Broken to Pieces (6 page)

Her doubt suddenly made Adam question his own motives with the young college student. Emily seemed so innocent, so pure. Could she ever understand the life that he lived? Would she be able to?

Adam couldn't help but think that the answer would be "no"; not if she knew the whole truth.

"Life was just getting a little too complicated," he replied.

Technically it wasn't a lie.

"It must be amazing, living the life of an artist."

He sat back up in the water and wiped it off of his face before answering, "You might be surprised how quickly it can lose its luster."

Emily hung onto his every word in a desperate bid to know everything about him. She wanted to hear his secrets; needed to understand what made him who he was. But everything that he said just gave her more questions, so for the sake of her own sanity, she went back to a simpler matter.

"How old are you, anyway?"

Adam replied, "Twenty-three. What about you?"

For a second, Emily thought about lying to him. She hated people treating her like a child just because of her age, though it would sting a little more if Adam did it. In the end, however, she hated lying even more.

Emily was the kind of girl that couldn't live with guilt like that.

"Nineteen."

Adam just smiled and leaned back again, letting his feet float up to the surface.

The two of them spent much of the afternoon making small talk. Emily was too afraid to ask about the pain that she could sense in him just below the surface. He was practically a stranger, after all.

At some point, after hours of lounging and talking, the sun started to set behind the tall peaks that fed the icy lake. After that, the brightest stars began to shine, followed over time by the ones without as much power.

It wasn't until the vast cloud of the Milky Way started to appear that Emily and Adam decided to head back to the Inn. Under the cool breeze that swept through the truck's barely-cracked windows, their previously dry clothes clung to both of their wet bodies, giving them another case of the shivers.

"We should have been back a while ago," she sighed. "I'm going to have to whip up some dinner really quick."

Adam rested his head against the seat.

"I'm sure everyone will forgive you."

Emily craned her head to look at the tree tops passing over their heads, "Even good old Tex?"

He paused before answering, "Okay.
Almost
everyone will forgive you."

Emily reached down to a cracked knob below the radio and twisted it to the right. Immediately after, a blast of warm air flooded out from behind the broken and weathered vents embedded in the dash.

"Man that feels good," Adam said and rubbed his palms together in the hot jet.

It took them a while to finally wind their way back down the hill. Neither one of them talked much, though purely from exhaustion of both the mind and the heart. Emily focused on the dirt road and guided the heavy truck with one hand draped over the very bottom of the steering wheel. Adam, though his eyes were growing heavy from the bouncing sway of the suspension, looked out at the darkening woods and wondered what it would have been like to grow up how Emily did. He thought about the warm, free summers that she must have experienced and couldn't help but feel a tiny twinge of jealousy.

The creaking vehicle rounded the last corner and, soon after, crested a final hill, leaving the sprawling home in sight.

"What the hell…," Emily's voice trailed off, prompting Adam to look ahead.

Near the front porch where they first met, three of the town's four police cars were parked haphazardly. At the sight of them in the distance, the warm, humid air in the truck cabin became even thicker.

When she spoke again, her voice cracked, "What do you think is wrong?"

"I don't know," Adam replied and sat up straight in his seat. The sight of so many lawmen made him nervous. "Maybe they're looking for someone."

"Maybe," Emily whispered and pushed the truck forward a little faster.

After some of the most agonizing minutes in both of their lives (though for vastly different reasons), the truck rolled to a stop next to one of the police cruisers.

All three were empty.

Up on the porch, a congregation of officers and the Inn's guests were standing around and talking. But when Emily and Adam practically jumped out and slammed the heavy doors behind them, every man and woman on that porch turned around and fell silent, some of them mid-sentence. Seeing them do that made Emily sick, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of the men with hats removing them and lowering their heads just slightly enough to mean only one thing: impending disaster.

