22. Anger Can Eat You Alive
twenty-two
Liz
“Eliza Lawson!” My mother calls as she comes storming into the inn.
Her voice makes my pounding headache even worse. I adjust the sunglasses that are shielding my eyes from the light.
“Mom, could you please keep it down?” I say in a hoarse voice.
“No! I will not keep it down! You and I are going to talk about last night.”
“Alright, but I have a massive hangover, so I’m kind of out of it.”
“Oh, you have a hangover? You poor thing, you.” Her tone suggests that she doesn’t feel bad for me at all. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Before I answer, I ask, “What did you hear?”
“I heard that you drank about a hundred dollars’ worth of booze—which you owe me by the way. I heard that you were dancing on a pool table. Oh, and I heard that you insulted practically everyone in town. Am I forgetting anything?”
I burp as I say, “No, I think that’s about it.”
“Is this funny to you?”
“No, Mom, it’s not funny. I got drunk, and people were being assholes. I just defended myself,” I say, only believing part of that is true.
“Eliza, I didn’t come here to listen to your excuses.”
I interrupt her. “Then, why did you come here, Mom?”
“To tell you to get your head out of your ass! I thought you were finally coming around to being back and starting over, yet here you are acting like a child.”
I’m fully aware that I was an idiot last night…in every sense of the word. I acted completely out of pocket. I wish I could blame it all on the booze, but I know it wasn’t the only contributing factor. I’ve been looking to say a lot of that stuff for a long time, but it shouldn’t have come out that way or at that time.
She points her finger at me. “You’re going to make this right. I’d suggest you start with Jack. You’re lucky he dragged you out of there before you got your ass kicked.”
That’s another thing I’m aware of. Last night, I was mad at him enough to spit nails. But now I see that maybe he did it because he was looking out for me.
Or he was just tired of my shit.
Either way, I’m glad he did it.
I just wish he could have done it before I drank half the bar.
“I plan on going to apologize, Mom. Right after I get off work.”
I expect her to argue and tell me to go do it now, but she doesn’t. Instead, she says, “You better,” and storms out the same way she came in.
I almost wish I got drunk enough last night to forget about everything that happened. But I remember all of it.
Me jumping up on the table.
Arguing with Max and Misty.
And then, asking Jack if he felt anything when he kissed me.
I’m not sure where that last one came from. I don’t give a fuck if he felt anything or not.
At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself until the cows come home.
By the time I’m done for the day, I’m feeling much better. It’s amazing what some hydration, a hot shower, and some aspirin can do. I feel almost human again. As much as I don’t want to apologize to Jack, I know that I have to.
It’s amazing that I found someone that I have something in common with around here, and I manage to ruin any fun we could possibly have together.
Story of my life—alienate everyone who could possibly give a shit about me.
Okay, enough of the self-pity. Time to get this over with.
I’m happy it’s not a long walk to the auto shop since I still don’t have my car back. The door is unlocked even though I’m pretty sure it’s after hours.
“Hello?” I call when I walk inside. I see my car in the corner, all taken apart and looking so sad. It doesn’t look quite so sleek and sporty in this condition.
No one answers me, but I hear some music coming from a door to my right. Maybe I should just leave, but I’d rather get this over with. So, I walk to the door.
When I crack it open, I see a staircase leading to a basement. The rock music thumps through some loud speakers. I take my chances and head down the stairs.
When I reach the bottom, I stop and stare. Jack is lying on a weight bench and lifting a large, weighted barbell off of his chest. My eyes stay fixed on his large arms which are fully visible in the tank top he’s wearing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his arms much above his elbows since he’s always in t-shirts or long sleeves.
His veins snake up his forearms in ropes and disappear beneath all the tattoos on his biceps—the biceps that bulge with every lift of the weights.
I’m not normally one that goes for the big-muscled type, but those arms of his are doing something to me. I can feel the feminism disappearing from my body every time he lifts the barbell.
