Break Through (11 page)

Carter showed up the next morning with flowers. Not a bouquet of them, thank god. I’d never understood why people give dead flowers to one another as a sign of affection. The whole idea made me sad. No, Carter gave me pictures of flowers. Not the dying ones from his yard, but gorgeous, bright photographs of thriving flowers.

“They’re the most beautiful flowers in
Red Blossom
,” he said proudly as I leafed through the stack while we sat in the middle of the back lawn. Today I had put down a blanket. It was purple with pink and green flowers lining the edges. I’d brought it out here from my room. It was one of the first blankets my mom bought me after I came back home. For that reason alone I loved it. It signified a new beginning. It signified freedom.

I paused at one
of the photographs, my fingers resting on it. “This one is mine.”

He shrugged, looking rather proud of himself. “Like I said, prettiest flowers in town.”

I grinned, continuing to leaf through them. “Man, you’re talented. I bet you can take a picture of anything and turn it into a work of art.”

Carter leaned into me, planting a peck on my cheek. “You don’t have to butter me up, Aspen. I’m already crazy about you.”

“Trust me, I’m not buttering you up. I’m serious.” I looked at him. “What made you decide to become a photographer?”

He leaned back on his elbows, turning his face up to the sun. “I wasn’t always an only child. I used to have a sister. When she died, I remember watching my parents pore over the pictures they had of her. Truthfully I did too. I treasured our family photo albums in a way I never had before.” A sad smile played over his lips. “In fact, when I was little I hated how Mom would always make us pose for pictures. It seemed she was snapping pictures all the damn time. But when my sister passed, I was grateful that Mom had gotten so many snapshots of her.” His head rolled to the side toward me.
“It was all we had left of her, and it kept her memory alive for us. I guess that’s when I first wanted to be a photographer.”

“You wanted to preserve people’s memories.” I nodded, understanding.

“Yeah, but I think it goes deeper for me.” He sat up straighter. “I wanted to give people’s memories a voice, a spirit. One that would last well beyond the grave. When people look at my pictures I want them to really see my subject, you know? Like feel connected to them.” He gave me a rueful smile. “Does that make sense or does it sound crazy?”

“It makes sense,” I said, “because that’s exactly how I feel when I look at your pictures.”

“I’m glad.” He placed his hand over mine. “That means a lot to me.”

“So is that when you gave up baseball? After your sister died?”

Carter nodded, his smile vanishing. “It was a tough time for my family. I didn’t have time for sports anymore.”

My heart went out to that boy who loved baseball but had to quit. It seemed that Carter
and I did have a lot in common. We’d both endured losses that tore apart our families, and we’d both had to give up things that were important to us.

When I glanced down at the pictures again, I caught sight of one that didn’t match the others. I picked it up between trembling fingers and held it up to the light. “What’s this?” The photograph was of Carter wearing a tux and in his hand he held a sign which read ASPEN, WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?

I craned my neck to look at him and he stared back with puppy dog eyes. “Will you?” he asked.

“Prom? How is that possible?” I was dumbfounded.

“I thought about all the things you missed out on in high school, and it’s summertime so there aren’t any rallies or football games. But I rented a DJ and a hall in town where we can have our very own private prom. What do you say?”

“Seriously?” My eye misted over, and I blinked back the emotion. Prom was something I never thought I’d experience. To be honest, everything with Carter felt surreal, like it was all happening to someone else entirely. “Of course I’ll go with you.” I flung my arms around his neck and nestled into him.
When his arms wrapped around my waist, I sighed contentedly. I never thought I’d be comfortable with intimacy like this. But I trusted Carter in a way that surprised me. “Thank you,” I spoke into his chest.

“He won’t have your future
, Aspen.” His hand rested on my head, his fingers massaging my temple. “If I have my way, he won’t have any part of you at all.”

