All the Little Pieces

Faith popped the two Advil she’d found in her glove compartment and downed them with a slug of ice-cold Racetrak coffee left over from the afternoon drive up to her sister’s. Had she really made this same drive only, what? Ten hours ago? She sighed and looked again at the shrouded tiny figure in the back seat as another round of thunder rocked the car. Even though the fight with Charity wasn’t Faith’s fault – and it certainly wasn’t how she’d envisioned her sister’s birthday party ending – she was going to have to make it up to Maggie for the way they’d had to leave tonight, rushing out in the rain with all those strangers watching, her cousins witnessing the mother of all breakdowns happen live from their bedroom window. She’d take her to a movie, or skating at Incredible Ice tomorrow. Or maybe she’d let her stay home from St Andrews and they’d bake cookies; Maggie would’ve missed school anyway if they’d stayed up in Sebring as originally planned. God knows that, after what had happened tonight, Faith could use a Mental Health Day herself.

The memory made her heart hurt. No matter how much she wanted to forget, her thoughts kept returning to her sister’s kitchen, to the crowd of gaping, snickering strangers gathered around the makeshift bar at the dinette table watching the family drama unfold as if it was part of the evening’s entertainment. Charity had chosen the path she’d chosen in life and the man she’d chosen to walk it with, and it was time for Faith to accept that and stop trying to fix her little sister’s problems, because she obviously didn’t want them fixed. For years, everyone had been blaming Charity’s shortcomings on her idiot sloth of a husband, Nick, but maybe it was time to place that blame where it really belonged. And tonight … well, tonight was the last straw. Angry tears slipped down her cheeks.

Even cold, bad coffee couldn’t get rid of the icky-sweet taste of the hurricanes that Nick had insisted she try when the night was young and the party was in full swing and all was going well. The back of her throat still felt like it was coated in Hawaiian-Punch-flavored wallpaper paste. She looked over longingly at the open glove compartment where she’d found the Advil. Inside, under a pile of napkins, was a stale half-pack of Marlboro Lights. Faith had picked up the habit back in high school, and had been trying to drop it ever since college. It had taken a bout of morning sickness to get her to finally quit the first time. She’d successfully stayed off the sticks for four years, but then came the phone call that changed everything last year and the first thing she’d picked up after she’d hung up was a Marlboro. It was like welcoming home an old friend, something that she definitely needed at the time. Not so much as a tickle of disapproval had sounded from her throat, and in no time she was back on a pack a day. Quitting this time around was proving much more difficult, though, and getting pregnant again to help her try and kick the habit wasn’t an option she was ready to consider.

She reached over and slammed the glove compartment shut. No matter how much she needed an old friend right now, she couldn’t go there. Not with Maggie in the car. Nope. Jarrod, Faith’s husband, had no idea she was still trying to quit, and Maggie could never know she ever smoked. She’d be nominated for Bad Mother of the Year if she lit up with her young daughter’s clean lungs two feet away. She anxiously nibbled on a cuticle instead.

The rain started to come down harder and Faith slowed to twenty. She looked at the clock. In six minutes, Charity would be turning the big 3-0. What was she doing at this very moment to celebrate? Was she passed out on the couch? Were Nick’s stupid friends still over? Was she having wild birthday sex? That thought made her want to gag. Was she even the least bit upset over how Faith had left?

Originally, the plan had been for Faith to take Charity and her three kids – eleven-year-old Kamilla, five-year-old Kourtney and two-year-old Kaelyn – up to Disney next weekend, along with Maggie, to celebrate Charity’s thirtieth. No husbands – just the six girls and Mickey Mouse living it up in the land where everyone’s always happy. Faith had booked two rooms at the Walt Disney World Dolphin Resort well in advance. Ironically, the reservation had to be cancelled by midnight tomorrow – the last minute of Charity’s actual birthday – or Faith would have to forfeit her deposit. Of course she’d have to cancel, she thought as she wiped away more tears. There was no way things would be right between them by Friday. They might never be right again.

After ten years of marriage, maybe Nick had wanted to finally show that he cared. Maybe he’d wanted to one-up Faith’s Disney trip. Or maybe throwing Charity a party was simply a good excuse for him to have a good time with his friends since Charity didn’t have many that he hadn’t slept with. Whatever his reasoning, Nick ‘Big Mitts’ Lavecki, the man who had forgotten his wife’s birthday more often than he had remembered it, had decided to throw Charity a last-minute surprise party. Last minute, as in he’d told Faith about it this morning.

