Chapter Two-Present Day

Chapter Two - Remy

"Hanes, lunchtime."

I glanced up from the roof we worked on, and covered my palm over my eyes, to see Timmy waving me down.

"Be down in a second," I hollered, grabbing my hammer and tools before climbing down the ladder.

Timmy sat on the tailgate of his truck, leaned back against his palms, his short legs not touching the ground. 

The hot Texas sun beamed down on me, so I ripped my shirt over my head and wiped my face with it. I grabbed my spare t-shirt hanging from my back pocket and slid it on.

"You want to go to Lucas' for lunch?" he asked.

The name still shot nerves down my back to this day. After we got back from Spain, Lucas' Momma opened a restaurant in his name.

It was southern food, fried chicken and blueberry pie, his favorite kind. To support his Momma, I went to eat there for lunch every day.

"Yeah," I said.

"You want to ride with me?" Timmy asked. He knew I did, since my ole pickup's air was on the fritz.

"You know I do," I said, pulling out a cigarette from my back pocket and lighting it.

Timmy scooted into the driver's seat, rolling down my window in time to blow out my first breath of sanity for the day. I couldn't shake the habit, especially after what happened.

The restaurant sat in the corner of a shopping center in downtown Dallas. Lucas' was printed in bold white letters on the outside blue awning. The inside reminded me of a Ma and Pop's restaurant with red and white checkered table clothes, pictures of hometown heroes and, of course, Lucas.

Several people sat around eating, listening to the eighties music Mrs. Johns insisted on playing, and eating her dish of the day—chicken and dumplings. It didn't matter that it was ninety plus degrees outside because Mrs. Johns never cooked something that wasn't worth it, even if considered cold weather food.

We took our usual table, and waited for her to bring us our daily sweet tea. Mrs. Johns birthed Lucas later in life, in her late thirties, early forties, so she was older than my mom who had me straight out of high school.

Her wiry brown hair never looked combed underneath Lucas' UT Dallas baseball cap recovered from the crash.

"Isn't it my favorite two people in the world," she said, placing down our drinks and pinching my right cheek.

"Hey, Mrs. Johns," Timmy said.

"Hey, Tiny Tim."

I grinned at the deadpanned look he snuck me. He hated it when she called him that, but was too respectful to call her out about it.

"Remy," she said, sweetly. "I'll only put in your order if you tell me you're going back to school?" Here we go again ... every damn day.

I sighed, running a palm down my face in an attempt not to lose my temper. It seemed to happen more often than not lately. "Mrs. Johns, now I just want my cheeseburger and pie—,"

"Stop the whining," she hissed, waving me off. "I just think it would be a good idea, but who asked me, right?" She rolled her eyes.

"I'll go put in your orders, you think about it while I'm gone."

Timmy snorted. "Lady doesn't give up, does she?"

"Apparently not." Timmy leaned back in his seat, big hazel eyes examining me. "Stop it," I said.

"Why don't you ever talk about it?"

I sucked on my straw, emptying almost half of the glass. "About what?" I asked.

Timmy leaned forward. "About the crash? About Spain? It had to be an adventure, surviving that?"

If that's what you want to call it. I couldn't think about the crash without being haunted by my days with her there. Too many things happened. What did he expect? Roses and walks on the beach? It'd been Hell on Earth.

"Drop it."

Timmy pursed his lips and waved me off, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. I liked the silence better anyway.

I'd worked with him for two years at the construction company his dad owned after my mom pulled a few strings to get me the job.

The year before that went by in a blur of alcohol, different jobs every two weeks and fights.

"Alright," Mrs. Johns said several minutes later. "Your cheeseburger and pie. And chicken strips and onion rings for Timmy."

She stood back with her hands on her hips. "Jane graduated last week."

Trying to act nonchalant didn't work with Mrs. Johns. "Good for her," I said.

Both of their gazes crept underneath my skin. "What?" I asked after a few minutes of silence. Timmy shrugged and went back to eating.

Mrs. Johns slapped my shoulder. "Don't get sassy with me, son. I'm hosting a party for her this Friday at the restaurant. I want you to come, and if you don't I won't serve you food anymore. You'll have to go to McDonalds and get some of that processed food and die an early death."

