Meant to Be Broken

by Brandy Woods Snow

  They welcomed me with open arms, even when it meant coming to terms with their worst nightmare. Hearing that Mom was gone—that I never even knew her—was heartbreaking for them. But seeing me, they said it felt as if a second chance was hand-delivered to their door. They’re making the most of it.

  I won’t go into details, but let’s just say I’m well taken care of.

  They want to meet you. At least when they’re ready. And you’re ready. No one expects this meeting to be easy, but I do think it’s necessary. Might even bring some healing. They want to get to know the man that raised their grandson. The man that their daughter fell in love with and found special enough to want a life with. She was a wild spirit, but you managed to make her dream of settling down. There are so many blanks that need to be filled in—for both of you—and this might be a good place to start.

  Please consider it.

  When I left home, my life was in shambles. The thought of seeing another day without the people I loved most, the sting of betrayal, and the hurt of a loss I never even knew about until that night—it robbed me of all the plans I’d made. In a blink, my dreams were obliterated. I had no direction.

  But I have direction now.

  There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll say it outright. Dad, I joined the military. The Army. I’ve already completed basic training and am currently in AIT. That’s Advanced Individual Training, by the way (the military loves acronyms). I’m learning who I am and what I’m made of.

  I’m learning what made me.

  Every night since I’ve been gone, the conversations we had in the aftermath of my finding out the truth replay in my head. I’m coming to terms with everything I learned, and though I’ll never understand how you could agree to go along with all the façades and let Charlotte drive a wedge between us, I do believe your intentions were good. You only wanted the best for me. Only wanted to keep me close.

  I get that now.

  Hopefully one day soon, you and I can sit down man-to-man and have a coffee or a beer (guess that will depend on the time of day) and discuss all this in more detail. There’s so much to say that a letter wouldn’t do it justice. That, and the things I need to say to you require me looking you in the eye.

  Despite everything, the lies, the truths, and every shade of doubt in between, I can now say this without hesitation.

  I love you, Dad.

  Gage

  I slip a stamped envelope from the inside sleeve of the notebook, fold the paper in thirds, and seal it inside. On the front, I simply write Jackson Howard and his office address. No return information. Dad will recognize my handwriting, so there’s no point tipping off anyone else who might come across the letter. And selfishly, at this moment in time, I don’t want anyone knowing where I am. It’s the one tiny piece of control I have left in all this, and I’m keeping it.

  I slide it into the front pocket of my uniform. Tomorrow I’ll give it to a friend who’s graduating AIT and heading home to Oregon. That way the postmark doesn’t give it away either.

  I have to do this on my terms. Reach out to them as I muster the strength. It’ll be my first sign of life.

  My first attempt at making it back home.

  Chapter 45

  Rayne

  T

  he weeks immediately following the ultrasound bring dramatic growth for the baby, and consequently, me. Apparently, “more substantial weight gain” is actually code for “Willy Wonka blueberry-girl fat.”

  I lay flat on my bed with Mama’s old sewing tape measure stretched long-ways over my bump. Twenty-seven centimeters—perfectly in-sync with my due date and bigger than I imagined for the start of the third trimester. According to the pregnancy books Preston bought me, this’ll be the most uncomfortable portion of the process, though the first two-thirds haven’t been a cakewalk with my crazy hormonal swings and monstrous cankles. The expanse of naked belly skin streaked with silvery-purple stretchmarks swells my heart with pride, though. Like a tiger that’s earned her stripes. I’ve done this so far, and I’m pushing on.

  “I think the baby’s grown since yesterday,” says Preston and I jump and drop the measuring ribbon to the carpet. He’s supposed to be in class, not here in the middle of a bland Friday morning.

  “Baby’s not the only one.” I wave my hand over my body, swollen outward from belly to fingers and toes. “What are you doing here?” I pull down my shirt and slowly roll myself to sitting.

