Broken to Pieces (4 page)

Perhaps, if they had been there to see his hand slither up the shaking girl's shorts, their words wouldn't have been so kind. And if that wasn't convincing enough, maybe they could have hit the "fast-forward" button to see her only a year later, doubled over in the bathroom with blood dripping from her chin and an empty bottle of painkillers in her hands.

Would they have cared then?

Instead of a savior, however, young Emily's only solace was the tantalizing promise of the story she held so closely to her heart: the one told to her by the ancient man from India whose cane was as knotted and battered as his decaying joints. From his words, she drew the strength to pull through, if not without a few scars to remember it by.

The sound of the oven door slamming shut was a welcome relief. The startling sound snapped the young woman awake in an instant and forced the painful memories back into the ether.

When Emily finally opened her eyes again, the harsh lights above her made her eyes sting. She looked to her side, where her mom was plucking the green beans from the steamer and placing them on a plain, white platter. She turned and looked at Emily.

"Do you mind taking these to the table?"

"Fine."

Emily walked over and grabbed the plate, but her mother didn't let go. Instead, both of them stood there, each one gripping half of the dish, and stared at each other silently. They were frozen, their eyes locked onto each other.

Caroline's voice lowered to a whisper, "I told you that I was sorry, Emily."

"And I told
you
that sorry wasn't good enough."

"Please, Emily, lower your voice."

"Why," she said a little louder. "What are you afraid of?"

Her mom let go of the plate angrily and took a step back, "I'm not afraid of anything. I'm tired of being punished for-"

"Punished?!" Emily could feel the rage welling up in her gut, "
You're
the one being punished?!"

Her hands were shaking. It took everything she had to keep the green beans from rolling off and falling onto the ground. After everything that had happened, did her mom really think that
she
was the victim, that she had truly suffered the most? It wasn't that Emily wanted anyone's pity or sympathy. All she wanted was for her mother to acknowledge the pain that her silence had caused.

"I don't think we should discuss this right now."

"When, Mom? When will it ever be the right time to discuss it?"

Caroline slammed a pair of tongs down onto the counter and angrily swept some stray hairs out of her face.

"I don't know, okay?" Water began to well up in the corners of her eyes, but it only made Emily angrier. In her mind, her mom wasn't crying for that damage that had been done to her little girl. No, it seemed to her that those tears were spilled for herself; for the inconvenience that the whole ordeal had caused.

Her mother's voice had begun to waver, "What do you want me to say, Emily?"

The young woman stood there for a moment and looked into her mother's green eyes, which looked very much like her own. She searched for some hint of hope; for some glimmer of love or empathy that would make the pain go away.

None of those things were there.

Emily clenched the plate of steaming green beans and started out of the kitchen without saying another word. Even if she wanted to, there was no vocabulary to do her feelings justice. Everything about that fateful day had been pushed down into the bowels of her mind by her mother in the desperate hope that it would all just go away. She didn't think that her father ever even found out. Instead, the incident lingered between her and her mom like a cancer, growing and eating away at both of them with every day that passed.

The only relief that she ever got came when she went away to California. Something about the change of pace made it easier to ignore.

But she didn't forget. She would never forget.

Perhaps what made it the hardest was that, in every other situation, her mother was a kind, loving parent. Emily often wondered how their relationship would feel without the stains of trauma adulterating it. Would it have been easier to cope? Could she have healed while there was still a chance?

The porcelain platter in her hands slipped and clattered down onto the table, drawing up everyone's eyes.

"Oh." She looked around at them. "Sorry."

The guests smiled and turned back to their conversations. Her father had leaned back in his chair and was sipping his glass of icy water. He was deeply engaged in a conversation with Barbara and Gary, though Emily wasn't sure what they were talking about.

Just as she turned to go get more things from the kitchen, her dad called out to her, "Emily?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's Tex?"

"He fell asleep on the porch. Do you want me to go get him?"

"That would be great. I'll help your mother with the rest of the food."

