By a Thread Page 4

  “Top secret clearance bullshit, but just know it sucks. I mean, give me a fucking break. They are talking to, like, everyone I have ever fucking known, including my ex-girlfriend.” Billy looked at the male bartender standing in front of them and said, “Biggest beer you have. I don’t care what it is.”

  “Hmmm... let’s see what I can do.” The bartender moved away from them and Patrick and Billy continued their conversation. When the bartender returned, he’d poured a dark beer into an actual vase. “So this is about five beers, but since you look like you’ll be drinking several of these, I’ll only charge you for one.”

  “Okay, I love this guy.” Billy raised his vase at the bartender and took a sip.

  “It’s George.”

  Chapter Seven

  Stella finally got out of bed around 2:00 in the afternoon. The house was quiet except for Cooper’s nails clicking against the tile of the kitchen floor. He was hungry, and pacing the length of the kitchen waiting on her. She hadn’t fed him yet. Slowly making her way to the stairs, something on the floor caught her eye. It was her phone. She’d left it there the day she’d gotten back from the funeral. That was over a month ago. She figured she should turn it on.

  She pressed the power button as she walked up stairs. The beeping and chirping started instantly. She laid the phone down on the counter and went about feeding Cooper. The phone beeped again as she was setting down his bowl, notifying her of a voicemail. Stella walked over to her phone to see who left a message. It was a friend from home, checking in on her “to see how she was doing.” Really? she thought, how the fuck do you think I’m doing?

  She examined the screen of her phone. It showed sixty-five voice messages and 134 texts. She didn’t have it in her to check either kind. Instead, she realized she needed to cut her toenails. She hadn’t unpacked anything but her clothes, and she didn’t know where her nail clippers were.

  They always kept the clippers with Jamie’s stuff. Stella sighed, walked back downstairs, and stared at all unpacked boxes. She opened the first box hesitantly. There was a picture of Jamie and Stella with several of their “couple friends” from school after a homecoming game. She couldn’t remember which year it was. That is what happiness looks like, she thought. She looked back in the box, tears falling down her cheeks.

  Her phone began ringing. She ignored it and began pulling more contents of the box. It was full of things she’d never seen. There were more pictures of him with other guys in baseball uniforms, from all different ages. A couple of ties were wadded up in the bottom of the box. His athletic cup was in the box. She held it away from her face with two fingers and flung it on the floor. There were a few pieces of loose paper. One piece was folded flat as if it had fallen out of a book. It had her name on it. She unfolded the paper and read.

  So Stella, we made it through four years of college together. I knew the minute I saw you that we would be good together. I was right. You are perfect for me. You are just the right combination of sweet and surly, smart and smart-ass. I love you with so much of my heart it is scary. We’re so young, we shouldn’t be feeling this so soon. I don’t know if I can handle it. Our lives are so intertwined and I don’t know how to separate them. I don’t know where you end and where I begin. I’m moving to DC and taking a job there. I know, I’m a coward and can’t tell you in person. I can’t watch as I break your heart.

  We’ll go our separate ways, but know that you will be in my heart always. I wonder if you will be my biggest regret, the one that got away.

  That was it. It was like he never finished the letter. Stella blinked, not feeling anything as she read this letter that Jamie intended to give to her, but never did. Instead, he’d proposed. Gotten down on one knee and asked her to marry him. Why would he do that when all he wanted to do was go be by himself, she wondered. Numb. Stella sat on the floor and felt something inside her harden. What the fuck ever, this shit doesn’t change where I am, she thought. She’d moved to DC instead of attending the University of Georgia Law School for Jamie, and he’d died and left her. Alone.

  Patrick and Stella were on the back porch drinking beer and staring off into the night sky. She’d had a minor setback when she finally turned on her phone a month after Jamie’s funeral. The messages were more than she could take. She’d called her best friend from college, Meghan, and the conversation had been a disaster. Words had escaped her and Meghan really hadn’t been any better. Meghan was engaged and planning her wedding. As bad it sounded, Stella didn’t care. She didn’t want to hear about how great everything was for Meghan, it made her feel like an asshole. It was then that she made the decision to just plow forward. There was no need to talk to anyone from her past, they would simply remind her of Jamie and who she was with Jamie. That person didn’t exist anymore. She wasn’t anyone anymore.

  Her parents called and left her messages everyday for weeks, each message more heart-wrenching than the last. They were cut off too. She couldn’t handle talking about what they needed her to talk about.

  “You know how me and Jamie became friends?” Patrick took a sip of beer and looked over to Stella.

  “No,” she said flatly, hoping that would be the end of it.

  “We played ball together in the travel leagues in Savannah. He was so good. And it was just natural, you know.” He looked off and sighed. “We’ve known each other for years, but reconnected a couple years ago when I saw him play in the College World Series for Georgia.”

  Stella sat silent. She was numb.

  “I recruited him for the ATF, Stella, I’m so sorry,” Patrick said sincerely.

  “Why are you sorry?” Her head tilted slightly, puzzled by his apology.

