A Third of Me

A
T
HIRD OF
M
E

by

Alan Conway

Kindle Edition

NOTICE

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

C
OPYRIGHT © 2012 BY
A
LAN
C
ONWAY

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

K
INDLE
E
DITION,
M
ARCH, 2012

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Table of Contents

P R O L O G U E

C H A P T E R O N E

C H A P T E R T W O

C H A P T E R T H R E E

C H A P T E R F O U R

C H A P T E R F I V E

C H A P T E R S I X

C H A P T E R S E V E N

C H A P T E R E I G H T

C H A P T E R N I N E

E P I L O G U E

For D.M.–

I have no other words but these.

Your embrace is a fleeting fantasy.

My care is obvious yet obviously hibernates.

In my own world you are fragmented but aware,

an animated sketch brought to life with gravity

and purpose.

Accept what is within and be not without,

for I am your protector, your keeper, your soul friend.

P R O L O G U E

The boy loved coffee. He wasn’t allowed to have it at home, so he got his caffeine fix after school at the Bergin Café where he could have some quiet time with his girlfriend before his stepfather showed up to bring him home.

He and Sarah were sitting outside on the patio under the red and white striped awning of the place, the Christmas lights pendulating in the chilly breeze of a late December afternoon. He usually got an apple fritter or a slice of cheesecake, but his mother was cooking dinner and he knew quite well she’d bop his ass if he sat down without an appetite. Sarah went for the soup du jour – tomato basil with homemade garlic croutons – but the boy hated when she got it because her breath would be painful to endure while making out in the breezeway behind the place.

She was telling a story she heard from a friend or read on the internet or something like that. She was witty, sexy, and incredibly animated, her hands zigzagging and waving through the air like a junkie jazzed up on the white powder.

“So, what do you think?” Sarah asked.

He shot his full attention at her. “Huh?”

“The girl the guy met at the hotel. That was his daughter! I didn't see that coming, did you? Were you listening?”

“I'm sorry, it's just…” he trailed off. He had to be careful how much he said to her. For now, at least.

“What?”

He shook it off and smiled. “I’m all right. Just a little blue I guess.”

“This weather will do it to you. We should’ve eaten inside today.”

“Maybe,” he considered, then leaned in close. “You think that story was crazy? I got you beat. Just listen. For real this time, okay?”

“I always listen. Unlike you.” She smiled a little.

“Just keep your ears and your mind open.”

“All right, fine.” She rolled her vibrant green eyes up at him, those sexy eyes that made his blood throb in his veins. “So, let’s hear it.”

He sat up straight in his chair and folded his hands in front of him while Sarah waited. He had only heard this story himself for the first time a week ago, and he didn’t want to screw it up. Then it began to come out. Slowly at first, but it would soon flow like water once he got his facts straight.

“Some say that love is the hardest word to define,” he said. “I suppose it has its own meaning for everyone. Some also say that love is found where you least expect it. That’s what happened to this one particular couple. Their love could be considered…unconventional, but they had something no one else did. I don't know exactly what that was, but it was different.”

C H A P T E R O N E

F
ROM THE
B
EGINNING

Brian

It's been four years since I first opened my mouth and let my guts fall out. I remember it well, but I'm not thinking about that when the door bell rings. I stand there with my hand on the cold brass handle, wondering who's on the other side of the beaten apartment door. I take a deep breath and push it out, peering through the peep hole. Then I see a familiar face I haven't seen since I first left for college.

I open the door and Lauren Hatcher steps in. I quickly bury my face in her blonde locks with ecstatic joy.

“Hey there, slick,” I say. “It's been a while.”

“Much too long,” she says, smiling. I can't see her face, but I know she is.

“Sorry I haven't called lately. Just finished up finals and…God what a surprise!”

“Good surprise?”

I embrace her again, plant a kiss on her cheek. She puts her purse on the kitchen table and folds her arms. I haven't seen these blue eyes in months, and I suddenly feel like a jerk for not visiting her more often. River City is a solid three hour drive from my university apartment and I've been working as an copy editor for The Daily Courier, so I really haven't had the time to venture back home, although that's no excuse.

“Nice place,” she says. She's being kind. The place is a shit hole, but I've done my best to decorate creatively.

“Thanks. I like it all right. It's quiet here.”

She's looking at me with an expression I can't quite define. “No roommate?”

“Nope. Just me.”

“Shame.” She opens my fridge, takes out a soda, then plops down on the couch like she's lived here all her life. “So, how was your first semester?”

“Not too bad. All A's.”

“Of course. I bet you didn't even try.”

“What, are you kidding? I worked my ass off.”

