AMAZING HEART (Broken Bottles Series Book 4)

by Pamela Taeuffer

  I mourned for lost intimacy and revelation that could have been shared between a child and parent; all of it traded for a whisky bottle, year after year. Instead of the parental love Jenise and I had hoped for and deserved, we saw and experienced rage.

  Crying from my very core because of Jerry and all we had shared, the future we'd quietly planned when growing up was fading away. Neither of us had questioned it. We sat on doorsteps a block away from our houses, me escaping my father's drunken hugs and he fleeing his father's fists. Would the story of our friendship go unfinished?

  I cried because of school friends that were soon to be lost. We'd already begun letting go. Now the speed seemed accelerated.

  One stage of my life was ending.

  Another was coming on fast.

  The rush into my present and from my family's past was fresh, exhilarating and wild.

  There was no turning back.

  I had missed my childhood—almost all of it. Every day had been about survival—Ernie trying the bathroom doorknob, my father choking my sister; slamming my mother's head against the kitchen cabinet; praying we'd get home safely as Jenise and I rode in my father's truck while he was drunk at the wheel.

  The tears I shed were memorials of a chapter in my life that had closed.

  It closed in magnificence.

  It felt . . . amazing.

  Chapter 4

  The Fallout

  "Tell me what you're feeling." Ryan's voice was low. Quietly sensing his aura, I softened immediately when he held me to his chest. "Why are you crying so hard? What's the matter?"

  "Closing . . . closing in." My eyes burned as new tears spilled onto my cheeks. "It's like dark and light thoughts spinning together."

  He'd touched me intimately when I'd spent the night, but I'd never felt as close to him as I did that afternoon. Amidst the rush and noise around us, somehow we were able to feel the softness of each other's arms, wrapped in the protection of our love.

  Our precious seconds together were almost over.

  The equipment door on the bus slammed closed.

  "I hate this," I protested.

  "I know." He pulled back.

  "You've been waiting for me to tell you I love you out loud. I've tried to say so many times to you over the phone." I patted his chest. "I've practiced saying them. I've waited for my courage to surface and finally, I have her in my grasp. "I had to get to you before you left. Always face to face. I'm not hiding anymore. Are you ready for me? Will you be my boyfriend?"

  "Oh, sweetheart." He pushed my hair behind my shoulders. "Take a breath, go home and tell your folks, pack and grab your sis and come with me. Please be with your boyfriend." When he let go, I saw glistening tears in his eyes. He looked shaken; as if the love I'd just confessed to him was so powerful he was overcome in every way. The same emotional earthquake that had rocked me seemed to be doing the same to him.

  A gentle whisper came from deep inside my spirit, heard only by me, blowing quickly passed my ear. Sometimes, it’s just as overwhelming getting what we want as it is pursuing it.

  "As soon as I get home, Ryan. I'll tell Mom. I promise," I declared with absolute commitment. I quickly visualized the scene. I was already in my room packing. "I wish I could leave with you right now. I can hardly stand it!"

  Enfolded in his arms, the furry wool collar of his jacket rubbed on my cheek; my arm gently hugged his thick neck; his eyelashes brushed my forehead; all of it a sendoff that would fill my mind's scrapbook forever. I drank in the sensations of touching him: the little twitches in his face when my fingertips traced his jaw, the movement of his lips as they quivered and the cushion of his cheek and the way it flattened against me.

  "You better wipe your eyes on my shirt so you don't get tortured by your teammates," I tried to lighten the moment. "Even I know men aren't comfortable showing emotion—especially jocks. They avoid it at any cost and make fun of others for doing it."

  "I don't give a damn." He laughed, but his body spoke with urges that pressed on my soul. "Kiss me again." He brought his lips to mine.

  Electricity snapped through me.

  The blare of the horn jerked my body and brought me back into our present.

  The bus driver honked three times.

  His teammates yelled, whistled, mocked and cheered.

  "You better go." I looked up at him, still sniffling. "I . . . I can't get my breath. I feel," I gasped for air. "I feel like—" I cried into his chest. "Why didn't I tell you sooner?"

