Break Me Down (The Breaking Trilogy, #2)

by M. Mabie

  I set it up, spread the spine, and an envelope fell out. In boxy letters, my name was written on the front. It hadn’t been there the last time I opened it, before the barbeque days earlier, the last time I read and did devotionals.

  Climbing up on my elbows, I pressed my body against the headboard to the examine it, and I ran my thumb over the imprint of Abe’s handwriting. I remembered his style from our marriage certificate which I’d studied at many times. But while I’d stayed at the cabin, he hadn’t been one to write notes or anything like that, albeit he did text.

  The script was his though, and seemed rawer, more authentic than the messages I’d read before dinner.

  It wasn’t sealed all the way, but just at the point of the flap and my finger slipped inside to pry it open. Folded in thirds, a sheet of notebook paper came out. Inside the page was a check.

  I sat up straighter and swore my eyes were playing tricks.

  Twenty. Thousand. Dollars.

  That couldn’t be right. Where would he...? Why would he...?

  I put the Bible and the check aside and held the note with two trembling hands.

  Myra,

  I owe you an apology. I am no good at words or writing and I don’t know what you’ve been told or not, so I’ll make this brief because there is one thing you have to believe.

  When I said I cared about you, I meant it. Nothing I’ve ever said to you was a lie.

  When you’re ready to talk—not that I can promise to be any better with my words in person—there are so many things I should have said. Things I still need to.

  This is your money. Well, some of it. First, it was given to Jacob, and then to me at the banding ceremony. It is yours. Do what you want with it.

  You’ve probably never set up a bank account, but the address of my bank is on the check and they were very helpful there with me when I first opened mine. Ask for Lindy. She’s smart and nice and she’ll help you.

  I hope sometime soon you’ll talk to me.

  The cabin isn’t the same without you. Nothing is.

  Abe

  I thought of Corinthians and then our vows—whether they’d been true for Abraham or not. They’d been true for me. Hadn’t they?

  Hadn’t I sworn to God to never refute him? Never still meant never, didn’t it?

  Yet, there I was, alone in a giant bed for one with no band and no band holder.

  7

  Abe

  I didn’t know if she would read it, or if it would sit in the book, unopened forever. The one and only way I could tell was if the check cleared.

  With no response or word from my girl, after a week it did.

  Things didn’t go back to normal though, like Chris had insinuated they might. Sure, the Griers were more talkative as the days passed, but work was only work.

  Clock in. Clock out.

  The only place I was getting ahead was in the shop. I’m not certain if it was my frustration or my guilt or just the need to sell another piece, but my hands were always moving. I couldn’t sit still. Most of the items I made were replicas or slight variations on the ones I’d made before, and that made my time in the tin box beside the cabin even more efficient.

  The money was good, and I had plenty of material to keep me building long into the winter at the same stride. I’d managed to bank a few grand that week and, added it to the small amount I already had, quickly building toward my down-payment goal. At that rate, by the beginning of the year, I’d feel confident when I went back to the bank.

  Since I was ahead, I was working on a new template for a bed frame and troubleshot the design by making a sample, when my phone went off.

  “Hi, Ashley,” I answered. “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, everything is fine, except I can barely move anymore, and I’m convinced I’ll be uncomfortable for the rest of my life. But yeah, everything is fine.” Sarcasm peppered her words, but she laughed. “That’s why I’m the one calling you, and not Chris. He’s out looking for them. Have you seen the spare set of keys for the Festiva?”

  I tucked my carpenter’s pencil behind my ear and thought. “They were in the ignition when Ted picked it up.”

  “I told him Dad had to know. Okay, well I’ll chase him down.”

  “I can check around to make sure,” I offered.

  “No, we’ll find them. We have another set Myra can have, but we were going to give her the extra ones too.”

  I leaned over the piece of pine I was marking up to cut. “Myra?” It wasn’t my business, but I had to ask.

  “Yeah, Chris sold it to her. Any extra money will come in handy since I’m off work now until after baby beluga gets here. He’s got six hundred in cash and two pans of raspberry crisp stuff out of her.”

  My cheek twitched, threatening to smile. “A master negotiator, your husband.”

  “A master something.” She giggled again. “Anyway, that’s all I needed. I’ll let you go.”

  Quickly, before she hung up, I asked, “Is she doing okay?”

  Her breath made a noise through my speaker as she sighed. “I think so? I can never tell. She looked good when she came by with Ted to ask about buying Old Fester. She even shook his hand. I think Dad gave her a few pointers on negotiations because she first offered him five hundred but told him right away she was prepared to pay six.”

  I bit my lip and my eyes wandered to the leaves of the bush just outside the open shop door. Saying a silent prayer, I hoped the stores were all out of raspberries.

  She bought a car, which for many wouldn’t seem like a very big deal, but for Myra it was huge.

  Another thing I should have encouraged sooner.

  Another way I’d held her back.

  “How are you doing, Abe?”

  That was a loaded question. Lie or admit I wasn’t doing all that well?