Without even realizing that she was doing it, Emily ran toward the steps, her half-wet hair fluttering behind her, but stopped at the very first step. Her old sneakers skidded forward and flung little clumps of dirt up onto the white-washed wood.

It was the only sound that Emily could distinguish amidst the most deafening silence that she had ever heard.

"Emily?"

"Sherriff Joe? What's going on?!"

"Emily," he started down the stairs with his hat clenched under two white-knuckled fists. "Come inside with me for a-"

"No," Emily gripped the hand rail and sank her nails into the antique wood. "What is this?"

The Sherriff continued down the steps, but Emily backed up with each one that he took, as if staying away would somehow delay the inevitable. Behind him, the small crowd stood quietly.

Nobody would look her in the eyes.

Joe stepped down the last stair, but Emily continued her retreat and stumbled backward over a raised lump of earth. Out of nowhere, Adam's hands closed around her wet shoulders and lifted her back onto her feet. But in saving her from a tumble, his actions also forced the terrified teenager to stand still and face the truth.

Emily whimpered softly.

"Emily," the Sherriff extended his hand and instantly started to sob so painfully that the words coming next were disjointed and cruel. "They're…they're dead, Emily."

Those words were something that she would never forget. Every light, color, smell-even the metallic taste of vomit burning in the back of her throat-was seared into her memory that cool summer evening.

"No," she stammered, "no that's not possible.

The welling of tears made the corners of her eyes burn. Because of it, her vision narrowed until everything in front of her was shrunk down to a pin-prick of light. She didn't feel Adam's hands-which were still clasped around her shoulders-begin to shake, nor did she see Barbara barreling down the stairs to help hold her up, leaving behind the rest of the stunned guests. Emily didn't notice that her thin knees were about to give out and she certainly didn't hear the words that were coming out of the Sherriff's mouth. The only thing that the dark-haired beauty knew in that moment was pure, unadulterated pain.

Emily collapsed into a screaming, tear-soaked mess just as Barbara's arm slipped around her waist. The woman's support still wasn't enough and the young woman fell back against Adam, forcing their wet, sticky bodies together as he lowered her down to the ground.

"Emily," he said into her ear. "Talk to me."

Barbara took her hand and knelt down in the dirt next to where Emily and Adam had fallen.

"We need to get her inside," she said to Adam.

The mysterious artist was at a loss for words. He could practically feel her soul shatter right then and there.

But that wasn't the worst part.

As the two of them sat there, Emily fell back against his chest, allowing him to feel every violent sob as it racked her small frame. The powdery dirt below had turned into a sticky layer of mud that coated both of their legs. Between them, their combined body heat was enough to make Adam start to sweat. His mouth locked shut and the words that he wanted to say got stuck in his sandpaper throat.

It was all too familiar.

Sherriff Joe grabbed Adam's arm, snapping him back to the harsh reality curled up in his arms.

"Come on, son," he sounded frustrated and worn-down at the same time. "Let's go inside."

Everything after that was a blur. By the time that Emily felt the hysteria start to die down, she was inside and sitting on the couch. Her legs had been wiped off, but there were still long streaks of mud staining much of the exposed skin below her knees. She was sitting near the edge of the cushion with Adam behind her.

His arms were still wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

"Emily?"

The Sherriff's voice came through the fog, though it still sounded far away.

"Emily," he said as he kneeled in front of her and took both of her hands in his, "I need you to talk to me…please."

She looked up into his red, teary eyes and searched for a sign-any sign-that the whole thing was a dream but found none.

"Joe," she suddenly grabbed his face, "you're lying. You have to be lying!"

He placed his hands over hers and pressed down so that she could feel the hot tears running down over his face.

"I wouldn't lie to you," he whispered to her.

Though almost half of the crowd had gathered in the room around them, the air was filled only by the sound of weeping. Nobody dared to speak right then.

Emily lowered her head and closed her eyes together tightly. The gravity of the situation was starting to settle on her shoulders and it already felt like more than she could bear by herself.

