The Final Piece

by Maggi Myers

  “She wouldn’t shut up about how much I don’t look like my mom when she was my age. She kept saying, ‘Casey is just so lovely,’” I whimper.

  Tommy lets out a frustrated sigh as he sets his guitar down. Turning to me, he lifts my chin from where it rests on my chest. “Just because your hair isn’t blond and your eyes aren’t hazel doesn’t meant that you are not every bit as lovely as your mama.” I try not to start crying again, but the harder I try, the more my chin trembles. ”Rose is an old fool, I wouldn’t put any weight behind what she says.” Tommy squeezes me in a big bear hug before picking up his guitar.

  “Thanks, Tommy.” I give him a watery smile.

  “Besides, you got the best of all of your mama’s traits, baby girl,” he strums his guitar as he talks, “her smile.” He serenades me with Van Morrison and before I know it, my tears are dry and my hurt forgotten. “You’ll always be my brown-eyed baby girl.”

  Chapter 31

  “Dear Tommy,” I’ve been staring at those words for the last twenty minutes. They’re mocking me.

  I miss you. Too lame.

  I’m sorry. Too little, too late.

  I love you. Always.

  I’m stalling. I know exactly what I need to say but I haven’t been down that road in a long time. When you’ve spent all your time hiding from your past, the last thing you want to do is jump in and go for a swim. Reflecting on it won’t bring Tommy back. It’s tempting to just throw away my scribbling and pretend that it’s okay. God knows I’ve gotten good at pretending; I hate the coward I’ve become.

  The pen shakes as I force it to connect to the paper through my memories. I upend every emotion and lay it out in detail, how he believed me without ever doubting me and how he fought Drew to keep me safe. The way he confronted my parents for me. For eight years, I waited for someone to stand up for me, and Tommy was the one who finally did. As I seal the envelope a thought occurs to me—all this time, I never thanked him.

  I have been through more in my life than most people, but I’ve never lost someone close to me. For all of the horrific things I was forced to deal with in my childhood, death was never one of them. I thought I knew pain. I thought I understood it. Nothing I have ever experienced can come close to this agony. Now I understand “died of a broken heart.” I’d welcome death to come swallow me whole.

  The wheels touch down in Des Moines, shaking me from my reverie. Everything looks the same, but nothing feels the same. People are bustling around me as I drag myself through the concourse when my phone chirps in my pocket. A quick glance shows that it’s my mom.

  “Hello?”

  “Elizabeth? Are you there? Are you ok?” she batters me with a hundred questions all at once, making my head spin.

  “Mom, slow down,” I say.

  “Oh, honey. I wish I was there right now.”

  “When do you fly in?” I sniff.

  “We’ll be there later on today,” her voice is tense with worry, “who’s picking you up?”

  “I don’t know,” I wince, knowing she’ll lecture me on that next. “Uncle Rob or Aunt Melissa, I assume.”

  “Beth, really?” She chides. “I’m calling Pops.”

  “No, Mom, please don’t. Everyone knows my flight information, someone will be here, and if not, I can catch a cab.” I reassure her.

  She scoffs in my ear, “I know that, I just don’t like that you are there alone. Honey, I am so sorry. I know how much Tommy meant to you.” Her words cause my throat to clench. “He was such an important part of your life, and the thought of you alone in that airport just breaks my heart.” I hear shuffling in the background and then my dad’s muffled voice. “She isn’t even sure she has a ride from the airport, John,” she tells him. “I know how old she is, I’m not hovering.” She continues to argue with my dad who is grousing about how overbearing she can be. Today, it’s kind of nice to have her fussing over me, and I’m grateful that our relationship is good because I need all of the moral support I can find.

  “If you two need to work this out, I can talk to you later.” I use the distraction to get off the phone before I start to cry again. “I love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too, baby. I’ll call you when we land,” she promises.

  I don’t want to be here alone either, so the sooner I can grab my luggage, the sooner I can get to Gran and Pops.