  “Surprising you.” As I open my mouth, he touches his finger to my lips. “No excuses. Bag’s packed in the car.”

  We don’t talk much on the twisty two-lane heading up to the Smokey Mountains. It’s easy to see this morning why the Cherokee named them that. Bright leafy flashes of reds and oranges peek through the dense fog snaking through the mountaintops in gauzy grayness, like the hills are truly on fire. Preston’s reserved a cabin for the night. He says I need a 24-hour reprieve from reality, and he’s right. There hasn’t been a day in this pregnancy I haven’t cried about something—missing Mama, wondering about Gage, admiring my new swollen figure, or cursing the fast-food guy who put tomatoes on my burger. Through it all, Preston’s been there, listening to my rants, drying my tears, and talking me out of murder. I’m still in love with Gage and I always will be, but there’s a growing need inside of me to have a partner. To allow myself to love again.

  And then there’s the baby. An actual little human will be here in just a few weeks, depending on me, and needing me. I’ll be Mama. It’s the first time the realization sinks in like this, and pulses of energy sliver through my arms and legs, pushing me into something a bit like the Twilight Zone. Subconsciously, I grapple for a life preserver, and my hand finds one, warm, soft, and steady—Preston’s hand.

  We have an unspoken agreement. No physical affection because it’d be wrong on so many levels, but here I am, fingers laced through his, and he’s not pulling away. In fact, his thumb is rubbing up and down mine. And I hate the warmth it spreads over my skin, because it’s like I’m cheating on Gage even though he’s not here.

  I’ve tortured myself for weeks about what I could’ve done—what I could do—to bring Gage home, but the truth is, he doesn’t want to be here. Or he would be. And more and more, I fantasize about moving on, but I don’t know if that’s the hormones, the resentment, or the truth talking. Maybe a little of all three.

  “We’re here,” Preston says as we turn onto a gravel drive which winds back into a block of trees with a log cabin in the center, small but homey. He shifts the car into park and kills the engine, leaving us in silence except for the birds chirping loudly in the trees and a spastic squirrel hauling ass through the leaves chasing acorns.

  “I kinda feel like I’ve stepped into a Disney movie.” I laugh. “Quiet cabin in the forest, woodland animals. Are there dwarves inside? Did you get me dwarves?”

  “I knew I forgot something.” Preston smiles and shakes his head before turning serious. “Honestly, this trip is about you and baby taking a chill. No drama. No tears.”

  “You better say that louder. My hormones might not have heard you,” I say and tug at my ear.

  “Your hormones don’t get a say. Consider this my baby shower gift to you. Others will get you diapers and bottles, but me? I give you rest and relaxation. Starting now. So stay put until I come around.” He gets out of the car, trots around to my door and holds it open for me.

  He hands me the key before he gets the bags out of the trunk. I walk up the wooden steps and look around. Two rocking chairs sit on the narrow front porch, a small table and citronella lantern between them. At the corner, the edge of a rock chimney is barely visible. I unlock the door and walk into an open-concept space with a den and kitchen flowing seamlessly together. The interior doesn’t match the exterior. It’s equipped with the latest electronics and the shabby-chic décor is anything but shabby. There’s a fifty-inch TV on the wall above the gas-log fireplace and two complicated-looking remotes t
o accompany each. It’s a far cry from my first camping experience in Gage’s ramshackle tent at the beach. My stomach flinches the moment the memory creeps in.

  “Okay, here’s the game plan.” Preston hauls a duffel and a few grocery bags through the door, plopping them on the kitchen bar. “First, we’re gonna go for a walk. Then, we’re coming back, and you,” he points at me, “are taking a long bath while I cook supper. And then we’re getting on that couch and having a baby movie marathon.”

  “Baby movies?”

  “Look Who’s Talking one and two, Nine Months, Three Men and a Baby. The classics.”

  “What? No Raising Arizona? That’s a classic!”

  “Really?” He snorts and glances at me from the corners of his eyes.

