Broken Glass Page 2

  On the way, she stopped to get gas in a small town. Before she finished topping off the tank, a stomach growl alerted her to the fact that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Her empty belly led the way to Irma’s, a hole in the wall just off the highway at the edge of town.

  Devastation, Louisiana.

  The irony wasn’t missed on her. That a devastated Terri should land here was fate’s cruel joke, laughing in her face, adding insult to injury. But the food was delicious. Magical, even. Creamy buttered grits, thick, smoky black peppered bacon, cheese eggs harmonizing in her mouth with buttered pancakes, gave her a kind of joy she hadn’t experienced in forever.

  “More coffee?”

  Terri’s appreciative gaze lifted to meet the angel standing over her with a fresh pot of God’s nectar, as she held up her cup between both hands.

  “Yes, please,” she answered. “Are you Irma?”

  The loveliest smile spread the woman’s lips. “I am.”

  Terri melted even more in her seat.

  “Everything is so delicious,” she said, perhaps a bit too passionately.

  Full, ebony cheeks blossomed on Irma’s pretty round face. “Well, we always like to hear that,” she chuckled. “You need more cream, honey?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, inhaling the rich aroma wafting from her cup. “And some more orange juice, please.”

  “Of course.” Irma leaned her head to one side, propped her hand on her hip and studied, Terri. “You look familiar. You from here?”

  A moment of truth. A year ago, Terri would’ve erupted inside like a volcano that a random stranger would recognize her. Quite humbly, she’d tout her achievements, probably sign a few autographs, and then walk away shining like a bright star with the affirmation that she still mattered.

  “No,” she responded, simply. “I’m just passing through.”

  She’d focused on one thing on the drive from Atlanta. Terri fixed her mind on coming to terms with the fact that who she used to be was not on that highway. She made up her mind that the life and the career she had convinced herself she couldn’t live without, no longer existed. Terri drove away from the past and onward to something else.

  “Irma,” another customer called out, mercifully drawing the woman’s attention away from Terri. “You heard what happened to Tanya?”

  “I heard she put Ron out the house,” Irma said, floating across the small diner to the other table. “Again.”

  “You want a paper?” an old man asked, pausing at Terri’s table.

  “Thank you.”

  In the grand scheme of things, his small gesture meant nothing, but in this crux of Terri’s life, it meant everything.

  Small.

  Small town.

  Small town people.

  Small Terri.

  Inside she was crumbling, but these grits, miraculously, held her together. Irma’s smile kept her from falling apart, and that old man’s newspaper reminded her of those Sunday mornings when she was a child growing up in Victoria, Texas, sitting across the table, sharing the paper with her dad. Terri read the funnies. Because of those Sunday mornings, those ordinary Sunday mornings, she’d always had a thing for newspapers. Every city she’d ever visited, Terri made a point to grab a copy of the local paper. She’d read it in her hotel room or on set between scenes. It was her way of staying grounded when she was surrounded by the grandeur of Hollywood. She never understood why she needed to feel grounded when all she ever wanted to do was soar… but it mattered.

  Terri took her time, soaking in every page of that thin newspaper, catching up on small town news with slices of bacon. This was escape. This was a way to forget all those things she’d failed to achieve and for forgetting all the wishes that never quite came true.

  The Mayor of Devastation declared that fishing season would begin a little earlier this year due to overpopulation in the lakes. Mrs. Betty Lenoir was celebrating her one-hundredth birthday at St. Mary’s Catholic Church this Sunday at eleven. Marcus Brooks received full athletic scholarship offers from Tulane and LSU. Ordinary people, living ordinary lives still managed to make headline news. Terri marveled at that fact and wondered what the hell was wrong with her that her life never seemed to be enough for her.

  For sale: Bungalow, Needs Work, 1124 Dupelo Street. Asking $10,000.00.

