Broken to Pieces (10 page)

"I take the bigger stuff back with me but I had to leave this one behind to dry." He tapped the tight surface with a curled finer, "It's not, like, the best or anything but I think that it came out pretty good."

The modesty in his voice made Emily want to see it even more, prompting her to move toward it a little faster.

When she finally got close and leaned down to get a closer look, she grinned.

"Ha! No way!"

Adam frowned.

"It's not
that
bad, is it?"

"Oh no, of course not," she looked up. "It's actually really, really nice."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Then what's so funny?"

Emily looked back to the painting and let her eyes follow the gently sloping brush strokes that composed a small, almost bare vine. Sprouting up from the sides, the fuzzy stems held up a flush of tiny flowers that looked like daisies the size of a dime. His work was impeccable.

"That," she pointed to one of the flowers, "is Chickweed! It's what the Inn was named after!"

A look of relief washed over Adam's face.

"So you don't think that it's terrible?"

Emily squeezed his arm again.

"Of course not. It's actually really beautiful. Did you know what it was when you painted it?"

"Nope. Kinda funny how things work out like that sometimes, huh?"

She looked over to him and their eyes met.

"It really is amazing, Adam. You're a fantastic artist."

His narrow cheeks suddenly looked flushed and he sheepishly answered, "Thanks."

When she looked back over to the small piece of art, Emily felt a sudden case of melancholy. The humble little plant could be found all over the East coast and was often the backdrop for all sorts of events, though nobody ever seemed to notice. It was the first flower that Emily could remember picking and, when pressed, it was also the first one that she thought about when she was in California.

"Why did your parents name the Inn after that plant, of all things?"

"Oh," she paused for a moment to think about it. "Apparently when they moved in it was growing everywhere. Under the sinks, through the deck, you name it. Dad always liked to say that the name came to him, instead of the other way around."

Adam glanced over to the small square of art.

"Well why don't you keep it?"

It took an unbelievable amount of restraint for Emily to not start grinning.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure," he said. "I can't think of anyone else that I would rather see it end up with."

"I," she bit her lip, "I mean, thank you."

The glimmer in Adam's eyes was almost blinding.

"Why don't you grab it and we can head back down? This heat is making me want to take a nap or something."

With a gentle grace that her admirer had come to love, Emily reached out and took the painting off of its perch. Its bumpy surface where the layers of paint had accumulated tickled the inside of her palms.

She didn't want to go back down to the Inn; didn't want to face re-living the horrors that awaited her the last time that she made that trip. It hadn't been long, so the wounds were still fresh. This was made painfully obvious by the steady shaking of her shoulders and the terrified look in her eyes.

Adam didn't notice until he was several yards ahead and turned back when one of his questions went unanswered.

"Are you okay?"

Emily lowered her head and let the painting's softly ridged surface press into her chest. The hot burn from the threat of tears singed the outside of her eyes. Fortunately, they were concealed by a massive bunch of hair that had broken loose from her gently-tied pony tail and cascaded into her crimson face.

For a moment, neither one of them dared to speak.

"Things do get better."

She stood there silently. The very tips of her fingers, as if guided by the twisted emotions flashing through her mind, gripped onto the edges of the taught canvas so tightly that all of her nails were a stark white. Under three of them, the staples holding the surface tight were slightly raised and dug into her shivering flesh.

"I'm afraid of what is waiting for me down there," she yelled to him.

The sudden nature of her honesty caught him off guard and left him unable to think of the right thing to say.

"Me too," his voice echoed back to her.

Now it was her time to wonder about her partner's cryptic answer.

"What do you mean?"

Before he spoke again, Adam started back up the leaf-littered hill where Emily was frozen.

"Haven't you ever been afraid of life; afraid of the future? Hasn't there been a time when everything around you fell apart and you didn't know if you could face it?"

"No," she stopped and watched his dirty sneakers trudge through the plant matter that littered the ground, "not until now."

He was closer but his pace had slowed to a crawl.

"Even when Father Hall did," she grimaced as the words threatened to leave her mouth, "what he did, I always knew that there was going to a chance for me to heal; a chance to make things right, you know? And now what do I have to look forward to?"

When she finally looked up at Adam, who was stopped just a foot away, the shimmering trail of tears running down her cheeks reflected the afternoon sun.

"What's left for us down there," she asked and pressed the piece of art against her chest, "when everything in here has been destroyed?"

Of course, neither one of them had a good answer. Instead they both looked into each other's eyes in a desperate search for some hint of guidance and strength.

"Look," Adam said after a long pause, "I don't know if there are any words that will make the pain go away because, believe me, I have looked for them without much luck. But you have to find it in yourself to keep moving forward."

From where she stood, Emily didn't know whether or not that was something she could do. There were too many emotions to reconcile, too much pain to deal with.

She clenched the painting closer to her heaving breasts.

"I don't know if I can…if I want to. Maybe I should just sell the Inn and walk away from all of it."

When Adam reached out and curled his hand around her arm, the tense muscles all over her body relaxed and she lowered her arms with a whimper.

"There will be time," he whispered, "to make that decision. You just have to be willing to take that time to make sure that it is the right one. There are so many choices that I wish I could go back and change but you and I both know that isn't possible."

He squeezed her arm tighter in the hopes that she would somehow be able to feel how badly he was hurting for her.

"Come on," he traced the rows of fine hairs on her arm with the tips of his fingers. "We can go together."

Emily looked down to where their fingers had become entangled. The still-red wounds on her knuckles ducked in and out of sight beneath the gentle stroking of his thumb.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

Their slow trek back down into the valley was also a quiet one. Surrounded by a symphony of bugs and birds, the two troubled souls inched through the woods and past the field of closed flowers, hoping against all hope that somehow, in some way, the pain of now would eventually yield to a brighter promise of tomorrow.