  “I just feel like this is my fault. If it weren’t for me, you guys wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  “First of all, there are no guys here, it’s just me. And no one knew he would die in a car accident driving back here. I don’t see how you think this is somehow your fault, but that’s your shit to deal with.” She chugged the rest of her beer and got up to get another one. “You want another?”

  “Sure.”

  Stella walked to the cooler and grabbed two beers. “I know we are both dealing with this in our own way, Patrick, but if you’re asking if I blame you, I don’t. That’s part of the problem with this entire situation. There’s no one to blame but the other driver, who died too.”

  “You know, you’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

  “Well, I guess I haven’t given you a real good view of me.” Stella twirled a section of her hair around her finger, “but you can’t blame me for being a basket case. I’m nothing like I was a couple of months ago, with Jamie. That girl’s gone.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Pretty sure the happy-go-lucky, idealistic person I used to be has been replaced by a drinking, cussing, mess. How do you like me now?” she said, dripping in sarcasm as she looked up into the sky.

  “You’ll be alright.”

  “Glad you think so…”

  “I kinda like you anyway.” Patrick laughed.

  “Good to know you’re a masochist.” Stella peered over the fence into their neighbor’s yard. Sitting in the back yard were four old toilets and a working Coke machine. “It looks like if we need a Coke or need to take a shit, all we need to do is go next door.”

  Patrick stood up and examined the yard. “Now I can’t wait to meet them.”

  Chapter Eight

  Stella still wasn’t sleeping well, big fucking surprise. Seeing 11:59 turn to 12:00 on her clock, she sighed. It was now Jamie’s birthday. Taking a drink from her glass of straight, room-temperature vodka, she looked around her room. She found what she was looking for under her desk. Crawling over, she stretched under the desk and grabbed the phone she’d thrown on the floor a couple days earlier. Patrick had taken her laptop to keep her from embarrassing herself online. He hadn’t anticipated her using her cell phone to get online. When she’d found out he deleted her entire Facebook a
ccount she’d nearly hit the roof. Jamie had a public account, so she could still access his web page under another name. She created a new account, using the name El Murphy.

  Sitting on her knees, she pulled up his page on her cell phone and typed out a message.

  You should be here with me, celebrating.

  According to Patrick, he’d deleted her original account because scores of people were posting really hateful things to Jamie’s page after Stella’s alcohol-fueled comments. Oops, she thought.

  She was out of tears, completely and totally dry from all the crying she’d been doing. Pushing herself up off the ground, she went upstairs and into the kitchen. Billy, still playing video games, looked at her but knew better than to talk to her. She pulled the bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured a good four fingers into a glass with ice. Moving to the cabinet, she pulled out a box of crackers and sat at the table.

  “You know, you could at least come sit in here. I promise I won’t talk to you.”

  Stella got up, poured a few more fingers into her glass, and sat on the couch next to Billy. Even sitting with someone, Stella always felt alone. For the past few months she’d been working on forgetting, and just being numb. It wasn’t going well, but alcohol helped.

  “Tell me something about him.” Billy’s eyes didn’t move from the screen.

  “No,” she whispered. “Billy, it’s so hard. I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

  Billy paused his game and looked at her dry face and dead green eyes. She drained the rest of her glass and stood to get another. “El, you are making it. It might not be pretty, but you’re making it. That’s all you have to do for awhile.”

  She looked at his face. He’d been witness to her downward spiral. Somehow he sincerely had no judgment in his eyes. “Billy, how do I keep going? How do I keep getting up in the morning, without him?”

  Billy let out a deep breath, “Listen... I don’t fucking know. You just do it. You drink too much, you pass out and you try not to think about him. You just do...”

  “I can’t even tell you how horrible that sounds. I’ve been drunk for a solid three months and it’s not helping.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong El. The day I met you I thought you would leave here, go back home, and crawl into a hole somewhere, but you didn’t. I think somewhere deep down you know you will keep going. You deferred law school, you didn’t quit. You started eating again. You’re getting better.”

  “It doesn’t feel better.”

  “Just wait.” Billy turned back to the television and restarted his game.

  “For what?” Stella stared at the screen, watching the combat scene of the video game.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s fucking helpful.”

  “You’re alive, it’s something.”

  Stella sighed and pushed his arm over so that she could lay her head in Billy’s lap. She watched him play video games until 3:00 in the morning. When he got up to go to his room, she’d finally passed out.

  After noon that day, she couldn’t stand to be alone anymore and walked to Finnegan’s. She ordered a burger, fries, and beer. She made small talk with the bartender, Hazel, and was pretty lit by the time the bartenders changed shift.

  Stella blinked her big green eyes at the sight of him and twirled her engagement ring around her finger. It was one of the only things she had that was a part of Jamie. Patrick had gone through all Jamie’s shit last weekend and made her pack it up and send almost everything home to Jamie’s parents. Stella was picturing Jamie’s face when George came over to where she slumped at the bar.

  “You okay, Stella?”

  “Nope,” she said, looking past him. “Probably never again will I be okay.”