  The image of that small, wooden fixer-upper stayed with Terri, even as she gazed out the window at the sunlight slicing through moss-covered tree branches. Her mind worked in mysterious ways. It always had. Terri was a creature of risk, emotions, and gut instinct, despite the fact that those things had failed her time and time again. It was in her nature to follow her heart, and ever since she sat down at the table in Irma’s restaurant, she felt like she wanted to stay awhile.

  “It’s two bedrooms,” Bobby Johnson, the realtor explained, holding the door open for her at 1124 Dupelo Street an hour later. “One bathroom, sizable. Got a tub.”

  The soft pink paint peeled on the exterior. The white columns on the front porch had been charming once. Wooden floors creaked underfoot with each step she took.

  “How many square feet?”

  “Just over a thousand,” he said, as if she should be impressed.

  The black and white tiled floor in the kitchen had seen better days. Half the tile was missing. Terri ran her fingers along the edge of the pea green Formica countertops, feeling a sense of purpose, something she hadn’t felt in ages. This place could use someone like her to make it what it once was. Better. But she was just passing through. Terri was on her way to Nona’s in Houston to recover. To heal. To figure out what to do next. To lick her wounds.

  “That old tree has got to be well over a hundred years old,” Bobby announced, holding open the back door for Terri, who was greeted by that massive, century old soldier standing guard at the far end of the yard.

  “A hundred?” she asked, staring at the impressive fixture.

  “At least. The house sits on three-quarters of an acre,” he said. “Lotta yard for a such a small house.”

  “How’s the plumbing?” she asked, sounding like she was actually interested in buying this house on a whim, in a town she’d never been to before.

  “Bad. So’s the electrical. That’s why it’s so cheap.”

  Terri had just closed on her Atlanta condo. She’d loved her place because it was brand new when she bought it. She loved this place because it wasn’t, and because she was as fragile as this house was. She was broken too.

  “They’re asking $10,000?” she asked, gazing at the tree gazing back at her.

  “That’s what they’re asking.”

  Terri smiled. “Think they’d take eight?”

  “What the hell do you mean you just bought a house, Terri?” Nona damn near shouted over the phone. “I thought you were coming here?”

  It was right there, skimming the surface of her right mind. Doubt. Was she really doing this?

  “I was,” she responded sheepishly.

  “Terri,” Nona sighed and paused. “You can’t just be- Why would you do something like that? Especially now, girl.”

  Nona, the voice of reason. Her best friend. The one she shared all her secrets with, and the one who helped keep Terri motivated, cheering her on and being her biggest fan.

  “Terri, this isn’t the kind of decision you need to be making right now. I know you’re going through some things, sis, and that’s why you need to come here. We can talk.”

  Sure, they could talk. And talk. And talk. And talk some more. But the answers she needed weren’t in Houston, or in talking to Nona or anyone else, for that matter, about the newly formed void inside her. Maybe there weren’t any answers.

  “I need time, Nona,” she finally admitted.

  “You can have time here. Close to people who care about you, T,” she sighed. “You’re wounded, sis. I get it.”

  No, she didn’t. Nona pointed to a dream when she was six-years-old on a school yard playground and said, ‘There. That’s the on
e I want.’ Poof. Just like that, it came true. She was never desperate for it. Never had to be. It was as if, her dream needed her more than she needed it, and would stop at nothing to get to her. Terri’s, on the other hand, had ducked and dodged her from the beginning, pausing long enough for her to pull it into focus and want it even more, only to take off again, just when she thought it was within reach. So, no. Nona absolutely did not ‘get’ it.

  “It’s cute,” she finally said, recalling the devastated and broken little house in Devastation, Louisiana that reminded her so much of herself. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”

  Two Sides Of The Same Coin

  Nick Hunt sat in his car, parked outside of Luther’s Bar & Grill for ten minutes before finally deciding to go in to see the owner, his father. The last few times he’d come back to his hometown, Nick stayed with extended family and never once attempted to see the man. He was only here now because he’d made a promise to his uncle.

  “You need to go see yo’ Daddy,” his Uncle Don had told him as soon as Nick walked into their house this morning.

