“Where were your parents?”
Josh looked over his shoulder at me. “My father disappeared. He always did. My mother held things together. A car accident took care of that though.”
I gasped. “Josh…”
He walked to the kitchen and put his beer bottle down. He opened a cabinet and brought out something stronger.
“She worked too much and never got any sleep,” he said. “So one night she got some sleep. Behind the wheel of her car.”
My heart was already starting to ache.
But what did I expect? It wasn’t like I had met Josh at a normal place. We were both always broken and walking the streets. Maybe in a way looking for each other. But we were too young then.
Now… everything was different, yet the same.
Chapter 24
Puzzles and Pieces
NOW
(Josh)
“She had already done her life sentence,” I said with a laugh. “You know? Raising two boys basically on her own. My grandfather was an alcoholic who drank himself to death. I mean that literally too. And when he went, it just shook everything up. I wasn’t around for that though. My father and my uncle were drunks from the time they were teenagers. I don’t even know where my uncle is right now.”
“What do you mean?” Amelia asked.
“He took off after…” I cleared my throat. “He just left and was never heard from again. No idea where he is. Not that I really care. Now, about painting. Let me get back on track here. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Amelia had slowly worked her way to the kitchen.
She touched my arm.
She gripped my arm.
Her hand slowly inched down toward my wrist and my hand.
I pulled away.
“My grandmother loved to paint. She loved to doodle things. Funny because a lot of her friends, they knew how to sew and stuff, you know? She couldn’t do that. But she could draw. She could paint. She could draw everything. People. Animals. Landscapes. She would paint on these pieces of canvas and then sell them at the local flea market. That’s how she paid for plenty of the legal troubles I caused.”
“Oh, Josh…”
I put up a hand. “Stop. Don’t do that. There was this one cop who got me one night. I was drinking and walking in the middle of the road. He stopped me and I ran my mouth off. I took a swing at him. I wanted to go to jail. I wanted to force my grandmother to shove me away. This cop - Duke - he punched me so hard in the stomach I thought I was dying. He slammed me against his car and held me by the throat. I look back on that moment now and I realize that he had a thing for my grandmother. He was protecting her. He knew she’d never kick me out. So, he screamed at me. He made it very clear that if I fucked up again, he’d kill me. That he’d make it look like an accident or out of necessary force.”
I took a drink from the bottle and laughed.
“That was intense. I always respected Duke for that.” I looked at Amelia. “He died of a heart attack about a year later. And he never once said a word to my grandmother. Could have been something there. He would have fiercely protected her. And she would have had the chance to feel what it’s like to be loved. But that’s life, I guess. So anyway, I went home that night and I walked from the kitchen to the back porch. It had all these windows. This ugly red carpeting. And that’s where my grandmother painted. I stood there and watched her. Just the way she moved her right hand. The way she moved her head. The way she hummed and just focused on what she was making. It just caught me off guard. So I watched her paint.”
“That’s why you started?” Amelia asked.
“Not even close, love. I went to bed that night and left her alone. When I saw her painting again, I asked her some questions. Part of me didn’t want to invade her alone time. She never got any time to herself. Not with me around. She took care of so much for so many people. The crazy part was, the second I started messing around with paints and all that, I was good. Really good. I never knew I could do that.”
“A natural.”
“Passed down from the greatest, maybe.”
“So let me just ask this… I’m trying to picture this, Josh. You and your grandmother sitting side by side, painting pictures together. Or you are drawing and she’s painting…”
“Exactly.”
I saw the look wash over Amelia’s face. A dangerous look. Her eyes wide and almost puppy dog like.
“That’s adorable,” Amelia said. “I hate that word. Shoot.”
“Stop,” I said. “It’s fine.”
“Describe it to me.”
“What?”
“I really want to picture it, Josh.”
“Why? So you can write about it?”
“No,” she said. “I swear to you. Everything you’re telling me now is for me only.”
“So, this is a private one on one, huh?” I asked.
“Of course. So I can fill in the gaps of what I don’t know about you. The stuff that’s been driving me crazy for a long time.”
“Is this you confessing that you’ve thought about me all these years?”
I stepped toward Amelia and she was fast to put her hand out and stop me. Her hand against my chest wasn’t going to stop me. I’d do the same thing to her. My hand to her chest. Feel those curves…
“Please,” she whispered.
“She would sit in her chair and paint. I would sit on the floor with my legs stretched out. My back against the wall. The floor was hard, unforgiving. She offered to rearrange things, but I didn’t want to mess up what she had there. And we’d talk. About everything. Everything in life. I’d watch the way she would paint and sketch. I would mimic it.”
“That’s killing my heart. I didn’t realize… I mean… what a happy memory for you to have. A happy time.”
I slowly put my hand to Amelia’s and peeled it off my chest. I brought her hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. I slowly moved my fingers and put the palm of my hand flat against hers.
“Not even close, love,” I whispered.
“What?”
“It didn’t last as long as you think.”
“What are you talking about?”
My eyes met Amelia’s. On the surface, sure, the story I was telling was good. Happy. One to remember forever. One to never forget. But that moment of life only paved the way for good and bad to collide.
“Amelia… I started to draw, sketch, and paint… and that was right about the time my grandmother no longer could…”
There were a thousand days mixed into my story that I left hanging behind. Left on the shelf like a bottle of booze I swore I’d only touch on a holiday or for some kind of celebration. Those were the days that pieced together another puzzle. That was for a different time though.
I looked at my hand that had been touching Amelia’s hand.
“Answer me honestly, love,” I said. “Are you going to keep writing for that woman?”
“I don’t know. Honestly. She had an idea or two, but I don’t know. I don’t know her. Who would read it. If I would have a chance to make something out of it. It’s…”