Broken to Pieces Page 10

  Desperately clasped between both of her hands, a battered and dirty envelope stared back at the broken young woman with what she thought might be a look of contempt. Inside, a stack of legal documents awaited her signature. Once that was done, the Chickweed Inn would belong to her alone, along with a level of responsibility that she wasn't really prepared for.

  But what's the alternative, she thought to herself and nervously flipped the package over between her hands.

  The alternative, of course, was to sell everything and move on with her life. In fact, Emily was well aware of the fact that the business was worth enough to let her live comfortably for several years in almost any city. She could go back to California and finish her degree, or maybe she could go to New York with Adam and see what big city life was really like. But while the possibilities were endless, she knew that the guilt of walking away from the Inn would haunt her, regardless of where her feet landed afterwards.

  She reached up and wrapped her hand around her father's chain, which she hadn't taken off since it was given back to her.

  It was then that she started to cry, though it wasn't a simple case of weeping. Instead, full-blown heaves pitched her body forward and she planted her face in the puffy bedding, barely silencing her mournful wails. It felt as if everything was forcing its way to the surface at once, like a brackish flood of pain and anger taking over her shaking body.

  Emily wrapped both arms around her stomach and pressed her face into the bed. Her tears created a soggy mess of fabric that stuck to her cheeks and a damp pocket of hot air that stung her throat every time she gasped for air.

  There, in the midst of her sorrow, the sweet scent of her mother's favorite perfume wafted up and filled her lungs. That aroma, unlike any of the others, was so bittersweet that it made Emily groan and close her eyes.

  She didn't want to smell her again; didn't want to have to imagine her face. So much rage had been bottled up inside.

  "Dad," she whispered, "why did she have to take you away from me?"

  Both of her hands grabbed onto the comforter and clenched it into tight fists. The increasing whiteness in her knuckles made the wounds from her run-in with Father Hall visible again. It was a sad punctuation of the moment; a silent reminder of the unseen scars that were tearing away at her spirit.

  "H-how could she have done this to us?"

  Her voice wavered with the violent sobs that racked her petite body.

  "How," she asked again. "How?"

  Then, from the sadness came a powerful surge of anger. Emily forced herself upright and let the fist-full of fabric fall out of her hands. The torrent of tears quickly slowed to nothing more than a trickle and her breathing started to level back out.

  The misty pocket that she created in the blanket left her face flushed and damp. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen while the muscles controlling her jaw were visibly clenched. The very thought of what her mother had done made her come very close to throwing up. How could she be so dumb, to get behind the wheel after drinking? Was she so selfish that she didn't care about what it could do to other people?

  She ran her hands over the top of her steamy head then let them fall limply back onto the bed. The right one slapped down onto the briefly-forgotten package, which she picked up and cradled close to her chest.

  "I hate you", she said to a dusty picture of her mother on the nightstand.

  After a little silence, Emily licked her bottom lip and ripped the envelope open. Waiting inside were two notebooks, one with a pink cover and the other with a yellow one, and a short letter from the family's attorney, Mr. Seville.

  She stacked the pair of books, wiped the tears from her eyes with an open palm and grabbed the letter.

  Emily Harper,

  Before I get down to business, I wanted to express again how deeply sorry I am about Carl and Caroline's passing. I considered them to be some of my closest friends for a number of years and I can assure you that many other members of our community would say the very same thing. It has been a pleasure to watch you grow, as well. I have the utmost faith that, regardless of what you decide to do, all of this pain will pass and you will be a better person for having struggled through it.

  I'm sorry again for your loss.

  But anyway, I suppose that I should tell you about the paperwork. Inside of this envelope, you will find two sets. In the one with the pink cover, you have the documents to sign if you decide that you want to stay and take over the Inn's operations. The paperwork with the yellow cover contains the documents you will be signing if you decide that you want to liquidate and walk away. I need an answer from you by the first week of August because I will be going out of town on an extended vacation. Whatever you decide, please know that you are in our prayers. Good luck and take care.

  Sincerely,

  Martin Seville

  Emily rubbed the embossed letter head under her thumb and stared down at the opposing stacks of documents.

  "Pink to stay," she said to herself and tapped each cover in turn, "and yellow to go."

  She didn't have much time to decide. August would arrive in a little over a week and the autumn's guests would have to be notified of any significant changes caused by her choice.

  With a heavy sigh, she threw herself back onto the king-size bed and let her arms fling up above her head, sending the tear-stained letter down onto the ground. As much as she wanted to be furious, her mind suddenly wandered in a different direction.

  The position of her body, with both arms above and her back stretched out, made it easy for her to picture the day that her dad taught her to float. If she tried hard enough, she could almost still feel his hands under her back, holding her flush with the lake's rippling surface.

  "Relax," he said with a smile. 'Relax and just float."

  "It's too hard," she giggled through her missing front teeth. "I can't concentrate!"

  "Well why not?"

  "Because," she told him, "you're funny!"

