Page 4 of Pieces of Me

Bob gave him an encouraging smile, so Rylan got to his feet and trudged toward the truck bed where he snagged his suitcase and a large box before following Scott inside. The interior of the trailer was larger than it appeared from the outside, the shabby living room littered with toys and smelling of stale cigarette smoke.

The walls were covered with dark wood paneling, and the result was dim and gloomy. The flooring consisted of green shag carpet, stained and worn in several spots. When they passed by the small kitchen, Rylan glanced inside and could see old yellow appliances straight out of the seventies. The linoleum was cracked and peeling and missing in several large swatches.

“Not much to look at, but it’s home sweet home.” Sarcasm dripped from Scott’s voice.

He led Rylan into a small bedroom set near the back of the trailer, and Rylan looked around, impressed. The room was immaculately clean and neat. There was a full-size bed made up with military-like precision, a night table, and a large dresser with a lamp on top. Several posters of fighter jets were on the wall, perfectly lined up and hung with care, along with a few band posters.

Looking at the room, Rylan knew immediately that this was Scott’s sanctuary, the place where he went to relax and unwind, his little bit of privacy and peace in a chaotic world. And now, without warning, he had to open it up to a stranger.

“I can crash on the couch, man,” Rylan mumbled, feeling horribly uncomfortable and intrusive. “You shouldn’t have to share your room.”

“Be my guest. But you’ll change your tune when Heather is out drinkin’ with her buddies on the porch at four in the morning, singin’ at the top of her lungs and smokin’ like a chimney.”

Rylan eyed the bed. “But that’s awfully…small. I can sleep on the floor if you have a few extra blankets so I can make up a―”

Scott huffed with impatience and grabbed Rylan’s suitcase from him, throwing it on the bed and unzipping it. “You got a huge martyr complex goin’ on, you know that, kid? No one’s sleeping on the fuckin’ floor.”

He started pulling Rylan’s clothes out of the suitcase, separating the jeans, T-shirts, and underwear into little piles. “I cleared out a drawer for you, on the bottom there. Sorry, the room don’t have a closet.”

“Thanks.” Rylan’s voice was soft as he picked up the clothes and put them as neatly as he could into the bottom drawer of the dresser. He laid his toiletry kit on top and stood there a little awkwardly until Scott waved his hand at the box on the floor.

“What’s that?”

“Oh.” Rylan moved to the box and lifted it to the bed. “It’s my photography stuff. That’s my hobby.” He opened the box to reveal stacks of picture envelopes and some new and half-used disposable cameras.

“Can I―” Scott indicated some of the envelopes, and Rylan nodded.

“Sure.”

Scott lifted the flap on the nearest one and withdrew a stack of pictures, laying them out on the bed with care. “What are these of?”

Rylan looked over from where he was going through the pockets of his small suitcase, making sure everything had been taken out, and winced. “Shit. Those are―well, after my mom left, my dad didn’t want to touch any of her stuff, or move it, in case she came back and got pissed.”

He moved over next to Scott and picked up a picture of a dusty drinking glass, a faint greasy lip print still visible on the rim. “This was on her night table. She used to keep a glass of water by her bed every night, and she always put lip balm on before going to sleep.” Rylan traced his finger over the lip print and picked up another photo. “Here’s the last book she was reading, still open to the page she was on.”

The next few pictures were of Diane’s dresser, the drawers ajar, the top littered with the things she hadn’t wanted to take with her when she’d left. There was a small diamond ring placed with care right in the center of the polished wood.

“Did Bob give her that ring?” Scott asked, and when Rylan nodded, he sneered. “Pretty obvious statement she was done with him, man, and not comin’ back.” He tossed the remaining pictures down to the bed. “Maybe I should be worried about Heather,” he said, his tone half-joking. “Your dad sounds kind of obsessive.”

Rylan grabbed the photos up and stuffed them back in their envelope, heat rushing into his face as he shot back, “He’s not. He loved her and didn’t want to admit to himself that she dumped him for someone else. Leaving her stuff ready in case she came back is how he coped with it.” The defensiveness drained away and he slumped to the bed. “At least that’s how my aunt explained it to me. I thought it was weird, too,” he admitted. “When I realized she was gone for good, all I wanted to do was dump everything in a garbage bag and leave it at the curb.”

“And taking pictures of it was your way of coping.” Rylan glanced up at him, surprised by his insight, and Scott shrugged. “They’re good. I was expecting pics of somebody’s kitty or doggie or some pretty flowers,” he said mockingly. “At least they were interesting and told me a story.”

Rylan folded the box flaps closed and stashed it next to the dresser. “Thanks. That’s what I was going for. I want to be a photojournalist someday, tell stories through pictures.”

“Cool.” Scott flopped down on the bed, his arms behind his head and feet crossed at the ankles. His T-shirt rucked up a little, revealing a light trail of hair under his navel that lead down into his jeans. Rylan swallowed hard at the sight and jumped when there was a soft knock on the door. Bob poked his head in.

“Just checking on you boys. You getting settled?” He came into the room and frowned when he saw Scott on the bed. “That’s a really small bed. There’s no way you both can sleep on that.”

Scott sat up, a slight smirk on his face. “Well, how does Rylan feel about spooning?” His green eyes were full of a malicious amusement as he scanned up and down Rylan’s body, making Rylan squirm with sudden discomfort and awareness. Scott was so damn good-looking, and Rylan had only started to come to terms with…no, he wouldn’t go there.

“There’s no need for that,” Bob said mildly. “I think there’s a furniture store out by the mall. How about we run buy you a futon or something, Ry? I think one will fit against the wall there. What do you think? Want to take a ride? Scott?”

Scott nodded, and before long they were in Bob’s truck heading down Highway 90 toward Cordova Mall in Pensacola. They rode in silence, Scott gazing out at the water on one side, while Rylan watched the huge, expensive homes go by on the other.

When they pulled up in front of the mall, Scott made a pleased exclamation and climbed out of the truck, making a beeline for a group of kids standing by the front entrance. Rylan saw a pretty girl with long, glossy dark hair wrap herself around him and lift her face for a kiss.

Bob nudged Rylan with his elbow, giving him a little smirk. “Girlfriend, eh? Kid that handsome, he’s probably fighting ’em off with a stick. Could be good for you, you know?”