Broken to Pieces (13 page)

"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 will 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 to 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.

Emily and Mitch took seats opposite of each other.

It was easy to reminisce in the vinyl-covered chairs that squeaked with even the slightest movement. There were so many times that she and her friends had sat right where they were and just talked. How many conversations had there been? What did they ever talk about, anyway?

Much of it, as it happens, had been lost in the ether.

Mrs. Easton's body fingers patted Emily's back.

"How have you been, darling?" She continued without waiting for an answer, "I heard about what happened to your folks. It's a shame, honey, a
damn
shame."

"Thank you," the young woman replied. "Things are starting to get better."

While it wasn't really true, Emily didn't want to talk about it anymore. Not right then, anyway.

"Well I sure hope that continues. You're a good girl, Em. Just remember that."

"Thanks."

"And you, Mitch," she slapped the back of his shoulder playfully. "You've grown up quite a bit since I last saw you. How long has it been?"

"Uh," he rubbed his smooth chin, "around four years."

"Too damn long if you ask me," the waitress retorted.

Her aged hand dipped into the front pocket of her apron and came back up with a pen and a tiny pad of paper.

"What'll it be?"

The ancient waitress never waited for anyone to look at the menu. If you were eating at Boro's, chances were good that you had been there a hundred times before.

Emily answered first, "Water and some fruit, if you can."

"I can," she tapped the end of her pen on the frayed paper, "but whether or not I will is another matter all together. You need to eat better than that."

"Okay then. How about a sandwich?"

"What kind?"

"Surprise me."

Mrs. Easton turned to Mitch, "And you, honey?"

He interlaced his fingers and rested both palms on the cool table.

"Hell, give me the same thing. Emily here needs a strong cup of mud, though."

Natasha shoved the writing utensils in her pouch and replied, "You've got that right. I'll get you two a new pot."

She turned and left them. There was nobody else in the usually crowded restaurant, making every smack and metallic bang in the kitchen painfully audible.

"So," Mitch tapped his thumbs on the table top, "where do we start?"

Emily sighed and leaned back in the chair.

"Look, I'd prefer if all of this stays between you and me for now, okay?"

"Of course.

"Well, I guess my mom was drinking and lost control of the car."

Mitch seemed genuinely shocked.

"No! Your mom?"

"Yeah. They found empty liquor bottles-those little ones-in her purse and everything. I mean-"