  A compromise. “Still standing, I guess.”

  “If you need us, we’re here.”

  “I know. I’ll let you know if I run across those keys.”

  After we hung up I stared at my phone. I wanted to congratulate Myra and tell her how happy I was that she was using her money for something she needed.

  Where was the line drawn between not giving up and giving her space?

  I didn’t want to be that guy, the one who couldn’t take a hint, but at the same time what I felt for her was real. If the past week had proved anything, it was that those feelings weren’t just going away. I was learning the hard way why patience was considered a virtue.

  When my clamps were in place and the glue was setting on the headboard I’d made, I went in to wash up for the night. I supposed one sliver of hope was that she still hadn’t come for her belongings, but I didn’t let myself linger in the bathroom where her scents lived. Hell, for the past three nights I’d slept on the couch because even the sheets still clung to her essence.

  I didn’t have anything new to read, so I flipped the channels on television. Nothing interested me.

  Before long, I found myself rereading the Book of Job. It had always been one of my favorites and it fit my mood. The uncertainty. The irony. The questioning everything and not having any definite answers.

  Why did we have to be from Lancaster? There were so many other people who never had to deal with the things we did. Until I reminded myself that everyone had struggles and no one was ever free of hardship, I questioned why.

  Through all this, I kept reading.

  Faith was funny.

  After I left Lancaster, I wanted a separation from religion. Time to learn about other beliefs, and until Myra came into my life, I’d all but pushed my personal beliefs aside. Even when she came to the cabin, I’d felt like the Word, the teachings and ideals from our upbringings were just too close for comfort.

  Now that she was gone, reading scripture made me feel closer to her. Closer to God. Closer to feeling like maybe there was a bigger plan than the one I’d had.

  So each day when my work was done, and after I spent time in the shop
or my new renovation project in the utility room downstairs, I cleaned up, ate and read the Bible until I felt her around me.

  Soon she’d been gone three weeks without a single word.

  If time was what she needed. If space and independence was what she was after, I’d never get her back by pressuring her.

  Every night I said the same prayer.

  God,

  Let tomorrow be the day Myra comes back.

  I STEPPED OUT OF MY truck bed onto the concrete dock, unloading the last two chairs behind McHenry’s Furniture Store. I carried them into the warehouse and stacked them with the moving blanket I’d brought between the finished surfaces. The store had sold their spare and I was replacing it.

  “Abe—I tell you what—we have some popular brands out there, and nothing sells as consistently as your stuff. Any closer to a shop of your own?” the owner Lyle asked.

  “Getting closer, but I’ve got a long way to go yet,” I answered and took my gloves off, seeing that he was counting cash from his pocket.

  My phone buzzed, and like always, two thoughts played out in my head. It was either my father calling again to see what was going on with Myra or it was her. Statistically, it was more likely the former. He’d left me messages about once a week since she left.

  “Since they’ve been selling so well, I decided to up the price of the last set. It’s worth more than what we’d decided on. Here’s a couple hundred more. You should be charging more.”

  I didn’t bother to count it and slipped it in my wallet. “Thanks. I guess your prices just went up.”

  “I can’t say I’m excited about being your competition, but your work is excellent. I’ve been in this business a long time, and you’re making quality pieces.”

  I held my hand out to shake his and he took it.

  “I appreciate that, Lyle.”

  He slapped me on the shoulder with his free hand. “I’ll call you when we need more.”

  I left out the open dock door and climbed down the stairs that my truck was parked beside. When I was inside, I checked my cell and dropped it when I saw her name. Fumbling in shock, I lifted it from the floorboard.

  A new message from Myra.

  It was a short clip of a dog, pitching its head to the side the way they do when they’re trying to figure something out. It had to be a mistake.

  Right?

  As I drove home, I did everything I could to convince myself that she simply hit a wrong button. It happens. I wasn’t going to lose my mind over one accidental gif message.

  Then I looked at the damn thing every five minutes all evening. I’d get another piece of drywall up in the old storage room below the cabin and after the last screw was in place, I’d look at that damn dog again. More than once, I noticed I was making the same face, tilting my head when I watched it play for the few short seconds.

  What would it hurt if I replied?

  To be sure it was accidental.

  No pressure.

  I tried to hit send a few times but couldn’t do it. What if she didn’t answer again? What if she was only sending that to get my attention to tell me it’s really over?

  So I had a couple of beers and thought about it more—like that was going to help. But by the time I opened my third bottle, I’d sent her a message back. For how many times I typed it out and then started over, you’d think that I’d be sending her something profound.

  It was not.

  ME: Cute dog. Did you mean to send that?

  8

  Myra

  I searched through the gifs again, like Ashley showed me, and selected a cute yes one with a blond like me nodding.

  Send.

  When she’d first sent me one earlier, I hadn’t understood. I had no reference for most of them. She’d explained many were from movies, television shows, or pop culture, and how they were a good way of answering or saying something when you needed to but didn’t feel like typing words out.

  That was me.

  I wasn’t big on typing and still very slow compared to everyone else.

