Every Shattered Thing (Come Alive) (13 page)

Oh yeah. I can do some serious damage in here.

I pick up a long sleeve, snap button shirt. It’s real cute and I can see myself wearing it all the time. A slow smile spreads across my face and I move to grab the price tag. Oh. Seventy five dollars.

I like it - but not that much.
I place the shirt back on the rack and Emma grabs it from me.

“Oooh. This is cute.” She catches my eye and holds the shirt up in front of me. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I guess....it’s really expensive though.”

Not like...two dollars which is what I would normally pay for a shirt. At a run down thrift store
with fleas.

Emma drops her arm and tilts her head. “Stephanie. Do you like it? Would you wear it?”

I cross my arms and bump out one of my hips.
Here she goes again.
I sigh and give in.

“Yeah. I would.”

“Alright then.” She drapes it over her arm and grabs a necklace to go with it. “Listen, Stephanie.

Jude and I can afford this, okay? He just got a bonus and I’ve been keeping tabs on what we spend. We’ve been saving up for awhile.” She studies my face closely and grabs my hand. “Just have fun, okay? I know how much we can afford.” She pats my shoulder and maneuvers past me.

I breathe deep and consider her words.

It’s going to be pretty tough not looking at these price tags - but if I am going to get anything, I’m
just going to have to ignore those slips of paper.
I resolve to have fun —to enjoy the incredible gift Emma and Jude have decided to give me. And I’m going to start with this white leather jacket that would look absolutely incredible with a pair of those skinny jeans and some red patent leather heels. I smile and scratch my eyebrow.

Yeah. Serious damage.

I’m looking over another pair of jeans when Emma pops up out of nowhere with three blouses and some leopard print flats. She hands them to me and points me toward the dressing room. The amount of clothes stashed on the chair inside the room she has already reserved takes my breath away. I shake my head and get to work.

This may take awhile.

While I’m changing, she starts talking.

“So, I talked with Sheriff Goldsmith earlier today.”

I freeze mid-leg of putting on the jeans and she sees my hesitancy from under the door, one foot hangs in mid air for about three seconds.

“No worries, Steph. I didn’t mention the latest. I did however ask how the case from last time was coming along.”

The last time I saw Sheriff Goldsmith he was putting on his pants and avoiding my gaze as he gathered his things and left me in my dad’s shack, naked and violated. I shiver and force the jeans up onto my hips a bit faster than usual.

“What did he say?” I manage to ask, and am pretty confident I sound casual.

I hear Emma sigh and picture her running her hands through her hair and then resting her chin on her palm.

“He’s pretty frustrated with the whole situation, actually. It seems as though your father has some connections inside the justice department here in town and they are keeping the case stagnant.” She’s quiet for a moment before continuing, her voice definitely lower and more subdued than before.

“He mentioned if something didn’t happen within the next couple of weeks they would have to close the case.”

Convenient for him.
I think as I try to steady my breathing.

I close my eyes and lean against the mirror to regain composure. I understand what this means, and based on Emma’s voice, so does she. I’m never going to get justice for what my dad has done. Emma has no idea the sheriff is involved, or that much of the police force has made their way to my dad’s backyard at some point in the last five years. It’s a corrupt system, and I know I’m the victim. Of
course
they’d want the case to close. A closed case means an open door for their midnight rendezvous. A shiver runs through my body and I take deep breaths to even out my emotion.

“You’re quiet in there. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

I close my eyes for a few seconds and then stand up and open the door. Walking over to her, I lean forward to give her a hug and am surprised to find that this time, she is the one collapsing against me.

“There’s nothing we can do about it right now,” I say, hiding my emotion behind a mask of makeup and years of practice. “We might as well enjoy tonight as much as we can.” I smile at her and she nods her head.

“I’m so sorry, Stephanie. I’m so sorry I can’t do anything else.”

“What do you mean? You’ve already done so much. I don’t deserve you in my life and yet you love me. I don’t really know why you do it, but it doesn’t really matter, I guess. You’ve changed my life..