‘Tonight, Nick?’ Faith had looked at the clock above the fireplace in her family room, which was in Parkland, a good two hundred miles from where her sister lived in Sebring. It was ten thirty on Sunday morning.

‘Nothing fancy. A bunch of friends, ya know, some beer, food from Costco, like those platters of wieners and chicken nuggets, that sort of crap, and ya know, a cake. I’m gonna get that at Costco, too. A chocolate cake. They can write “Happy Birthday Ya Old Bag” on it.’ He laughed. ‘Maybe they can put, like, a wheelchair decoration on the frosting or something.’

Faith cringed. ‘Really, Nick?’

‘No! I’m only fucking with you, Faithey. But I am taking the kids so they can pick out black balloons and Over the Hill plates.’ He laughed again. ‘Char will get a kick out of that.’

Faith had looked out her kitchen window at the toppled lawn umbrella and the chaise longue cushion that had blown into the pool that was close to overflowing. Jarrod had cocked his head at her from across the table and mouthed What? She shook her head at him. ‘The weather’s pretty nasty, Nick.’

‘It’s not so bad up here. Everyone says they’re coming anyway.’

‘Everyone? How many people?’

‘I dunno, about thirty or forty.’

‘Wow. When did you plan this?’

‘I dunno. A week or so ago.’

‘Thanks for the notice.’

‘Yeah, I thought I told ya. I get it if you can’t make it. We live so far away. What’s Jar call it up here? Bumfuck?’

Three years later and Big Mitts was still holding onto the comment he wasn’t supposed to have heard. ‘He was kidding, Nick.’

‘Yeah, I know. I’m only busting chops, Faithey. Look, I get it if you can’t make it. The weather sucks and it’s a long drive. No big deal. Char will understand.’

Of course Nick would understand if Faith didn’t make it, because he didn’t want her to make it. The kids had probably been bugging him all morning, asking if Aunt Faith and Uncle Jarrod and Maggie were coming to Mommy’s party. That’s likely what had prompted the phone call. That and Charity would be livid if she found out her only sister – her only sibling – wasn’t invited to her birthday party.

‘I’ll be there,’ Faith had said.

What? Jarrod had mouthed again.

‘Great,’ Nick had unenthusiastically replied.

‘Save the couch for me. I’ll drive home in the morning.’

‘You might be sharing it with a new friend, Faithey.’ She hated when he called her that. Absolutely hated it. It was Charity’s pet name for her since they were kids, but when Nick said it, it felt like he was mocking her. ‘I think T-Bone’s already called it,’ he added with a chuckle that she knew was accompanied by a smirk.

Most of Nick’s friends had nicknames, too: T-Bone, Skinny, Slick, Gator. But they weren’t gang members or cops or Mafioso – they were just grown men with nicknames.

‘Tell T-Bone he can sleep in his car; I’m calling the couch,’ Faith replied coolly.

‘Daddy, tell Aunt Faif to bring Maggie!’ said a little voice with a lisp in the background.

‘Well, if you’re coming, bring Maggie,’ Nick had said. ‘The kids’ll all be upstairs, locked in. We won’t let ’em come down for the stripper. Promise.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Yes, I’m kidding. I’m not getting my wife a stripper. At least, not one she’d be interested in watching, although that’s a fun idea and it would make her a real fun wife if she was into it. I’ll get the kids pizza. And, ah, Jarrod too,’ he’d added hesitantly. ‘I, ah, hope he can make it.’

Jarrod had stopped mouthing What? because he had figured out what What? was and he wanted no part of Nick’s couch. He slumped down in his seat and hid behind the paper, like a kid in class who doesn’t want to be called on.

‘Have you looked out a window?’ Jarrod had asked as Faith was buckling Maggie into her car seat a couple of hours later. She clutched Eeyore in one hand and a pouch of fruit juice in the other.

‘It’s her birthday, Jarrod. You know what she’s going through. All his friends are gonna be there – probably only his friends. Knowing Nick, he’ll invite the next mistress. It’s only rain; I’ll be fine.’

‘Since you must’ve missed it on the news, I’ll be the one to tell you that there’s a tropical storm happening. That’s the first thing. Second, these are not normal people, Faith. This is not gonna be a normal party.’

