Broken Pieces: A Novel (21 page)

I pointed to the ceiling and Ella’s bedroom, where I was confident the frightened child sat huddled inside her reading nook.

“What about Ella?” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “What if she reminds you too much of Sydney?”

I kept my voice soft, hoping she wouldn’t hear. I wasn’t looking for an argument. I was looking for the truth.

But instead of stepping away, my dad stepped closer. “I made you a promise, Destiny. I’m not going anywhere.”

He took the photograph from my fingers and stared down into our past. He lifted his focus to me, his gaze intense, all sign of fatigue gone. “You’ve grown into an amazing young woman.”

And then, instead of pushing him away, I pulled him close. I pushed away the past and chose the present. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on tight, doing the best I could to believe him, to believe in myself. To hope that this time, we’d survive our loss together.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

That night I used my mother’s recipe cards to bake macaroni and cheese.

Dad had gone upstairs to check on Sydney, and my mind measured time as I cooked.

The time he and I had spent apart. The time we spent together now.

I pushed past the sadness of the missing pieces and focused on the progress we’d made, hoping for our future.

I wished Sydney would be a part of that future, but I knew that wish was one I’d never see come true.

My earlier conversation with Jessica echoed through my thoughts.

Maybe Sydney shouldn’t be tucked into a hospital bed upstairs, but this was where she’d settled; this was where she could be loved.

Had she failed more quickly during her time at the hospital, we might not have moved her home. But now that she was here, and her pain was under control, I believed we’d made the best decision we could for our family, Ella included.

I stared into Scarlet’s tank as the macaroni and cheese cooked, amazed at the difference in the fish. Where before she’d floated, she now swam. She interacted with anyone who stopped to talk to her, and she happily flitted about her space, fins relaxed, color brilliant.

Who knew Jackson Harding would prove to be a fish whisperer?

We hadn’t seen him since the night he’d helped install and fill Ella’s nook. I wondered how he was, wondered if he’d stop by again, wondered if a big-city guy like him could ever be interested in a small-town carpenter from Paris, New Jersey.

I tamped down my thoughts.

My life had no room for Jackson.

When the timer sounded, I pulled the casserole dish from the oven and set it on the stove. I wiggled my fingers at Scarlet, who happily watched my every move as if I were about to dish up her very own serving.

At the bottom of the stairs, I peered around the corner of the sitting room.

At some point during my cooking, my father had returned to his favorite chair. He’d propped the snapshot of the two of us against the framed photo of my mother and Sydney, and he’d fallen sound asleep.

“Dad,” I called to him softly. “Dinner.”

He stirred, and I headed up to Sydney’s room. I slowed at the doorway, not wanting to wake her.

“It’s OK. I’m up,” she said.

I couldn’t help but notice that her words slurred slightly, the act of speaking becoming more and more difficult as her disease spread.

I sat lightly on the edge of her bed, adjusting the pillows that supported her shoulders and head. “Good?” I asked.

“Perfect,” she answered, giving me a weak smile. “You good?”

“Always,” I lied. “I attempted Mom’s baked macaroni and cheese recipe. Can I bring you some?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head ever so slightly. “Not hungry. Maybe later?”

I kissed her forehead. “You got it.” Then I plucked her water glass from the bedside table and pressed the straw to her lips. “You have to stay hydrated.”

“K,” she mumbled as she sipped. Then her breathing leveled out, steady and deep, and she slipped that much further away.

I set down her glass and headed for Ella’s room, knocking lightly on the doorjamb. When there was no answer, I stepped inside and tapped on the door to her reading nook. Still no answer.

“I attempted mac and cheese,” I said. “Grandpa Albert’s waiting. Your momma’s going to eat later. You ready?”

Silence.

My pulse quickened as I turned the knob, even though I knew my fears were ridiculous. The poor kid had probably fallen asleep.

But when I cracked open the door, darkness greeted me.

I backtracked, checking the hall bathroom, my bedroom, my father’s room. But Ella was nowhere to be found.

Ella was gone.

I walked calmly back past Sydney’s door, but took the stairs two at a time on the way down. I hurried into the kitchen, where Dad stood fixing plates, waiting for us to join him.

“Did Ella come down while I was in with Sydney?”

He shook his head, concern in his eyes. “Not in her room?”

I shook my head.

“Bathroom?”

“No.”

“I’ll grab a jacket,” he said.

“I’ll check Marguerite’s.”

“What about your sister?”

“Sleeping,” I answered. “I think we can leave her for a few minutes. Not a lot longer.”

He followed me out the door and around the path to Marguerite’s.

“Ella?” I asked when she cracked open her front door.

But Marguerite only shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since she walked home from school. Why?”

“Where would she go?” Dad asked.

“Check her room for a note,” Marguerite suggested. Then she turned on one heel. “I’ll grab my jacket and some flashlights.”

I retraced my steps, taking the stairs as quickly as possible, slowing only when I passed Sydney’s door, not wanting to wake or frighten her.

Sure enough, I found a short stack of letters sitting on Ella’s nightstand. She’d folded notebook paper in quarters, then tied the stack with one of the teal shoelaces she wore in her hair each gym day.

I carefully slid the papers from the stack, reading their hand-printed labels one at a time.

Momma. Grandpa Albert. Marguerite. Scarlet. Auntie D.

I didn’t need to unfold the pages to know what they said.

She’d said good-bye.

Had she heard my father and me in the kitchen? Had she heard me asking him if he’d leave if she reminded him too much of Sydney?

Thanks, life,
I thought, remembering the pain of being Ella, of knowing my mother was going to die.

Damn it. We’d come so far. Where would she have gone?

Panic tore through me.

I tucked her notes back into the ribbon, and I raced downstairs.