"Okay."

Once she was out of her mother's piercing stare, Emily sighed heavily. The last thing that she wanted to do was go back in that kitchen. She had dealt with enough painful memories for the day.

In order to avoid her mother, Emily walked out of the front door and moved around the porch until she reached the back. Much to her surprise, she found Tex still in the swing but wide awake.

"I thought you were taking a nap."

He turned and rubbed his stubbly cheeks with both hands.

"Well I was, but a good roast could probably raise me from the dead."

The joke made her finally crack a smile.

"Come on inside," she said. "Dinner's ready."

Tex slapped his knee, sending up a puff of dust, "Well hot damn. Why didn't you just say so?"

"I just did!"

He grunted as he pulled himself out of the chair and took his hat off.

"Well you could have said it faster, young lady. A man my age has to eat."

They started back into the house together.

"A man your age shouldn't be drinking an entire bottle of whiskey every night."

Tex patted her on the shoulder and replied, "At my age, you take whatever simple pleasures you can get."

Back inside of the dining room, the bowls and plates of food had been laid out in neat rows. Had she not been so upset, the tantalizing mix of aromas would have made Emily's stomach yell with excitement.

"Well this looks mighty fine, ma'am," Tex said to Caroline as he flopped into his seat.

Emily's had barely taken a seat when a loud knocking came from the front door. Her father started to get up, but she stopped him.

"It's okay, dad. I'll get it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said and quickly glanced at her mother. "I'm not very hungry anyway."

Carl sat back down and picked up his fork.

"Okay then. Your loss!"

Emily stood up and hurried out of the room. Once she rounded the corner and the five seated at the table were out of sight, she sighed and let the tense muscles in her back relax. As much as she wanted to put the whole thing behind her, every desperate appeal for resolution was quickly shot down no matter how hard she tried.

Maybe it never gets better,
she thought to herself just as she pulled the door open.

Waiting on the other side, a young, dark-haired man with a bulging duffel bag stood with a grimace. The bag's thin strap was visibly digging into the shoulder of his plain, white tee shirt.

"Can I help you?"

The young man, who looked only slightly older than Emily, let his bag topple down. It landed with a hollow, resounding thud.

"My name is Adam."

He extended his hand, which Emily took hold of quickly. His soft, warm touch and the tight squeeze of his palm made her inch in just a little closer to get a better look. His eyes were a light gray with the most subtle hint of blue. Underneath them, his chiseled jaw ended at his chin with a tiny dimple.

She was almost silenced by his statuesque features

"I'm Emily," she choked out.

She stood there silently with his hand still gripped in hers. After their awkward pause, he cleared his throat.

"I'm one of your summer guests."

"Oh…
oh
!" Emily let go of his hand and her tanned cheeks instantly turned red, "I'm so sorry. I didn't think that we were expecting you tonight."

"I hope it's not a problem. My last assignment ended early and I'm kind of between places at the moment."

"No, of course it's not a problem!" Emily was trying desperately to compose herself. Nobody told her that he was going to be a hunky young man. "We were just sitting down to dinner."

Adam smiled, showing off his straight, pearly teeth.

"I figured. I could smell it from all the way down the road."

"Here," Emily reached for the duffel bag, "let me take this to your room."

"It's really heavy. I don't know if-"

Before he could finish, Emily grabbed the bag and attempted to hoist it up. To her surprise, instead of the bag coming up, its sheer weight pulled her down, forcing her to stumble.

Adam grabbed her just before her face met the porch's wooden planks with his arm curled around just below her breasts.

The sensation of his touch in such a tender place made her knees go weak.

"Oh god I'm sorry," she said and scrambled back to her feet.

"It's fine, really."

The two of them were only inches apart. Emily could smell the earthy scent of sandalwood wafting up from his plain shirt. It filled her lungs and made her feel warm all over. His arm, still wrapped around her upper body, slid off slowly, allowing the tips of his fingers to barely graze her before falling back to his side.