Because of you, I didn’t give up. I kept trying —at life, at writing, at relationships. Thank you for reminding me about hope.” She sniffs and chokes on her tears and we start giggling.

Pointing at my outfit she responds, “Definitely a keeper. Place that in the yes pile. Same with those red Converse. But those green shoes are a no.” She motions for me to keep trying on clothes and I oblige, running back into the room to tackle the pile of blouses and sweaters and jeans on the chair. It’s obvious that for now, the subject is closed. I honestly couldn’t be more relieved.

“I think I’m finally beginning to understand the advantages of having a son,” she says from outside of my dressing room. I laugh and keep listening, knowing there’s more coming. “I’m not sure if Jude could handle two females under the same roof with the emotions I have...” her voice trails off and I peek out from behind the door to give her a smile.

“You already have a daughter, Emma. Just not by blood.”

Her eyes light up and she bites her lip to keep from crying again.

“You’re right. Not by blood, but my daughter nonetheless.” I continue to hold her gaze and then close the door to try on the last piece of clothing: a silk sundress perfect for summer evenings. It would be awhile before I could wear it because of how cold it is outside, but we both decided it was too good of a deal to pass. I let it drape over my head and fall over my body before I look in the mirror. Finally peeking, I gasp when I see a curvaceous woman in the place of what used to be me: skinny, no curves, long mousy hair with no make-up. I lean forward for a closer inspection before I show Emma. Opening the door, I step out into the waiting room. I wait until she looks up from the book she’s reading. She just places her hand on her chest and stares.

“Holy cow, woman! When did you grow up?”

I roll my eyes. “Really? Let’s not make a big deal out of this. Is it a yes or no?” But secretly? I fight the desire to spin in a circle. I love the dress so much. It’s beautiful. In it I feel graceful and delicate, like a flower. I smile and think about the little girl given a second chance at life, dancing with her skirt twirling around her. Beauty in darkness. It’s what I want.

“What are you thinking about?”

Emma breaks my reverie. I look up and notice her standing directly behind me. I’m watching her eyes well up—again —and I shrug my shoulders.

“I just like this dress.”

She nods. “I’d say so. You look absolutely beautiful.” She places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Don’t ever think you’re anything less—I mean it.”

I smile. “With you and Kevin around, I don’t think I could forget it anytime soon.”

She gathers her purse and my bags and looks at her watch.

“They are about to close. Let’s get all of these.”

She sweeps her arm across the pile of clothes I’ve tried on, enough for an entire new wardrobe, really, and turns to look at me. “We still need to find you a jacket.”

“No we don’t.” I rush back into the dressing room and grab the white leather jacket I snatched from the rack before I came in. “I already found one.”

Emma smiles. “Perfect,” she says, flashing her credit card. “Now let’s go see just how much having a daughter costs.”

***

It’s almost eleven o’clock when I get home. I have to put the bags down just to open the door, Emma’s headlights illuminating the hallway as I walk inside. I promise myself to take her on a coffee date soon to thank her as I clumsily maneuver myself through the hallway, trying to make it to my bedroom to stash the bags. I hear a chair creak in the kitchen and my heart sinks. My dad’s truck is in the driveway, but I was hoping I would be able to avoid seeing him tonight. I open my bedroom door and toss my bags inside on my bed. I can hear footsteps coming my way and I close my eyes and take a deep breath before the reliable scent of whiskey fills the air.
Just one night. Just one night I wish he’d be able to say no.

I close the door and turn to walk toward the kitchen.
Might as well get it over with, meet the
enemy on the front lines, or something like that.

I turn the corner and find my dad, leaning against the wall, his head resting against his arm. He hears me and looks up. “Well. Aren’t we all gussied up this evening? Who put the whore paint on your face? You need to wash that crap off. Makes you look like you’re working the corner. No wait, leave it on.

I like it. Makes ya look like your mom when she was your age.”

He walks toward me, palming the wall to steady himself. I fight my disgust and stay calm, pushing my sleeves off my wrists. I really don’t like where this is headed. I bite my lip and hunch my shoulders, nervously twisting my hands —he never liked Emma, never liked hearing about her, but if he found out from someone else she was who took me shopping it would be worse than me telling him.

