Page 5 of Salvaged Heart
True to his word, Anders met me in the kitchen ten minutes later. An old, scraggy T-shirt replaced the soft linen one he had been wearing when I stopped by his room, and an unlit cigarette hung from his lips. “You mind?” He motioned to it.
I did, but I shook my head regardless and mumbled, “Not at all.”
He gestured next to the hammer, sitting at my feet. “I’d presumed you were joking about taking a sledgehammer to the house.”
“I mostly was.” Unscrewing the cabinets would be quicker and less messy than smashing them into a million pieces that would take hours to clean up. “But I figured a swing or two each could be a good bonding experience.”
“Maybe by the time Laurel and Margery return, we could be braiding each other’s hair.” He scoffed, picking up the hammer. “Any special instructions?”
I passed him a pair of work gloves and safety goggles, then put on my own. “Stick to swinging that at the cabinets. I don’t want to risk taking out something integral to plumbing or the electrical system.”
With a final nod of understanding, Anders raised the hammer over his head and brought it down in one fell swoop, smashing the cabinet he had been aiming at to the floor. After that, he became a man possessed. The hammer was heavy, but he wielded it effortlessly, bringing it down on each set of cabinets, tearing down all but the pieces screwed into the wall. I had intended to let him get a few swings out of his system before redirecting him to a more civilized approach, but, as I had predicted earlier, he needed this release. I watched him work for several minutes, noting the subtle ripple of muscle as he smashed at the wood like it had personally offended him. Then, coming out of a haze, I forced myself to go to work, gathering as many broken pieces as possible and dragging them out to the dumpster that had been delivered the previous afternoon.
When I re-entered the kitchen, Anders had ended his destructive rage on the cabinetry and stood, catching his breath in the center of his self-created chaos. His eyes were glazed, and sweat beaded his forehead, but a devastating grin was plastered across his handsome face. He threw back his head as a slightly manic laugh left his mouth. It started deep in his chest and rumbled out of his throat, morphing into something that sounded more like a scream by the time it ended.
It was evident from the unbridled moment that he hadn’t heard or seen me re-enter, so I gave my best “incoming” cough and shuffled my feet, alerting him to my presence. He jumped slightly and whirled around, erasing the mania from his eyes in half a breath.
“Do therapists know about this?” He chuckled, still gasping slightly. “That might be the best I’ve felt in a long time.”
He looked years younger, like each swing had taken down a personal demon instead of fifty-year-old cabinets.
We workedalongside each other in companionable silence for the remainder of the day, falling into a rhythm of hauling debris and unscrewing the remains of the desecrated cabinetry from the walls. He was a surprisingly hard worker and seemed to know his way around most tools. Laurel had made it sound like Anders was an uptight city boy who would have little to contribute to the project. Still, so far, he was proving useful indeed, and considering his eye for interior design, the house would look amazing once we were through with it.
Around eleven a.m., Anders made his way to the little mini fridge we had plugged in the kitchen corner and produced a beer from within. “You want one?”
I gave a gentle shake of my head. “Nah, I don’t drink it.”
“Oh?” He raised his eyebrow in question. “Like at all?”
“I never developed a taste for beer. More of a wine and fruity cocktail kinda guy.”
“Right.”
He looked conflicted, like he should put it back, but I waved him on. “I’m not stopping you, man.”
“I’m sure Laurel will have a field day when you tell her I’m drinking before noon.”
“Why would that be something I need to tell her?” I shrugged, returning to a particularly tight bolt that did not want to come loose from the bracket holding the corner unit on the wall.
Within moments of meeting Anders, I’d decided that until he gave me a reason to feel otherwise, I wouldn’t let Laurel’s feelings toward her stepbrother influence my own. He seemed like a decent dude and was obviously working throughsomething he didn’t care to share with the rest of the world. Being hostile toward Anders would do nothing to help mend the rift between Laurel and him. So, I’d tread on the side of caution and stay the hell out of it.
A click of the can lid a moment later told me he’d made his decision. “You should know.” His voice barely more than a whisper. “Everything Laurel has told you about me is true.”
“I don’t believe that.” I returned my full attention to him. “At the very least, I know every story has two sides.”
He took a long drink, and my eyes tracked the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. “And my side? I presume you want me to tell you that?”
I shook my head. “Not unless you want to.”
Getting him to share his side would mean admitting Laurel hadn’t told me the story at all. So, we left it at that. But later, when I pulled the cover over the dumpster and saw five beer cans and an empty bottle of vodka sitting on top of the dismantled kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel like maybe he had needed me to ask after all.
4
BECKHAM
Not long after Laurel and Margery returned, the familiar sound of a motorcycle’s engine revving, followed by gravel crunching, indicated Anders’ departure from Arbor Ct. It wasn’t the first time he had left since we’d all arrived. He had every night around the same time, heading who knew where and not coming home until long after the rest of us were tucked into bed.
“Does Anders have friends in the area?” I asked Laurel.