  "You said it," Ryan's voice cracked. "Even if you're not able to meet me, we'll be together again before you know it. I'll only be gone a week-and-a-half. You're so busy . . . all of your projects and volunteering . . . time will fly by. You'll be all right." He kissed my head. "This side you've shown me . . . what a tender woman you are. I've seen glimpses of her for a long time. I'm glad you finally let her step forward. I'm so happy."

  "I hope we stay that way. I'm so lost. I don't know how to have a relationship. Help me, okay?"

  "We'll help each other," he reassured. Several waves of tears came and went. Then, as if propelled, I moved into giddy joy and laughter. Girlfriends and wives were milling around the bus. They smiled with knowing looks. "I know how you hate goodbyes. You don't have to watch me get on the bus. I promise I won't pull you back or shout your name."

  "Okay," I wiped my eyes.

  "I'll call you tonight." His voice was calm and confident. "You know how I need to hear your voice."

  "Yes, I need that . . . I want that." I tried to steady myself, preparing for his departure.

  One more bear hug and his body said its farewell.

  I felt as if I'd lost a limb.

  Our fingertips lingered for the last precious seconds before they let go. I put all my strength to the test, fighting and holding back from yelling to Ryan and ask if he'd wait another minute.

  I walked toward the gate.

  Went through it.

  In my mind it was a barrier to another world—a world that kept me from Ryan.

  "That was some goodbye," a fan said as I exited the players' lot.

  Suddenly his reputation raced to the forefront of my mind. Had I damaged it? Was the press lurking? They'd almost certainly question him—or worse yet—print a story!

  "No." I tried to sound convincing. "Just friends who haven't seen each other in a long time."

  "I've never seen anything like that between friends," a woman added.

  I smiled without looking at any of them.

  Hurrying to the streetcar stop, I was desperate to get home and pack my things.

  Oh shit! Jerry!

  Just as the trolley pulled up, I remembered he was waiting at the Java House. My heart drummed against my chest.

  How am I going to pretend? I've been crying. I'm sure he'll be able to tell—what do I say?

  As if I were committing adultery, I took the ring Jerry had given me from my pocket and slid it on my finger.

  Why did I take this ring? Why did I let him embrace me? Am I cheating? There is no way to win this. I feel like such a bad girl—I'm a sinner.

  Would postponing the inevitable make everything worse? Was the nausea washing through me from the fear of hurting both men and in the end I would be abandoned? Exactly whom was I betraying?

  I began the long, tentative walk to the all night diner—the same diner that solidified a new friendship with Ethan and had also repaired a damaged relationship with Ryan. On this late afternoon, what would it do for Jerry and me?

  As soon as I walked in the door, my lifelong friend waved from one of the tables. I suddenly saw him like a pesky fly circling me. If only he'd go away, find someone else, and leave me. Then I could go home and write in my journal to sort through my emotions. Stuck and feeling cornered, I had to take care of my unfinished business.

  Jerry stood up, embraced me, and pulled me to his body. I did my best not to withdraw, even though I only wanted to get away.

  “Let’s get out of here,”
he urged me to follow, tugging my arm.

  My head throbbed.

  I clutched my backpack.

  “First, I need to stop at home," I stated. "What did you want to do tonight?”

  "Well . . ." His eyes had a mischievous glint. “We could go right up to my room—or your room. I read everything you wanted me to and researched the sites you suggested. I'm sure I can make you feel good. I’m ready to show you.”

  "Let's say hello first, okay?" I needed to slow things down.

  How do I do this? What do I say? He did what I asked and in a little over a week I'm rejecting him? What kind of person am I?

  "He said he was going to watch my college career!" He talked fast while holding my hand, tracing his finger over the ring he gave me. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he told me about a baseball scout who had approached him.

  "That's great!" I feigned excitement. Jerry seemed to believe all the pieces of his life were falling into place. My pieces? They were tearing apart, melting down and being reshaped.