  Many new things were happening for me, but the one that had remained constant was how I missed Abraham. I didn’t really know how to approach a conversation with him, but he was my husband by law and I’d been gone for almost a month.

  I’d asked him for time, and he’d given it to me.

  At first, the Griers, Chris, and Ashley didn’t push me to reach out to him, but lately, they had been, and they were right.

  The gifs were great. The perfect way to say something without saying something.

  Besides, I had to figure out a plan for my future. Dori and Ted were great, and I was getting closer to them every day, but they smoked like chimneys and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to stay with them.

  He responded quicker to the second message with a guy asking you okay?

  I found one for I’m fine, a cute little girl with a ponytail high on her tiny head and decided this was my preferred way to text.

  Nerves bounced about inside me and tucked my legs underneath myself on the couch. It felt strange, but nice to have a connection to him again. The timing felt right, and although I hadn’t been praying as much lately, every time I tried my thoughts went to him.

  I’d been upset about how he’d kept the truth from me—or at least what he knew about it—but regardless I still wanted him. I wasn’t sure what that meant or if it was even possible, but when I imagined him my body still tingled. When I recalled the words he’d said to me or the way he was gentle and kind, I still felt a tightening in my chest.

  He didn’t bother searching for a gif and replied.

  ABRAHAM: Do you hate me?

  I sent him a bird shaking its head.

  ABRAHAM: I miss you.

  He’d said that before, but I wasn’t sure how he missed me. What was I to him? Truthfully, I was unsure what he was to me too. Like just about everything else outside of Lancaster and the cabin, I didn’t understand much.

  Nothing I did day-to-day felt normal or even comfortable most of the time, and the more I learned about the wickedness that happened in Lancaster and other cults, the more I didn’t even want to think about those places. Dori showed me documentaries, and she often watched them with me in case I had questions, but there were times when I couldn’t get through an entire program in one sitting. Between the smoke and the heavy feeling in my heart, I’d opt to go to bed early most of the time.

  Like when I’d seen the news for the first time and couldn’t get the idea of children killing each other out of my head, I’d lay there feeling helpless and shocked.

  Abraham had made me feel safe, and when he wasn’t there to comfort me, I had to learn to comfort myself.

  My thumb swiped, scrolling and scrolling, for something that said I miss you too. They were all so dramatic and I didn’t want this first conversation after so long to be like that. I wanted to keep it upbeat and maybe, just maybe, I’d sleep well and feel like things weren’t totally out of control.

  There were pages upon pages of crying people, saying more than I wanted to. Even if some of them were spot-on to the way I felt most of the time, I couldn’t bring myself to pick one of them. So I changed my search and found some hug gifs.

  In the end, I was too afraid to send those too, and opted for a sleepy cat drifting off.

  “YOU’RE ALL SIGNED UP,” said the petite middle-aged woman behind the counter. “The practice test starts at seven sharp tomorrow morning. Do not be late.” She clipped my check to my registration and tapped the ends of the paper against the desk. “It’s much shorter than the real test, but it will give you a good idea of where you’re strong and where you need work. You never know, maybe it’ll even say you’re ready.”

  I liked her optimism, but I was certain I wasn’t ready.

  Dori had let me use her laptop to try to take a practice test online, but I wasn’t good at the computer and it only got me flustered when I messed up using the site. She told me they did practi
ce tests at the alternative school in Fairview, so I’d decided that was a better way to go.

  They gave them every few weeks for their students, and, for a small fee, I could take one too. All I needed to bring with me was my driver’s license and forty dollars. I had both.

  I was still going to do poorly, but like the lady said, at least I’d know where I stood.

  “Thank you,” I told her.

  “You’re very welcome, Ms. Fox,” she replied as I left.

  I hadn’t changed my license to my married name, but that was fine. I’d get that sorted out later. Or not.

  It was just another hoop to jump through, and I’d been doing a lot of that lately.

  They were hiring at Hobby Lobby, which was perfect for me—as far as jobs went. I could work in the fabric section or whatever else they needed me to, and I felt like I could do okay there. The issue was, I didn’t have a high school diploma or a GED. They’d told me one was necessary to apply, but they’d also said most of the other people who were applying would have one or the other and experience working outside of the home, which I also didn’t have.

  But to get a GED I had to pass a test, and before I could take the test, I’d have to study.

  I’d went to school through grade eight—at home. My mother had been my teacher and I’d thought I’d done well enough. After that and after she passed away, Father needed me. And I was useful to my brothers helping around their homes with my nieces and nephews.

  I had no idea I’d ever need more education than what I’d received.

  Now, out in the real world, as everyone liked to call it, through no real choice of my own, I wouldn’t be able to survive without more schooling, and that made me angry. Like I’d been robbed. Like they’d done it intentionally, so I’d have to rely on them forever.

  When I’d voiced that to Ted, he told me I was exactly right about it. So maybe I wasn’t so dumb, but I was furious and that evening I accidentally peeled a whole ten-pound bag of potatoes as I mulled over it.