With an unrelenting blanket of heat still settled over the Virginia country side, the fourth of July rolled around with little regard for the weather or the comfort of those who were forced to endure it. Among the area's far-flung residents, only the oldest could remember the last heat wave to rival the one that they were stuck in.

Just a few feet away from where Adam's painting hung over the brick fireplace, Emily was almost finished brushing the wet tangles out of the ends of her hair. Seated in front of a mirrored desk, she ran the brush's slick teeth through her water-darkened locks with an absent look in her eyes. Even as she flicked the mirror with tiny beads of water, it was obvious that she was thinking about something else entirely.

From the doorway, Adam could see the concentrated look on her face reflected back at him. For her part, Emily had no idea that he was there until he rapped the doorframe with two knuckles.

The stern look left her delicate features immediately when she spotted him leaning up against the wall behind her.

"Hey there."

Adam walked in and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black shorts, "What's up?"

"Well," she responded and turned around, "I have to go into town to get some stuff for the party tonight. Do you want to come?"

When she ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it tightly behind her head, Adam was taken by her natural beauty. She never wore makeup and, in his eyes, would probably never need to. The smooth, curved lines that led down from her upper arms and over her sloping collar bones were subtle with a sultry hint of the woman that she was starting to become.

As inappropriate as it was at the time, Adam was painfully aware of how good she looked.

"Uh," he rubbed the back of his neck, "yeah. Sure. Let me put on some shoes."

"Okay," she tousled her hair and stretched her arms out in front of her. "Meet you out by the truck in a few."

"No problem."

The ride down into the area's tiny main street was long, but it boasted some of the nicest views that anyone could hope for. Spreading out to the distant horizon, a nearly endless swath of flowers in every color imaginable spread out until it either touched the sky or was swallowed up by the thick woods that guarded the base of the mountains.

With her window rolled all the way down, Emily hung her arm out into the hot, stiff air that rushed by. Her right hand was draped limply over the base of the steering wheel and she used the inside of her wrist to guide the bouncing truck down the road. Up ahead, the five stores that made up Emery City were only black dots on the distant landscape. They looked like the countless bugs that had been battered and smashed against the truck's dirty windshield.

Inside of the cab, Emily grimaced and pulled her legs away from the sticky leather seats. Little beads of perspiration rolled over her neck, arms and even the back of her legs. It was a miserable, quiet ride for several miles before Adam cleared his throat.

"So what do you guys do for this party, anyway?"

"Well," she said as she jerked the steering wheel after hitting a deep rut, "we usually just grill, hang out and watch the fireworks over the lake."

"I always thought that fireworks were illegal almost everywhere."

She chuckled.

"Oh, they are. Sherriff Joe has kind of turned a blind eye to it over the years. As long as nobody does anything particularly stupid, I don't see it changing any time soon."

"Never underestimate people's ability to do something stupid."

"You're barking up the wrong tree, mister. I am well aware of this."

They both relaxed in their seats and looked out at the cratered road in front of them with a sigh. The light banter was a desperately needed reprieve from the weight of grief that had been pressing down on them like a vice. To feel it lift, even for a few minutes, made it feel like a breath of life into their troubled souls.

Radiating waves of heat throbbed outward from the insect-riddled windshield, forcing their racing hearts to pump even more frantically.

"So, uh," Adam said and wrung his hands together nervously, "what do we need to pick up?"

"Not much, just drinks and stuff for dessert. Do you have any special requests?"

He squeezed his eye lids together and gawked at the ramshackle cluster of buildings that was closing in on them.

"Nope. Why don't we see what inspires us?"

For all of its old-timey charm, the general store's merchandise was a little less than inspiring. Adam poked through various boxes of baking mix and pudding varieties without much of a desire to consume either. He sauntered down the narrow isles with his thumbs hitched onto the elastic waist of his shorts as Emily gathered up the items on her list.

It wasn't until she called for him that his eyes caught the ice cream freezer's frosted windows.

"Hey," he called back to her, "what about ice cream?"

The words stopped Emily in her tracks.

Every year-every summer-her father would insist on buying ice cream when they went to town.

"Don't worry," he would say. "I'll get us home in time!"

The poor sap never did make it home in time, though that never stopped him from raving about the gritty, almost crunchy paste that it turned into after being re-frozen for a couple hours. After a while, he and Emily both knew that it wasn't really about the ice cream. It never is.

She clenched the two rolls of paper towels tucked under her left arm and braced for a wave of pain that didn't come.

"Yeah," she choked out. "That's fine."

Three minutes and just over twenty dollars later, the old man at the counter finished packing the plain, brown bags.

"My condolences, Emily." He reached out and patted the top of her hand, "If you ever need anything, just give us a call."

"No problem. I will."

Emily reached out and wrapped her arms around all three bags at once.

"Don't you want some help?"

She lifted the bags off of the counter and started toward the door.

"It's okay. Can you just get the door?"

"Yeah, sure."

Three bags clenched to her body, Emily walked through the exit that Adam held open with one arm. When she passed by, he reached down and gingerly placed his free hand on the small of her back to guide her forward. The caring touch nearly made her fumble everything in her grip. The way that he did it made her briefly wonder how it would feel in other places.

Before she fainted on the sidewalk, she pulled away and felt his fingers slip off of her shirt.

During the entire ride back, though there was a little small talk here and there, the lingering sensation of him stuck with her and clouded the already murky thoughts racing through her head.

Did he mean to touch me the way that he did?

She looked over after a lull in the conversation. Adam had turned away and was watching the landscape scuttle by with his chin in his palm. As much as Emily didn't want to wreck her dad's truck, she couldn't help but constantly glance over at him. He looked so peaceful in that moment, with the sun's burning rays spilled over his cheeks and rippled arms.