by Lindy Zart
“You don’t pay for your drinks at the bar,” she pointed out.
“I’ve worked there since I was sixteen. They should pay me to drink their drinks.”
“Don’t they?” Beth laughed when his eyes narrowed.
Ozzy lifted his hands, his eyes entreating, and hopped back a step. “So…no? Yes?”
Saying yes to him felt wrong, but so did saying no. “Just as friends?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He put his hands in his pockets and waited, a hopeful lift to his eyebrows.
“And just one drink?”
“Just one drink. Unless you want more.” Ozzy’s full lips curved up on one side.
“Um…” Beth looked behind her to the beacon of her house, and then looked at the Blazer. Her laptop waited inside its case on the front seat of the vehicle, beckoning her forth. All she really wanted to do was put on pajamas, snuggle under a blanket with a cup of coffee, and spend the night with her computer. Learning all she could about Harrison Caldwell.
Sighing, she tugged the stocking cap lower to her head. “Okay. Just one. Let me put my stuff inside quick.”
“I’ll be right here,” he called after her. “Waiting. In the cold. Being cold.”
Beth rolled her eyes. “Come on in, Ozzy.”
He jogged past, smacking a kiss on her cold cheek. “I knew you still loved me.”
She stiffened at the kiss and his words, and then moved quickly. She grabbed her laptop case and followed him inside. It had never been about whether or not Beth loved Ozzy. It had been about how many times, and in how many different ways, she would allow her heart to be broken. It always came back to one word: endless. Endless ways with him.
OZZY THRUMMED HIS fingers on the tabletop, his eyes taking in the scene around them before coming back to Beth. “When I said a drink, I was thinking of something more, I don’t know, alcoholic.”
“What’s wrong with hot chocolate?”
His mouth slid to the side. “Nothing, if you’re twelve.”
Boisterous laughter and conversation vied for attention with the country song playing on the jukebox inside The Lucky Coin. With its walls painted pumpkin orange and antique and country décor, the bar and grill was a welcoming atmosphere that was family friendly and tame during the days and became rowdier as night approached. It smelled like fried food and buttered popcorn, reminding Beth’s stomach that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch that day. Being a Monday night and with the town covered in snow, Beth was surprised by how busy the place was.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you your mom put a shot of peppermint schnapps in the hot chocolate?” Beth held the mug between her fingers, letting the hot liquid warm them. She lowered her nose to the cup to better inhale the sweetly chocolate scent.
He perked up. “Did she?”
“No. But would it make you feel better?”
Ozzy gave her a look, smiling faintly. “Funny girl.”
His parents, Dan and Deb Peck, owned The Lucky Coin. Their hope was that Ozzy would eventually take over the place, but he wasn’t one to commit to anything for too long. He was content working there until he found something he’d rather do. Ozzy was an untethered being, prone to restlessness and wandering. A dreamer who was always finding a new dream.
Beth shrugged, looking over Ozzy’s shoulder. Kelly Burbach, a fellow classmate of theirs, was watching them again. Her expression was guarded, as if she was fighting hard to keep what she was feeling and thinking from her face. Blonde and petite, she had the kind of looks Ozzy preferred. Beth didn’t want to bring it up, sure she could guess at the woman’s interest in the attention Ozzy was giving Beth.
She shifted her gaze to Ozzy, swallowing hard. Just because they weren’t together anymore did not mean it didn’t hurt to know what he did, and with whom, especially when he acted like that wasn’t the case. Everywhere she went, she had to be reminded of all the women Ozzy had been involved with at some point, a few even while they were together. He denied it, of course, but Beth’s gut told her the truth. She was surrounded by his actions, no matter where she went.
“Why did you ask me here?” Her voice was quiet, unstable.
Ozzy’s eyes softened and he reached across the table for her hand. His touch was familiar—once coveted, then hated. Now unwelcome. “I miss you. We hardly ever see each other anymore—I know you’ve been purposely scheduling yourself to work when you know I won’t be. I was surprised you even came tonight.” His countenance was calm, but there was hardness in his eyes.