  “I’ll swing by and see him.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” he fussed. “He ask ‘bout you and he paid for that fancy doctor school you went to, so, you need to quit actin’ like he ain’t shit.”

  Luther Hunt might not have been shit, but he wasn’t much better than that. Yeah, he’d paid for college and medical school, but those things didn’t make him father of the year. Nick grew up without him, taking care of his mother, who battled Lupus for as long as Nick could remember. The illness attacked her kidneys and her heart until both finally gave out. Meanwhile, Luther traveled the world with the likes of Earth, Wind, and Fire and Janet Jackson, living his best life, while Nick fed soup to his mother because she was too weak to lift the spoon. Nick cleaned up after her, stayed up all night lying in bed next to her, scared to close his eyes, afraid that she might not ever again, open hers.

  Luther partied.

  Nick walked into the dimly lit bar, not yet open for business, and stood just inside the doorway, surveying the place. The rich, dark, ornate wood trim seemed more suited for a posh mansion than a bar in Devastation, Louisiana. Dark, marbled tile floors, mirrored walls, circular tables covered in white tablecloths with lighted candles surrounded a dance floor with a cheesy disco ball hanging overhead. It was all Luther… garish, over the top, dark, and not quite pleasant.

  “Well,” Luther’s baritone voice seeped from a shadowed corner across the room and filled the space like a spirit. “Look at what the wind blew in.”

  Luther emerged from the shadows like an apparition, wearing a black tee-shirt tucked into jeans that probably cost more than the new living room set Nick had just sprung for.

  “You always did know how to make an entrance, Pop,” Nick quipped, recalling all those times his father came home, lighting up Nick’s mother’s eyes like Christmas.

  Luther grinned, showing off perfect white teeth behind a perfectly coiffed beard. He was a star, maybe fallen, but there had always been something about his dad that wouldn’t let him be ordinary.

  “It’s good to see you too, son.” He said like he meant it.

  Luther went behind the bar. Nick joined him and sat on the customer side.

  “What can I get you?”

  Nick shrugged. “Beer.”

  Luther expertly filled two glasses from the tap, then came around and sat next to Nick.

  “I hear you’re a full-fledged doctor now,” he said, cocking a thick brow.

  Nick was dark like his father and almost as tall, but people always said he looked more like his mother.

  “I am as of a week ago.”

  Luther raised his glass to toast. “Cheers to you and all your hard work, son.”

  Nick had just turned thirty-five, well past the age when he felt the need to have to forced conversation with his dad because the sound of silence between them was unnerving. He’d learned how to be comfortable in his own skin and to not try and impress a man who didn’t deserve the effort.

  “How’s New Orleans?” Luther eventually asked.

  “You know.” Nick smirked. “It’s New Orleans.”

  “Yep. Had some memorable times there.”

  “Well, it’s not like it’s on the other side of the world, Pop,” Nick reminded him. “It’s only two hours away. You can always go back and make more memories.”

  Luther returned a half smile. “How long you here for?”

  “Few days,” he said. “Wanted to come check on Grandma.”

  “Give her my best, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why don’t you give it to her?” Nick challenged.

  “You know better.” Luther finished the beer in his glass. “She gives less of a shit about me than you do.”

  Truth. There it was and leave it to Luther to ruin a semi-pleasant visit by bringing it up. What kind of son would Nick be if he let a comment like that slip by without a response?

  “That’s nobody’s fault but yours.”

  Luther laughed, “Indeed.”

  There was no need to go into the details. They both knew them. The older Nick became the less respectful he was about voicing his opinion to his dad, letting them fly like poison darts too many times to count.

  “So, now that you’re finished with learning to become a doctor,” Luther continued, expertly changing the subject. “You seeing anybody?” He cut a side eye at Nick. “Or, you still sowing oats and shit?”

  “Is that what you were doing when you were my age? Sowing oats?”

  Luther raised both brows. “Me? Nah. I had your mom.”

  Nick laughed.

  Luther didn’t. “Believe what you want, son.”

  “I already do.”

