Broken to Pieces (17 page)

Emily stepped out onto the patio with bare feet and a baggy tee shirt that dangled from her bony shoulders. Compared to Mitch and his custom suit, she couldn't help but feel like a hobo.

"What's up?"

Mitch started toward her but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. It was just far enough for the porch to block out the bright sun that beat down on his face.

"Well I'm going to Boston tonight and I was wondering if you had given any thought to what I said."

"I have, yeah."

"And?"

"And," she leaned against the railing, "I'm going to have to decline."

Mitch pulled the dark shades off of his eyes and tucked them into his pocket. The look of offense on his face was remarkable.

"What is that look for?"

"I just…how can…"

He was almost speechless.

"What's wrong with you?"

Mitch finally answered, "You want to stay here and run this place by yourself?"

"That's the idea."

"Hmph," he scoffed. "Just remember that I tried to save you from all of this."

Emily started to get the impression that his intentions weren't all that honest. Why she hadn't seen it sooner weighed on her mind.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He laughed, "Do you really think that you can run the Chickweed alone? I mean, the building is almost worthless and you have no idea how to run a business!"

Emily placed both hands on her hips and stood closer to him.

"So you think that I should just bail at the first sign of trouble?"

"No, but-"

By then, it was too late. Emily was seeing red.

"Fuck off," she interrupted, surprising both of them. "Not everyone in the world has a trust fund to run home to when life gets real."

"Hey," he said with a disgusting, cocky smirk, "don't say that I didn't try to help you."

Every one of his words stung her like acid.

"You can help me by leaving."

Mitch whipped out his sun glasses and slipped them onto his face with one smooth motion.

"Suit yourself. I just hope that you don't let your
dad
down."

That was all it took to send Emily into a rage. She lunged forward and slapped him across the face so hard that his expensive glasses were flung from the bridge of his nose and landed in the dirt.

She didn't feel him jump right back at her in a fit of rage, nor did she realize that his hands instantly wrapped around her neck as he forced her back against the front door with a loud thump that drew the attention of the people inside.

Adam burst out onto the porch just in time to see Mitch draw his hand back. He sprang into action, grabbing him by the arm and pulling all three of them down to the ground.

Much of what happened next was a blur of fists, shoves and shouting that eventually left Adam and Mitch in the parking lot, standing face to face. All four of their hands were clenched into tight fists, waiting for the slightest move to set them off.

"You need to get the hell out of here," Adam said loudly.

Mitch licked at his lips, "Why?"

Adam pushed the arrogant young man toward his car.

"Because nobody wants you here."

"Oh I don't know about that," he turned to Emily, who was standing only a few yards away. "Don't you want to keep around a
real
man just in case you-"

Emily watched as Adam pulled back his fist and then let it fly. The tops of his knuckles landed squarely on the left side of Mitch's jaw. There was a deafening crack that echoed through the otherwise quiet area. A streaming thread of spit and blood followed Mitch's mouth as he stumbled backwards but didn't fall.

"Now you've gone and done it," he mumbled and tore off his jacket.

In a flash, he pulled himself back together and met Adam's stare again.

"Stop it," Emily ran over and grabbed Adam's arm. "Just stop."

"Awww," Mitch said mockingly. "Is your little whore girlfriend going to fight for you?"

Without saying anything, Adam punched him again in the very same spot. That time, however, the blow sent Mitch down to his knees. Almost instantly, the entire left half of his face swelled up to the size of a softball. But that still wasn't enough for Adam. He wanted to make him pay.

He moved in closer and kicked Mitch right at the base of his rib cage, forcing the air out of his lungs with a dramatic gasp. Emily tried to calm him, but it was as if she was talking to a brick wall.

He reared back and kicked him again, this time sending him onto his back.

Things would have gone on like that if Sherriff Joe's voice hadn't cut right through the insanity.

"Hey, HEY!"

