Free Pieces of it All by Tracy Krimmer Page A

didn't want to move too quickly. He placed one foot on the coffee table and crossed the other over his knee. God, he wanted to be alone with her. He did a lot of things to her in his fantasies, and she enjoyed every moment. Sex between them would be fucking unbelievable. From just the kiss, no doubt her tongue could do some damage, and his had a few tricks of its own. He'd be able to show her a few things. Staring back at the empty text box, he pushed the thoughts from his mind. Part of his changed man mentality meant taking this relationship slow. Beth didn't strike him as the type of girl to rush into anything. If he wanted to move forward as an honest, caring, responsible adult, he had to play the part. He typed back. No problem. I completely understand. Meet at seven?
    He finished up the Hot Pocket he'd thrown in the microwave for dinner. Ten-thirty arrived already? The night disappeared from him. He didn't rush home from work. Instead, he drove around town, not quite sure what, if anything, he was looking for or what he would find. Once he passed Beth's house and saw her car in the driveway, he started thinking about her in her bedroom, dreaming about him, doing things to herself. He pictured that and kept himself busy for a very short amount of time, but worked up quite an appetite.
    He thought getting away from his past would be easy. He'd never been more wrong. He anticipated running into some of the jackasses he hung with before rehab. If he had anywhere else to go, he would have, and avoided the confrontation at all costs. Fuck! He'd gone to his mom's if she were around, but she wasn't. What if she were the only chance he had and her leaving pushed him into the life of a drunk? He always placed the fault on his father, but maybe he should have blamed her. Where the hell was she? Why would she leave her kid with a beast like his father? What the fuck kind of a parent did something so asinine?
    He resigned to his bedroom. Despite having the house to himself, it was the one place he could relax. The box hidden away in his closet was why. A perfectly choreographed placement of clothes and books concealed the black box with the Nike swoosh which had not been opened for at least a year. The box didn't matter when the depths of rock bottom hit him in the face. While locked away in the rehab center for months on end, he tucked the existence of the box to a corner of his mind he couldn't reach. Now, it stared back at him. He inhaled, holding on for a moment before blowing dust off the cover. In another breath, he blew the hair off his face and lifted the lid.
    The truth didn't live in this box, as much as he forced himself to believe it. It held a Toy Story ticket stub, faded and difficult to read. He stuffed the potpourri in shades of red and brown wrapped in smoke stained tulle in the corner. The tiny red stocking he had stolen from the local Kmart fit in the palm of his hand. He never had a stocking, but on the most difficult days, he would hang this small piece of fabric from a nail in the wall, pretending he and his mom were waiting for Santa with cookies and milk. He inhaled the lavender scented candle, imagining it probably was her favorite. Underneath everything - the real and the fake - lay the Polaroid, the edges crinkled and faded. He sat on her lap, so happy, and his father and the other woman in the picture smiled as well. This photo proved his mother existed, somewhere out in the world waiting for Harvey. He took a deep breath and pressed his thumbs into the corners.
    He would find her.
     
    Beth barely slept the night before. She spent the evening tossing and turning, anxiously watching the clock move forward at too slow a pace. Every time she closed her eyes, Harvey stared back at her, a grin across his face, kissing her and tickling her neck with his lips. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered all night as she anticipated their date. This time was a date.
    The clock finally showed six, and she jumped out