Broken to Pieces (3 page)

Emily dressed herself slowly in a pair of old jeans, a tank top and an abused, sad looking pair of sneakers. Her stomach was tied up in nervous knots at the prospect of wielding a deadly weapon. Unfortunately, though, she had procrastinated long enough and made her way to meet the playful old man and his arsenal.

As soon as Tex caught sight of her, he jumped up from his seat on the couch and patted his belly.

"You ready for some good, old-fashioned fun, miss?"

"Of course," she lied.

"Well let's go then!"

The two of them hopped into her father's rusty work truck and started up into the undulating hills behind the Chickweed Inn. Beneath them, the rickety truck groaned with every pot hole and rock that littered the back roads leading up to a modest peak known as Salt Pond Mountain.

About an hour into their quiet car ride, Tex pulled off of the road and killed the engine.

"Here we are."

"Fantastic."

Emily kicked her door open and stood up to stretch. When she turned away from the truck, her arms still extended over her head, she caught sight of one of Tex's infamous targets.

The thing was an old coffee can that had been spray-painted a deep green that matched the surrounding foliage almost perfectly. Attached to it were some leaves and even a few feathers. Near the top, a tiny thread of fishing wire suspended it from a nearby branch. With even the slightest breeze, the camouflaged can would buckle and sway erratically.

"Do you like it?"

Emily turned around to face Tex, who had a rifle in each hand.

"It sure is something."

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders, "Now I never claimed that they were pretty, miss."

"I don't know." She looked back at the target. "It has its own unique charm. Kind of like you."

"Ha," Tex exclaimed. "I will just assume that was a compliment."

Emily looked around again, this time catching sight of many more targets that she failed to notice before. No two were the same, but all of them danced around on the almost constant wind. One of them would bob up and down while another would flash its gold bottom as it rocked back and forth, its beaded extension clattering up against its belly.

"Those actually aren't that bad, Tex."

"You mean my targets?"

Emily nodded.

"Well thank you."

He held one of the guns out to her. Just looking at the shining barrel made her skin crawl, sending a chill racing through her spine. For a fleeting moment, Emily hesitated. For some reason, she had the same tense feeling in her gut as the night she lost her virginity. There was something about the anticipation of it that made her feel like her head was going to explode.

Before she could back out, Tex forced the weapon into her hand. The cold steel made Emily shiver.

"Come on now," he told her. "It's not that bad."

"I guess…," her voice trailed off as her eyes traced the long barrel down to the intricately carved handle. The longer that she looked at it, the more detail came out. There was a deer next to a flowing tree, surrounded by spiraling swirls that gradually faded into the maple wood. Near the butt of the weapon, the shining varnish had been stripped away from countless encounters with people's shoulders over the years.

"How long have you had this thing, Tex?"

The old man was already a good distance ahead of her. He paused, turned around and considered the question. Emily could almost hear the rusty old gears turning in his head.

"Well, my uncle had it made for me when I turned sixteen. So that would make it fifty-four years old, I reckon."

He motioned for her to follow him and turned his attention back to the trees ahead. Emily followed close behind, still transfixed on the gun's details. Even though it was worn down in a lot of places, she was lost wondering about the kinds of things that the weapon had seen. It was almost too easy to picture the young Tex running around his namesake home, causing all kinds of hell.

Had he ever shot a deer with it? Is that what it was meant for?

"Have you ever shot someone?"

The question left her mouth before she thought better of asking a question like that. Tex stopped in his tracks and rubbed just beneath the brim of his hat, but he didn't turn to face her.

"Not with any of these guns, miss Emily."

Emily was a little stunned by his admission.

What do you say to something like that
, she wondered to herself.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

'No, no," he said in a slightly more reserved tone than usual, "it's okay. I was sent off to 'Nam in nineteen sixty-nine. That's why."

"What was that like?"

Tex finally turned around. When he did, the mischievous sparkle in his eye was a little dimmer.