Before any of the parties involved knew what was happening, the wily Sherriff snatched Mitch up by the collar of his button-down shirt and pulled him back up to his feet.

"Mitch Parker? Emily? What the hell is going on here?!"

Mitch lobbed a bloody ball of spit onto the ground near the Sherriff's boot. When he spoke, he turned his head and locked eyes with Emily.

"Nothing, Joe. It's nothing."

"It sure doesn't look like nothing."

In a pompous act of defiance, the handsome young engineer shrugged the officer's hands off of his shoulders and took a step to the side to break free. There, he plucked the ends of the garment that had come un-tucked from his fitted slacks.

"It's fine," he wiped away a trickle of blood escaping from his swollen bottom lip. "I was just leaving anyway."

The Sherriff opened the driver's side door for him and motioned for him to get in, "Good. I was going to suggest the same thing."

With one last, angry look in Emily's direction, Mitch climbed into the car, slammed the door shut behind him and gunned the engine to life. In a matter of seconds, the fiery coupe peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared.

Sherriff Joe turned back to face Emily and Adam.

"Go inside. I need to talk to you two."

"Yes, sir," Emily replied quietly.

As the group filed into the house, Adam hung back with the Sherriff. When he was sure that they were out of ear-shot, he reached over and tapped the top of his arm.

"Sir?"

Joe stopped and leaned back against the doorway. To Adam, he looked just like a cowboy.

"Yes?"

"Look, I'm sorry for all of that back there. Things just got a little heated and-"

The Sherriff waved his hand and interrupted, "No, no. It's okay. That kid has been a thorn in my side ever since he was old enough to walk. Unfortunately his father has a lot of influence around these parts."

"That explains a lot."

He laughed and patted Adam on the shoulder to get him moving again.

"Don't worry about it, son. Now let's go join the ladies."

The two of them brought up the rear of the procession into the living room, where Barbara was waiting with her hands clasped in her lap. Emily sat down next to her on the couch and leaned back with a groan. In the last open seat in their row, Adam plopped down next to Emily and put his arm over her shoulders.

Across from them, Sherriff Joe sank down into one of the opposing chairs and set his hat on the table in front of them.

He cleared his throat and spoke, "Emily, I wanted to sit down and talk to you about the accident."

"Okay."

Though her voice remained demure, every inch of her intestines felt like they were knotted up.

"I know it doesn't feel like it's been that long but all of the tests and results came back, so we are ready to close the case on this."

"That's all you wanted to talk to me about?"

The Sherriff suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Uh, no. Not exactly." He shifted his weight in the chair and continued, "I have to offer you an apology."

Emily quickly tried to gauge the reactions of those to her right and left but came up with nothing.

"What for?"

"Well, because it seems that all of us have been misled. Though there were empty containers in your mother's purse, there wasn't even a drop in her blood. According to the paper work she was completely sober."

"So," Emily's tongue stumbled over the surprise, "she wasn't drunk? It really was just an accident?"

"That is going to be our official position, yes."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and put her face into her palms to keep the room from spinning out of control. The prior months had been so full of hate and anger that she had almost become comfortable just wallowing in it.

It was so much easier to hold a grudge than it was going to be to forgive.

The hot sting of tears bit at the edges of her eye lids as she asked, "Are you sure?"

"Positive. It looks like there was a defective part in the braking system, which forced Caroline into a tree when she tried to avoid some junk in the road."

Some junk in the road?
The idea of something as simple as trash being the cause of all of her pain and sorrow was almost too much to take. In a way, Emily wished that the Sherriff had never come that day. The vitriol that she'd held onto for so long was like a child's pacifier. Whenever she would start to feel upset and vulnerable, she could go back to those other feelings to escape from reality.

Now
, Emily thought,
I'm going to have to forgive
.

