here or call you because I'm lonely. I worry about you two."

  "I wish I wasn't so dang old. I'm going to be eighty next month. Your father, Lord, help us; he's going to be eighty-five this summer." The two of them are a young set of eighty-year-olds. Pa wouldn't give up his work at the insurance company until they forced him out at eighty. Ma has been a tornado, cooking and cleaning, making sure everyone is well taken care of from here to the end of the street, for as long as I can remember. It bothers me to see them slowing down so much.

  "That ain't old, Ma." I'd rather tell them that than agree. Once a person realizes that their body is giving up, it destroys any hope of getting better. It isn't a mindset I wish on the two of them, let alone anyone.

  "Tell that to my doctor. You know he told me to cut back on my salt?"

  "The nerve," I reply with a bit of sarcasm.

  "Honestly, that doctor just has no one to cook him good food. That must be it."

  I spot a few wires sticking out behind the TV, and I stand up to see what Pa has pulled apart. "What's going on over here?"

  "Oh, your father was messing with something the other day, and now we can't watch TV no more."

  I take in a deep breath of frustration, wishing they would just call me more often when they need help, not when Pa suddenly can't figure out how to turn on the TV. If I had known they had been without their only source of entertainment for the last few days, I would have stopped by sooner.

  I reattach the cords that were pulled out and hit the power button to see if that fixes the problem.

  Sure enough, everything is back on.

  "This is why you are my hero, Chancey."

  "Ma, just call me when this stuff happens."

  "Your father said he did," she responds.

  "He didn't tell me your TV was out."

  "Oh, well, he must have forgotten."

  "Speaking of forgetting—has the landscaper gone missing?"

  Ma closes her eyes for
a moment then waves me over in a dramatic fashion. "You're not going to believe this," she says.

  "What is it?" I take the seat beside her, lean my elbows into my knees and wait for the story.

  "The boy who mowed our lawn every week, he went and—” Ma pauses.

  "What?" I question.

  "He took too many pills and," she says, slicing her finger across her throat.

  This area is not that big. "What was the guy's name?"

  "Keegan Powers," she responds.

  "I didn't know he was your landscaper. I knew the guy. In fact, I went to his funeral."

  "Oh, Lord have mercy. His poor family must be in ruins over his death."

  "Yeah, it was uh—it was sad."

  The thoughts bring me back to August and my unanswered text message. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and take a look.

  She responded.

  * * *

  August: I'm fine, thanks.

  * * *

  That's it. That's all I get from August.

  * * *

  Me: Will I see you tonight?

  * * *

  The very second I hit send, I wish I could take it back. I don't know why there isn't a button for that yet. After the move she put on me last night, I should be holding back just a bit. I told her she needs to take care of herself, and I shouldn't suggest that she come back to the bar.

  Thankfully, she decides against responding.

  The rain is falling harder now, tapping loudly against the roof. It's hard to hear the background noise of the TV. Ma has rested her crochet needle down on her lap and looks sleepy. This weather is making me tired too.

  "Well, I have a few errands to run, but I just wanted to come by and check on you guys. Please call me if you need anything. I'll find you a new landscaper, too, okay?"

  Ma smiles lazily. "I don't know what we did to deserve such an amazing son," she says.

  "You saved me from not having amazing parents." I give her the same response to the same statement she makes whenever I see her. We were meant to be a family, and there isn't a day that goes by that I'm not grateful for them adopting me at eleven years old.

  "Go on, be careful in the rain," Ma says.

  "Tell Pa it was nice spending time with him," I snicker.

  I was so dang bored today. I went to the bookstore just to look around. This rain needs to let up. I can't spend another day like this without a thing to do or anywhere to go.

  I've been watching the time tick by until an acceptable hour approached for me to head over to Kenny's for dinner.

  The place is empty when I arrive ten minutes past five.

  "It's like we're livin' in Seattle," Luke says as I step inside. I'm soaked just from the walk from my truck to the door, but thankfully it's warm in here.

  I glance down the length of the clean bar, noticing a half-empty glass a few seats down. I point to the drink with a silent question as I raise a brow at Luke.

  "Your friend is here already," he says.

  "Are you serious? Did she come in drunk?"

  "She certainly did. I've been watering her whiskey down for the last hour."

  "Damn." She is hellbent on destroying herself.

  After a few minutes, August comes stumbling out of the ladies' room, holding onto the wall for support. "You," she grunts as she heavily plops down into her seat.

  "You're welcome," I tell her, unashamed of being a bit snide in response to her attitude.

  "For what? I didn't thannn you for nothin'."

  "Sure, you did. Your message to me earlier said, ‘I’m fine, thanks.’”

  August rolls her eyes and stirs her cocktail straw around her glass. "Are you married to this place or something?"

  "I'm friends with the owners, and they feed me dinner. What's it to you?"

  She shakes her head and purses her lips. "It's nothing to me."

  "Okay, then. What now?”

  “Nothing, now. If you don’t have any more insightful suggestions for me this evening, I’ll leave you to your dinner.”

  “Look, August, come on, darlin’. I can’t keep watching you fall to pieces. It’s heartbreaking.”