She nods, drinking. She knows how to push my buttons. I let her. I toss the pillows off the couch and squeeze in next to her. “So what brings you down here?” I ask.

“Well, I wanted to surprise you. And to be perfectly honest, I've been a little worried about you.”

“Worried about me? Why?” The room feels cold.

“Just thinking about you down here all by yourself, and I know you haven't made an effort to make any new friends.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She points at me like my mother. “I
know
you, Brian Jamison!
Have
you met anyone?”

I let my face admit that I haven’t. I feel the world shift and I know she's about to ask me–

“Have you talked to him?” Her eyes are careful but kind. She knows it makes me uneasy.

“Him who?”

“You know who.”

I get up and go to the window. If I could break through it and take off running across the commons, I think I would.

“Not since I moved here. Why?”

“Just curious,” she says innocently enough. But I know there's more to it.

“Have
you
?” I ask.

“Yeah, we still talk. We’re still good friends.”

“What's that suppose to mean?”

She gets up, frustrated. “Nothing, Brian. Forget I even brought it up.”

I follow her into the kitchen and brace my hands on the countertop. I stare at the discolored cabinet door above the sink. I should probably contact the office about replacing it.

“He misses you,” she says behind me.

“I'm sure he does.” My usual amount of sarcasm.

“He's not mad at you.”

“I dunno. Things are just different now. We grew apart.”

“You don't believe that.”

“I just…withdrew after what happened. I'm still haunted by it, but being away from Damon is probably the best thing for both of us.”

“You don't believe that either,” she says. “You're full of shit today, sir.” I almost laugh at this, but I decide against it.

“I chose to avoid another awkward conversation, okay? I still wish I could have told him, though.”

“You still can.” Lauren's hand creeps up onto my shoulder. “He's here, Brian.”

I look into those beautiful sapphires sparkling in the morning sunlight coming through the windows. “What do you mean he's here?”

She grins and I wonder if I can handle the answer.

Shit
.

While we're driving, Lauren tells me Damon and his stepfather moved into a small house about ten miles from my apartment. After Damon's mother passed away, Larry started drinking heavy and lost his job at Regal Construction. He signed up at a temp service and got a job packaging radiators. He did that until he got hired by a Christian construction outfit (too funny) that has several regional offices. I guess he was ready to move on, so that's what he did. He transferred to an office in town, and now Damon's living with that asshole ten miles from my apartment.

We're about four blocks from their house, but I can't see it from this intersection. The traffic light stares at me like an evil red eye getting ready to blast a shaft of fire through my chest.

“I can't do it, Lauren. It's too soon. I'm not ready.”

She lets out a long sigh and pulls her cell phone out of her purse.

I panic. “What are you doing?”

She flips a halting index finger. I can hear the phone ringing against her ear. Sweat beads on my brow. My cheeks are flush. My heart is–

“Hey you,” Lauren says to her phone. “Guess who's with me? That's right! You busy? Mhmm. Great! Meet us at the park? Okay, see you soon.” She drops the phone from her ear. She's smiling and, Jesus Christ, I have no idea what she's up to, but I
know
she is up to
something
! I want to point my finger at her and say I
know
you, Lauren Hatcher!

I don't though. A part of me is wildly curious and excited, but the other part of me is trapped screaming in a lava pit somewhere. Perhaps this is some sort of intervention – a way for me to face my fear. Have I really been that afraid of seeing him? Well, I guess I'm about to find out.

“This is going to be awkward. You know that, right?” I say.

“Why will it be awkward?”

“Lauren, you know why! There's no way in hell he could ever feel for me the way I feel for him. Isn't that obvious?”

“Is it?”

“Unless you know something I don't.”

She contemplates then says, “He's questionable. You know that.”

My fingers sink into the steering wheel as we approach the park entrance. “Well, I hate to assume anything about anyone.”

She gives me a look that lets me know she's still impervious to my bullshit.

I park the car and we walk down the hill toward the walking trails past the stone monument. The paths wind along a large open area of lush green grass and a few trees dancing seductively in the morning sun. I haven't been here before, but I like it already. A few elderly folks walk their precious canines. A man stuck in 1986 jogs past me in short shorts and striped tube socks. His headband is laughable; it matches the fanny pack bouncing under his gut. A couple kiss on a wooden bridge stretching across the fish pond leading back into the tree line.

Then I see Damon. He's standing beside a map of the park framed in driftwood. I recognize the button-down shirt he's wearing. It was mine. He borrowed it and I never asked for it back. He's fiddling with his cell phone. Texting, I'm sure. I expect nothing less. He looks nice. Clean-cut. I should have shaved. Maybe put on something besides a T-shirt and shorts.