  His father was a good looking dude. It didn’t take a medical degree to figure out that women threw themselves at him, and he’d caught more than his share.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Pussy was readily available,” Luther said with thick introspection. “Too available, which is why it wasn’t worth a damn.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Nick interjected. “Those days have come and gone, Pop. Whatever you did or didn’t do is none of my business.”

  Luther stared back at Nick from the mirror on the other side of the bar. “Naw. It isn’t.”

  “Guess what?” Yolanda Johnson asked blowing through the front door. “Nick?”

  The two of them had gone to school together since kindergarten.

  “Hey, girl,” he said, standing to give her a hug.

  She looked cute with locs hanging down her back, a nose ring, a cutoff top hugging some surprisingly nice curves, and a full skirt, dragging the floor.

  “You moving back?”

  “No,” he said, admiring the freckles spraying her pretty honey colored complexion. “I’m just visiting.”

  Yolanda hurried around to the other side of the bar and shoved her backpack underneath. “You will never guess what I heard?” she said, staring at Luther.

  “What’d you hear, Yo?” he asked, unimpressed.

  “Well, seems you’re not the only celebrity in Devastation, Mr. Luther,” she said, propping a hand on her hip and looking like whatever news she had was about to bust her wide open. “A real life movie star just bought that old house on Dupelo,” she announced. “You know that little one that’s been vacant for years.”

  “A real live movie star,” Luther repeated with sarcasm. “Why the hell would a movie star move here and buy that house?”

  “Why’d you move here, Mr. I know Janet Jackson and Teddy Riley and Jesus?”

  “Not Jesus,” Luther corrected her. “And this is my hometown.”

  “I think you’re jealous,” she said, leaning across the counter, putting her face close enough to Luther’s to kiss.

  Nick quickly concluded, that yeah. His old man was doing a chick the same age as his son.

  “Why would I be jealous?”

  “Because there’s someone living here more famous t
han you now.”

  “Who?” Nick probed.

  Yolanda leaned back and asked, “you ever watch Vivacious Vixens of Atlanta?”

  Luther and Nick exchanged glances before turning their attention to Yolanda.

  “What about Beyond Time?” She looked back and forth between the two of them. “Shadow Lane?”

  Nick shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Damn, where y’all been living? Under a rock?”

  “She obviously isn’t famous,” Luther responded with a glint in his eye like he was picking on her.

  “The deodorant commercial,” she exclaimed. “Pretty black woman, fro, inhales that deodorant and the scene behind her transforms from her bathroom into a meadow filled with pretty flowers?”

  Nick looked at his father looking back at him. “Oh, yeah,” he said, his tone filled with sarcasm.

  Luther cocked a brow. “Her?”

  Yolanda returned a broad smile. “I wonder if she’ll give me an autograph?”

  Still Shining

  This cute little house gave Terri the tingles. In the three months since she’d moved in, she’d had the plumbing and electrical redone, replaced the roof, and had the outside painted an adorable yellow and white. Terri refinished a lovely, little antique porcelain tub by herself, thanks to YouTube.

  She’d hired contractors to do most of the work, but this riding mower was her baby. This little beauty had a ten horsepower, single-cylinder engine, hydrostatic transmission, and an eighteen-inch turning radius. Donning a ball cap, oversized sunglasses, sunscreen, shorts, black Chuck Taylor’s, and an Atlanta Falcons’ tee-shirt, Terri drove it like she’d been born to ride this thing, the vibration of the engine underneath her ass, fueled her with super human power.

  The locals had been parading past her house since she’d moved in. She had even been interviewed and featured in the local paper a month ago, with the headline, “Devastation Has a Brand New Celebrity Calling It Home”.

  Terri smiled and waved at people gawking at her from the street, and like good, small town people do, they waved back. For the first time in years, she felt relaxed. Authentically relaxed, like, she looked forward to waking up in the morning, relaxed. Terri’s mind was focused on her next project instead of wondering whether or not the phone was going to ring that day, offering her a new role, and then going to bed at night, pretending she wasn’t broken when it didn’t happen.