  “Fall to pieces? That’s what you think this is?” She laughs like I just said the funniest damn thing in the world. “Oh, Chance, you have no clue what it looks like to be in pieces.”

  I swallow the words threatening to erupt because she doesn’t know enough about me to make such a big assumption but it’s not worth fighting over. “You’re right,” I say, lifting my glass as a mock toast to her statement. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “Yeah, I will,” she says, stumbling away.

  Luke seems a bit concerned about the banter, but I wave him down, so he doesn't worry.

  I expected the place to fill up quickly tonight since everyone has likely been stuck inside all day. Sure enough, at about a quarter of six, groups of people pile in—more than I've seen here on a Thursday in some time.

  I'm finishing my burger when a ratty looking guy in a pit-stained shirt approaches August. At first, I expect her to shoo the guy off, but nothing should be a surprise with her. She's talking to the guy, flirting too. Her hand is resting on the guy's arm, and she's in a fit of giggles over whatever he said.

  I do my best to ignore the scene, slowly sipping my Bud Light. I can't help but look over every couple of minutes, which I should have stopped doing two minutes ago.

  The guy is kissing her neck, and she's chugging down drink number who knows. He takes her hand, yanking her out of her chair. "Let's get out of here," he says.

  I can pretend I didn't hear what he said, or I can step in and stop her from going home with a drunk who can't even remember to change his damn shirt before leaving his house.

  A minute passes, and I see her dancing around with her drink, stalling the guy. At least something is still working in her head. I think.

  "Come on, baby girl, let's go."

  "I ain't your baby girl," she responds with a sarcastic snicker.

  The guy slides his arm around her small waist and tugs her toward the door, but as lucid as she is, she plays it off nicely with her spinning dance moves. "I'm staying," she says.

  The guy doesn't listen, though. He keeps pulling her, and my blood is starting to boil.

  He's able to drag her just far enough to where they're standing at the back of my stool, having a quiet discussion. I turn to find August staring at me, but she doesn't seem concerned with the interaction. "Come on; I want to see what's under that cute little t-shirt."

  I move on instinct like I'm supposed to be protecting August from the sludge that walks into this bar sometimes.

  "She said no," I tell him.

  "And who the hell are you, telling me what I can and can't do?" This situation is what has had me worried. This guy is looking to either get laid or have a fight.

  "The lady said no." August slips away from the guy, places her drink down next to me, and walks out the front door. This guy won't let anything get in the way of him following her, and I'm pissed that she's putting me in a position where I feel like I must watch over her. "Dude, just leave her alone. She's mourning the death of her ex-boyfriend." I hate having to spill her private life to him, but I'm hoping it'll shut him down

  "Seriously?" The guy asks, straightening his shoulders.

  "Yeah, man. I wouldn't be getting involved with this chick right now. She's a loose cannon. I already tried."

  "Whoa," the guy responds, wiping away the non-existent sweat from his forehead. "I thought you were just after her or something. Thanks for helping a brother out."

  "Anytime, man," I tell him, knowing that could have ended badly for August or me.

  A hand clenches my shoulder, and a fist makes contact with my cheek. Christ, almighty, I cannot get a break with this girl. "Thanks for nothin'." I should hit him back, but Luke would kill me even though he's in the process of breaking up a secondary fight caused by that jerk hitting me. There hasn't been a bar fight in this place for ages a
nd go figure I'd be the cause of this one.

  After checking myself for blood, finding just a small cut it seems, I watch Luke settle the rest of the bar down. He tends to me once everyone is back to their original seats. "You all right?"

  "I'm fine," I tell him, checking the napkin I've been holding against my face.

  "You should find her. She's going to get hurt."

  "How did I get myself into this?" I ask him. I seriously don't need this,

  "I don't know what to tell you, bro." Luke seems mildly irritated, and I don't know if it's at me or what just happened in the bar, but I can't help feeling responsible for it.

  I clean up my plate and polish off my one beer before heading out into the rain. I'm soaked within a matter of seconds as I look in the front windows of the other pubs nearby. I pass three before I spot August inside one, hitting on a guy at the bar.

  She's a train wreck in a hurricane.

  Chapter Twenty

  August

  The rain is heavier now than it's been all day. I don't mind since we don't get a lot of it, but I don't like to be cold and wet, which will happen if I don't duck into a new spot.

  Pubs and coffee shops line the street, so I step into Lionel's Shamrock Shack, finding a big crowd. The lighting is the same as Kenny's, but the bar top is wrapped around the entire bar here. It isn't warm in here either—it's rather damp and chilly. I feel like I'm standing inside of a cave.

  I'm not naive about what happens when a woman walks into a bar alone at night. I assume most men might think she's looking for some company. I often wonder why I receive so much attention at this point in my life but couldn't fit in when I was a kid in school. Picking up a man in a bar has never been on my bucket list, but tonight, I could use a little distraction, especially after almost causing a brawl in Kenny's.

  I'm standing behind a few people at the bar, waiting for the bartender to take my order. As a woman on the shorter side of the height scale, it's easy for people to look over my head, which seems to be happening.