Timmy laughed, offering her a fist bump. "Who is Jane?" he asked.

Jane was—Jane was someone I used to know.

She'd ripped my heart into many pieces and left it there on the riverbed in Spain.

When I didn't answer, Mrs. Johns said, "She was Lucas' girlfriend."

"Can I come?" Timmy asked. "I love a party."

"The more the merrier," she said, tapping my shoulder. I looked up at her, hoping she didn't see the sadness that rested there. "You have to come, Remy. It'll mean a lot to her."

Obviously, Mrs. Johns didn't realize my feelings for Jane. She didn't know what really happened on the mountain, or the toll it took on us. I hadn't talked to Jane since it happened three years ago. "I'll think about it."

She smiled and left us to eat.

"We should go," Timmy said. "I'm sure she'll make cake, I can't pass that up."

The thought of seeing Jane again made my chest hurt. It'd been three long years since we'd seen each other, leaving that mountain with a hell of a lot of guilt and pent-up emotion. Had she dealt with her emotions better than I had?

Maybe she'd moved on. That was something I didn't think I could handle no matter how long had past.

I hurried to eat my pie, leaving Timmy to finish his food alone. I relit my cigarette I'd tucked behind my ear, and then leaned against the outside of the brick building.

My palms hurt from the callouses I'd earned over the last two years. I'd taken up anything routine to take my mind off her. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and Taborie's number came across the screen. I'd kept in touch with him. We'd bonded over the stormy, cold nights and days without food.

"Hey."

"Brother," he said. "How is it today?"

Leave it to Taborie to get straight to the point. If anyone knew the struggles I felt, it was him. "I'm good," I said over another drag.

"Liar."

I chuckled, putting my cigarette out on the bottom of my boot. "Mrs. Johns is having a graduation party for Jane."

The sound of a door slamming and movement came from his end. "You going?"

"Hell no."

"You should. Get her out of your system. Go and kiss the hell out of her, right in front of everyone. Get rid of both of your guilt, nerves and feelings. Take her back to the mountain and strip her—,"

"Don't," I said, shaking my head, though he couldn't see. "I'm not going to see her."

"Whatever. It's your chance."

"How are things with you?" I asked.

"Good. I got the promotion."

Taborie worked for a marketing firm in Minnesota. For the past year, he'd strove for the manager's position. I felt happy for him. Happy that he was happy and moving on with his life.

It seemed I was the only one stuck in a standstill.

"That's awesome," I said. "I know Katie is stoked."

He laughed. "Yeah, she's ready to buy a new house now. She's even talking about babies."

I pushed the thought of children out of my mind and stomped out my cigarette on the ground. The front door dinged when Timmy walked outside.

"I'm so happy for y'all," I said. "I'm heading back to work. Can I call you later?"

"Yea, brother. Stay strong and call me if you need me."

"Will do." Timmy turned the radio down when I slid into the passenger's seat. "So you ready to tell me who Jane is?"

"We told you."

"Nah," he said. "You turned pale when she mentioned her name. You got a thing for Lucas' girl?"

I don't know why I did it, but I slammed my fist against the glove compartment and said, "Shut the hell up. Don't talk about either of them. You don't know anything." Timmy's eyes rounded, but he nodded quietly.

Anger reared its head inside of me. I hated myself for lashing out at Timmy, and even when we got back to work and Timmy ignored me, I couldn't force myself to apologize. I just didn't have it in me anymore.

I got into my truck, rolled down my windows and went straight home. My one bedroom apartment sat in the corner of the building, looking out over an empty lot next to it. The silence of my apartment normally calmed me, but tonight I felt like I'd drowned in it.

The empty pizza boxes and futon I used for a couch looked helpless and pathetic. Instead of sitting in the silence of my apartment orwatching reruns on cable, I grabbed my keys and went downtown to drown myself in something that would take the edge off.

***

Sunlight poured into my truck window, waking me to the sound of Dallas traffic and sweaty clothes.

What time is it?