Over dinner that night I told my parents about the prom Carter set up for us. We were having spaghetti and garlic bread. I twirled the noodles around my fork, willing away the unpleasant memories that threatened to surface. The first time Mom attempted to make spaghetti after I returned I completely lost it at the dinner table. I dropped my fork, and it clattered to the ground. Then I grabbed my head in my hands and rocked myself back and forth as heaving sobs sounded at the back of my throat.

It was years before Mom even da
red to buy noodles at the store, let alone spaghetti sauce. She rarely even went down the pasta aisle for fear I’d have a meltdown.

That wasn’t the only meal that brought back unwanted memories. And it wasn’t just food. A smell, a sound, a toy, a television show. They all had the power to undo me. And it would happen spontaneously with no warning at all.

I’d learned to reign it in over the years with the help of therapists and my parents. But every once in awhile it still happened. And maybe that was part of the reason my parents were staring at me now like I had two heads. They were probably wondering how a girl who lost her shit over spaghetti could possibly go on a date with a successful, famous photographer who probably kept his cool through all of his meals.

And that was the reason I fought against the panic that pushed under my ribcage and forced myself to calmly eat my dinner. Lifting my head, I pretended that I was a normal twenty-three year old woman. A woman capable of making her own decisions.

“Prom?” Mom shook her head. “Will there be chaperones there?”

I burst into laughter. I seriously couldn’t help it. “Mom, I’m an adult.” As if to prove my stability, I shoved a bite of spaghetti into my mouth.

“She has a point there, Caroline.” Dad smiled.

Mom fingered the gold chain around her neck, appearing frazzled. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be alone with him away from the house. I mean, what do we really know about him?”

“Are you kidding?” I dropped my fork next to my plate. “I’ve spent almost every waking moment with him for weeks.”

“Exactly. Weeks. That’s not a long time, Aspen.” She glanced to my dad for help. When he didn’t say anything she shook her head.

“It’s one night, Mom. Nothing’s going to happen.” I shrugged. “
I trust him.”

“You trusted Kurt too.”

I reeled back from the strength of her words, feeling as if I’d been slapped.

“Caroline!”
Dad barked.

“What? She did. We all did. And it was a mistake. One I don’t intend to make again.” Mom’s hands were shaking the way they did when she was angry.

My body went hot. We never spoke of him. And we certainly never said his name. Why was Mom bringing this up now?

The tension was so thick in the room it felt like a heavy blanket on my shoulders. I could barely stay upright under
the weight of it. It pushed at me, and I sank further down into my chair.

Mom’s eyes found mine. She pointed her index finger at me. “I saw you two kissing in the backyard. He’s taking advantage of you
, and I will not let anyone take advantage of my little girl again.” Her lips trembled, her eyes filled with tears. Her eyes glazed over, and dread filled me. I recognized that look. Dad did too, and he pushed away from the table, hurrying to her.

“
Not again,” she whispered under her breath. She was looking at me but I knew she didn’t see me. Not the person I was now anyway.

My stomach rolle
d, and bile rose in my throat as Dad reached for her. She sagged against him, breathing deeply.

“
Shh, it’s okay.” He rubbed her back.

“Not again,” she repeated into his shoulder.
“Not again. I won’t lose my baby again.”

We weren’t driving toward my house. He’d turned on the wrong street. I may have only been eight, but I knew how to get home from my school. I walked most days.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

Kurt was facing forward, squinting his eyes to see through the pouring rain. Even with the windshield wipers going it was hard to see. “Oh. Your mom had an errand to run so she’s going to pick you up from my house.”

Doubt nagged at the back of my mind. It didn’t sound right to me.

But then he turned and smiled, and my fears disappeared. Kurt was nice. He was a friend of my dad’s. It’s not like he was going to hurt me. Besides, Mom knew where I was. He had said so himself.

“You like toys, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“I have a whole room full of them at my house. Maybe you’ll have time to play with them before your mom shows up.”

