Broken to Pieces Page 6

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "Oh yes," he grinned, "she was so enamored with you. I still haven't seen anything quite like it."

  Emily wanted desperately for his words to resonate with her in some way, but the lingering shadow of betrayal hung heavy over her head, tainting every emotion that she had.

  She quickly changed the subject.

  "So, Mister Seville, what brings you here today?"

  "Ah yes!"

  The old man lowered his leg back down and leaned toward her.

  "Your folks had the foresight to prepare for this kind of thing."

  The way that he said the last word was so cool and calculated that it made Emily cringe inside. A thing? Like, a pair of shoes or something? Was this the same guy that was just talking about them bringing home their new baby and waxing poetic about how great they were?

  "What do you mean?"

  "Everything is being left to you, Emily."

  She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. After everything that had happened, she hadn't considered the future. Most of her time was spent just trying to get to tomorrow, let alone the day after that. But when Mr. Seville delivered the news, it felt like a sack of bricks hitting her right in the gut.

  Reality was setting in and Emily wasn't ready to carry the burden.

  The willowy attorney continued, "They didn't have much cash. All of it was tied up here."

  She wasn't sure what he was getting at.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, it means that you have two options. You can stay here and continue to run the Chickweed the way that your parents did, or you can liquidate and move on with your life."

  "You mean sell this place?"

  He nodded.

  "I don't think…"

  Emily didn't have words for what he was suggesting. She looked around the living room and felt the hot tears start to well back up. The fireplace that they were sitting next to was where she had taken her first steps. In the kitchen, where Barbara was waiting patiently, Emily could recall warm, countless memories shared between her and her family. Out back, hidden in the shadow of a fallen spruce, was where she first kissed a boy when she was just twelve.

  The heavy memory of all of those things rushed back at once. It made Emily feel, for just a second, like she was drowning in melancholy.

  When she finally spoke up, it took everything she had to keep herself together.

  "This place is my heart," she stated simply.

  "I know," Martin said. "I can prepare the paperwork for either scenario and you can choose which set you sign. You are also more than welcome to find someone else to handle this, Emily."

  "No, no," she waved her hand. "I wouldn't want anyone else to do it."

  A smile cracked the old man's wrinkled cheeks.

  "Thank you, Miss Harper."

  He started to pack his things back into the already crowded briefcase at a snail's pace. By the time that he was able to snap the lid shut, Emily could hear that both Gary and Tex had made their way into the kitchen.

  They were engaged in a heated debate about the merits of fly-fishing.

  Once he was finally packed up, Martin pulled himself out of the couch with a grunt and started toward the door with Emily close behind him.

  "I will mail you the papers in the next couple of weeks. All that you have to do is sign and send them back to me. I will take care of everything else."

  Emily pulled the door open with one hand and placed the other on the frail old man's shoulder.

  "Thank you, Mister Seville."

  He was already almost through the doorway but turned around to face her one more time. The sagging skin around his eyes had turned a shade of red that matched the red berry stains on Emily's fingers perfectly. From the corners, little beads of wetness threatened to spill over.

  "I truly am sorry for the way that this happened, Emily. They didn't deserve this." He hesitated, allowing a solitary drop of salty water to fall into his tie, before continuing, "You didn't deserve this."

  Emily lowered her head and closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to keep herself from losing it right then and there.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  Martin Seville patted her shoulder and started back out to his dusty town car.

  Emily closed the front door softly and leaned forward until her forehead was resting up against the soft wood. There were moments when reality hit a little too hard on her fragile existence, and that was one of them. Her heart was racing and her head was spinning.

  She braced herself against the heavy door in the hopes that the feeling would pass quickly.

  "Emily," Barbara's voice cut through the fog soon after. "Do you want to go sit down?"

  Emily took a deep breath of the mountain air that bled through the small gap between the door and its frame. For some reason it just didn't seem as sweet as before.

  "I need to go up into the attic to get some stuff. Will you go with me?"

  "Of course," Barbara said with a smile. "You got it."

  Emily somehow managed to peel herself off of the front door and guided both of them up a set of rickety, pull-down stairs near the end of the hallway by her parents' room. She was careful not to go too close to their door as she did so.

  That was something she wasn't prepared to handle.

  Under the weight of their bodies, the stairs groaned and shuddered.

  "These things aren't going to break, are they?"

  "No," Emily said with a laugh. "I doubt it."

  Barbara mumbled a reply and slowly followed Emily up.

  At the very edge of the landing, a series of boxes had been arranged in neat rows on either side, making a kind of path that led to a more open section. From that end, the bright light of day flooded in through a hexagonal pane of glass and illuminated the swirling cloud of dust that the women's presence stirred up.

  Barbara grunted, "What are we up here for, anyway?"

  "We are looking for a few boxes labeled with the number four."

  Barbara crouched down under the low beams that crossed above their heads, "And what's in them?"

  Emily crept forward, careful to keep her head down. You only had to forget and run into one of the solid beams once before you learned your lesson.