"Emily," the Sherriff let go of her hands, allowing them to fall back down into her lap.

Her tears dripped freely onto her and Adam's dirty calves.

"How-how did it…," her voice faded out before she could finish the question.

"There was a car accident."

Emily groaned and rubbed her face with both hands. She didn't want to ask the next question, but something inside of her destroyed any filter that she might have had just an hour earlier.

"Whose fault was it?"

The Sherriff turned and looked over at his deputies. He didn't want to give her the truth at that moment but he knew that he couldn't keep it from her.

"Tell me," she said and slapped her hands onto her knees.

"Your mother," he paused, "your mother was driving. We found-"

He stopped and swallowed, though his mouth was bone dry.

"What?!" Emily finally looked up at him. "What did you find?"

Joe sighed and continued, "We found a few of those single-shot liquor bottles in your mother's purse. They were empty."

Emily took a moment to respond, "You mean that she-"

The Sherriff nodded before she needed to finish the question.

"There are still toxicology reports to do, but I don't think that they will change anything."

Emily knew that her mother would knock back a drink once in a while, but never once did she imagine that the problem ran so deep. Even in her wildest dreams, she never thought that a couple of those little, plastic bottles would have the potential to ruin everything.

"Did they suffer?"

The fleeting wince that Joe made wasn't comforting.

"Your mother was killed instantly."

Emily didn't like the way that he was talking.

"Carl," he continued with a pained look in his eyes, "he died at the hospital right before we got here."

Emily sank down against Adam and started to sob again, though that time she was more acutely aware of his heavy breaths pressing out against her still damp back. Their clothes were mashed together and the earthy smell of him danced around in her nose.

The Sherriff reached into his breast pocket and dug around for a second before pulling out a golden chain.

"He," his voice got choked up again and made him stop speaking long enough for Emily to look at him.

He dangled the chain from one finger and grabbed Emily's hand, opening it just enough to allow the plain piece of jewelry to fall into her palm. Once it was all there, he closed Emily's hand around it.

"He asked that we give this to you."

Emily opened her hand and looked down at the small chain that she had given him for Father's Day when she was only five. A flood of pain welled up inside of her again. It was still easy for her to remember: from the sweet smell of apple pie in the oven that day to the empty box of animal crackers that she had "wrapped" it in. Most importantly, she could vividly see him sitting at the kitchen table with the chain in his hand and tears in his eyes. The sweetness of it made her stomach twist up into knots.

Emily clenched the necklace in her fist and looked around the room, ending with Adam, who was still sitting right behind her. He looked into her eyes for a second, then reached around and pried the necklace from her shaking fingers.

Adam opened the clasp and swung the golden chain around her neck. When he finished hooking it back together, he pressed both hands down onto the hot skin right below her hairline. He knew that simple words couldn't convey his sympathy.

Nobody else noticed, but Emily shuddered under his assuring touch.

Hours later, once the police were gone and the other guests had retired to their rooms, Adam lifted Emily's sleeping, tear-stained face off of his shoulder and lowered her down onto the couch. When she was settled and covered up with a blanket that had been tossed over the arm rest, he laid down on the ground in front of the couch and closed his eyes.

In the weeks following her parents' well-attended funeral, Emily did everything that she could to keep her hands and mind busy. She didn't think much about her plans, nor did she stop to deal with the mixed bag of emotions that had been brewing, unchecked, deep inside of her.

There was so much to do in and around the antique Inn, and Emily quickly became very grateful for one person in particular: Barbara Seward.

The other half of Gary, she might have been a large woman but she always carried herself with poise and a chatty disposition. But the one thing that distinguished her most was that, when everything came crashing down, the older woman dropped all of her plans and stayed there to help Emily out.

One warm morning, she was downstairs early to help Emily with a simple breakfast consisting of oatmeal, toast and some fresh fruit. The two were stationed next to each other with only the sink between them.