Break Through (9 page)

“You were right. It was hopeless,” he said.

I l
ay in the grass in the backyard, the cordless phone pressed to my ear. It was after nine o’clock and the sun had gone down. The sky wasn’t quite pitch black yet, but it was dark. Stars began to emerge, like a splattering of sparkles, and the crescent moon shone brightly, emitting a soft glow to the darkness around it. The temperature had lowered, but it was still pretty warm. I didn’t bother putting down a blanket when I flung myself on the ground. The coolness of the grass felt good against my skin. Mom never understood how I could lay in the grass like this. Grass made her itch. Her skin would break out in a rash just thinking about it. I suppose I was immune to it. I never felt itchy at all. I liked to think it was because I was one with nature. That it was a part of me.

“What’s hopeless?” I folded my free arm under my head, using it as a pillow. The stars winked at me from above like we were in on
a little secret.

“My flower. The one I showed you the picture of.” He paused. “It may be time to coordinate its funeral.”

I giggled, imagining a funeral for a flower. I’ll admit that I’m crazy about them, but even I wasn’t psychotic enough to throw a memorial service for one. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Oh. Trust me. It is. I’ll bring a photograph when I come over tomorrow.”

My heart skipped a beat. It scared me sometimes how much I looked forward to seeing Carter. What happened when this was all over? We couldn’t string this article out forever. Pretty soon Carter would have to turn something in. And then what? There’d be no excuse to see one another. I liked to believe that we were friends, and that he’d still want to see me after the article published, but I wasn’t that naïve. It’s not that I didn’t think he liked me. No, he’d made it clear that he did. But Carter wasn’t like me. He was a normal guy who’d lived a normal life. I didn’t know how old he was, but my guess was around twenty-five. And I was sure he had tons of friends. Maybe even a girlfriend. When this was all over I was sure he’d have no need for me anymore.

“Aspen?” His question broke through the silence. Often I got so lost in my own thoughts I forgot to speak. I wondered how long we’d been on the phone in complete silence. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Um…” Biting my lip I gathered up courage. “How much longer do you think the interviewing and everything will take? Like how many more sessions?”

“Anxious to get rid of me, huh?”

No. More like terrified of not seeing you again.
“Yeah,” I teased.

“Ouch.”

“I’m kidding,” I said quickly. Maybe this joking around thing wasn’t for me.

“I know. So was I.” He paused as a light breeze skated over me. I closed my eyes, enjoying it. “But honestly
, it shouldn’t be much longer. The
National View
wants the story. Since I’m not a writer or a reporter, I’m sending them notes when we’re finished. They’ll have a writer put it together.”

The thought never crossed my mind that someone else would be writing the a
rticle. Of course it made sense that Carter wouldn’t write it. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Don’t worry.” It was like he knew my thoughts. “You’ll have final approval. Nothing will be printed without your say-so.”

A sigh escaped through my lips. “So that’s good then. We’re almost done.” I was afraid that my attempt at sounding cheery fell flat.

“Yeah, I guess it is good.” Carter didn’t sound as happy as I had expected
him to.

“Then you can get back to hanging out with your girlfriend or whatever.”
Lame, I know.
But I had to ask. I couldn’t help it.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Aspen.”

“Oh.” I had no idea how to respond to that. “Then your friends. I’m sure all the days spent over here are sure putting a damper on your social life.”

“Spending time with you isn’t putting a damper on anything. I can assure you of that.”

A broad smile swept my face.

“But I know this has all been hard on you, and for that reason I’ll try to get this finished as soon as possible.”

The smile vanished. He was right. Talking about my past was hard for me. I hated every minute of it. But I loved spending time with Carter. I wished there was a way to be done with the article and still have Carter in my life.

“Thanks,” I muttered
, because I knew it was what I was expected to say.

“Hopefully I’ve made it at least bearable for you.”

Oh, you’ve made it more than bearable.
“Well, you’re better than Neil.”

A chuckle filled the line. “I’ll take it.”

To my right I heard a cracking noise, almost like a twig breaking. I inhaled sharply and then shot up, my adrenaline spiking.

“Aspen? You okay?”

My gaze scoured the yard. Another crack. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

“Aspen? Answer me. What’s going on?”

I was afraid to speak. Staying still, I listened and heard the rustle of leaves. I caught movement at the corner of my vision. Turning swiftly I saw a squirrel racing toward the fence. My shoulders relaxed, and I exhaled. “Sorry. I thought I heard something, but it was just a squirrel.”

“God, you scared me to death.”
He did sound shaken up. It surprised me that he’d be that worried. “You’re outside?”