I wondered why he’d have toys if he didn’t have a kid. The doubt returned, a little stronger this time, but I shoved it down. Maybe he had nieces and nephews. Uncle Marty didn’t have any kids but he always had toys and books at his house for when I came to visit. I was being too suspicious.

“
Home again. Home again,” he said in a funny voice as he pulled into his driveway.

He was funny like my dad
, and I giggled. See, there was no reason not to trust him.

When I entered the house I heard desperate, hushed voices coming from the family room. I couldn’t make out what they were saying at first, but it was obvious that Mom and Dad were in the middle of a heated exchange. I quietly closed the back door behind me and crept forward in my bare feet, careful not to make a sound. Pressing my back to the wall, I inched forward.

Ever since Mom’s breakdown at dinner I’d be hiding out in the guesthouse. But her words found me
even there. Even in the quiet of my room, surrounded by my flowers, I couldn’t block them out. They replayed over and over in my mind.

You trusted him. You trusted him. You
trusted him.

The words were a
glaring reminder of my mistake, of my failure, of the error in judgment that cost me everything.

“Caroline, calm down,” Dad said gruffly.

“I can’t. I’m scared.” Mom’s nose was stuffy, her voice wavering.

“She’s not your baby anymore. And she’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that.” Mom sniffed. “I want to be able to protect her this time, since I couldn’t last time.”

“I know. I get it,” Dad’s voice softened.

I rested my head against the wall, my pulse racing.

“I’ll never be able to forgive myself for what happened to her.”

“Caroline, not this again. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I can’t get past it.” There was movement, the scraping of shoes on the floor. I pictured Mom walking away from Dad. “It’s my fault. All of it. I brought him into her life. I’m the reason he found her.”

“Caroline.” More scuffling. Silence for a moment.

I surmised that he was comforting her.

“How can you not hate me for what I did?”

“Because you’re my wife and I love you. Besides, you hate yourself enough for the both of us,” Dad said wearily.

What had mom done? Why did she think my kidnapping was her fault?

Another memory surfaced. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard them having this same argument. The last time was a few weeks after I’d been back. The conversation was eerily similar.
I remembered at the time thinking it was odd how Mom kept saying that she brought Kurt into our lives. It didn’t make sense, because I’d always assumed Kurt was Dad’s friend. But that may have been because he was a guy. It seemed guys and girls organically separated during the parties at our house. The women ended up in the kitchen while the guys congregated on the back patio with beers in hand.

But there was one time, wasn’t there? A time when I saw Mom with Kurt.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried to catch the memory that was right at the edge of my mind. It hovered at the corner of my memory bank, and I couldn’t pluck it out. Holding my breath, I thought hard, trying with all my might to get it to surface. When it finally did, I wished I had left it hidden in that corner a little longer. Maybe indefinitely.

It was a hot day and I’d been in the pool for hours. My parents had friends over and a couple of them had little kids. But they weren’t my age. They were a lot younger. Some of them splashed in the shallow end, water wings stuck on their pudgy arms. I languished in the deep end, away from their giggles and splashes. When I glanced down at my hands, I realized they resembled prunes. It was time to get out. Besides, I was hungry and the smell of hamburgers had been calling to me for awhile.

Dad had been manning the grill all afternoon. He stood over the barbecue, plumes of smoke billowing in his face. The way he was chatting with friends and sucking down beers told me he didn’t mind though.

I hoisted myself out of the pool, water cascading down my body and drenching the ground. Shivering, I bounded over to the chair where I’d kept my towel. Only it wasn’t there. Hugging myself, I scoured the yard but couldn’t locate any towels. Well, I saw one, but it had a picture of Barney, the purple dinosaur on it, so I knew that wasn’t mine. It had to belong to one of the toddlers.

I knew there were more towels inside, but Mom hated when I dripped water all over the floor. Then again, Mom was nowhere to be seen. Most likely she was inside the kitchen cooking. That’s where she spent her time at these parties. Mom loved to be in the kitchen, and she always made way more food than we could ever eat.