Jarrod was not a fan of either Nick or Charity’s. Faith’s sister and her husband ran in completely different social circles: Jarrod was a former criminal defense lawyer and Nick was a scheming petty criminal. His trade was fixing transmissions, but he was always looking for a way to beat the system, score unemployment, cheat the IRS. Aside from the weather and the Dolphins, there wasn’t much for the two of them to talk about when they did get together, unless Nick wanted to put Jarrod on retainer. Charity wasn’t like that necessarily, but having Kammy so young and marrying Nick had made her completely dependent on him and it had changed her. That’s the Charity Jarrod saw.

‘You’re being dramatic,’ she’d said.

‘Drama is your sister’s middle name. Wait till she finds Nick in the bathroom banging another one of her girlfriends – you’ll see some drama.’

‘Jarrod …’ she’d scolded, nodding at Maggie, who’d sat quietly watching both of them, the blonde pigtails on the top of her head flopping about as she followed the conversation.

‘Better hide the cutlery,’ he’d added.

‘You’re welcome to come.’

‘I’ve never wanted to write a motion for summary judgment as badly as I do today.’

‘I bet.’

‘I’d like to talk you out of making a two-hundred-mile drive in a tropical storm is what I’d like to do.’

‘I wish he’d consulted me before he planned it,’ she replied, ‘but I wasn’t even on the D list of invitees, apparently.’

‘Stay home. With me.’

‘Come with us.’ She smiled. ‘On second thought, that’s a terrible idea; you’d be miserable. What are you gonna do all by yourself on a rainy night?’ Even as she asked the question the unsettling, queasy feeling roiled her stomach. She hated that feeling. She hated that, after all these months, she still couldn’t stop having it. She wondered if she’d ever not get nauseous at the thought of what might happen when she left her husband home alone. She looked away, out the open garage door.

He knew what she was thinking. ‘Order a pizza and finish my motion.’

She nodded.

He came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders. ‘I don’t have a good feeling about this. The weather is brutal,’ he said softly, kissing the back of her head. ‘You’re going up to Orlando next week, anyway. Your sister will understand. We can cook something special tonight, chill out with the rain.’

‘I can’t miss this party. We’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.’

‘What about St Andrew’s?’

‘It’s preschool; Maggie can miss a day. And she gets to see her cousins!’ she’d added, turning her attention back to her daughter with a big smile. ‘That’s pretty exciting, right?’

‘What’s cutlery?’ Maggie had asked, as a gust of wind ripped an enormous frond off a Royal Palm. It crashed to the ground outside the garage, steps from where she and Jarrod were standing.

Another streak of lightning cut across the sky, pulling Faith’s thoughts out of her garage and back into the moment. In the instantaneous flash of brilliant light she saw the sprawling fields of cane stalks violently twisting in the wind – assembled in tight, neat rows, like a plant army getting ready to march. Then it all went black again.

Where the hell was she? She could only hope that she was still on 441 and not on her way to Tampa. She thought of the creepy zombie game that she and Charity used to play as kids, where you close your eyes and count and when you open them all the zombies are frozen in place, having silently advanced on you while your back was turned.

A cold shudder ran down her spine as she forged ahead into the endless black. She couldn’t help but fear what it might look like out there in the middle of nowhere when the lights flashed back on …

3

Jarrod was right: Charity did love her drama. Three hours into her party and feeling no pain – thanks to Nick’s hurricanes and more than a few glasses of wine – she decided to invite a little in. When she caught him chatting up some young girl in the living room, amnesty was over.

‘Why you gotta look at her like that?’ she’d demanded in a loud voice when he came into the kitchen to get a beer.

‘What?’ he’d asked, obviously annoyed.

‘That girl. The one in that slutty dress. Why do you have to talk to her, huh? Why?’

‘She’s Gator’s girlfriend. Stop being jealous, Char. I was only telling her I liked that dress.’

‘Oh? Not her boobs in that dress? What is she, sixteen? She could be your daughter, you know. You’re disgusting.’

‘I didn’t ask her how old she was. She looks good in that dress. Real, real good. Now if you looked good in a dress, I’d compliment you, too.’

Some mean idiot had crooned an instigative, ‘Ooohh …’

‘What does that mean?’ Charity had asked defensively, moving her body in between Nick and the plastic bucket of beers on the counter.

‘You know what that means,’ he said, reaching behind her to grab a beer. He poked her in the stomach with his finger. ‘Lay off the Twinkies and birthday cake, honey, and one day you’ll look good in a dress again, too.’

An embarrassed hush had come over the kitchen crowd. Then one of the Nicknames whooped and laughed. Everyone had heard what Nick said and everyone was waiting for Charity to do something. Throw something. Say something.