She knew that it was going to take a long time, years maybe. In a way, the revelation made her feel so guilty that she felt like she was going to vomit on the tattered rug under her shoes. All of those years were gone. There was no chance for them to repair their ties, no hope of freeing their relationship from the bonds of distrust. On top of all of that she knew, in the long run, that her memories would always be tainted.

"Are you okay?"

She looked up and sniffled, "Yeah. I think so. This is just a lot to take in."

Joe reached across the table and patted her knee, "I understand. A lot has happened."

Emily could tell that he wanted to say something to her.

"What's wrong, Sherriff?"

He pushed back in his chair and balled his hands up together.

"Well, word around town is that you are going to sell this place. Is that true?"

"I've been given the option."

"But are you planning on exercising it?"

She looked up to his dark eyes, "Why?"

"A lot of us would be really sad to see the Harper family leave. You guys have been a part of all of us for generations. It just wouldn't be right."

Emily looked over to Adam.

"I was thinking the same thing. Could you grab those folders for me?"

"Sure."

He hopped up and darted in and out of the kitchen. On the way back, both stacks of paperwork sat in an unstable pile on the insides of his arms. After a wobbly approach, he slammed the heavy stack down onto the table in front of her.

"There ya go."

"Thanks."

"Don't worry about it," he replied and caressed the top of her head with three fingers before taking his seat again. "Are you ready to make it official?"

She eyed the stacks and swallowed loudly, "Do you-do any of you have a pen?"

Sherriff Joe yanked one out of his front pocket and gently set it on the table.

"Thanks."

Emily picked the thing up and twirled it in her fingers. It was funny, she mused, that so much in life could hinge on something as simple as a signature.

Without making her guests wait any longer, she grabbed the pink book, flipped it open and began scribbling her name next to countless orange flags that stuck out from the sides.

"So," Joe piped up, "what is that?"

"This," she paused and scratched her name down again, "is the paperwork that I have to sign to take over the Inn."

She looked up just long enough to see the sense of relief wash over his face.

"Are you still going to run the business?"

"Yep."

Joe picked his hat up from the table, stood up and placed it back on top of his thinning hair.

"You're going to make a lot of people around here very happy."

"Don't worry," Adam responded. "She already has."

—

A couple of hours before the sun set, Emily took her new rifle out of her parents' room and drove her dad's truck up to where she and Tex had gone shooting months before.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

Once there, she climbed out of the truck and gently slipped her new rifle from between the cushions on the passenger's side. It still felt odd in her hands, though the awkward sensation was already starting to wane.

A few steps ahead, illuminated by the truck's orange-tinted headlights, Emily took up her spot on a tiny hill. She raised the weapon to eye-level and looked out over the endless run of trees and their vibrant leaves.

It took almost a full half hour for Emily to find Tex's elusive target in a spot that she was sure she checked six or seven times before.

"There you are."

She fired off the first of the three rounds that were left in the magazine. It spit out of the end of the rifle and tore its way through the canopy with only a faint rustle.

Emily took a deep breath and blinked slowly before pointing the muzzle at the can and firing again. Just as the first time, it whizzed past the painted cylinder and sent down a shower of shredded leaf bits.

"Come on," she grunted through her clenched teeth at nobody in particular.

Before the last bullet even left the gun, she quickly resigned herself to another defeat with a sigh and tightened her finger around the trigger.

The metallic snap and rattle of the elusive target being hit and falling to the ground was so faint at first that she immediately dismissed it as being in her head. A few moments later, however, the young woman rested the rifle against a trunk and broke out in a full run toward the tree in which the target had been perched.

There, nestled between two exposed roots, the little can glimmered from where the bullet had ripped away the layer of spray paint, leaving behind a golden circle that easily reflected the day's fading light.

Emily stared down at it in silence.

Was this some kind of divine intervention; a way for the forces that be to assure her that everything was going to work out? Or was it simply a rickety old can that just happened to tumble from its already precarious perch? Perhaps, in the end, not everything had a hidden agenda or a secret message.