“It’s easier this way.”
“Maybe for you,” he shot back. Ozzy took his hand away to rub it across his mouth. “It’s not easier for me.”
“I know.” Beth’s disposition cooled, an icy layer of self-protection forming over her. “It’s always been about you and what’s best for you, not me.”
Ozzy sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Are we doing this again? It would be nice to have just one conversation without bringing that up. It happened, it’s over.” He dropped his head forward to aim his gaze at her. There was anger in the thinness of his mouth, blame in the dark golden flecks of his eyes.
“What happened, and what is over? What exactly are you referencing?” Which time you broke my heart are you talking about?
His jaw shifted, the mask of calm and humor wiped from his expression like it had never been there. “You know I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“That makes it okay, right?”
They weren’t talking about breakups and infidelity anymore. They were talking about something else, something darker. Something neither could entirely block from their minds. They were talking about the end, their last night as a couple before Ozzy destroyed the last of her love for him. Sometimes she forgot, just for a moment, just enough to seriously mess with her head when she remembered, like now. She knew Ozzy was better at forgetting.
Rainbows of black and gray fell over him. Pain slipped into his countenance; regret broke through his shield of light.
“It was wrong to come here.” Beth scooted off the barstool. “I need to—I should go.”
“Run away like you always do, Beth. That’ll make things better,” he quietly mocked from behind.
Beth marched toward the exit with a stiff spine and lifted chin, knowing most eyes were on her, knowing most ears picked up on their conversation. There would be talk, there was always talk, most of it making her the villain and Ozzy the victim. She was the heartless one who refused to give him another chance, even though she’d already given him too many.
Her jaw ached from clenching it as hard as she was and she relaxed her mouth as she stepped out the door. The arctic temperature stabbed through her coat and attacked her skin. She paused, allowing herself deep breaths of frigid air. It wasn’t about running away. It was about realizing some things would never change, never be the way she needed them to be, and choosing her dreams over someone else’s dreams that included her.
But Ozzy wouldn’t understand that.
She didn’t get one block before he was there, grabbing her arm and pulling her around to face him. When she looked pointedly at his hand on her arm, he dropped it. She’d known he would come after her. She’d wished he wouldn’t. He’d always fought the hardest for her when it was too late.
“You can’t walk home.” He bounced on the heels of his boots, either to stay warm or from restlessness. “It’s too cold out. I’ll give you a ride.”
“It’s not far.” Beth shivered, hugging herself.
White Christmas lights adorned the straggly tree behind Ozzy, forming shadows and tiny stars across his face, making it look like the lights shone from his skin. His smooth jaw tightened. “It’s twenty degrees out. You’re not walking.”
“I’ll walk if I want to walk. I’d rather walk in the cold than sit in your truck anyway.” She tried to sound firm, but the chattering of her teeth ruined it.
“Oh, really? Why is that?” He tilted his head and crossed his arms. “What’s mad
e my truck so abhorrent since the drive here?”
“You.” Beth scowled, annoyed with Ozzy, but more so with herself. It was her fault for coming, for thinking for one ignorant instant that they could be friends. There was no friendship between them. There was old love and new bitterness. Shattered dreams and broken vows.
He laughed softly, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’m sorry for what happened at the bar, all right? I don’t want to fight with you, but it seems like it’s the only way we know how to talk anymore. I just wanted to hang out with you and act like everything was okay for a little while. I know it’s not,” he added, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
Beth exhaled. “I’m sorry too. I should have just…I don’t know.” She should have said no to the drink, to the idea of them hanging out as if they could forget everything. She shook her head, not wanting to say any more. She wasn’t able to pretend like Ozzy.