  "Oh, stuff for the Fourth of July party that we're supposed to have on Tuesday."

  The two of them shuffled around the attic. In no time, their body heat, mixed with the warm sun coming through the glass, made the wide-but-shallow area sticky, almost swampy. Emily rubbed the growing beads of sweat off of her brow with her forearm and scanned the very back of the room.

  "Aha," she said loudly. "I found 'em."

  "Now what?"

  "Uh," Emily lifted one of the box corners but was quickly dismayed when she realized that it was far too heavy for her and her less than physically fit partner to carry down, "I think we should send Tex and Gary up after lunch."

  By the time the older lady hobbled over to where Emily was, the sweat had formed a nice little circle just below the embroidered collar of her billowy, yellow blouse.

  "That's probably a good thing. I can't take much more of this heat!"

  She fanned her face with one limp hand.

  "Are you ready to go down?"

  "Sure," Emily responded and motioned toward the entry way. "After you."

  Following a safe distance Barbara's large, bouncing rear, Emily absorbed her surroundings. The perfectly arranged boxes (surely her mother's work) and neatly written labels (she knew her dad's hand writing from miles away) not only made her heart hurt, but they also forced the secretly terrified young woman to face the fact that she had been pushing down for days:

  There was so much that she had taken for granted.

  Even the curly sloping of her father's 'S' made her wish that she could have been there to watch him write it. One more minute in silence would have been enough, if only she could be with him; to be able to love someone right then and there while truly kno
wing how badly it hurt to have them ripped away. And even though she was not particularly religious, Emily had been spending much of her restless time in bed praying for one more hug, one more word, just one more chance.

  "Emily?"

  She didn't realize that she had stopped at some point and was gently rubbing a finger over the purple writing. Barbara had already started down the stairs when she called out to her.

  Emily dropped her hand down with a sigh, "Yeah?"

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I just, uh, got lost in thought there for a second."

  "I can see that."

  Barbara moved down a few steps so that she could rest both of her forearms on the attic floor and then leaned forward and rested her soft chin on them.

  "Do you want to talk about something?"

  Emily sat down on one of the cross-beams.

  "It's just that," she hesitated, "I don't know if we should be having this party at all."

  Barbara smiled in a pitiful kind of way, "Why not?"

  "You don't think that it's wrong?"

  "Of course not. Carl and Caroline would want you to get some fresh air and have a good time."

  Emily couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the feeling that her mother might not have cared so much.

  "I'm not so sure."

  She scanned the organized boxes again and it made her feel like her insides were tying themselves up. She was so angry with her mother, furious even. Not only was she a coward when Emily came to her for help, but she also took away her loving father in one selfish act of recklessness.

  Out of all of it, however, the one thing that made Emily the angriest was how she had tried so hard to forgive in all of the years that had passed. She lived every day under the assumption that her mom would never hurt her like that again, even if she never totally believed it. But as Emily sat there in the hot, sticky attic and ran her hand over the dusty cardboard that she would never again have the chance to help her parents with, she genuinely started to believe that her mother might have been the biggest monster of all.

  "Come down," Barbara said to her, "it's far too hot to be up here much longer."

  Emily nodded but said nothing. By the time she and Barbara finally found their way back down the creaking stairs, it was several minutes past noon.

  "Girls," Tex called from the living room. "What on Earth were you doing up there?"

  The two women-both of them covered in cobwebs and dust-made their way into the room.

  "It sounded like an elephant was up there," Gary exclaimed.

  Barbara put her hands on her wide hips, sending up a dirty puff, and replied, "Are you calling us elephants?"

  Gary smirked, "I'm not calling you anything. I know better than that."

  "You're darnn right you do!"

  Tex folded the newspaper that he was holding and set it down on the couch.

  "So what were you gals doing?"

  Emily rubbed her cheeks with her hands, allowing the gritty layer to scratch her finger tips, and answered, "We were looking for the stuff for the party."

  Gary leaned back in his chair, "Party?"

  "We have one on the fourth every year. It's usually pretty fun."

  Tex slapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth, "You bet your ass it will be!"

  Emily always enjoyed his enthusiasm, whether or not she believed that it was genuine. With him, it seemed, everything was genuine.

  Behind her and Barbara, the front door popped open and Adam poked his head through the crack.

  "Emily?"

  His voice suddenly made her feel warm inside. She turned around and tried to dust herself off.

  "Yeah?"

  Adam cleared his throat and tapped his paint-flecked fingers on the door, "There is someone here who wants to talk to you."

  She hadn't been expecting anybody, but it didn't come as too much of a surprise. Random people had been filtering by since the funeral, whether it was past guests or friends of the family. All of them just wanted to give her their condolences.

  "Do you know who it is?"

  Adam shook his head.

  "He didn't want to come inside."

  Tex interjected, "Why the hell not?"

  "I'm not sure. He just asked if I could send Emily out alone."

  Emily sighed and licked her lips absentmindedly. Before she realized what she had done, the musky taste of attic filled her mouth. She grimaced and headed toward the door.