  “I’ll be over in a few hours. I have to unpack, so don't get impatient for me! I'll be over to grab your curvy body soon enough, gorgeous.”

  “See ya.” I fought an urge to cry. I looked at the ground. When he grabbed and started to kiss me, I immediately protested. "No, let's, let's just . . . I'll see you a little later," I stammered.

  "Something wrong?" He looked at me strangely.

  "No, I'm fine." I wondered what thoughts ran through his mind. "See you in a little while."

  As soon as he was out of site, the rush of my newly proclaimed love for Ryan flooded me. When I burst through my front door, I was out of breath. My cheeks felt flushed and my hair disheveled.

  "Mom!" I yelled. “Where are you?”

  "In the kitchen," she shouted.

  I ran down the hall, threw my arms in the air and then planted them in front of her on the kitchen table.

  "Ryan invited me to go on his road trip! I'm going upstairs to pack right now!"

  I hurried out of the kitchen to head toward my room.

  Chapter 5

  Mom Gives Her Opinion

  "You're what?" I could hear the skepticism in Mom's voice, perhaps hoping she had misunderstood what I'd boldly announced only moments ago. "Nicky!"

  Her chair scraped the floor.

  She came out of the kitchen.

  I froze at the bottom of the stairs.

  "Ryan has tickets on hold for Jenise and me!" I stepped down to face her. "We're going to meet him in Denver!"

  "Does your sister know about this?" Mom motioned for me to follow her back to the kitchen.

  "Not yet. I was on my way upstairs to tell her." I followed Mom. "Even if she can't go, I am. I have to pack and call Ryan so he can . . ." My rambling began. "I'm telling you so you'll know why . . . I need some water." I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured the filtered water from a pitcher we kept in the refrigerator. My tight throat seemed to have a heartbeat of its own. I gulped it down and then walked back to the table. I watched Mom circle the kitchen with a dishtowel, wiping the counter here and there. "The team is going to Denver. There's a farm he wants to show me. This little boy . . . he took a photo . . . his pictures . . . they're beautiful, and our connection is unique and unlike anything, and he's got these bunnies for sale, and . . ."

  I slowed down just long enough to interpret the expression on Mom's face, which translated to, "My daughter is out of her mind."

  "Back up." Mom put down the dishtowel. Sat at the table. "Let's talk this over."

  Talk it over? All of the sudden you care about the things I'm doing? Are you really interested or are you giving me the speech you gave the girls when you worked at juvie?

  “No." I was confident and certain of my decision. "I don't want to talk about this. I've already dragged my feet too long. Eighteen years, in fact. It's time, Mom. I've stayed in the gray areas of my life long enough. I should have jumped in with him weeks ago."

  “What about your father? You don't care how this will upset him?" She threw guilt at me like Ryan threw his pitches—hard and focused. "He's already dealt with a gun being held to his head at work. He doesn't need you holding it there again with this new man. What about us—your family? And what about college?"

  "What are you talking about, Mom?" I yelled. "This is about me and has nothing to do with college or you guys."

  "Doesn't it?" she challenged.

  "Let me understand. Are you saying I'm holding a gun to Dad's head? Are you kidding? After all the times he's driven me and Jenise home drunk and—"

  "I agree Ryan is nice," she ignored my counter attack. "Still, I'm not comfortable with you traveling across the country to meet someone you know so little about."

  "You can't stop me," I retorted, feeling defiant. "I know him and I'm going to meet him."

  "No, you don't know him," she insisted. "You've hardly spent any time together."

  Here we go again. Her fear, my fear . . . all of us afraid. I've had enough of waiting for the next bad thing to come down on me. Nothing is ever resolved. I have to stop this twisted circle.

  "I do know him. We have something special, and—"

  "What if something happens?" Once again, she talked over me.

  Damn it. Quit interrupting and let me tell you.

  "Ryan is a part of a professional baseball team. He may not be available like you assume. Won't he have commitments every day? You're used to controlling everything in your world, but won't you be last on this trip? You can't control him when he's in that environment. That's his world. What then? What if he can't give you the attention you're expecting?"