I groaned and stretched my neck from the uncomfortable place it'd been jammed against the inside of my door and sat up. My truck sat in the parking lot at the local bar I'd drowned myself the night before.

"Shit," I said, digging my phone out of my pocket.

Ten missed called.

I started my engine, backed out and raced toward our current workplace. Timmy's truck sat in their driveway along with their backup man, Joey.

This wasn't good. It hadn't been the first time I'd shown up late and on Thursdays Timmy's dad, Dan, always showed up to look at progress.

I grabbed my tools from the bed of my truck, and walked inside the house. We were supposed to have the bathroom's foundation finished by today, so I figured they were both in there.

Timmy frowned when I walked inside. "Dad called to see if you were here."

Joey stood up from the floor and wiped his hands on his t-shirt. He looked like he'd been in trouble a few times in his life, with hard lines on his face, even though he was only thirty.

"I told him your ass hadn't shown up. You won't make it long today, he's on his way," Joey said.

I bit back the slew of curses on my tongue.

"Sorry," Timmy said.

"Don't apologize to him. He was the one that was late for the tenth time in a month."

"Don't act like you know me," I spit, tossing my tool bag onto the floor.

Joey spit, tobacco pressed against the inside of his lip. "I do know you. You're my dad. A drunk that can't keep a job."

I tightened my fists.

"You take your job for granted."

"Shut up."

"You're twenty-two, right? What in the hell made your life so bad that you needed to drink away your life?"

I flew at him, all my repressed emotions toppled over into rage and I punched him, soaring us back against the beams of the house.

Timmy scurried from the room as if he was afraid of me. I couldn't stop hitting Joey. My rage felt deep, and I knew it didn't stem from him, but I wanted to make it go away.

Joey swung his leg over mine, landing a punch against my jaw. It felt like—something. Something other than being numb and dead on the inside.

Footsteps thundered toward us, as we wrestled on the floor like teenagers. I felt someone lift me from Joey and slam me against the wall. Dan's here, everybody.

His mustache hooked at the ends, giving him a mean look, like a nasty pirate. Despite Timmy being short, Dan was taller with an athletic build from years of manual labor.

"I can't leave you alone for one day without you being late or starting fights."

He let go of my t-shirt, and turned to give Joey a warning finger. "This was a favor for your mom, but I won't tolerate bullshit. I'll have your last paycheck ready Friday; you can come by and get it."

He turned his back toward me, grabbed his shit from the floor and walked back out toward his truck.

I felt too hung-over to scream and curse at him as I wanted. In all reality, it was my fault this happened. I'd been drunk and passed out, not Dan, Timmy, or even Joey.

I was the one that held onto rage, not them.

I left with what dignity I had left in me, Timmy waved at me from the roof but I didn't wave back. 

I wanted to drown my sorrows again, but instead I went to Lucas' and ordered a coffee from the server Mrs. Johns hired a few weeks before.

"Why are you here so early?" she shouted from behind the cash register.

"I got fired."

She slammed the door shut and gasped. "What for?"

"I was late again." I decided not to mention the fight.

She cursed beneath her breath, and started rummaging through her drawers until she found what she needed. She slammed a piece of paper onto my table and pressed her fists against her hips.

"You're a sucky liar," she said, wiping blood from my bottom lip.

"Technically, it wasn't a lie, I was late," I said.

"You just forgot to mention you got into a fight, right? Wasn't that the reason you were fired from the first job? At least this one lasted two years. I didn't peg you for that long."

"I love your encouragement," I said sarcastically. "Fill this out and be here at ten tomorrow morning."

I glanced at the application.

"Mrs. Johns, I can't serve tables. I have no experience—,"

"I don't care about your lame excuses. You can work here until you find somewhere else to work. I can't let you lose that lousy apartment of yours and sleep in that deathtrap of a truck."

"No," I said.

"I'm not asking," she said. "Are you gonna beat me up now too?"

"Hilarious," I mumbled.

"Now you do what I say and be here tomorrow. I need help for this weekend anyway."

Realization hit me. "I'm not working at her party."

She glanced back over her shoulder. "No, but you're coming, or you don't have a job."