  "Okay. Thanks, Adam."

  Emily grabbed the door just below his hand but he stopped her from opening it all of the way.

  "Do you want me to go with you?"

  His obvious concern for her made her heart flutter. She gently stroked one of her dusty fingers over his. It was so fleeting that she was sure nobody had noticed. Nobody that is, except for Adam, who looked at her with a smile.

  "It's okay. I'll be back in soon."

  Adam stepped in, allowing her to move by and close the door behind her. Unfortunately for her delicate existence, there was a monster waiting at the base of the stairs.

  When Emily turned around and saw Father Hall standing with his hand on the railing, her breath froze in the middle of an exhale. In the same moment, the rising bile in the back of her throat burned with an acidic tang that she hadn't forgotten over the years.

  She squeezed her hands into fists and gritted her teeth to keep from screaming.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Emily, I-"

  He raised a foot and moved like he was going to climb the stairs.

  "Don't come near me, you sick bastard."

  Her words came through her teeth like a growl.

  "Emily," he pleaded, "I've come to offer my respects."

  "Respect?" Her voice started to rise and she pressed herself against the door to get as far away from him as possible. "Don't talk to me about respect."

  An almost believable frown turned his mouth down toward the ground.

  "I have repented and made myself right with God."

  Emily was almost speechless. Her heart raced and her palms turned clammy, making it harder and harder for her to grip onto the door knob like the lifeline that it was.

  Of all the people who could have come, why did it have to be him?

  Finally, after a long silence, Emily stomped her foot onto the porch and screamed at him, "Fuck you and your forgiveness!" She pointed a shaking finger at him and started to weep openly, "You ruined everything!"

  "Now Emily," he raised a hand to her-the same one that he used to violate her so many years ago-and tried to come up the steps again.

  Emily could feel the years of pent-up anger -and outright hate- beginning to boil over. There were so many things that she wanted to say, so much of her pain that she wanted him to feel, that she simply lost control.

  The young woman flew down the stairs and landed both of her balled-up fists square in Father Hall's chest. He stumbled backwards, gasping for breath, and eventually landed right on his ass a few feet away.

  "Fuck you," she screamed again and charged after him, kicking up clouds of dirt as she barreled forward in a blind rage. "You disgusting sack of sh-"

  When she reached the cowering pastor, her words simply stopped. Instead, she fell down onto her knees next to him like a baseball player sliding into home and grabbed a fist full of his thinning hair. Once she had a firm grip, Emily forced him further into the dirt.

  "Emily," he raised his hands in front of his face, "think about what you are doing!"

  She tightened her grip on his hair until her knuckles had turned to a snowy white and forced the back of his head into the dirt. The young woman hadn't been in a fight in her entire life, but the torrent of emotions suddenly gave her a kind of blood lust that, later, would startle even her.

  "Shut the fuck up," she wailed through her tears.

  Though she couldn't see it, the front door flew open and the Inn's guests ran out onto the porch. What they saw shocked all of them.

&n
bsp; Emily raised her free fist up and brought it down onto Father Hall's long nose with a sickening crack. The cowering priest screamed and thrashed in an attempt to get away from her, but it didn't do any good. Her fingers were curled around his hair like a bear trap and, as was made apparent by the distant look in her eyes, she wasn't anywhere near being done with him.

  Father Hall tried to shield his face with his arms, but it was no match for Emily's pummeling fist. She brought it down onto his face over and over again, sending out increasingly violent splatters of his blood like red fireworks.

  Cartilage and bone crackled under her already swollen knuckles with every unrestrained swing that she took. To Adam, along with the other guests, she looked like a rabid animal. By the time that he reached her, Emily had succeeded in landing almost a dozen blows to the Father's face, leaving him bloodied and dazed.

  "Emily," he yelled and locked both arms around her waist, "stop!"

  She thrashed her body against him in a desperate bid to escape and continue her assault.

  "Get off of me!"

  "No, Emily. You need to stop!"

  She kicked and bucked under his powerful arms.

  "I won't stop," she screamed and pointed a bloody finger at Father Hall, who had scrambled to his feet, "until he pays for what he did!"

  Adam's heart was pounding in his chest, but as her squeezed Emily against him, he could feel that hers was even more erratic. What had this man said to her? Who was he?

  Had she finally snapped?

  Father Hall staggered back and nearly collapsed over the trunk of his car. He cradled his face with both hands, allowing a steady stream of blood to drip from between his fingers.

  "I'm calling the police," he slurred through some early swelling and a couple of loose teeth.

  Emily clenched her fists and tried to charge again. Adam gritted his teeth and pulled her in so close that he could smell the alkaline, sweet mix of blood and perfume wafting up from her shaking body.

  "Call the police, you piece of shit," she cried, "so I can tell them what you did to me!"

  Father Hall tried to balance himself on the heavy car but continued to stumble as he made his way toward the driver's side door.

  "Please," she begged sarcastically, "call them so they can hear about how you…"