  “Can I get you something? A cab?” George rubbed his face and shaved head.

  “What? No, I’m not done drinking George.” Stella shook her head to clear it. “I’m in need of another drink,” she held up her empty glass, her words slightly slurred.

  “They say that bartenders make good listeners. You can talk to me.”

  “I’m not a good talker. I don’t plan on falling apart today, just drinking to pass out, and didn’t want to drink alone.” Her phone beeped to alert her of another text message; she now had twenty. Stella ignored them and looked at her ring again.

  “Bad breakup?” George ventured.

  “Not even fucking close.” She squeezed her eyes closed.

  “You know we met before, right? At the dog park, your first “real day” here. Your dog played with Brutus?” George said, hoping it would ring a bell. Stella opened her eyes and tried to remember that day. She couldn’t. All she remembered was that night. Her face was blank. “You were so… I’m sorry about whatever’s happened to you, Stella.”

  “George, call me El. Apparently all my friends call me that now. As a friend, I’m asking you to change the fucking subject.” Stella downed the rest of her beer. “Another one, please.”

  “Sure.” George took one more look at Stella and went to pour her another beer.

  “So... George. What’s your story?” Stella said when he brought her another beer.

  “What do you mean, my story?” George was wiping down the counter behind the bar. He smiled at her even though he could tell she was wasted. He was trying to figure out what to do with her when Patrick walked through the door.

  “Patrick,” Stella said, conveying neither excitement nor animosity.

  “El. You okay?”

  “Oh, just fucking peachy, right, George?”

  “Patrick, what can I get you?” George shook his head at Patrick, attempting to show him

  Stella was not okay.

  “I’ve just come to collect this one.” Patrick put his arm around her waist and stood her up, her weight leaning against him. “Can I get the bill?”

  “Of course.” George moved down the bar to get the final tally of Stella’s drinks.

  “But... I don’t want to leave. George was just about to tell me his life story. I’m sure it’s way better than mine.”

  “He can tell you another time, when you’re not loaded. You wouldn’t remember if he told you now anyway.” Patrick brushed his hand across her head, smoothing the hair out of her face.

  Stella leaned into his arms, as if she would topple over if not for him holding her. “Patrick, I feel like I’m being tortured. When is this all going to end? I seriously can’t handle it. My brain feels like it’s being punished. My heart is demolished and there is no hope of it returning. What’s the point?” Stella grabbed at both of his shoulders, but missed. “What’s the fucking point?” she muttered softly and fell into him.

  “Patrick, I would’ve called you earlier, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.” George handed him the bill.

  “Not your problem, George, but I’ll write my number on this receipt in case this happens again.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “What do you think?” Patrick awkwardly carried Stella out the door. George watched them stumble all the way to the door, shaking his head.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yep.” She leaned back in Patrick’s car and looked at the window as they drove over the Key Bridge into Georgetown. They were going to get the tattoo she’d been wanting. He helped her design what would go on her left shoulder blade. It would look like a hole in her back, with the pieces of her broken heart crumbled on the bottom like rubble. She found it an accurate depiction. Patrick put his arm on the back of her seat and she leaned into him.

  “Well, it’s a cool design, I guess. But you know, you still have a heart. You’re still alive, even if you don’t feel like it now.”

  “Whatever.”

  They pulled into a parking spot off a side street and walked along the cobblestone sidewalk until they got to the tattoo parlor. Patrick had used this shop for all six of his tattoos. He was such a good customer that he and the owner had become f
riends. He would only get tattooed by an artist named Richard. It was Richard who was doing her tattoo.

  Sweat dripped down Richard’s forehead as he was concentrated on Stella’s tattoo. He had black spiky hair and a full beard. He had deep brown eyes and huge round spacers stretching a hole in each ear. Stella was sure he was covered in tattoos, but she could only see the ones covering his arms. Her favorite one was a bright red heart on the inside of his left forearm with an intricate knife sticking out, blood, the same bright red, pooling at his wrist. It was quite graphic. She wondered who had broken Richard’s heart.

  It was the third and last tattoo appointment. She’d had to wait an entire month since the last visit for the coloring to heal before putting the finishing touches on it. This third trip was really just to fill in some of the detail because Stella could only handle a couple of hours of needles at a time. The finished product was amazing and disturbing at the same time. Looking at her back, she saw a hole at her left shoulder blade, detail of bones poking out all the way through to where her heart would be. Instead of seeing a heart, Richard had drawn what looked like tattered remains of a heart. It was beautifully grotesque.

  Patrick sat in a leather chair next to Stella’s chair where she lay on her stomach, in a sports bra, shorts, and flip-flops. “Richard, I really think this is one of the best and most intricate tattoos I’ve ever seen. Looks good, man.”

  Richard wiped blood droplets off the tattoo and blew out a breath examining his work. “Perfect.”

  Stella lifted her head and released her hands from the white-knuckled grip she had on the handles of the chair. “Done?”

  “Yep.” Richard walked over to the drawers next to his chair and took out a cigarette.

  “Let me get a smoke and then I’ll rub you down.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Stella joked.