"Well," he leaned against the tree to his right and rubbed his belly absentmindedly. "I will say that I have never seen such a cluster-fuck in all of my days and I hope that I never have to see something like that again. As much as people can say 'war is hell', you never really understand the ugly face of battle until you seen it yourself."

He paused briefly before continuing.

"Of course I wish that nobody would have to live through something like that. Especially not a nice girl like yourself."

Emily smiled.

"Well you're in luck. I don't see myself fighting any wars any time soon."

Tex nodded and immediately changed the subject, much to Emily's relief.

"Come over here and look at this," he said and pointed off into the trees.

Emily walked over to his side and looked out but saw nothing. She squinted her eyes and scanned the thick, green canopy.

"Look at what, exactly?"

"Over here," Tex pointed again. That time, however, Emily saw what he was directing her to.

Several hundred feet away, a tiny can sat perched in the trees. Its outside had been camouflaged and the inside was stained a pure black. From where they were standing it looked like a little green olive.

"You expect me to hit that?"

Tex chortled.

"No, but I expect you to try."

Emily shrugged her shoulders and raised the gun up into position. Her hands were shaking so violently that the business end of the weapon danced in figure-eights in front of her. Deep inside, the apprehension felt like it was killing her.

Her delicate finger moved forward and settled on top of the trigger with the tiniest hint of pressure. Emily's heart started to flutter and she inhaled deeply, letting the sweet mountain air fill her lungs. When they were full, she held her breath and closed her eyes. The only sound she heard was her raging heartbeat in the depths of her ears.

CRACK!

The thundering explosion echoed through the trees.

"Well?" Tex put his hand on her shoulder, breaking her out of her adrenaline-induced trance.

Emily snapped her eyes open and started to breathe again. It had only been a second, but she felt dizzy.

"Yeah?"

Tex leaned in and sighed, "We might have to practice a little more."

She looked out to the target.

"Was I close?"

He laughed and slipped the rifle out of her hand.

"Well were you aiming for the sky?" He took a step back and continued, "Because if you were then yeah, you were mighty close!"

A hint of a smile cracked Emily's concentrated expression.

"I'll take what I can get, I guess."

Tex chuckled, "Ain't nothing wrong with that, kid…nothing wrong with that at all."

—

When Emily and Tex dragged their tired feet back onto the family's property, the sun was already setting and the moon was full and shining in the Eastern skies. The two of them stomped up onto the porch and collapsed onto the noisy swing near the back door.

"You know, that was actually pretty fun."

Tex smiled and grunted while he kicked off his dusty boots. Underneath, his socks looked almost as dirty.

"Good," he said and rubbed his feet against each other. "I'm glad you liked it."

Emily jabbed the ornery Texan with her elbow.

"You're not so bad for an old man."

He adjusted the comically over-sized belt buckle underneath his round belly with one hand and pulled his hat off with the other.

"Not so bad?! Why, I'm not sure you know who you are talking to!"

Emily smirked and tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear.

Before their conversation could go any further, Emily's mother, Caroline, called out to her through the screen door, "Emily? Is that you?"

"Yes, mom."

"Can you come in and help with dinner?"

She turned to Tex, who was already starting to nod off under the spell of the swing's gentle sway.

"I'm going to go help my mom."

"Huh, what?" His hat slumped down in front of his eyes and he mumbled, "Yeah, yeah."

Emily shook her head with a smirk and left him there. By the time she was posted in front of the kitchen sink, she could hear his hearty snores wafting through the window in front of her.

Caroline, who was stirring a boiling pot of potato cubes with a wooden spoon, asked, "So how was it?"

Emily reached a hand into the colander of fresh green beans and pulled out a bunch, snipping off the ends with a pair of black scissors and tossing them into a glass bowl when she was done.

"It was actually okay."

Her mom set the spoon down and peeked in the oven, where a massive piece of beef was roasting away. The savory scent of meat, rosemary and carrots instantly filled the small kitchen.