“Yeah.” I crossed my legs, sitting the way I used to in kindergarten. I think we called it “
criss-cross applesauce.” That was
before
. That was when I was still innocent. When I didn’t know evil existed.

“You should probably go inside. Are your parents home?”

God, what was I? A toddler? “Yes, but I’m fine. I practically live outside. You know that.”

“Are you at least in the backyard?” His panicked tone took me aback.

“Yes. Of course. Why are you so worried? I’m fine.” I spoke slowly, deliberately, all the while wondering what I was missing. Did Carter know something I didn’t?

“
Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I will.” It was a promise I made all the time to my mom. But what she wanted was a guarantee that I’d be safe. And that was something I knew I couldn’t give her.
Bad things happen all the time, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. I knew this better than anyone.

He cried at sad movies.

I found this so odd. How could a man who kidnaps little girls be sensitive enough to cry at movies? And how come those characters’ lives were more important than mine? How did they warrant his emotion, his sympathy?

The first time I realized this was when we were watching some stupid made for TV movie downstairs. Eve was upstairs. She was always upstairs. At first I thought it was a rite of passage like it was for me. I figured that once he realized he could trust her she’d be able to join us. In fact, I waited in anticipation for that day. It meant I no longer had to be alone with him. Sometimes he liked to cuddle me, put his hand on my leg or have me sit in his lap. I hated it. It made my skin crawl. When I went up to my room afterward, I longed for a bath in order to wash all traces of him from my skin. I thought that once Eve came down with us maybe he wouldn’t be so touchy-feely.

At the time I didn’t realize that Eve would never come downstairs. Not until our very last night here.

Eve didn’t play by the rules.

“I’m not going to give in to his
shitty mind games, Aspen,” Eve would say. “He’s not my dad. He’s a sick bastard who stole me from my family. I’m never going to do what he says. In fact, I’m going to make his life a living hell. Make him wish he’d never taken me.”

And that’s what she did.

Only she suffered a lot because of it.

I’d cover my ears when he beat her. I’d close my eyes and will it away. Afterward, I would hold her in my arms, and rock her to sleep. She’d cry on my shoulder, wrap her legs around me, clinging to me as if her life depended on it. We were closer than sisters, she and I. We needed each other.

It killed me to look at her bruises. To see her battered and beaten. I would beg her to stop.

“Please, Eve. Just give in to him. It doesn’t have to be this way. He just wants you to be nice,” I told her.

“I can’t. You may be okay with being his little puppet, but I can’t do it.”

I wanted to be angry with her, but the truth was that I was angry with myself. I never stood up to Kurt. Not the way Eve did. I was too scared. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I didn’t want to be hurt. As much as I hated what he did to Eve, I still admired her courage.

She was stronger than I could ever hope to be.

The glossy pictures stared up at me. Each unique. Each with a different story. A different look. A different feel. But it was still obvious that he’d taken them. It was like his camera was magical, the way his subjects came to life on film. It was like I could feel their emotion. As if I knew them. I’d heard that photographers had the ability to steal the soul of those they photograph. I always thought it sounded weird. Until now.

The souls of these people were laid bare for me to see.

He’d captured their true essence. And it was mesmerizing.

At first I had made fun of Mom for buying all these magazines. Now I was grateful.
Thumbing through the pages and studying Carter’s pictures was like having a window to his heart and mind. I could see him in every smile, every eye, and every hint of light. He was there in the images, even if not physically.

Reaching for my cup of tea, I brought it to my lips and took a tentative sip. Thankfully it wa
sn’t too hot. A few minutes ago I burned my tongue when I took too large of a gulp. Morning sunlight filtered in through the front window, painting lines on the magazines littering the coffee table. I set my teacup down on the saucer and ran the pads of my fingers over one image in particular. It was of a young woman. She had fiery red hair and deep green eyes, a smattering of freckles over her nose. Her skin was pale, such a contrast to her colorful hair. But what struck me about her most was the resigned set of her jaw, the passion in her eyes. I didn’t have to read her story to know she’d endured pain. No words could convey what her face was telling me. Carter’s pictures told a story.

It made me wonder what mine would say.

Was I more than just a girl who’d been kidnapped? Was there more to my story?

“
Watcha doing?” Mom entered the room, the bottom of her shoes clicking on the hardwood floors. She was already dressed, her hair and makeup fixed. In her hand she held a coffee mug. I was still in my pajamas, my hair in a messy bun on the top of my head.

When she neared the couch, I scooted over to let her sit down. “Looking at Carter’s pictures.”