  Six year-old Emily always had a brightness about her that was infectious. Her already long, dark hair floated around her head in little wisps as Carl helped her stay afloat. The cold water lapped at her face and tickled the insides of her ears.

  It was getting late in the day. A brisk breeze was starting to kick up from the North and an endless population of crickets sang out in unison as their homes in the trees swayed back and forth. Up above their heads, the first and brightest stars were already starting to shine against the dimming sky, which went from bright blue to a deep, rich purple in almost no time at all.

  "And why do you think that I'm so funny, miss?"

  She spread her arms out to her sides and let her body bob up and down on the gentle waves.

  "Because, daddy. You just are."

  Emily and her father had spent much of the day there fishing, swimming and cooking together. Her mother, though, couldn't be talked into tagging along. It was just as well. The young, vibrant little girl preferred her dad's company the most.

  Emily raised her arms above her head to stretch and, in a flash, her head dipped down below the water's cool surface. She tried to stand, but her foot slipped off of a mossy rock and sent her back down into the water.

  It wasn't until she realized that her father's reassuring hands were gone that she started to panic. Her skinny arms and legs thrashed around and her eyes snapped open. All that she could see was an endless expanse of murky water.

  When her dad grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the surface a few seconds later, the sobbing little girl felt like she had been gone for an eternity.

  "D-daddy," she coughed, "why did you let me go under? I could have died!"

  He laughed and hugged her tightly.

  "Relax, sweetheart. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

  She looked up at him with her glistening, red eyes and asked him in a way that only a little girl can, "Promise?"

  He pushed the hair out of her eyes and kissed her head.

  "Of course. I w
ill always take care of my princess!"

  "Thanks, daddy," she smiled and wiped her nose with the back of her arm, "but don't let it happen again."

  "You got it." He flicked her nose and planted a wet kiss on her forehead.

  Emily could almost remember what that kiss felt like or how happy she had been right in that moment. Of course, those years of happiness were the one thing that tortured her most as she lay sprawled out on her parents' lonely bed.

  Her fingers swirled around Carl's golden chain and she wondered why. Why her? Why them? Why now? There were no answers waiting for her in the quiet room, only the silent flutter of the millions of specks of dust moving around.

  With her face still streaked with tears, Emily nodded off right where she was as she wondered about all of the things that could have been.

  —

  Adam's heavy-handed knocking at the bedroom door did little to stir Emily from her unplanned nap. At some point during her daydream, she had drifted off into a desperately needed blanket of sleep, surrounded by the warm memories of her father.

  "Emily," Adam cracked open the door and called to her, "are you in here?"

  It wasn't until he sat down next to her and shook her shoulder that her emerald eyes snapped open and she looked up at him.

  "Are you okay?"

  He stroked the hair out of her face.

  "Uh," she wiped the corners of her lips, "yeah."

  "What are you doing in here?"

  "I was just looking over some paperwork."

  Adam nodded.

  "There is someone here who wants to see you."

  The memory of Father Hall's unwanted and dramatic visit made her stomach tie its self into knots.

  "Who is it?"

  "He said his name is Mitch."

  Though knowing who it was should have been a relief, Emily's tangled innards only got tighter.

  A year older than Emily, Mitch went off to college almost two years prior with the intention of becoming an engineer. He was always smart, especially when it came to math. In fact, when the rest of his class-mates were doing algebra, he was off in a corner mastering trigonometry. Back then, everyone knew that he was destined for something great.

  Their parents had been friends for years, as had the generation before that. It wasn't unusual, of course, for a small area like theirs, but the Harpers and the Parkers had a special kind of history that was entwined in the majestic, sloping hills to the North and the bountiful fields of color to the South. In a way, Mitch and Emily were destined to be together in the eyes of their parents. You can imagine their disappointment when college came and the two drifted apart.

  For a long time, Emily suffered because of it, too. If she were to be completely honest, countless nights where she wondered what he was doing would be revealed, allowing the longing that dwelled in her heart for several years to be aired out to the world.

  That, Emily thought as she locked eyes with Adam, isn't something we need to talk about.

  "Yeah, okay. I'm coming."

  Adam slipped his hand across her stomach and wrapped his fingers around the gentle curve of her hip.

  "Do you want me to have him come back later?"

  He looked nervous.

  "No, it's okay. He's an old friend of the family."

  She craned her neck upward and pecked his lips. From the corner of her eye, she could still see the fleeting phantoms of pink and yellow that served as a conspicuous reminder of the choices that had to be made.

  "You're sure you don't want to finish your nap?"

  "Yeah," she stretched her body out and pulled herself onto her feet. "I'm good."

  The two of them quickly made their way to the front of the house, though Adam hung back around the couch. When Emily grabbed onto the door handle, she realized that he wasn't behind her anymore.

  "You aren't coming?"

  He rubbed his palms on his shorts and answered to the floor, "Nah. I don't really know that guy and you two probably want to catch up."

