Page 38 of Pieces of Me

“Whatchu starin’ at?” she grunted.

“Just making sure you’re all right,” Rylan said mildly. “Little kids are asleep. We watched Aladdin. Again.”

“Cool.” Heather put her head back and groaned, sitting up straight and rubbing her forehead. “Fuck, everythin’ is spinnin’.”

“Want some coffee?” At her nod, Rylan went back inside and brewed half a pot before bringing Heather a mug and placing it carefully in her hands. She managed a few shaky sips and sighed.

“You’re a good kid.” Rylan shrugged, and she went on, “So much better than Scotty’s worthless ass.”

“Don’t say that.” Rylan kept his voice mild. “He’s not worthless.”

“Then where is he?” She waved her hand dramatically. “He ain’t here helpin’, is he? Prob’ly out whorin’ around.”

“His friends wanted to take him out for his birthday tonight. They went to dinner and a movie.”

Rylan was planning to give Scott his present later, and he squirmed a little as he thought of the condoms and lube he’d bought earlier, having sneaked off to walk to the corner drugstore after school. His face had been beet red at the counter, but the bored clerk hadn’t even batted an eyelash as he’d rung up the purchases.

It was worth every bit of embarrassment, Rylan thought, because tonight he wanted Scott inside him, wanted them to take that final step toward complete intimacy. And afterward, while they lay cuddling as they always did, Rylan would tell Scott he loved him. Start as you mean to go on.

Heather’s derisive snort drew Rylan’s attention back to her. “Goddammit, forgot all about his birthday, din’t I? Turnin’ eighteen, shit. Means he better watch it or I could kick him out anytime I want.”

Rylan bristled as she put her mug down and lit a cigarette. “You won’t need to kick him out, Heather,” he said tersely, “because after graduation he’s joining the Navy. Just a couple more months and he’ll be out of your hair, okay?”

Heather gave a wet-sounding laugh that morphed into a hacking cough, smoke streaming from her nostrils. “The Navy?” she exclaimed. “What would he do that for? He’s an idiot, won’t last six months.”

Rylan had enough. “Would you fucking stop putting him down for one minute?” he growled, ignoring her glare. “He’s not an idiot, and he’s not worthless. He’s been to a recruiter, taken all the entrance exams, and after graduation, he’s going to enlist.”

“Well, la-di-fuckin’-da for him!” she snapped. “Let him be Uncle Sam’s problem. I don’t give a shit what he does.” She took another deep drag on her cigarette and blew it out. “Hope he has fun swabbin’ those decks,” she continued, her tone malicious. “His pretty face won’t do him no good in the middle of the ocean, will it?”

Rylan slumped, all the fight draining out of him. “Why do you hate him so much?” he asked quietly. “He can’t help it that he looks like his dad, Heather. Isn’t that his only crime?”

Her face twisted, and she pointed at him with an unsteady finger. “Don’t mention that motherfucker to me. Don’t you ever mention him!”

“But why?” Rylan persisted doggedly. “It’s so far in the past now, and what happened can’t be undone. Why cling to this hatred? Why keep taking it out on your son?”

Heather continued to point at him. “You think you know shit, boy,” she hissed. “But you don’t. You don’t know nothin’.”

“Then explain it to me, please. Help me to understand this, why you’re making your son pay over and over for a mistake, a one-night stand, that happened more than eighteen years ago!”

She sat back in the swing and lit another cigarette from the ash of the old one and flicked that one away in a shower of sparks. “A mistake,” she repeated bitterly. “A mistake.” Heather aimed a gimlet stare at him. “Okay, buddy-boy, lemme tell you a story.” Her eyes narrowed. “But get me a shot of whiskey first.”

Rylan slowly pushed off the railing to head into the trailer, fishing the bottle from the cabinet where Scott had hidden it way up high. He grabbed a shot glass and brought it out to her, but she ignored that and tipped the bottle up, taking long swallows.

“Lookin’ at me now, you’d never guess I was once this super-religious Goody Two-Shoes, would you?” Heather laughed at the expression that must have been on Rylan’s face. “Yep. I loved Jesus and church. Went to youth group every Wednesday, service every Sunday, revival twice a year.”

She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, and sat back again, her expression far away. “When I was fifteen, I took a chastity pledge. My mama gave me my daddy’s dog tags to wear as the ‘key to my heart.’ He was a Marine, killed in Iraq when I was little.”

Rylan’s eyes widened. “I never knew that.”

“Lots of stuff you don’t know, boy,” she retorted. “But yeah. He was a chaplain. Prayin’ over some poor dyin’ kid, and he himself was shot by a sniper. He was doin’ God’s work and God took him home, everybody said.” Heather sighed. “So here I was, wearin’ my daddy’s dog tags and promisin’ him up in heaven I wouldn’t give no one my virginity till my weddin’ night.”

Rylan looked at her―so bitter, so drunk―and swallowed. “What happened?”

She took another drink of whiskey and another drag on her cigarette before answering. “The big thing for us military kids was to work as a grocery bagger at the commissary every weekend. Worked for tips only, no salary, but on a busy payday Saturday, we could make a hundred bucks in tips easy. Bag someone’s groceries up real nice, walk ’em out to their car, and load ’em up. Get paid.”

“Not a bad deal,” Rylan said softly, not wanting to break her train of thought.

“Yeah. It was fun, and I always had money on Sunday for the collection plate. Real important to me to give my tithe every week in my daddy’s memory.” She patted her chest absently, as if looking for dog tags that no longer hung around her neck.