Her gaze landed on the one I’d been studying. “They are spectacular.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Have you seen yours yet?”

“No,” I answered, my gaze sweeping the coffee table. I was excited and scared about seeing the ones he took of me.

“I’m sure they’re gorgeous.” She fingered a loose strand of my hair, a piece that had escaped from the bun.

“I hope so.” I smiled.

“Well, you’ll know very soon.” Mom sat back on the couch, lifting the coffee cup to her lips. When she took a sip, her red lipstick left a mark on the rim.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I heard from the
National View
. They said the article will run next month.”

“Next month?” My heart pounded in my chest. “How is that possible? We’re not even done.”

“I know.” Mom rested the coffee mug in her lap, her hands wrapped around it. “But you will be. Carter’s coming over today to finish the interview up.”

“But they can’t print it that fast. Can they?”

“No, it will come out in their online magazine first. It won’t be in hardcopy for another couple of months. It’s amazing how fast they can do things now with the internet. Still they’ll be cutting it close, but they’re sure they can swing it.” She grinned. “Besides, you know how those places are. I think they thrive on tight deadlines.”

I stared at Mom in disbelief. No, I had no idea what those places were like. I had no idea what any place was like. I was only ever here. In this house.

Finally I had something other than my family and my flowers to look forward to, and now I only had him for today. Why didn’t he tell me on the phone? I specifically asked him.

Frowning, I glanced down.

“You okay?” Mom placed a hand on my shoulder, worry in her eyes.

“Yeah,” I lied. “I better get ready. Carter will be here soon.” Standing up, I peered down at the pictures one last time. As I hurried out of the family room, I felt as if the souls of Carter’s subjects followed me.
They clung to my skin, wove through my veins. As if we were one and the same. Which I guess in some ways we were.

After I showered and got dressed, I dried
my hair and put on a little lip gloss. For the first time in my life I wished I knew how to put on makeup. Mom had tried to teach me over the years, but I always refused. Who did I need to look good for?

Now I regretted not listening. It would
be nice to put on a little eyeshadow and blush, maybe some mascara. I was sure the girls Carter dated wore makeup. There was no doubt in my mind that they didn’t spend all their time in dirty shorts and t-shirts, hanging out in their backyards.

When I heard him downstairs, I caught one last dismal glance in the mirror and then headed down.
It wasn’t going to get any better than this today.
At least I’d worn a cute, pink tank top and my cleanest jean shorts. As I hurried down the stairs, my hair fell over my shoulders in soft blond waves.

Carter waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. When our gazes met
, my breath caught in my throat. I no longer felt self-conscious about my looks. Not with the way Carter was staring at me. Not with the way his gaze lingered on my face, my body. Heat rose in the places his eyes slowly roamed as he took in every inch of me. I thought of the photographs on my coffee table. The way Carter could awaken those people, to draw out their innermost feelings, exposing them to the world. He was awakening me the same way. The scared little girl that fought to come out all the time was tucked away tight. With Carter’s eyes on mine, I truly felt like a woman.

Mom eyed both of us suspiciously as we made our way to the backyard. The minute my feet hit the back porch and the sun shone down on me, I was grateful to be away from her prying eyes.

I glanced over at Carter, noticing he only had his camera and briefcase today. My stomach tightened, remembering Mom’s words. “Back to business, huh?” I hated how whiny my voice sounded, but I couldn’t help it.

“I’m afraid so,” Carter said sourly. “Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to spend the day horsing around, but sometimes duty calls.”

“Horsing around? I thought only old people used that phrase.” I giggled.

Carter smiled. “Sorry. I spend a lot of time with my parents.”

This surprised me. “You do?”

He nodded. “They live down the street from me. My dad’s sick
, so I help them out quite a bit.” He nudged me in the side, giving me a slight wink. “Not quite the riveting social life you thought I had, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” I said honestly, sinking down onto one of the chairs on our back patio. The truth was that most of what I knew about Carter was speculation. Most of our conversations had been about me. But the more I learned about him, the more curious I became. I think I’d misjudged him on so many counts.

Carter sat in the chair next to mine, setting his briefcase in his lap.

“Have you always lived in Red Blossom?”

“No.” He shook his head. “My parents moved here when I went to college.”

“How long ago was that?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Carter grinned. “Aspen, if you wanted to know how old I was, you could’ve just asked me.”

My cheeks colored.

“I’m teasing you.” He reached out and patted my leg in a reassuring manner. At least I think he meant it to be soothing. However, it had the opposite effect. His touch set me on fire. It definitely didn’t calm me. Still, I took labored breaths, willing my heart to steady. “I’m twenty-six.”