No one had been waiting longer than Faith. ‘What the …?’ she’d started to say, turning to Charity, who was standing next to her looking pathetically weak and as challenging as a kitten. Nick had never hit her sister, but Faith had often thought it’d be better if he had. Maybe if she could see the damage he inflicted with his words she’d realize how badly she’d been hurt.

Charity started to cry. She wrapped her arms protectively around her belly, obviously ashamed at how she looked.

It wasn’t her place. Faith knew that now. She shouldn’t have said anything. She should have realized it wasn’t gonna do any good anyway; everyone had had too much to drink. She had, too. But after listening to her sister complain and cry for years, all the pent-up anger bubbled to the surface and spilled out of her like lava from a volcano.

‘You know, Nick,’ Faith had snapped, ‘you got a few tires to spare yourself. Charity, will you please finally tell your asshole of a husband to go to hell!’

But Charity had not told her husband to fuck off or get out or drop dead. She hadn’t squeezed Faith’s hand and thanked her for her support. Instead she’d spun around and glared at her, her face red, her green eyes on fire. ‘You want me to leave him!’ she screamed. ‘That’s your answer! It’s always the answer! Stop doing that to me! Stop doing it already! You don’t know what’s going on here! You’re the one who’s wrong!’

Instead of Nick, it was Faith who Charity had set on. She was dumbfounded. And mortified. The entire house went quiet. Even the music stopped. ‘I want you to stand up for yourself,’ Faith had barked back when she found her voice again. ‘I want you to have some self-respect for once. You’re better than this loser. You’re better than …’ she gestured around the crowded kitchen, ‘… this.’

It came out sounding awful. She winced now at the memory of all those people staring back at her.

‘That’s real nice. Fuck you, Faith,’ Charity had said.

It got worse. ‘These people … they’re not your friends, Charity. They’re his. They’re pulling you down, making you believe his shit, like you have to take it!’

‘Maybe I don’t want no different. Have you thought of that? ’Cause my life’s not perfect like yours I gotta go change it? It’s not good enough? ’Cause my kid’s flunking school and talking to pervs on the Internet it’s my fault, right? I can’t find a job in this shit town because I’m the fool who didn’t go to college. ’Cause my husband’s screwing my friends and I’m not leaving, it’s my fault? I’m never good enough, never right enough, never mad enough for you, Faith. Stop judging me! You make me feel worse than him!’

She should’ve walked away then, just said Goodnight Gracie and left. But she didn’t. ‘So I’m the bad guy? I’ve never said anything like that! All I’ve done is listen while you cried and bitched about what a jerk he is. If you don’t have the balls to leave, I want you to stop letting him talk to you like you’re worthless, because you’re believing it. I mean, look at you – you deserve better than this! What does he have to do or say to get you to see that? ’Cause calling you fat and stupid on your birthday in front of all his friends who are laughing at you doesn’t seem to flip the switch. He wants you to leave – don’t you get that? He wants you to leave so that he’s not the bad guy for running out on a wife and three kids – and you’re not reading the cue cards!’

‘Hey,’ Nick had said, his hairy face growing dark. ‘You’re in my house now. You and your tight-ass lawyer husband might think you’re better than us, but you’re in my house now.’

The lava would not go back in. No way, no how. ‘That the bank is foreclosing on,’ she’d snapped. ‘Try paying for it, Nick – then you can call it yours. Try holding a job for more than six months. And while you’re trying to be all man of the house, if you want her to work, get your wife a car that can actually make it to the grocery store and back when she needs to buy your fat ass a six-pack. And one last thing, man-up and stop screwing her friends like a total pig. Or at least have the decency to take them to a Motel Six. Hey,’ Faith had called across the room, ‘Gator! You better keep an eye on your teenage girlfriend over there, because your friend Big Mitts sure is.’

‘I never liked you,’ Nick replied angrily. ‘Or your prick husband.’

Charity had moved next to Nick. He put his hand on her back.

‘Get out, Faith,’ Charity had said. ‘Get out of our house. I want you to leave now.’

Nick reached for Charity’s hand and she grasped it. That’s probably what smarted the most – even more than the stares and snickers. Every Nickname and his spouse/significant other stood watching as Faith headed straight for the door, calling for Maggie to come downstairs. The terrible moment was made that much worse when Maggie started bawling about how she didn’t want to leave. Faith had to physically carry her out of the house, kicking and screaming.