When he finishes up, he sits up and spots me.
“Liz? What are you doing here?”
“Can I talk to you?” I practically shout over the music.
He stands up and walks over to press pause on his phone.
The music stops, and he says, “Alright. What do you want to talk about?”
“I came to apologize.”
He walks over to grab a towel and wipe his brow. “For what?”
“For last night. I was pretty awful.”
“Well, I wish I could say I disagree with you, but I won’t.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I deserve that. It’s not an excuse, but I think the alcohol coupled with everything I’ve been keeping bottled up, I just exploded. Thank you for getting me out of there when you did.”
“Liz, I know what it’s like to carry around a lot of rage. That’s something I understand far too well. But one thing I had to learn was that it’s not healthy to keep all of that with you. You have to let it go, or it will eat you alive.”
I look down and pick at my fingernails. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.”
“Liz, why are you so angry?” He walks over to a tiny fridge in the corner of the workout room, pulls out two bottles of water, and hands one to me.
There’s a chair not far from the fridge that he grabs for me to sit down on. Meanwhile, he sits down on a giant rubber workout ball.
When I don’t immediately respond, he asks, “How long are you going to let all of this consume you?”
I take a deep breath before beginning to speak. “I just never thought I’d be back here. It’s not that I hate this town. That’s not it. But when I was younger, I always dreamed of leaving and conquering the world. I wanted to make a name for myself. I went to college and decided to start my own realty business.”
I sip the water before continuing. “I started small—just selling some condos here and there, but finally, I started to branch out. A friend from college came to me, offering to be an investor. He’d always talked about having family money, and the way he carried himself, I never doubted it. We eventually became partners. I was the face of the company, but he did a lot of the work behind the scenes. I showed the houses, and he did the paperwork. He told me that he never wanted me to give up any creative control, so everything in the business stayed in my name. I thought I had the perfect gig.”
“But it wasn’t,” Jack interjects.
“No, it wasn’t. One day, I got a knock on my door from the FTC, telling me that they were opening up an investigation into my business. Of course, I didn’t think I had anything to hide. And my partner told me he had his lawyers working on it. Soon after, the IRS got involved, and everything I’d done for years was being audited.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Turns out that my partner was screwing me the whole time. Lying on taxes. Writing bad checks. Messing up closing documents for people buying houses.”
“Oh, shit, Liz.”
“Yeah. It was a nightmare. After their research and all the proof I was able to give them, they were able to determine that I didn’t do anything on purpose. I also got scammed. But the business owed so much to the IRS, and the government always collects, so they came and took basically everything I owned to pay the debt.”
“Where is the guy who fucked you over?” Jack asks.
“The Dominican Republic, I think. I don’t really know. I haven’t heard from him. He cleaned out my accounts and skipped town. The feds are still looking for him, so I doubt he will ever set foot on American soil again. So, there you go. That’s my sad little story of why I had to move home. No one will hire me to be a realtor anymore. My reputation is shot. I have no money.”
He moves around slightly on the ball while he talks. “Forgive me if I’m out of line here, but I’m guessing that the guy wasn’t just your partner, was he?”
“No, he wasn’t. Although I wouldn’t call us a couple, there were multiple times we would fall into bed together after a good deal. More than that, he was my best friend, or at least I thought he was.”
“I’m sorry all of that happened to you, Liz.”
“Look, besides my family, no one knows any of this, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I won’t say anything,” he says, drawing a large X over his heart.
“Thank you. I really do mean it when I say I don’t hate this town. I think that being back here is just a reminder of my failure. I was too trusting, and it cost me everything. I just feel so angry all the time.”
“Do you ever talk to anyone or do anything to try to help?”
“Well, last night, I tried to use alcohol, but I don’t think that’s working for me,” I say with a laugh.
“Alright, stand up.”
“Why?”
“We are going to try something.”
I want to argue, but I figure after last night, I probably owe him.
So, I’m just going to go with it.