  When I reach the security checkpoint, I rush past the folks reuniting with their loved ones. The pain in my chest swells when I think about the last time I was here and how Tommy’s face lit up when he saw me through the crowd. No matter where I turn, the memories are unavoidable. After all the years of Tommy picking me up whenever I’d fly home, his ghost is everywhere. I run down the stairs to Baggage Claim.

  I take a deep cleansing breath through my nose and close my eyes. One foot in front of the other, I need to keep walking through the motions because I don’t know what else to do. I blow the air out through my mouth and open my eyes. It doesn’t help ease my regret, but I doubt anything will. In a fog, I grab my suitcase from the carousel only to pause in confusion when I forget what I’m supposed to do next. I’ve never felt so lost.

  Standing outside the doors, watching the cars come and go, I can hear my mother nagging me about who’s coming to pick me up. I’ve been in such a daze; I don’t even know whose car I should look for. Cyn was the one who called Gran to let her know when I’d be home, thank God or I would’ve forgotten that, too. This is so unlike me, I’m always the one in charge. Losing control is not an option. I need to get it together and start functioning better than this.

  I am rooting through my purse to find my cell phone when I hear my name. “Beth.” My head pops up and I start to search the faces around me for a familiar one. “Beth, over here.” I spin toward the voice coming up behind me. “I was waiting for you outside security and you walked right by me.”

  I stare blankly at the man standing before me as every coherent thought escapes me. My heart slams against my ribcage, while my initial confusion becomes recognition. He hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and looks up at me through familiar blond eyelashes. The corner of his mouth tips up, revealing a lopsided grin.

  “Ryan,” I whisper.

  Chapter 32

  I stare at Ryan in shock. Memories of us at the lake play in my mind through the grainy frames of old home movies. The images flicker and come to life as the last ten years fade away. His face no longer holds the roundness of a boy’s, but of an angular man. To look at him, I have to tilt my head up further than I used to. The blond hair that is tucked underneath his Hawkeyes cap matches the scruff covering his face. His green eyes study me with same affection they did when I was fifteen, but sadness simmers beneath.

  “Ryan.” Tears burst with renewed grief as I wrap my arms around him. I cling to him shamelessly, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar. I weep without restraint as I give myself over to the pain of our loss. Ryan’s strong arms pull me tightly against his chest and his lips press against the top of my head.

  “Beth,” My name comes out on a sigh. ”I’m so glad you are here.” Ryan’s body tenses a moment before he sucks in a shaky breath. He’s crying, too. I didn’t think my heart could hurt more. In my eagerness to comfort him, I squeeze him tighter. I’m surprised by how easy it is to fall back into this need to be close to him. I rub his back and murmur quiet words of comfort until his body relaxes and his breathing steadies.

  We stay locked in our embrace, ignoring the people shooting us curious looks as they detour around us. Even after our tears have subsided, I’m hesitant to let Ryan go. I give him a sheepish smile and tuck my hair behind my ear. Despite our willingness to skip the normal social niceties, there is still a gap ten years wide between us. No—hello, it’s so nice to see you again—we bypassed that and dove straight into hanging on for dear life. He picks up my suitcase and holds his hand out for me. His hand is rough and calloused, and it eclipses mine when he entwines our fingers. He waits for me t
o look up at him before he smiles back at me. Typical Ryan, always so self-assured.

  ***

  I try closing my eyes on the way to Gran and Pops’ house, but I am restless. Leaning my head on the window, I watch the corn fields fly past in a blur. In the background, a random rock song is ending and the beginning strains of a Brutal Strength song begins.

  “You know, I was at their concert when Uncle Rob called,” my tone is flat. I don’t even bother to turn toward Ryan. I just continue staring out at nothing.

  “No way” Ryan returns, “you finally made it to a show.”

  “Actually, I never saw them play.” I chuckle and shake my head, “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” My face burns at my choice of words. I was talking about my thwarted opportunities to see Brutal Strength, but it sounds a lot like a reference to our ill-fated romance. I clear my throat and shift in my seat, “You know what I mean.”

