All the Shattered Pieces

by B. Celeste

  Her sigh is heavy. “Nobody blames you for what happened at the service. Emotions were high that day for everyone.”

  “Does it look like I care if people did?”

  When I finally look up at her, there’s a disapproving look on her face. “Boy, don’t start with that attitude. That may work on your own mother, but it ain’t gonna work on me.”

  My eye twitches.

  She walks over to the table and pulls a chair out across from me. “Last time you were here was an entirely different lifetime. I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it, but we’re going to. You lost a stepsister. I lost my granddaughter—both of them. And with them, my own daughter. Mentally. Emotionally. Do you think it’s easy for her? Joanna has battled depression her whole life and it’s only gotten worse as time goes on.”

  “Joanne is—”

  “The only family I have left,” she reminds me firmly. “She’s a flawed human being like the rest of us. I know you don’t like her and I’m not asking you to. I’m simply asking you to see it in her perspective. We get one chance at life. I know my little Emmy made that clear to you. We all get one opportunity to make the most out of the years we have here on God’s green earth. And Joanne lost nearly everything. She lost her children. She lost her husband. And with those losses, she lost a vital part of herself.

  “If you don’t want to feel sorry for her, that’s on you. I know the reasons you won’t be waving a number one fan sign in her direction anytime soon. But if you can’t see that she’s suffered more than any person deserves to in one lifetime, then maybe you should reevaluate yourself.”

  Is she serious? “How could you say that? Emery went through hell because of her mother. Why would I offer her any kind of pity?”

  “Emery forgave her, which is more than you’ll ever do clearly. My granddaughter isn’t here any longer, Kaiden. I don’t need to remind you of that. She forgave her mother because she loved Joanne. You don’t need to give her justice because she never asked you to avenge her for anything. She only ever wanted you to live. To be happy. You need to move on and honor that.”

  My jaw ticks. “Does anybody really move on from these situations? Did Joanne?”

  “They do their best,” she answers. “Even my daughter. It doesn’t come easily. There are good days and bad. But do you remember what I told you all that time ago when you were here with Emmy last? We talked about healing. It may not have been about you at the time, but the same thing applies to this.”

  Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It just means that it can no longer control our lives.

  “You told me I was a hurt soul.”

  My brows arch when she chuckles to herself. “Boy, your soul is more than that at this point. It’s broken if I ever saw it. I know you went through the same loss as the rest of us, but we’re figuring out how to get through it. You’re not. So, what are you going to do about it?”

  I stare at her in silence. What answer could I give her that would appease her? Not an honest one.

  She taps the table. “Your eyes are screaming for relief. Whether you like it or not, they remind me of my Joanne’s eyes. Full of sadness. You’re too young to stop existing like she has all these years. Whatever you need to do, do it before it’s too late.”

  What does that even mean?

  We’re quiet for a long time.

  “I’m moving back to New York,” I tell her, tracing some of the condensation on the glass. “For work. For…family.”

  “That’s a good start, boy.”

  I go back to staring at my drink. “What if I don’t want to move on?”

  The older woman shakes her head. “Then you’re living life wrong. We all need to move on at some point, to some degree. There ain’t no point in being stuck in purgatory when you have the opportunity to flourish elsewhere. Didn’t Emery want you to go to school? Get your degree? Live life to the fullest?”

  Emery wanted a lot of things. “Yes. And I’ve done that. I got the degree. Went to parties. Made friends. I’ve…” Well, I haven’t dated or even slept around like I made people believe I have. I barely even looked at a girl during college. It didn’t feel right. “It just doesn’t seem fair that I can do those things when she can’t.”

  “Boy, if you haven’t figured out that life ain’t fair, there’s no hope for you after all.”

  Chapter Six

  The five-year-old dirty-haired blonde hurls herself at me at record speed, barely giving me time to set my bag down before catching her mid-air. “What are they feeding you?” I ask, pretending she weighs too much for me to handle.

  Sophia giggles. “Daddy gave me candy! But I told him I wouldn’t tell Mommy because she says it’ll spoil my dinner.”

  Mom walks into the room and sighs. “It will spoil your dinner. Like when a certain somebody took you out for ice cream right before supper.”

  I smile innocently. “I didn’t know it was so close to dinnertime.”

  She rolls her eyes at my bullshit response but doesn’t call me out on it. “You’re in luck. We decided to order pizza tonight. Do you still like Tony’s hot wings?”

  My little sister wraps her arms around my neck. “Can I have some?”

  “You hate spicy stuff,” I remind her, tickling her side until she’s laughing and squirming.

  “But you like it,” she says in between her bouts of loud giggles.

  I carry her into the living room where Mom is folding a throw blanket and draping it across the back of the couch. “We don’t have to like the same things, Soph.”

  She wiggles until I let her down on the carpet where she’s got toys sprawled everywhere. “Good. ‘Cause Cooper likes popping heads off the Barbies at school, and I don’t like doing that.”

  Both Mom and I stare at her.

  She shrugs, so I let it go.

  Mom gestures toward the kitchen, so I follow behind her. “So?” she asks, a hopeful look on her face.

  I nod once. “I got it.”