Only one year older than I thought.
Much to my disappointment, he pulled his hand back. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay focused. “When did you come here?”

“I moved here when my dad got sick a couple of years ago.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He has a heart condition. Always has, but it’s getting worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

I liked that he didn’t try to downplay it like people often do in the midst of a crisis. They put on a brave face thinking that’s what’s expected.
I used to try to do that when I first came back, but it didn’t help. Pretending everything is okay when it’s not doesn’t help you heal.

“Oh. I brought you something.”

I sat forward, expectantly. He tossed a photo to me. I caught it and then stared down at the dead flower. Placing a hand over my mouth, I smothered a laugh. “Oh, Carter. You’re right. I think a funeral is in order.”

“That
bad, huh?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s time to say your goodbyes.”

He snatched the photo back. “See? I told you that I should get artificial flowers.”

“I see your point now,” I teased.

“I brought you one other thing.” This time he handed the photo to me. When my gaze connected with it, I let out a little gasp.

“It’s beautiful.” My fingers reached out and traced the gl
ossy picture of a butterfly. Its wings were an array of bright colors.

“I took it last night. The minute I saw it I thought of you.” He narrowed his eyes, glancing at the picture held between my fingers. “You know what I like about butterflies?”

I looked at him, anxious to hear his answer.

“That even though they start out as a caterpillar and then they’re bound in a cocoon, once they emerge they’re beautiful and free. They
never go back to their cocoon or their measly beginnings. They never look back at all. They just fly, rarely ever touching the ground. And they’re elusive. Almost impossible to catch.”

I fought back the emotion rising in my throat as I stared at the picture in my hand.

“Keep it.” He winked. “As a reminder.”

“Thank you.” Setting the picture down on the chair next to my leg, I wished I had adequate words for the gift that he gave me. I wondered if he understood the significance of what he had said
. Did he understand me that well?

Carter slid the notebook out of his briefcase and then grabbed a pen out. Then h
e pulled the lid off the pen and sat back in the chair. Gift-giving time was clearly over. Now it was time to get down to business. Apprehension filled me.
It was the beginning of the end.
“Ready to get started?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” I snorted bitterly.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom told me about the article coming out next month.” Bending my head down, I picked at a thread on my jean shorts.

“So you know this is our last interview.” He spoke slowly, unsure.

“Yeah.” Lifting my head, I raised my brow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He bit his lip, his gaze sliding over my shoulder. Clouds darkened his eyes like a storm raging.

My heart sank. “Look, you could have told me. I’m not stupid. It’s not like I thought there was something else going on here. I know you’re just doing your job.” Spreading out my hands in my lap, I encouraged him to continue. “So, go ahead and finish so you can turn in your article and move on.”

Carter’s eyebrows knit together. Shoving the notebook and pen off his lap, he stood. I flinched when he lowered himself down on the edge of my chair and scooped up my hands, holding them in his. “Is that what you think? That this has been nothing more than a job to me?”

I sucked in a breath, nodding slowly. “Isn’t it?”

He threaded our fingers together, binding us. Even though he gripped tightly, I didn’t feel scared. I felt safe. His skin was soft, his palm moist as it rubbed against mine. “Do you know why so many magazines and publications hire me, Aspen?”

Pressing my lips together, I shook my head.

“It’s because I’m good at my job.” He scooted over a little and our thighs touched. Our hands remained knotted between us. “Not only do I take good pictures, but I do it fast. I never stay at one location for more than a day. I’m in and out. I get my pictures and then take off.” He paused, his eyes searching mine. “Until I met you.”

I ceased breathing.
No air escaped through my lips or pushed through my lungs. I hung on his every word as if my life depended on it. As if his words were oxygen.

“I was intrigued from the moment I snapped your picture
. It wasn’t enough to have you on film, I wanted to have you in real life. I wanted to know the girl behind those eyes. Wanted to know what made you smile, what thoughts ran through your mind.” His thumb ran lazy circles over my palm, and I shivered. “When Neil screwed up, I panicked. I thought I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you anymore. That’s why I offered to do the article. And I had to beg the editor to let me.” A small smile flickered. “Of course I’m pretty sure it was your dad’s phone call that sealed the deal.”

Everything he’d said was unbelievable and my head was spinning at warp speed, but his last statement stopped me cold. “Dad called the magazine?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t very happy about Neil upsetting you. I think the magazine would’ve done anything at that point to ensure the article would still run.” Leaning in close, he smiled. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you bring out the protective side of the men in your life.”