  Ryan’s laughter fills the cab of his truck. God, I missed that sound. “I should have known I could count on you to make me laugh,” he jokes.

  “You mean you can count on me to say something painfully awkward,” I laugh.

  “Some things never change.” Ryan chuckles under his breath.

  I perk up in my seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I turn away from the window to address him. I fold my arms over my chest while I wait for his answer.

  “It’s not bad, you’ve just always been a little...” he hesitates.

  “Well, don’t stop now.” I cock my eyebrow and wait.

  “Uneasy.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye.

  “I don’t think that’s ambiguous enough.” I counter.

  “Sarcastic.”

  “Do I get to play? Let’s think of a few words to describe Ryan.” I narrow my eyes at him while I scrutinize.

  “Defensive,” he continues.

  Ouch, that stings.

  “Cocky.”

  “Anxious.”

  I squirm at the accuracy of Ryan’s words. It unnerves me that he can expose me so easily after so long.

  “Tormentor.”

  “Now, when did I ever torment you?” he asks. He’s either got a really bad memory or he’s baiting me.

  “You teased me relentlessly,” I bite.

  “Tease and torment are two different things. I teased you because your reactions were hilarious.” He laughs.

  “I’m glad you were entertained.” I let my snark out in full force.

  “Don’t take offense, it was endearing.”

  “To whom?”

  “To me. I couldn’t help myself. You’re adorable when you’re all flustered.”

  I blush at the sweetness of his statement. A smile creeps along the corners of my mouth at his use of present tense. He’s right, some things never change—I’m still a sucker for his charm.

  The truck slows down, and all too soon, we are pulling up to the curb near Gran and Pops’ house. The burst of giddy excitement Ryan conjured evaporates. Cars line the street on both sides; people spill out of the house onto the porch. Another thing that hasn’t changed, everyone still gathers here. Even in grief, they flock here seeking the comfort of being a part of something bigger—family.

  “It doesn’t seem real,” I murmur. The air in the truck turns thick with despair. “My heart still expects to see him up on the porch with his guitar.”

  Ryan hangs his head and lets out a defeated sigh. I release my seatbelt and slide across the bench seat. Without lifting his head, he turns to gauge what I am doing. I tip my head to meet his gaze and rest my hand in the center of his back. He looks so weary.

  “Hey.” I move my hand in circles across the tension in his muscles. “It’ll be all right.”

  Without taking his eyes off mine, he puts his hands on my hips and slides us back to the passenger’s seat. Still holding my gaze, he slowly lays his head in my lap. I force myself to breathe as I watch tears spill across his cheeks onto my jeans. My fingers shake as I run them along his hairline; the intimacy of this scene is wreaking havoc on my already ragged emotions. His face contorts in pain as a sob wracks his body. I shift to accommodate more of him in my lap. Pulling him against me, I rock us gently and kiss his temple. He still feels like home.

  ”I just need a minute,” he whispers.

  “Hey, it’s all right. Take as many as you need.” I murmur. My own sorrow, demanding release, wraps around Ryan’s. His grief is palpable. Mixed with my own, it’s suffocating. I can’t stand it.

  “No one’s seen us pull up yet,” I choke, ”let’s drive down to the park awhile.” Neither one of us seems ready to face the crowded house. Not waiting for Ryan’s response, I jump out of the passenger side and rush around to hop in the driver’s seat. I crank the keys and the engine roars to life. Ryan’s managed to fasten his seatbelt, but he is slumped over with his face in his hands. I throw the gearshift into drive and check the rearview mirror to make sure no one sees us.

  The familiar streets and houses that used to bring me comfort only magnify Tommy’s absence. The cheery bungalows and picture perfect Craftsmans, with their well-manicured lawns and prized peony bushes, seem worn. There’s peeling paint and cracks in the sidewalks where weeds have found safe haven. Nothing is as perfect as we want it to be.

