“Yeah, well, if that’s the case, then I’m not a good writer at all. Because it didn’t work.”
Josh moved toward me. “I’m sorry it didn’t work. But that doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer.”
I swallowed hard again. “Josh… please…”
He reached out and touched my face. His thumb stroked close to my eye, waiting for a tear that I wouldn’t let fall. I was stronger than he could imagine. Even if he made me feel comfortable enough to feel weak.
“Do you want to know how I got into drawing and painting and all that shit?”
“More than anything else,” I whispered.
Josh moved away from me and walked away from the windows. I turned my head and watched the way he carried his beer bottle. In his jeans. Barefoot. A t-shirt that wasn’t afraid to hug his body and show off everything I wanted to touch.
“My grandmother raised me, love,” Josh said. “It really wasn’t fair for her to have to do it either. But there was nobody else to take me in. To take care of me. And I think I wanted to do everything possible to make her toss me out. For her sake. Not mine.”
“Where were your parents?”
Josh looked over his shoulder at me. “My father disappeared. He always did. My mother held things together. A car accident took care of that though.”
I gasped. “Josh…”
He walked to the kitchen and put his beer bottle down. He opened a cabinet and brought out something stronger.
“She worked too much and never got any sleep,” he said. “So one night she got some sleep. Behind the wheel of her car.”
My heart was already starting to ache.
But what did I expect? It wasn’t like I had met Josh at a normal place. We were both always broken and walking the streets. Maybe in a way looking for each other. But we were too young then.
Now… everything was different, yet the same.
Chapter 24
Puzzles and Pieces
NOW
(Josh)
“She had already done her life sentence,” I said with a laugh. “You know? Raising two boys basically on her own. My grandfather was an alcoholic who drank himself to death. I mean that literally too. And when he went, it just shook everything up. I wasn’t around for that though. My father and my uncle were drunks from the time they were teenagers. I don’t even know where my uncle is right now.”
“What do you mean?” Amelia asked.
“He took off after…” I cleared my throat. “He just left and was never heard from again. No idea where he is. Not that I really care. Now, about painting. Let me get back on track here. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Amelia had slowly worked her way to the kitchen.
She touched my arm.
She gripped my arm.
Her hand slowly inched down toward my wrist and my hand.
I pulled away.
“My grandmother loved to paint. She loved to doodle things. Funny because a lot of her friends, they knew how to sew and stuff, you know? She couldn’t do that. But she could draw. She could paint. She could draw everything. People. Animals. Landscapes. She would paint on these pieces of canvas and then sell them at the local flea market. That’s how she paid for plenty of the legal troubles I caused.”
“Oh, Josh…”
I put up a hand. “Stop. Don’t do that. There was this one cop who got me one night. I was drinking and walking in the middle of the road. He stopped me and I ran my mouth off. I took a swing at him. I wanted to go to jail. I wanted to force my grandmother to shove me away. This cop - Duke - he punched me so hard in the stomach I thought I was dying. He slammed me against his car and held me by the throat. I look back on that moment now and I realize that he had a thing for my grandmother. He was protecting her. He knew she’d never kick me out. So, he screamed at me. He made it very clear that if I fucked up again, he’d kill me. That he’d make it look like an accident or out of necessary force.”
I took a drink from the bottle and laughed.
“That was intense. I always respected Duke for that.” I looked at Amelia. “He died of a heart attack about a year later. And he never once said a word to my grandmother. Could have been something there. He would have fiercely protected her. And she would have had the chance to feel what it’s like to