  The noise she makes is comical as she pulls me in for a hug. Our height difference makes me have to bend slightly as she wraps her arms around my neck. “Oh, baby boy. I’m so happy for you. When do you start? Do you have orientation? Should Henry and I hire a U-Haul and help pack your apartment?”

  “Mom,” I laugh, pulling away. When I see her wide smile, I shake my head. “Breathe. I need to register for a certification exam that way I can practice here in New York first. Dr. Steiner said his office will send me the rest of the information soon. I’ll need to fill out some paperwork with HR once I pass the exam and I’ll go from there.”

  Her hands clasp in front of her. “And your apartment? Do you have leads for new housing? One of my friends lives close to the office you’ll be working at. I could ask if she knows anybody renting.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “I want to help. Henry too. We’ve been talking about it a lot and if there’s anything we can do, we’re willing. We know money has been tight for you. We’ve got some old furniture you can have. And there’s this gallery in Bridgeport that would be interested in—”

  “Mom,” I say, stopping her from suggesting what I know she’s going to. “We’ve talked about this.”

  Her hand grips my bicep. “Your art is too good not to show off. I know it’s not your career goal, but people want to see your work displayed. And what’s wrong with making a little money off it? It’ll help you get on your feet. I’ve told my friends about you. They want to see what you create.”

  My lips twitch, but I force them to remain neutral. “Did you not just hear me say I got a job using the degree I spent four years working toward? I don’t need to do anything with my art.”

  Defeat starts clouding her eyes. “I’m trying to show that you have options. You’ve always loved expressing yourself through art. Your drawings are amazing. Your paintings—”

  “Aren’t up for discussion much less sale.”

  “Kaiden—”

  “You know w
hat they mean to me.”

  She frowns, looking away for a moment. “Do I? Kaiden, I love you to death but you’re too stubborn for your own good. It’s been a long time since you’ve willingly shown me any of your pieces. I think what you’re doing is good. You’re channeling your emotions into them just like Dr. Brown always told you to do. There are people out there who might resonate with what they see if you give them the chance to.”

  The last thing I want to do is let people see my pain up close. “I don’t feel like having strangers pay to see my misery like that.”

  I’m surprised when Mom says, “Why not? You give the public a free show every day. Might as well profit from it.”

  I gape at her comeback.

  She turns her back to me and grabs a menu from the side of the fridge. “Do you still like the same toppings on your pizza?”

  Discussion closed.

  I stare at the closed door that I haven’t crossed through in over four years. Not even when Sophia tried getting me to go inside to play with her. The walls aren’t gray anymore. The furniture is different. Bedding stripped. Any reminisce of its former occupant is gone.

  When Mom asked me to check on my sister, I knew what she was doing. Challenging me. She knows stepping foot into Emery’s old room means facing my problems head on.

  Cracking open the door quietly, I take a deep breath and poke my head in to see Sophia’s sleeping form. She passed out hours ago after filling her stomach with more pizza and garlic knots than even I ate. Henry had to carry her to bed and tuck her in.

  I take a few minutes to glance around, noting the light lavender walls and white furniture fitting for the child sleeping soundly in her bed. There are dolls and stuffed animals scattered. Picture books lined up on a small shelf that she can reach. Pictures of her, Mom, and Henry all wearing Mickey Mouse ears at Disney last year hanging on her wall. She’d wanted me to come with them to celebrate her birthday, but I’d made an excuse not to go.

  Mom had been upset with me for weeks.

  Swallowing, I back out and close the door until it clicks shut. I rest my back against the wall across the hall and stare at the door.

  I used to put sticky notes on it with pictures—things that only Emery could understand. Buried in my closet, hidden away by my clothes and other odds and ends, is the glass jar full of faded Post Its with messages between me and my stepsister that Mom had shipped to me senior year of college when they were redoing the room for Sophia.

  Two years ago, I went on a bender with some guys on the team and nearly shattered the jar against a wall at a weak point in my life. I’d been angry. At life. At her. I’d grabbed the container and stared at the wall as if there was a large target painted on it.

  Murphy had walked in at the right time and took it from me before I could destroy it. He locked it in his room until I was sober knowing what it’d meant to me, and only then gave it back.

  I haven’t touched it since.

  Haven’t trusted myself to.

  I should really reach out to Murphy and see what that fucker is up to since graduation.

  Slipping into my bedroom, I dig through my bag until I produce the orange prescription bottle and listen to the pills rattle inside. My eyes go to the door briefly before turning my attention back to the escape in front of me.

  I twist the cap.

  Pour a pill into my palm.

  And hesitate halfway to my mouth.

  I hear Mom stirring downstairs. Henry’s voice. Laughter. Water in the kitchen starts running. A subtle breeze picks up the tree limbs outside my window until they scratch against the glass.

  Soaking in the noises, I close my eyes.

  Think.

  Then put the pill back into the bottle and bury it at the bottom of my bag.

  “Not tonight,” I tell myself.

  Sleep barely comes.

  Chapter Seven

  Henry is in the kitchen when I get up the next morning. He lifts his gaze as he pours a cup of coffee, noting the way my feet drag over to the refrigerator.

