Page 3 of All the Broken Pieces: Vol. 3

Chapter 3

Tim insists on bringing dinner and fixing the new broken pane when I tell him what happened. Half empty boxes of Chinese food sit on the kitchen table. I’ve ditched my work clothing for a tank top and shorts and tugged my hair up into a ponytail. My face is scrubbed free of makeup. It would have melted off anyway. The night air is so thick that you could swim through it.

Tim is kneeling on the stoop, half in the bushes, trying to fit a new piece of glass into the window. It’s not blue, artisan glass, but it’s actually pretty cool. It’s a piece of leaded glass with fifty shades of cobalt.

Tim runs a hand through his hair, wiping away beads of sweat as he tries to position the old glass into the empty pane by my door. He’s really not a handyman, but he’s tried to be all that and more since Zach died. He misses his brother. That, I’m sure of.

I’m sitting on the grass, to the side of the walkway and in front of the shrubs. My arms are wrapped around my legs, knees tight to my chest. “Where did you even find that?”

Tim talks over his shoulder. Sometimes he reminds me of Zach. The way he moves or a certain turn of phrase. Right now, the look he gives me is all Zach. A raised eyebrow that says I know nice shit when I see it.

Tim shakes his head, smiling, “I told you, junk shop. It was five bucks.”

I cock my head to the side. “Liar. It wasn’t five bucks, so just tell me. I won’t freak out.”

“Yes, you will. I wanted to buy it. And the words you’re looking for are, ‘thank you.’”

I press my lips together and swallow what I was going to say. “Thank you, Tim.”

He smiles back at me. “You’re welcome, Abby. Now, if I can get this fit to the frame a little better, we’ll be all set.” Tim framed out the pieces of stained glass, but my windows aren’t square, so some jimmying is required. “The first piece went in so much easier.”

“Yeah, nothing in this house is square anymore. I’m not sure if it ever was.”

“How’d you get the old panes to fit so snugly?”

“The Brooklyn glass was made to measure. She cut them to the panes, so they’d just pop in.”

He pulls out the leaded glass and takes a little more wood off the frame, then tries to put it back in place. “That’s better. What do you think?”

“Looks great, Tim.” As he finishes up the window pane, I tell him about the rest of my day, excluding the picture of Zach. That sounds too crazy and I haven’t been able to find it. I logged into Facebook again, trying to find it, but with no luck. “So, Dr. Patel thinks I should plan out my summer, have a routine, and schedule for every day until Fall.”

“That sounds like a good idea. What are you thinking about doing?” Tim nods, realizing he’s entering territory I rarely talk about.

Mentioning Dr. Patel is rare, but in this case, I needed to justify my reasoning—he has to know why. I lift a hand from my ankle and flick a blade of grass. The sun is almost entirely down and fireflies blink around me, reminding me of a million summers before. “I’m not sure, but a change of pace would be good. I kind of like your suggestion—about traveling and getting out of here.”

Tim traces the pad of his finger along the edge of the window, smoothing a line of caulk. He doesn’t look at me. “Really? I thought you were concerned that it wouldn’t look right.”

I shrug, even though he can’t see me. That was true before. His mother will kill me, and suggest we’re sleeping together. Like I just can’t keep my hands off her sons. It mattered before, to keep the peace. Now, not so much.

“What if I didn’t care about it right now? Would that bite me on the ass later? I mean, isn’t it more important to heal instead of worrying about what other people think?” I press my lips together and try to hide how vulnerable I’m feeling. A sharp grin cuts across my face as I swat at him like we’re talking about where to order take-out. “Besides, you said I could bring Vi.”

He groans dramatically. “I think I said a group of us could go, didn’t I. Did I say Vi? Let’s veto Vi? She drives me nuts.” He turns, smiling at me over his shoulder. “You can veto one of my annoying friends.”

I smirk. “You don’t have any friends.”

“Ouch,” he presses a hand to his chest. “That was harsh.”

I’m smiling for a moment, but it fades quickly. “Where would we go?”

“I don’t know.” He picks up a towel and wipes his hands off before coming over to sit with me on the lawn. “Wherever you want. Then the prick who broke into your house can have at it, or move on. Maybe being gone will make it stop.”

“That’d be nice.” Tim knows this has happened more than once. “Who would do something like this?”

He shakes his head and then leans back onto his elbows. “I don’t know. Someone who really thinks you need to stop diving?”

“Smartass.” The heat is oppressive. I push damp hair out of my eyes. “Seriously, other than your mom, I can’t think of anyone who hates me so much. And she’d throw all my stuff on the floor, not move it around.”

Tim is quiet for a moment. His shirt is stuck to his body, damp with sweat. “She’ll get over it. We all will. Eventually.”

Zach and Tim were as tight as brothers could be. The same hollow sadness that fills me is in Tim, but his doesn’t devour him. It’s not all consuming the way mine can get. I envy him at times, wishing I could let go of some of the pain.

I blurt it out. I have to. There’s something in the moment, so raw and real that I don’t want to keep it from him. Maybe part of me just wants to hear him say I’m crazy. Or maybe I want him to confirm that picture is old and I’m mistaken. I don’t know what my motivation is for telling him, but once I start, I can’t stop.

I spill the entire story about the Facebook picture. “There was a scar on his side.”

Silence swallows us. Tim remains in his position, lounging back on the grass, but closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he tips his head back and stares at the sky. “Zach didn’t have a scar on his side.”

“I know.” His eyes are locked on mine, as a crease appears between them. A moment passes with him staring at me in silence.

“So there are two scenarios here.” He sits up and ticks off on his fingers. “One, that wasn’t him. Or two, it was.” Tim swallows hard, forcing the Adam’s apple in his throat to bob.

“Yeah, you make it sound simple.”

“It is simple. Come on.” He rises and offers me a hand. “Show me. I’d know Zach anywhere.” I can’t tell if he’s humoring me or if he means it.

Feeling stupid, I sit in the grass and ignore his offered hand. “I can’t get the picture to come up again.”

Tim stands there, above me, and plants his hands on his narrow hips. “So we’ll find it.” He offers his hand again. This time I take it.