If I slipped in the side door I could grab towels out of the cabinet she kept in the laundry room and she’d never know it. Water dripping from my hair, I padded across the cement and onto the back porch. I left a trail of wet footprints everywhere I went. As I walked, I stared at them, mesmerized.

Behind me
I heard the squeal of little kids, the splash of water. When I made it to the side door I turned the knob and swung it open. Cool air washed over me, causing chills to snake down my back as I stepped inside the house. The hum of the air conditioner played in the background, and cold air spilled from the vent over my head. I hurriedly made my way to the cabinet and yanked open the door.

The scent of laundry detergent greeted me as I snatched up a brightly colored towel. I wrapped it around my body, grateful for the warmth. Water still dripped from my hair and onto the tile, so I wiped it with my foot. That was only succeeding in making the floor more wet though.

Sighing, I grabbed out another towel, bent down and swiped it across the floor. When I stood up I heard a woman’s giggle, then a man’s voice. I stiffened. I recognized the giggle as mom’s, but the man’s voice was not my dad’s. Besides, he was outside. I just saw him.

“Kurt,” Mom said, her voice a mixture of playfulness and urgency. “What are you doing?”

“I think you know, Caroline.”

“We can’t.” The playfulness was gone from her voice now. This was her ‘I mean business’ tone. Believe me, I knew all about that one.

“C’mon. You know you want it as much as I do.”

“Kurt, this isn’t the time or place to discuss this.” She sounded desperate now. “We need to get back out there.”

Her voice seemed to be getting closer, so I dropped the towel that I’d used to wipe the floor and raced toward the back door. The last thing I needed was for her to catch me in here. Flinging open the door, I stepped outside into the sunshine, leaving Mom and her secret conversation inside.

Why had I not remembered this conversation until now? Why would
that
be the memory I repressed? I leaned against the wall, my knees buckling. The hallway swayed around me. I glanced at the pictures on the walls – of Dad and Mom smiling happily – and felt sick.

I had to get out of here.

Clutching my belly, I raced out into the backyard. I was grateful for the cool night air, the scent of sweet peas, the sound of crickets. Lowering myself on the first step of the porch I sat down. When I first came back home, I used to wake up in the middle of the night to find Mom sitting on the edge of my bed staring down at me. It happened so many times, I finally asked her what she was doing.

“I need to prove to myself that you’re really here,” she said.

She climbed into my bed and rested my head in her lap. Her hands fumbled in my hair, stroking and petting. Even in the dark I could see the tears shining on her cheeks. I could hear the heave of her chest and the sobs she thought she was masking.

I always thought my mom did everything in her power to protect me. But
what if I was wrong? What if everything I’d ever believed was a lie?

Moisture filled my mouth
, and my body went hot. I swallowed hard and stood up. Suddenly this house didn’t feel safe anymore. This place that had always been my sanctuary seemed mysterious and dark.

Stumbling down the steps, I headed for the gate. I had no idea where to go, but I knew I couldn’t stay here another minute. Maybe I’d walk and clear my head. There were plenty of roads to do that. Plenty of open fields to
trek through.

I stepped into the front yard, the back gate slamming behind me.
The sweet scent of roses wafted under my nose as I passed the bushes that lined the side of the house. There was a slight breeze in the air tonight and it rattled the chains on the porch swing. Light from the front porch illuminated the dark sky.

My feet crunched when I reached the gravel driveway. Both of my parent
’s cars sat side by side. I’d never learned to drive. Never wanted to. But in this moment I wished I had. Then I could get in one of those cars and take off. Drive somewhere to clear my head.

When I got to the end of the driveway, I glanced over my shoulder. The pull of the house was strong. I’d never set out on my own before. Rarely did I ever get this far. And I certainly never left alone.

The sound of Mom and Kurt’s voices filled my mind, propelling me forward. I wasn’t convinced this place was a safe haven for me anymore. Perhaps there wasn’t any such thing.