  “You look like hell,” he notes. He grabs a second mug from the cupboard and pours a second one for me as I look to see if there’s something quick I can eat.

  I spot the egg carton and feel my lips twitch, closing the door and grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter. “Still like it plain?”

  I accept his offering with a gruff, “Yep.”

  He prepares his coffee, bringing it over to the table and sitting in the same seat he always does. It’s still dark out, which means Sophia and Mom are fast asleep.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” I ask, trying to play nice as I take the seat across from him and bite into the piece of fruit.

  He opens the newspaper. “Damn internal alarm clock always gets me up early.” There’s a pause. “What about you?”

  I lift a shoulder. “Same amount as usual.”

  We’re quiet.

  For a minute.

  Two.

  He looks up from the paper. “Cam mentioned going to the cemetery today. Thought you might want to go. She tries heading over once a month to clean up after they mow.”

  She still goes there? When I lived here, I used to be the sole person who cleaned Dad’s gravestone off. Since I left, I assumed she let somebody else take care of it while she focused on Henry and Sophia.

  “Uh…yeah. That’d be nice.” I cringe at my awkwardness, gripping the handle of the coffee mug and staring at the steam rolling from the top. Clearing my throat, I take a sip and heft out a tired sigh. “Mom said you don’t sleep a lot.”

  “Funny,” he replies casually. “She says the same about you.”

  He stares.

  I stare back.

  Henry breaks first with a sigh, folding up the paper and setting it down. “Your mother is worried about you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, but I’m going to anyway. Because I love her, and she loves you. I think going to see your father today will be good for the both of you. Give you time to talk.”

  For a long stretch of time, I don’t say anything. Mostly because I know he’s right. Mom and I talk often, but not about anything deep. Anytime she’s tried, I’ve shut her down.

  I lean back in my chair, listening to the subtle creak in the wood. “I know.” I fiddle with my apple, rolling it in my fingers. “Even though I’ll be a couple hours away once I settle into my new job, I think it’ll be good that I’m back.”

  He nods once. “Sophia’s already asked how often we can visit you.”

  My lips twitch. “She’s a good kid.”

  “So are you.”

  I snort. “Bet you never thought you’d say that to me,” I muse dryly. I’ve never hidden my feelings toward him. Over the years, I’ve let them fade. They exist, but they’re buried under other shit I have to deal with. Not my priority.

  “You had your reasons to feel the way you do. Truthfully, I’ve always admired that about you. You’re loyal. To your father. To Emery. You won’t forgive anybody that’s done her wrong, and I’m high on that list.”

  My jaw clenches tightly.

  “But I can’t go back and change that no matter how badly I wish I could. That’s something I’ll be living with for the rest of my life whether I want to or not. It’s my burden to bear. It’s Joanne’s too. The only people who truly had her back were you and her grandmother. I’ll always be grateful to you for that.”

  I swallow my words, loosening my tight jaw before glancing at the fridge. There are pictures hanging up that Sophia made. Report cards with good grades. Family portraits.

  One of them is Emery.

  Blonde hair.

  Hazel eyes.

  White smile.

  “I know you two cared deeply for one another,” he says, voice barely a notch above a whisper as he stares at the picture that’s caught my attention. “I’m not sure to what degree and I don’t think I want to know. You gave her a chance to experience what it was like to be young. To be carefree. You were real with her. Hon
est even if you probably shouldn’t have been. Brutally so.”

  My fingers tighten around my mug, ignoring the sting of main from the heated ceramic. “Henry, I don’t need your praise.”

  “Well, too bad.”

  I steal a glance in his direction to see the somber expression plastered on his aged features. He looks tired—from more than insomnia.

  “My baby girl was a big light in this world. I know you experienced that firsthand. Your mother saw a change in you for the better because of her and you let that slip away the second she passed. The first year we let it slide because you were mourning. By the second year it was obvious you were stuck. The third year, it seemed like—”

  “Do you have a point?” I snap.

  He levels with me. “You’re depressed. You’re angry. You’re looking for somebody to blame, so you don’t have to acknowledge reality. The reality is, Emery is dead. My beautiful baby girl, my sunshine, is gone. Both of them. And because I know what that feels like, the last thing I want to see is Cam go through it too.”

  My eye twitches. “She doesn’t have to worry about that.”

  “Doesn’t she?” he doubts, cocking his head as he studies me. “You’re on a cliff, Kaiden. You’re not getting any better by pretending you’re fine. Avoiding reality won’t change anything. Accepting it will.”

  “How very Dr. Phil of you.”

  “Mock all you want.” He shrugs loosely, taking a sip of his coffee. “But I love my wife very much, and I’ll do anything to ensure that she doesn’t have to face the same loss as I have. It doesn’t matter if it’s physical—mental health is still health. A struggle is still a struggle. And, son, you’re on the edge. Of what, I’m afraid to find out. But this is your wake-up call. Take a step back. Don’t jump. Not for me. For her.”

  I push back in my chair, leaving my coffee untouched on the table. “Always a pleasure talking to you, Henry.”

  I hear his sigh as I leave the room.