  "Okay. See you in a little bit."

  The door popped open and she stepped out to find Mitch seated on the very top step, facing away.

  "Hey you," she said as she closed the door behind her and let her fingers slip, one-by-one, from the tarnished brass handle.

  Mitch jumped up from the stoop with a dramatic flair.

  "Emily!" He hopped up the stairs, his tailored suit coat fluttering behind him, "How have you been?!"

  Before she could answer, his arms closed around her and pulled her in tight. Even though his taste in cologne had matured, the earthy, woody smell of his natural scent cut through the fragrance and tickled Emily's throat. She closed her eyes and let her head fall onto his chest.

  "It's been rough," she admitted quietly.

  His wide palm clasped the back of her head and held her tight.

  "I'm sorry. If you need anything, you know you can tell me, right?"

  "Yeah. I just don't think that there is much you can do."

  "Nothing at all?"

  Emily's lids raised and she looked out at the corner of the porch.

  "I guess I wouldn't mind getting into town for a little bit."

  "That's the spirit," he said and finally let her take a step back, though his hands remained firmly wrapped around her shoulders. "Do you want me to drive?"

  The chance for a reprieve from having to sit in her father's truck was welcome.

  "Please do."

  "All right, then. Let's go."

  At the edge of the small parking lot near the front of the house, Mitch's brand new sports car waited, reflecting the high-noon sun with its shiny red paint. It was so new that the paper plates barely had a speck of dust on them. Emily ran her finger over the shining crimson.

  "I see you've been doing okay for yourself."

  Still standing behind her with his hand on her lower back, Mitch reached down and opened the door for her.

  "What can I say? Business has been good."

  Emily ducked down and sank into the leather seat.

  "You've come a long way from soap-box cars and broken arms."

  He smirked at the long-forgotten memory and gently popped the door shut.

  In the brief seconds that she was alone, Emily scanned the car with an air of nosiness, though there was very little that could be garnered from the vehicle's meager contents. A pack of gum and a crumpled receipt were shoved into one of the two cup holders built into the center console. From the rearview mirror, a little yellow tree dangled helplessly, its pungent fragrance long gone. Instead, the warm interior was filled with the thick smell of leather and just the tiniest hint of lemon.

  When he pulled the door open and slid down into his seat, the car's small frame swayed gently. Even that was enough for Emily to want to close her eyes and go back to sleep. Most of her night had been restless, turning her into something like a zombie.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm just tired."

  The engine roared to life. The growling vibrations spread easily through Emily's body, making her heavy lids dip down and snap back up.

  "We need to get you some coffee, like, yesterday."

  "Tell me about it," she groaned and ran both hands through her hair, starting at the top of her scalp and moving back. Once there, she left them and rested the back of her head in her palms.

  Even in her worn state, she was still beautiful. Perhaps more beautiful, in fact, than when things were easier. It wasn't long before Mitch's blue eyes began to dart back and forth between the road and his dozing passenger. Her thin, white dress gently draped over her breasts, and then continued on to where it ended half way up her thighs.

  The garment-a dress that she had for years-wrinkled and twisted around her as she flung herself onto her side and groaned.

  Mitch reached over and touched her cheek so softly that she didn't even stir.

  "I'll wake you when we get there."

  Emily answered with a muffled acknowledgement and proceeded t
o knock out completely.

  When she did wake up almost a half hour later, she was greeted by the sight of Mitch leaning over and shaking her shoulder.

  "Come on," he grabbed his keys out of the ignition, "let's get you moving."

  "Sounds good to me."

  Emily yawned and stretched her body out.

  The town's only restaurant was a rickety old diner without a real name at all. On the side of the building where the gravel parking lot was, the word 'cafe' had been spray painted across the wall's faded red paint.

  All of the people who knew about it simply called it "Boro's"; the name of the old Serbian man who established it so many years before. Though he was long gone, the name stuck.

  The door's small bell chimed as it swung open and the two walked in.

  A saggy old woman behind the counter croaked to them and threw her wet rag onto the counter with a slap.

  "Emily? Mitch?"

  "Hello, Miss Easton," Emily replied, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear.

  Natasha Easton, the mother of one of their classmates, had been working at Boro's for over twenty years. Over that time, her face had wrinkled and her blissful voice had been transformed into a raspy twang from the countless cigars and cigarettes that the residents had smoked in the building. Because of that, the whole place had a musky, smoky smell that Emily loved.

  It reminded her of better days and better memories.

  The old woman ran around the corner and was on top of them in a second. Her bony arms closed around the pair.

  "How are you kids doing? It's so nice to see you. Please," she let go and smoothed down her stained apron, "come and sit."

  She guided them to a table in the corner. On each side, the dirty windows obscured the sun better than the ramshackle blinds ever did. The plastic resin table top, which was never updated from the drab olive green of the 1950's, held a small clutter of shakers, bottles, napkins and menus near the center, where a solitary daisy had been plopped into a vase about four sizes too big.