"Well, uh," she said, brushing her black locks out of her face, "at least let me show you to your room."

Adam grabbed the bag and grunted as he lifted it onto his shoulder.

"Sure. That would be fine."

For the rest of the night, Emily was lost in the stranger's eyes. The way that he moved was like magic. Even his voice gave her chills. There was something about him that she couldn't tear her mind away from, though she still couldn't put her finger on it. Was it the haunted look in his eyes? The confident stride in his steps? The way that he seemed hidden behind a veil of secrets?

Emily wasn't sure, but as she led him to the vacant room and back out to the dining area, she was certain that his eyes could see right through her back and into her soul. What did he know? What had he seen?

Just who was he, anyway?

Before her thoughts could roam too far, the two of them crossed into the brightly-lit dining room and were greeted by five pairs of eyes staring at them in a sudden silence. After what felt like an eternity, Carl finally broke the silence.

"Hello young man," he said and stood up to shake his hand. "Can we help you?"

Emily placed her hand on Adam's upper arm and stepped over so that they were standing next to each other. Just before she interrupted, she wondered if maybe she'd left her hand on him just a little too long.

Was it long enough to give away her secret and surprising attraction?

"Uh, no Dad. This is Adam. The last summer guest."

Carl smiled and nodded, "Very good. It's a pleasure to have you here Mr. Marshall."

They shook hands briefly.

"Thank you, sir, but Adam is fine."

"Okay then, Adam. Are you hungry?"

His gaze drifted toward the mountains of food still left in the various platters and bowls. Emily could practically see him salivating.

"You read my mind."

"Great," Carl exclaimed and motioned to the empty seat across from him. "Have a seat."

Emily sat back down next to Tex, putting the wily old man between them. For a while, things were quiet. Introductions and small talk were exchanged as the varied mix of guests got to know each other. It wasn't until Tex broke out his nightcap and started sipping that he got a little more rowdy.

"So where are you from, kid?"

Adam ran his hand through his dark hair.

"I've lived a lot of places, sir."

"Well where do you call home?"

"Nowhere, really. I'm coming from New York, if that's what you mean."

"Oh," Tex said jokingly, "a
city boy
."

Adam laughed, "Yeah, you could say that."

Tex tossed down a swig and leaned back in his chair.

"And what do you do for a living there in the
city
?"

Every time that he said it, Tex made sure that the word was dripping with exaggerated contempt.

"I paint, mostly, though I have done some work in textile design when I need to make ends meet. Lately, though, I have been doing a bunch of commissions."

"Good, then," Tex proclaimed, "maybe you can explain all of this hoity-toity art that I see that makes no damn sense. A triangle here, a tree there…how's that art?"

Adam paused and set down his fork.

"The way I see it, people tend to pour their hearts and souls into the art that they make. So if there is that much emotion behind a piece, it has to mean something, right? It might be just me, but I love to look at a painting and see just how another person chooses to bear their soul."

When the last word rolled past his pouty lips, Adam's eyes met Emily's. For a second-just for a moment-it felt like he was speaking only to her. But as soon as it happened, he pulled his gaze away and looked back at Tex. In that brief moment between his comment and Tex's response, it seemed like an hour had passed.

Did he mean to look at her that way, or was it all in her head? Emily tried to shake the thoughts away.
Of course I'm dreaming it up. Of course I am
.

For the first time, the fighting spirit seemed to have left Tex. "I reckon you might have a point there."

Adam cast another darting glance in Emily's direction with a smirk plastered across his narrow cheeks.

Her stomach did a little flip. What was it about him that drew her in like a moth to a fire?

"Hey Tex," Caroline's voice broke through.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Why don't you hit me with a shot of that?"

Emily raised her eyebrow. In the years of painful silence following the incident with Father Hall, Emily caught more and more glimpses of her mother's newfound appreciation for booze. Unfortunately, seeing her drink never got easier. It was only a painful reminder of what Father Hall's actions had done to both of their lives.