As she basted, Caroline continued, "Because I could never handle a gun. The thought just gives me the chills."

"It really wasn't that bad, mom."

She closed the oven and patted her hands on the floral apron tied around the back of her neck.

"I didn't think that you would actually go."

Emily paused with a dozen green beans clenched in her fist and looked over her shoulder, "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, you know," her mom turned her attention to a bowl of dough near the oven. It had proofed so well that it was nearly spilling out over the sides. Emily watched as she tipped it out onto a flour-coated patch of counter and started to form little balls that would eventually become some of the best dinner rolls around.

"Well?"

Caroline looked up at her with an exasperated sigh, "You know how you are, Em."

Her comment made Emily angry instantly. Without even noticing, her petite hand clenched into a fist, snapping the few green beans that were left into tiny pieces.

"No," she said through gritted teeth, "I don't know. How am I, mom?"

Her mother reached over, grabbed the bowl of vegetables and dumped them into a massive steamer pot on the top of the stove as she answered, "Oh you know…"

Emily closed her eyes as her mom went back to work without actually giving her an answer. Below the din of clinking pans and Tex's impressive snore, her thoughts were running a mile a minute. It was still so easy for her to go back to the night when her world was shattered; back to the moments that ultimately broke her spirit and her faith in everyone she thought she could trust, including her loving mother.

Just two nights before she was supposed to start high school at the tender age of fourteen, Emily had gone to the priest at her family's church for some advice. She had managed to worry herself sick at the thought of having to meet new people, so the meeting with Father Hall had promised to bring some calm to the whole situation.

Her mother dropped her off in front of the church, which had been converted from a barn almost a hundred years before. The old horse hitching posts still stood out in front, though by then the only thing ever hitched to it was the occasional bicycle or scooter. That fateful day, however, it was completely empty.

Emily waved to her mom, who turned their brown station wagon around and headed off to her next destination, but only after promising to be back in less than an hour. Behind the car's rear wheels, huge clouds of dust kicked up and swirled around as they ascended into the sky.

"Emily?"

Father Hall's quiet voice caught her a little off guard. She spun around to find him waiting in the open door way.

"Yes, Father?"

He smiled. When he did, the already deep wrinkles surrounding his mouth only got darker.

"Shall we go in?"

Emily looked back, but the car was already gone. When she turned around, Father Hall motioned for her to follow him.

Inside of the church, the musky smell of old books and dust assaulted Emily's nose. Even though the weather was cool outside, the interior of the building was hot and sticky. On Sundays when people convened for their weekly worship, it was outright unbearable. There were many, many summer mornings where Emily felt like she was going to melt into the pew.

"How have you been, child?"

"Okay, I guess. I'm really nervous about going to high school. That's why I'm here."

He nodded. By that time, they had reached the very front of the rows of seats. Father Hall sat down and patted the bench next to him.

"Have a seat."

Emily tucked her black skirt under her rear and lowered herself down next to him.

"Now why are you so nervous?"

"I just," she paused and stared down, "I'm worried about how different everything is going to be. Will people accept me there? I don't know if I will fit in."

Father Hall inched closer on the slick wood beneath them.

"Well would you rather fit in or stand out? You can't do both, you know."

Emily didn't notice him getting closer. Her eyes were locked onto her dusty sneakers as she spoke and desperately searched for the answers in the mottled brown patches.

"I don't know, Father."

He placed his hand on her thigh, just below the hem of her shorts. His icy fingers sent a shockwave through the girl, compounded by the stunning revelation of just what he was doing.

"You're a good girl, Emily. I know that you will know what to do," he said in a hushed voice, though it was almost a hiss suitable for the snake that he had revealed himself to be.

His motives were crystal clear and it made Emily want to vomit. He was someone she looked up to for many years, and it wasn't just her. Folks for miles around spoke of the man's character. They talked about his charitable nature and praised his kind heart.