Small Town Big Man

Shaking my head, I finish up the last tire and throw the chains into the bed of the truck. She's still so quiet, and her silence is killing me. I don't like seeing her in this type of pain. She doesn't deserve this kind of hurt.

Laney deserves better. And I can give her that. I can give her everything she's looking for. She just needs to let me. And I need to trust enough to let her in.

“You know he doesn't deserve you, right?”

“Hm?” she asks, obviously lost in her own head.

“He doesn't deserve you. You're better than him.”

“Yeah, thanks. Tell that to my confidence, my pride, and my heart.”

“I'm serious. You're an amazing person. Anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t worth your time.”

“You don't even know me.” Her words lash out and hit me in the face.

She's right, I don't know her. But that doesn't mean I can't see her. It doesn't stop me from knowing it deep in my bones.

“Do you still love him?” My voice hinges on one single word, and I have to force it out.

“No, not at all.” Her eyes drift to the window as she says, “I guess it's more that I never saw it coming, and my life isn't turning out the way I thought it would.”

“Life shouldn't be planned. It doesn’t come with a roadmap. Life should find you.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes flick to me, and there's curiosity in her stare.

“I mean, maybe this whole thing was setting you up for something else. Maybe you've come out stronger on other side and just don’t realized it yet.”

“Maybe.” Her voice falls flat as we pull up to her house in Silver Lake. Instantly, her body language changes.

She sits up straight, her hand grabs the handle, and her feet are flat against the floor. Her mouth folds into a heavy frown as she glares out the window.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she says quietly under her breath. “Where is everything? My archives! Everything I own is gone. . .” Her voice is a growl as her teeth clench, and she throws the door open before my tires even have a chance to stop rolling.

Looking through the windshield, I see an empty curb. My stomach drops and I can't see straight. I'm angry instantly.

How could he do this to her after everything he put her through? The question makes my blood boil and muscles tighten.

Clenching the steering wheel, I roll my hands back and forth as the anger consumes me. He has no right to throw her stuff away. He has no right to treat her like this when it's his fault to begin with.

This guy needs his ass kicked, and I'll be happy to do it.

Climbing out, my hands are balled at my sides as I veer my stare at the front door. I'm ready to go knock his head off his neck. Taking a few steps, I hear a voice call out from behind us.

“Laney, Laney, over here!”

An older woman is waving her arms frantically over her head. She's short, round in the middle, with tight curls in her hair. In a floral top and pleated pants, she reminds me of my grandmother, just a bit younger.

“It's gone, Beth, it's all gone,” Laney says, and I can hear she's trying to hold back tears. Her shoulders roll forward as I watch the life drain out of her.

“Is it?” Beth asks with a little smirk as her eyes dart into her garage.

Coming around the corner, Laney's eyes light up as she spots the piles of boxes. “Did you get all of it? I can't believe you carried in all of that.”

She holds her arms out and Beth embraces her. Laney sniffles as the tears she's been holding in fall in relief.

“We just couldn't get the couch in time, I'm sorry. But, everything else is here.”

“Screw the couch, I don't care about the couch. You're a lifesaver, Beth, seriously.” Laney moves to one of the boxes and opens the top.

She's sifting through, pulling out things. A small easel, paint supplies, more folders with artwork inside. Laney picks through a box of books, and one with clothes. Just as quickly as her tears faded, they come rushing back as she pulls out a small wicker basket.

“It's here, thank God it's here.” Turning to me, teardrops fall off her cheeks as she holds the basket by the handle. “This was my mother's knitting basket.” Her eyes move back to Beth and she lunges forward to hug her again. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don't just thank me, Dustin helped too.”

A lanky teenager steps out into the garage from inside the house. He can't be more than sixteen or seventeen, with grungy red hair, and a Nirvana t-shirt. He kicks his head to the side, forcing his long hair out of his face. “Hey,” he says, tucking his hands into his pockets.