“You don’t have to like me right now, but at least let me give you a ride home. I don’t want you to get sick. We all know how miserable you make everyone else when that happens.” A teasing grin accompanied his words. Beth resented that he knew that tidbit about her behavior while ill, that he knew anything at all significant about her.
“All right, Ozzy. I’ll take that ride home.” She was tired, and cold, and hungry. And there was the call to find out about her employer—that one was the loudest. “Thank you.”
Sitting in his truck was the same as submerging herself in flashes of the past. The smell of cologne and leather, the feeling of love swirled with infatuation. Two bodies pressed side by side but not close enough. Promises. Lies. Anger and passion. Their first kiss as a couple. Prom. How he knew her body as well as she did. Laughter. Dreams that were theirs, dreams that didn’t happen. The disillusionment. The pain. Realizing some pieces of a person had to be let go, that even some people had to be.
And the final breakup over four months ago.
She fisted her gloves in her lap and stared straight ahead. The ride was quiet, Beth focusing on the sound of the classic rock song playing on the radio instead of attempting any conversation. Ozzy was the same, his eyes trained forward, his mouth closed. He absently drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel in time with the drums of the song.
She wanted to ask if he was as haunted by the two of them as she was.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he said when the truck rolled up to her house.
Her eyes flew to him, took in his blank expression. It was such a deficient goodbye. Short, dismissive. It minimized anything they’d ever been to one another, but Beth supposed it was necessary for them to move on from one another. She should be grateful.
She tried to smile. “Right. You…you either.” Beth’s tongue stumbled over the words. Was that the proper response? Was it misleading? She wasn’t sure what to say, how to act. She hesitated with her hand on the door handle. Should she say more?
“It’s okay.”
Beth twisted to face Ozzy, taking in his fractured smile. “What?”
He looked at his hand, opened and closed it. “It’s awkward…this…you and me…but it’s okay. I mean, I understand. Or I’m—I’m trying to. I’ll give you space. I just—I really do miss you. I meant that.”
She met his gaze, her throat tight with unsaid words. Beth wanted to tell him she didn’t want space—that she wanted an end, but that would hurt him. And she also wanted to tell him things would be okay, but she didn’t know that they would. Ozzy with his bright eyes, selfish heart, and too much charm.
She said nothing.
“I didn’t want to let you go,” he whispered.
Beth blinked, pressing her lips together hard to keep from saying something she shouldn’t. It would be so easy to tell him it was okay. It would be so easy to give in. Her teeth dug into the tissue, causing pain to ripple through her mouth. Don’t forget. You can’t forget. Don’t forget, Beth. A single sentence, a certain look, and all the bad could be forgotten. Some days she had to fight to remember.
Ozzy nodded at her silence, his eyes hidden from her. “Anyway, have a good night.”
She mimicked the farewell, her steps slow as she heard the engine roar and fade away. Her heart squeezed at the thought of him hooking up with someone, maybe even Kelly Burbach. It wasn’t painful, it wasn’t debilitating. But it stung, just a bit. Not your business. Beth took a deep breath, hurrying for the front door as the cold slithered up and down her body.
Once inside, she stood for a moment in the dark, collecting her courage as, not for the first time, she patched up the pieces of her frayed heart. Already she felt better, more confident of her choices. Just from removing herself from Ozzy’s presence.
Beth locked the door, reminding herself that however long she and Ozzy had been a couple, it didn’t mean they should have been. It wasn’t always an accomplishment to count the years spent with someone—it could be something to grieve as well. Lost opportunities and dragging something on that should have ended long ago.
She removed her coat, hat, and gloves, setting them on the small table located beneath the key hook. She turned on the lights and made her way through the living room with its cream walls and carpet, took a left down a short, dark hallway, and entered her bedroom.
When Beth had first come to look at the house with hopes of renting it some months ago, she’d been overjoyed to see that the bedroom walls were painted gray with hints of lavender. It was a pretty, soothing color. She’d kept the decorating minimal—pink mini-lights strewn along the top of the walls, an eight by ten canvas of her with her mom, dad, and two brothers above the dresser.