  "I'll be okay." My chin lifted.

  I don't need attention. I never got it here so why worry about my boyfriend giving it to me?

  "Maybe you will. Maybe your fantasy world with Ryan Tilton will be amazing, but—"

  "Fantasy?" I barely held myself together. "This isn't pretend!"

  "No? He's not playing house with an innocent eighteen-year-old girl to see just how far he can push her?"

  My old fear of Ryan playing an elaborate joke on me surfaced immediately. I shuddered.

  "He told me I can bring Jenise and—"

  "What if she can't get away? You said you're packing . . . don't you think you should know if your sister is coming with you? When will you ask her?”

  “I just got home, and—"

  “What if someone's with him?"

  "Are you accusing him of having another girlfriend?" Anger shot through me. Was I trying to reassure myself more than my mother? She'd obviously made the statement on purpose to make me hesitate and possibly reconsider going. Just as important as the intended pause, she'd made an accusation about the man I loved.

  Why can't you ever be supportive?

  "No." She poured herself a cup of coffee. "I don't mean another woman, although . . . no. I mean friends, business associates, family and social commitments. When he's gone will you be expected to step aside like a good girl and wait in your room? Or be a bobble on his arm while he shows you off to his friends at some elegant dinner or club? Are you staying in his room, like a mistress? Where will you meet him? How will you handle all the women he's been with who don't know he's with you? They'll be in every city . . . you that strong?"

  She wrung her hands.

  "We'll deal with it together. We support each other." I hope. "As far as meeting him, I guess at the airport, and—" I tried to respond to each question thoughtfully and maturely. Each of her interruptions, however, elevated my frustration.

  "How will you spend your time if he's busy? Do you have money of your own?" It was as if she’d been preparing for this moment for years. She didn't seem anywhere near the end of her questions. "Do you expect him to pay for everything? That makes you completely dependent on him—is that what you've envisioned for yourself? I thought you wanted a career and a first class education at Stanford? Instead, at only eighteen and at the beginning of your adult life, you're subm
issive to a man?"

  "I'm not submissive or dependent, Mom. That's not how Ryan expects me to be with him. He likes how I speak my mind and that I have opinions and career goals."

  "Does he?" She shook her head in disbelief, pushed up from the table, emptied her coffee in the sink, and then wiped the kitchen counter again. She began drying dishes in the dish rack. They were already dried, waiting to be put away.

  "Yes, he does." What in the hell are you doing? Why are you so nervous? Look at me!

  "Will you go to his games and sit there like some pretty little decoration he can show off?" She rolled on.

  "I'm not a decoration, and—"

  "Even if you don't see yourself that way, you're a beautiful girl with a voluptuous body. Ryan sees you just like that. What's your purpose going on his road trip? To feel important, like one of the other models he dated? You want to be his pretty little princess and when he snaps his fingers, you'll come running?"

  "No, I won't—"

  "If Jenise is with you, what does she do? Tag along like your little puppy dog while you and Ryan have fun?"

  "Ryan wouldn't do that and neither would I."

  "No?" she challenged.

  "No."

  "Try reassuring me a little," she challenged.

  "First of all, I love my sister and respect her way more than treating her like she's baggage. Second, the man I lo—the man I'm with is a good man. We'd never abandon her."

  Like you have.

  "Jenise is your older sister, not a security blanket." She waited a few seconds, almost starting again. I didn't let her.

  "Yeah, she's my sister. Security is just what I expect from her." I straightened my back. "She's my hero and the only one in this family who ever took a risk. She—"

  I was ready to spill it all. The things I'd held back for so many years had risen. Why had Mom knowingly let my father sit on my bed at night when I was little, making me keep him company? Why did I have to tuck him in while she was at work or on the sofa reading her romance novel? Why did she refuse to participate in those parts of her marriage? Why couldn't she have a conversation with her daughters the night Dad had choked Jenise?