As much as I’d spent my life regretting that everyone in Paris knew my business before I did, I now appreciated the fact that word spread quickly that Ella had gone missing. On every stretch of cobblestone sidewalk, riverbank, and bike trail, friends and neighbors looked high and low for a little girl.

Within fifteen minutes, a text message from Mona Capshaw sounded on my phone.

Lookout Rock.

I was six blocks away. I forwarded the message to my dad and took off running, slowing only when I reached the edge of the bike trail, where the asphalt path ended and the dirt path began.

Lookout Rock. How could I not have known?

I kept the beam of my flashlight low, not wanting to trip and roll into the Delaware, but also not wanting to give Ella a chance to run.

Given the gathering of flashlights over at the park, it was likely the kid knew she’d been spotted. And thanks to the town I loved, I knew she wasn’t about to get away again.

“Hey,” I said softly as I stepped close to the boulder. “I got a little scared when I couldn’t find you.”

“I’m right here.” Frustration and tears mingled in her voice, and my heart hurt.

“Would you mind if I sat with you?”

Ella sniffled. “Probably not.”

“Great,” I said, hoisting myself up onto the flat surface of the boulder. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Want to tell me what you’re doing?” I asked.

Ella shrugged in the darkness.

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “I figured you needed some alone time, but when you weren’t in your nook, I got a little worried. So did they.” I pointed to the flashlights.

“They’re looking for me?”

“Yeah.” I worked to keep my voice calm, when I really wanted to pull her into my arms and tell her never to scare me like this again. “They must like you or something.”

“You think?”

I smiled. “I know.” Then I asked, “What were you thinking about?”

“I was thinking I should leave now, before Momma dies.”

“Why?”

“In case you don’t want me here.”

My heart broke inside my chest. “Never.” I swallowed down the knot of emotion in my throat. “You and I are a team, right?”

“Hope so.”

“Know so,” I replied.

Ella’s voice grew tiny as she spoke her next words, seemingly afraid to share what she was about to say. “I feel like I’m hanging.”

“Hanging?” I asked, my mind suddenly filled with horrific, unwanted images.

“Up there in the air.” She pointed. “And when Momma dies, I’m going to fall.”

I searched for what might possibly be the right thing to say, the comforting thing to say. I was a carpenter with zero people skills and even fewer kid skills. But I’d been in her shoes. I’d sat on the same rock, in this same spot, facing the same fate she faced now.

Most of all, I remembered the fear of being left alone.

Ella twisted up her features and shook her head. “I’m afraid no one will catch me when Momma goes to heaven.”

“Oh, baby.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

I remembered my heartache, remembered the unknown, and hated that she suffered the same way now.

“Me, Grandpa Albert, Marguerite, Miss Jessica . . . We’ll always be there to catch you.”

Ella sniffed, and I realized she’d started crying. I wiped her cheek with my sweatshirt sleeve.

“Do you promise to never get sick?” she asked.

The unfairness of life and her question reached into my soul. “I can’t make a promise I can’t control, but you have my word that I’ll be by your side for as long as I am able.”

I gave her a squeeze and pressed my lips to her ear. “I love you, Ella. I thank God every day that you and your momma found me, and I am going to do everything in my power to take care of you. I promise. Do you believe me?”

She nodded. “And what about Momma?”

I stared into Ella’s dark-brown eyes, seeing so much of the pain I still carried with me all these years after losing my mother. Then I told her what I wish someone had told me. “Just love her. Love her more than you ever thought possible for as long as we’ve got left.”

“It’s not fair.”

Her words were a knife though my heart.

“It’s not.”

“I wish I was more like you.”

“Like how?”

“Fearless.” She sniffled. “Grandpa Albert says you’re the most fearless person he knows.”

I smiled inside, knowing my dad couldn’t be more wrong, but touched beyond words that he’d said as much to Ella.

“You know,” I said, “I think you’re way more fearless than I am. And don’t forget, there’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”

“But you shouldn’t stay afraid, right?”

I made a face. “Sometimes you do. Sometimes you stand up to your fear.”

“Like with Momma.”

An ache blossomed deep inside me. “Like with Momma.” I pulled Ella into the tightest hug I could without smothering the poor kid. “We’re going to have to face it, whether we want to or not.”

“Grandpa Albert left when your mommy died.”

The ache spread and I nodded, wondering again just how much of our discussion she’d heard. “He did, but he’s here now, and he’s not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere, either. Running away doesn’t change anything,” I said, even though some crazy piece inside me wanted to grab my niece and run as far as we could get from Paris. We could change our names, reinvent our lives, and pretend our hearts weren’t breaking.

Instead I said, “Ready to go home? Bet your momma would love to see your gorgeous face beside her when she wakes up.”

Ella nodded, but there was still fear in her eyes.

“Did I mention there’s mac and cheese?” I asked.

She shook her head, then frowned. “Did
you
make it?”

“Hey.” I laughed. “I’m doing my best.”

“I know, Auntie D.” She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I buried my face in her sweet-smelling hair. “Me, too,” she whispered.

I kissed the side of her head, holding there a few seconds longer than necessary, searching for the words to communicate what I wanted to say. The truth was, sooner or later life broke everyone. We were all broken pieces. The trick was to gather up our remaining fragments and move forward.

“Life is magical and heartbreaking,” I said slowly. “It’s wonderful and sad. And even when it doesn’t seem fair, our job is to get up every day and be the best Ella and Auntie D we can be.” I held out my hand. “Deal?”

Ella shook her head, then held up just her pinkie. “Pinkie promise.”

I held up my pinkie and we interlocked our little fingers. “Pinkie promise,” I repeated.

Then I pulled her into one more hug and held on tight.