  I grip either side of my belly in defiant solidarity with the baby. “Any baby movie with a prison break and someone wearing pantyhose on their head is tops in my book.”

  Preston nods me over and holds out a jacket. “You are a weird and unusual girl.”

  I slide my arms in the sleeves, but I’m too big to zip it now. I sigh and look up at him smiling. “And I’m having a baby. Watch out!”

  “The world may not survive.” He shakes his head, takes my hand and hauls me out the door for our walk.

  Preston props several throw pillows in the corner of the couch. “Come here.” He motions me over then pats the pillows. “Lay back and prop your feet up. They’re swollen from the walk.”

  “When are they not swollen nowadays?” I waddle over and slip off the fuzzy socks I put on after the bath earlier. He’s right. They’re worse than ever, looking like two sausages about to bust their casings. I plop down on the cushion and wriggle myself into a pillow cocoon then physically lift my legs onto the couch. Seriously, is there anything more humiliating than having to use your hands to prop up your chubby, swollen legs because you can’t lift them anymore? They should put those tidbits in the pregnancy books, highlighted in little sidebars with warning labels.

  “Comfy?” Preston hovers above me, ready to fix whatever is potentially bugging me.

  “I’m good. Sit down. Watch the movie.” He flips off the light switch, settles on the cushion next to mine, then pulls my legs across his lap and massages my feet. The deep, circular motions are pure heaven, but I’m terrified he’ll be crushed to death under the weight of my legs. I nonchalantly check on him to make sure he’s not struggling for breath.

  Preston’s touch is sweet, not tingly or exhilarating the way Gage’s was, but comforting and caring. There’s love in his hands. Total devotion to me and this baby. Sometimes I want to beat my head against the wall. Why can’t my life just sync up for once? It’s like I’m always just a little behind the eight-ball. I meet Preston, but I fall for his brother. Gage and I commit only to have him run away. Mama and I make amends, and she dies. I’m cursed, forever destined to have things either this way or that, but never to have one completely happy ending. Here I am again, my heart torn over whether to hold myself back and wait for my one great love or to plow ahead into a life with a great guy who loves me.

  I sigh loudly and sit up straight, my throat on fire from the inevitable heartburn of pregnancy, made worse by my anxiety.

  Preston turns to me, eyes narrowed, searching my face. “You okay?” The light from the TV screen reflects in his eyes, dancing across them in glints of metallic brown. There’s no doubt he loves me. And he’s here, sitting beside me, asking me what he can do to make it all better.

  I’m not sure what, but something washes over me in an overwhelming urge to forget Gage. Forget the pain. Scratch out all those old memories and might-have-beens. It’s time to purge my body and mind of Gage’s face, his touch, his love. The remnants he left behind that gloom over me every day. I know what Preston can do to make it all better. He can kiss me. He can make me forget.

  I lunge forward, my lips connecting with his in an instant. He’s still at first, but then his lips wash over mine, forceful, as he circles his arms around my back, pulling me closer. But as quickly as it starts, he ends it.

  “Stop!” he hollers and pushes me back, both hands now on my shoulders, keeping me at arm’s length. “What the hell, Rayne? What was that?” He’s breathing hard, the words slung out between pants.

  “I love you, Preston,” I say, my face crushed down into my palms. He grabs my wrists and yanks them down, forcing me to look him in the eyes. They’re steeled, and I can’t tell whether he’s hurt or mad.

  “Don’t say things you don’t mean.” He enunciates each word with a staccato hard edge.

  “I do mean it. I love you.”

  “More than Gage?” His question is a direct strike to my wounded heart. I’ll never love anyone the way I love Gage. But Preston’s a close second. Doesn’t that count for something? Am I for real? What guy in the world wants to hear a girl say she loves him second best?

  I drop my eyes to my lap. “Don’t you still have feelings for me?” My voice is barely a whisper.