In the chaos and rush to get out, she’d left both her bag and her cell at Charity’s. It wasn’t until she’d tried to check for directions after Maggie had finally fallen asleep that she’d realized it, but by that point she was too far away to go back. It didn’t matter, though. Even if she were two miles down the road, she wouldn’t have turned around. She was beyond humiliated – she was crushed. Devastated and crushed. Charity would have to mail her stuff to her – after Big Mitts probably emptied the wallet and sold her cell. The tears were streaming down her face now. She never wanted to step foot in her sister’s house ever again.

Something ran across the road then, in front of her car. Faith jerked the car hard right, heard a thump, and swerved off into the cane field, stopping with her headlights pointing into the tangle of dense stalks that were only inches away.

Her heart was pounding. There were no more thoughts of Charity or Nick or the crowd of Nicknames at their door, condemning her as her sister banished her into the rainy night. There was no more feeling sorry for herself or thinking up ways to avenge her embarrassment. There was only one thought on her mind now. Only one.

What the hell did I hit?

4

She squinted into the racing wipers, her sweaty hands clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. It was gone. Whatever it was was gone.

It looked like …?

She pushed the thought out of her head before her brain could finish it. It was a crazy, impossible thought. She’d only caught a look at whatever it was for a split second. It couldn’t have been a person. Her headlights stared dumbly out into the stalks.

It must’ve been an animal. A deer. Maybe a dog. People dumped dogs in the Everglades. It was terrible, but they did. She was probably in the damn Everglades. Or even a bear. She’d read about some lady in Orlando who had walked out and found one picking through the garbage in her garage.

What if it’s still out there, under the car?

The thought made her want to vomit. The sky lit up. The angry cane army had indeed advanced during the blackout – its stalks hovered menacingly over the hood of the Explorer now, their razor sharp fronds clawing furiously at the metal.

She turned off the radio and tried to listen. It was hard to hear anything over the rain and the scraping of the stalks and the furious beating of her heart pounding in her ears. Nothing. There was no barking, no whimpering. No moaning.

She rubbed her eyes and shook the fog from her head. Had she nodded off? Had she imagined she saw something? There was only one way to really know. She turned and checked on Maggie – who was still fast asleep under her Cha-Cha – opened the door and stepped out into the downpour. She ran to the front of the car on jelly legs, holding her breath as she approached the cane field and the front end of the truck.

Nothing. There was nothing there. Nothing splayed across her hood. Nothing stuck to her grille. Nothing lying on the ground.

‘Hello?’ she called out into the night.

Nothing yelled back.

She tried to look under the car, but she couldn’t see a thing. She stumbled back to the car, her feet sinking in the muddy ground. She climbed back in the driver’s seat and toweled off, staring out at the angry cane. She was still shaking, her head spinning. Sheets of rain whipped across the windshield as the wipers raced to keep up.

You must have imagined it.

She slowly backed the car onto the road, holding her breath as she did, every muscle in her body tensed. Her headlights stared at the pull-off where the truck had been. Nothing. There was still nothing there. She finally exhaled.

You’re tired, is all. Tired and upset. You’re not thinking clearly.

She put the car into drive, watching the stalks where she’d just been as she drove off. The plant army writhed and roiled in the expansive field, beckoning her to come back.

She was scared now – she was physically and mentally exhausted and perhaps nodding off at the wheel. She had no cell and was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, although she was still reluctant to say ‘lost’ – that word would set off a total panic and she never thought clearly under pressure. She could feel the fear brewing in her belly, trying to force its way up into her throat, and she tried to swallow it back down, along with the icky sweetness from the hurricanes. She probably shouldn’t have had that last drink at Charity’s, damn it. It was hard to think straight. She’d felt it when she stood up. She had a quarter of a tank of gas, which should be enough to get her home, but what if she was going in the wrong direction? What if she ran out of gas? Jarrod wasn’t expecting her till tomorrow afternoon. No one knew where she was. She was sure Charity hadn’t called him to say she’d kicked her out and, ‘Oh, by the way, Faith left her cell and bag at my house when she stormed out of here crying.’ Charity probably didn’t even know that Faith had left her bag behind. She probably should have turned around and gone back, but she’d let pride force her into making a bad decision. She should’ve stopped and gotten a hotel near Sebring and driven home clear-headed in the morning, but Maggie was so upset and so out of control that Faith had just wanted to go home. That’s all it was – she’d just wanted to go home.