Page 42 of Pieces of Me

“Right.” I nod. “Small towns…”

“Well, that and he’s Maggie’s brother-in-law…”

Clearly, I didn’t know this. “Oh.”

“But your point is verified with my statement,” he laughs out. “Extremelysmall town. So, go ahead. You need advice?”

I move closer again, fixated on the decorative clay pots and vases lining the short shelves on the wall. “He just said that he has a friend over in Justice willing to look at the RV, but he doesn’t have an open spot until next week…” These are the most words Big H and I have spoken to each other, and I don’t know why. Maybe I assumed Holden’s bitterness toward me would stretch to his father. I reach up, grabbing a vase to bring to eye level. Running my thumb along the paintwork, I remove the dust just enough to see the dahlia petals painted on it. I’m quick to put it back.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Big H asks, and he’s right beside me now.

I try to smile as I inspect a different vase. “I guess. It’s just, he can have a look at it, but who knows how long it will take to fix, and I feel like…”Like I’ve worn out my welcome. I turn to him, craning my neck to see his reaction. He’s the same height as Holden, but his presence seems so much more commanding when he’s right beside me. “It was only supposed to be a few days. It’s Thursday now. I’ve been here almost a week already.”

His eyes meet mine a moment before staring at the wall in front of us. “So?”

“So…” I shrug, even though he can’t see it. “I just… I don’t think I should stay here, and I know how you feel about the hostel—”

“That’s a hardno, Miss Jamie,” he drawls.

I pick up another clay pot from the shelf—this one with daffodils—and pretend to focus on it when I say, my words almost catching in my throat, “I can’t stay here anymore.”

His sigh is quiet, but I can still hear it over the sound of the stereo. “For your sake or…?”

“For Holden, mainly,” I openly admit. I don’t know how much he knows about what happened between us, but I’m sure it’s enough. “It’s hard for him, having me here. I’ve already put him through so much in the past, and I don’t want to make things worse.”

“So what advice were you going to ask of Maggie?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, shrugging again. “Maybe I wasn’t after advice. Maybe I just needed someone to talk to.”

“She’s enjoyed having you here,” he states, taking the pot from me and putting it back on the shelf before motioning to a circular metal disk on a small table. “I fall asleep every night to the sound of you two laughing it up like old friends.”

My smile is instant. “She’s really been a blessing for me,” I say, following him to the table. “You, too, obviously, and I can’t thank you enough for opening your home to me. You’ve been so accommodating.”

“Honestly, if it weren’t for Maggie regaling me with your time together, I probably wouldn’t even remember you’re here.” He pulls out a small stool from beneath the workbench. “You’re quiet as a mouse, Jamie. Barely make yourself known.”

“I don’t want to get in the way.”

Setting the stool in front of the pottery wheel, he says, his tone gentle, “Sit.”

I sit down, wondering how long it’s been since anyone’s used it.

“Holden’s grandma—my mom—used to have this as her pottery studio. My dad would work in the greenhouse or out in the gardens, and my mom would help whenever she could, but she didn’t love it, you know? And my dad—he knew that—so he built this for her.” He twirls a finger through the air, indicating the large structure surrounding us. “He didn’t need her by his side all the time, but he wanted her close.” He says this with a slight smile, as if he knows the feeling. Lives it every day. The difference? Maggielovesworking here—she told me so herself. “Granny Eastwood ran pottery classes on weekends for the kids around here.” He points to the wall of clay objects. “Some of them are hers. Some are the kids. That was…” Tilting his head, he eyes the ceiling. “That was a long time ago… right before I took over the place. Holden wasn’t even born yet.” He clears his throat, adding, “I haven’t quite had the heart to get rid of them yet. It’s a part of this place… it’s history… it’slegacy.”

“It’s a beautiful legacy,” I say, my voice cracking, and it’s so clear what this place means to both him and his namesake. This isn’t just a place of business. It isn’t even just theirhome. This is the place where families are born, happiness is made, and memories are everlasting.

Big H reaches under the pottery wheel, his eyes brightening when he pulls out the electrical cord. “The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life is make that phone call to Holden to tell him we might have to sell the place,” he says, eyeing the barn walls for a free outlet. “No father ever wants their son to have to save them the way he has.”

“Trust me…” I say, waiting until he’s plugged the cord into an outlet beneath the shelves. “It’s every child’s dream to help their parents successfully.”

He stays squatted, low to the ground, as his eyes meet mine, and I can tell by the pity in his stare that he understands my meaning.I wish I could’ve saved my mother.

The difference between Holden and me? I failed.

Big H doesn’t respond, and silence stretches time, turning the air thick between us. Finally, I break our stare and drop my gaze to the pottery wheel, telling him, “You’ve raised a good man, Big H.” I swallow the sudden knot in my throat, ignoring the heat behind my eyes. “I’m positive that there is no one else in this world that I would willingly tear down my walls for, or acceptloveinto my heart, the way I did for Holden.” I press the tips of my fingers to my eyes—a pathetic attempt to hide the tears there. “Holden—he made itincrediblyeasy to love him. And that’s because of his heart, of the way he never once judged me for who I am or what I came from. The way he loved me beyond words. Beyondreason. And I know that you haveeverythingto do with that.”

Big H watches me a moment, nodding slowly, before sucking in a ragged breath. He turns to the outlet and flicks on the switch, his shoulders momentarily slumping when nothing changes. “You know…” he says, standing to full height. He picks up the biggest vase from the shelf and sets it on the middle of the wheel. This one doesn’t have a flower on it. It’s just lines of colors. “Holden and I would speak every day when he was in Tennessee.” He spins the wheel manually, and I listen to his words, even though I’m mesmerized by the twirling of the vase, the different colors shifting, acting like a tidal wave of rainbows behind my irises. “He’d tell me all about you. About how you were both healing from what happened to you. He’d even send me pictures of the things you’d drawn...” My head snaps up, gaze locked on his. He simply smiles down at me. “That piece that won you the art contest…” My stomach turns while bile rises to my throat. I close my eyes, force the memories away so I can take in his words. Let them pull me away. Let them break me, thenhealme. “He was incredibly proud of you, Jamie. Not just for your art, but ofyou, in general. He’d tell me all the time that it blew his mind that he could get a girl like you.”

I laugh—such a contrast to the emotions I’m feeling.

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