  I pull into the parking lot at Legion Park and find a secluded spot. The playground is full of parents with their children and the half pipe is bustling with skaters. It pisses me off that life is continuing as if nothing has changed. Suffused with a sudden burst of anger I want to scream at all of them. How dare they go on with their lives when Tommy can’t! My hands ache from white knuckling the steering wheel and my head is pounding from crying. I startle when Ryan puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I lost it back there.” He squeezes gently, sending relief up my neck into my throbbing head. “It’s not fair, I know this is hard on you, too.”

  I rest my head on the steering wheel as his hand continues to knead the tension out of my shoulder. The seat gives when he shifts closer to me. I tense when his fingers brush the back of my neck and relax again when he resumes massaging my other shoulder.

  “If this is how you say you’re sorry then how does anyone stay mad at you?” I groan in relief. “Seriously, you don’t need to apologize to me and you don’t owe me any explanations.”

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” With my head still resting on the steering wheel, I turn to face his question. I can’t help but smirk. The last time he asked me to go for a walk he unleashed those wicked lips on me and ruined me for every boy that came after him. Red creeps up his neck and into his cheeks when he sees the connection. He’s right, there is something adorable about flustered.

  “Come on,” I open the door and step into the crisp fall air. I meet Ryan at the front of the truck and reach for his hand before my brain can tell me to slow down. I don’t care. I need to feel connected to someone; I don’t want to hurt like this on my own. We walk past the picnic shelters and settle under a shady tree. “I know I said you didn’t owe me any explanations, but if you want to talk about it, you can trust me.” Sitting here takes me back to the day under the cherry tree when Ryan told me I could trust him. I want so badly to return the favor.

  “It’s too much to take in,” he starts. “I keep thinking if I keep myself busy enough it’ll make it easier. I just want it to be easier.” He shakes his head at the absurdity of what he’s saying. “While the rest of the family just shut down, I made the funeral arrangements, took care of the police reports and…” he pauses to pinch the bridge of his nose, preparing himself, “...I went to the impound lot to get the rest of his things from his car.” I squeeze his hand and his haunted eyes meet mine, sucking all of the air from my lungs. “There was so much blood. Tommy’s blood. Everywhere. On everything.”

  My eyes don’t leave his, even as tears blur his face. I blink, sending them spilling and bringing Ryan back into focus. I can’t imagine what he must’ve seen. I don’t want to know that
Tommy’s blood is splattered all over the carcass of his truck. I don’t want to know, but then I doubt Ryan wants to know either. I cringe at the thought of him in the impound lot, at the scene of Tommy’s death, alone. I roll onto my knees in front of him and place my palms against his scruff.

  He leans into my touch and continues, “I was afraid if I started to cry, I’d never stop.” He whispers, “I wanted to do everything, anything to keep from thinking.” He leans in closer and rests his hands on my knees. “I came and met your plane after I left the lot. Rob and Melissa were supposed to pick you up, but I called to tell them to stay with the Cantwells. ”

  “You needed to keep going.” I sigh. Ryan’s brow relaxes in relief as he nods his head. “I get it.”

  “I couldn’t wait to see you, to surprise you, and for a few minutes, I could forget. When I saw you and you looked at me, you saw right through me.” I think about the airport and the affectionate look he gave me—the one that couldn’t hide the sadness behind it.

  Oh, Ryan.

  He shudders on a heavy sigh; I think he’s done purging for now. My arms ache from cradling his face, but I don’t want to let go. Instead I lean forward and kiss his forehead. Sometimes it takes more than just pretty words but something tactile to remind you that you aren’t alone. Ryan seems to understand my intent because he embraces me and pulls me forward into his lap. I don’t bother feeling uneasy because, at this point, we both just need someone.

  Chapter 33

  Of all the years I spent in therapy, the issue that seemed to dominate above all others was boundaries. In my counselor’s defense, Dave was a psychologist that specialized in addiction not abuse. He was our family therapist and since two out of three of us were addicts, we stuck with him. He was a great; he just wasn’t equipped to help me navigate what happened with Drew. Apparently Dave thought I wouldn’t have boundaries at all and turn into an insta-slut. I always found that comical because I have more boundaries than Eastern Europe.