“Emma took me shopping today after school. It was her Christmas present to me.” I finger the edges of my new hair, wondering if he even noticed. “I got a haircut, and she bought me some new clothes for the winter.”

I’m not sure why I even bothered explaining. I see the change in his demeanor.
Here it comes,
I think to myself and brace for the inevitable.

He sneers and lessens the distance between us, his boots striking the wood floor. Once he’s close enough, he grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back so my eyes are focused on the wild motion of his own. “You are an ungrateful little bitch, you know that? That woman needs to stay out of our business. If it weren’t for her we wouldn’t have the police breathing down our necks every time we turn around.”

“No, dad, I believe I’m the one who is dealing with police breathing down my neck, not you.”

He slaps me across the face, hard and fast. My jaw starts to throb and I taste metal liquid oozing from the impact. I touch my lip and look at my hand. Blood. Perfect.

At least I now have make-up to cover up the bruises.

He brings his face inches away from mine, hatred radiating from every pore.

“You have no idea what I go through. You have no fucking idea what I sacrifice making sure this family has a home and food on the table.”

He grabs my cheeks with his hand and pushes me against the wall. I feel the tears start to come and I blink them away. I won’t give him the benefit of knowing he’s hurt me. I won’t.

He looks at me and smirks. “First you get a shopping trip from some nice lady, and now I’m getting phone calls from some high-falootin’ school in Cali-fornia wanting you to go to college there.

What makes you think I’m going to let you leave, huh?” He presses himself against me. I turn away and he forces me to look at him.

I hate it when he gets to me like this, but I’m already whimpering against his hold. “I didn’t call them. One of my teachers called them.” My voice breaks; I can only whisper as I see yet another dream fading away. “They like my writing and want to give me a scholarship.”

A low chuckle burns deep in my dad’s chest and he shakes his head, his hand still pulsating against my cheek. “They like your writing? You can barely speak full sentences. What makes them think you can write?” He finally lets go and turns around, facing the back door. “You are nothing, Stephanie.

Shit. You think you can make it without me? You ain’t good enough for some school in Cali-fornia.

Besides. With you gone, how do you think I’d make my money?” His grin turns sinister and my heart stops before I know what’s going on. He grabs my arms and pulls me close, “It's a good thing you put on make-up today, beautiful. The sheriff likes his women purty.”

I let out a low moan and start crying, “Please don’t.” My eyes focus out the back window and I see his shed illuminated from one of the lamps inside. Someone is waiting for me. I shake my head and start beating my hands against his chest. “No...
no
...please...don’t make me.”

My words are a broken record. He pushes my small frame towards the door and makes his way outside, almost carrying me in my attempt to fight—to do anything but go in
there.
Memories start flooding my mind and I’m a twelve year old all over again, broken and bleeding and crying out for rescue.

The door opens and my dad shoves me inside. Before he lets go, he grabs my neck and whispers in my ear, “Try anything stupid and I’ll kill you.”

My blood runs cold and I close my eyes in resignation. My dad takes the money from the man and slaps me on the rear on his way out, whispering under his breath, “Be good, punkin.”

I smooth down my hair, the strands tangled from his grip. The door slams and I am left alone.

“Please don’t do this. Not again.” My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper, blocked by the fear lodged in my throat.

The man just sits there staring at me, anxious to get started. Smirking, he walks over to where I stand and brushes my hair behind my ear. I fight the despair closing around my lungs and breathe slowly.

“You look grown up. I like what you done to your hair.” His hand caresses my cheek and lands on my shoulder, inching lower and lower as the sobs keep escaping my mouth. His hands reach everywhere, unbuttoning my blouse, my jeans, his breath turning ragged. There is no rescue this time. I hear a lock turn. He unbuckles his belt and pushes me on the bed. I focus on the gold wedding band glistening in the light as he grunts and works up a sweat to finish. I brush a tear off my cheek and he grabs my hair.