  Preston strokes my hair. “My feelings have never been the issue, Rayne.” I look up at him, his eyes like muddy puddles. “I know you still love my brother, and I know that wherever he is, he still loves you.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Damn, we’re a messed-up bunch.”

  “Ya think?” Why can’t it just be simple? Why can’t I just get on with things, start living my life again? I grab his fingers in my hands. “Preston, you’ve been everything to me during this pregnancy. You stirred up all these feelings, and… I don’t know what to do with them… because I love him, and I love you… and I don’t know…” The words fall apart in the sobs, which is probably a good thing because I don’t know what the hell it is I’m even trying to say.

  Preston leans over and grabs a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blots the corners of my eyes. “Look at me,” he says, and I obey. “When you make a decision, your head and heart need to be clear. No hormones, no fears, no coercion. Let’s make a pact to wait until the baby’s born to decide anything. Give it time to really make sense in your head.”

  I nod. He’s right. I can’t make decisions on fly-by-night emotions and hormonal swings. “Agreed. No decisions until after the baby comes. But Preston,” I warn, “be strong for me when I can’t. Remind me of this pact when I’m crazy-nuts trying to kiss you or slumped in a corner crying over Gage. Remind me to be strong… and wait… no matter what.”

  “I promise,” he says.

  Chapter 46

  Gage

  I

  can’t believe it. I blink my eyes and check again.

  Nope. Still there in black and white.

  I click the link and wait for the page to load, fully expecting some pop-up screen to swing out from the left and tell me I’ve been punked. The screen fills with 34 beautiful color photos from a variety of angles and an MLS listing with the header—DON’T MISS OUT ON THIS SEASIDE STUNNER!

  The Edisto dream house. My house.

  Wait… Our house—for sale.

  Reasonably Priced and Ready to Move!

  I flip through the pictures and land on number twenty-seven, a wide-angle view of the front porch.

  She said it needed a swing. A place she can sit and look out over the marina. The way she always likes to sit in that swing at her Mama and Daddy’s house, running her toes along the wooden floorboards.

  What matters most is she said she’d live here with me one day. And we’d be together. Always.

  How easy it was to imagine a life there together. How faraway it seemed. But now, it’s as if things are falling into place. The great cosmos telling me that “One Day” is here. Waiting for me.

  Waiting for us.

  I slide my cell phone from my pocket and punch in the digits. It rings twice before his gruff voice says, “There’s my long-lost soldier grandson! How’s the Army treatin’ you these days?”

  “I’m good, Grandpa. I miss you, but I’m calling because I need your help wit
h something.”

  “Anything. What is it?”

  “I know how I want to invest part of my trust fund, but I’ll need someone who can get everything squared away. Someone I trust because this is important.” I take a deep breath and lay it on the line. “Grandpa, I want to buy a house.”

  Buying a house is a total chore. Between the legal paperwork, the home inspections, and the insurance quotes, getting everything done while away would’ve been impossible if not for Grandpa. He and Nana equated buying a house with settling down. And on a barrier island only 30 minutes from them? They were only too eager to smooth the process in my absence.

  On my last full day of AIT, the mood in the barracks is light. Rodriguez and Porter have already planned a road trip to Charleston and haven’t stopped talking about it. My duffel bag is once again packed and ready, and my uniform hangs on the hook near my bed, ready for tomorrow’s graduation ceremony.

  My phone buzzes against the steel shelf with a metallic echo as it dances in a circle. I grab it and thumb across the screen. A notification blinks in a thin blue block. A picture message from Grandpa Harrington.

  I tap the icon and a picture loads—Grandpa’s hand, holding a ring of silver keys. In the background my house sits on its seaside plot, and on the porch is her swing. The one I ordered online a couple weeks ago and Grandpa had installed.

  Underneath the picture, the caption says—She’s all yours! Welcome home!

  Home.

  Piece by piece, the entire picture has fallen back together.

  And tomorrow, my plane will land in Charleston, I’ll pick up my Scout and house keys, and then I’ll go home.