A chest painted black with white and teal stars rested at the foot of her bed, and situated near the door, there was a wooden desk and lime green chair meant to be used for her writing. Most days she was either on the comfortable plum-toned chair in the living room or propped up in bed with her laptop.
The bed beckoned her forth, and she turned her back on it. Feeling fidgety, she paced a small path before the desk, needing something to focus on so she didn’t focus on the past. Finding out more about her employer would fill the space from consciousness to slumber.
Clothes removed and tossed in the hamper inside her closet, Beth tugged on a pair of soft hot pink lounge pants and a yellow long-sleeved shirt. Hair in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, she made her way to the tiny kitchen with its sunshine yellow walls, smiling at the striking color. It was eye catching and demanded notice. She felt like that sometimes—insignificant but noteworthy, if anyone chose to really look at her and realize it. Overlooked, that was Beth.
Fighting to be seen without knowing how to shine.
Within minutes, she had a bowl of air-popped popcorn tucked in the crook of her arm and a large glass of chocolate milk in her other hand. Beth turned on the television, the low hum of it making her feel like she wasn’t alone. After living with Ozzy for two years, living on her own was strange. Not exactly lonely, but different. It took some getting used to, the sounds of another person living beside her taken for granted until it was gone. She didn’t miss him, but she missed the space he’d filled.
And more than that—more than that—Beth missed herself. That was something she hadn’t realized until recently, and she was stumbling in her trek, but she was getting there. Learning about who she was and who she wanted to be. Slowly. Painfully. Beautifully. Like a caterpillar finding it had wings, and could fly.
Beth smiled with self-derision, wondering if she should have designated herself a poet instead of a novelist.
She paused with the remote control in her hand, her thoughts turning to Harrison with his mysteries and black-fire eyes. Beth took in the solitude, the realization that she was a party of one, like him. What was it like for Harrison without a television, without anything but the sound of his voice to give him comfort? Maybe there was a radio. He hadn’t said there wasn’t that. She turned off the television, the silence instantly consuming her. So quiet it was loud. Beth closed her eyes a
nd tipped back her head, trying to put herself in his place, trying to figure out his brain.
Beth shook her head and opened her eyes, her lips lifted in the merest of ways. Did she want to know how his brain worked? Yes, and no. It seemed to be a dark, endless corridor. Beth opened the laptop, braced it on her legs, and waited, her pulse jumping around inside her veins. Once the screen was up and she was on the internet, she froze with her fingers posed over the keys. Whatever she found, she couldn’t go back and unlearn it, she couldn’t unread the words.
He knew she was going to look him up. He’d told her whatever she learned, she was obligated to remain in his employ. That sounded ominous. What was left unsaid was what would happen if she tried to break the contract. She would be sued. It was plainly written on the paper she’d signed. Maybe she should have thought everything out in a more detailed manner before taking the job, but she didn’t want to be stuck bartending in Crystal Lake, Minnesota the rest of her life, and especially not with her ex-boyfriend. She wanted to use her passion for words in a creative way. She wanted to write.
Beth’s fingers shook and she swallowed, sweaty with indecision, her flesh clammy with foreboding. She chugged the chocolate milk like its cold goodness was going to give her a boost of fortitude, gnawing on a handful of popcorn when the glass was empty. She methodically chewed the buttered and salted popcorn, talking herself into Googling Harrison Caldwell as she did so. Wiping her greasy fingers on a napkin, Beth took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and typed his name in the search engine.
HUNGOVER WAS AN apt description of how Beth felt, never mind that she hadn’t had any alcohol the previous night. Her eyes felt heavy and gritty, and when she opened them, she quickly shut them, the sliver of light finding its way in around the window blind directed straight at her eyeballs. She’d spent hours late into the night reading articles, studying pictures, getting a fragmented tale of Harrison Caldwell.