Broken to Pieces

by Avery Stark

  "We should have been back a while ago," she sighed. "I'm going to have to whip up some dinner really quick."

  Adam rested his head against the seat.

  "I'm sure everyone will forgive you."

  Emily craned her head to look at the tree tops passing over their heads, "Even good old Tex?"

  He paused before answering, "Okay. Almost everyone will forgive you."

  Emily reached down to a cracked knob below the radio and twisted it to the right. Immediately after, a blast of warm air flooded out from behind the broken and weathered vents embedded in the dash.

  "Man that feels good," Adam said and rubbed his palms together in the hot jet.

  It took them a while to finally wind their way back down the hill. Neither one of them talked much, though purely from exhaustion of both the mind and the heart. Emily focused on the dirt road and guided the heavy truck with one hand draped over the very bottom of the steering wheel. Adam, though his eyes were growing heavy from the bouncing sway of the suspension, looked out at the darkening woods and wondered what it would have been like to grow up how Emily did. He thought about the warm, free summers that she must have experienced and couldn't help but feel a tiny twinge of jealousy.

  The creaking vehicle rounded the last corner and, soon after, crested a final hill, leaving the sprawling home in sight.

  "What the hell…," Emily's voice trailed off, prompting Adam to look ahead.

  Near the front porch where they first met, three of the town's four police cars were parked haphazardly. At the sight of them in the distance, the warm, humid air in the truck cabin became even thicker.

  When she spoke again, her voice cracked, "What do you think is wrong?"

  "I don't know," Adam replied and sat up straight in his seat. The sight of so many lawmen made him nervous. "Maybe they're looking for someone."

  "Maybe," Emily whispered and pushed the truck forward a little faster.

  After some of the most agonizing minutes in both of their lives (though for vastly different reasons), the truck rolled to a stop next to one of the police cruisers.

  All three were empty.

  Up on the porch, a congregation of officers and the Inn's guests were standing around and talking. But when Emily and Adam practically jumped out and slammed the heavy doors behind them, every man and woman on that porch turned around and fell silent, some of them mid-sentence. Seeing them do that made Emily sick, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of the men with hats removing them and lowering their heads just slightly enough to mean only one thing: impending disaster.

  Without even realizing that she was doing it, Emily ran toward the steps, her half-wet hair fluttering behind her, but stopped at the very first step. Her old sneakers skidded forward and flung little clumps of dirt up onto the white-washed wood.

  It was the only sound that Emily could distinguish amidst the most deafening silence that she had ever heard.

  "Emily?"

  "Sherriff Joe? What's going on?!"

  "Emily," he started down the stairs with his hat clenched under two white-knuckled fists. "Come inside with me for a-"

  "No," Emily gripped the hand rail and sank her nails into the antique wood. "What is this?"

  The Sherriff continued down the steps, but Emily backed up with each one that he took, as if staying away would somehow delay the inevitable. Behind him, the small crowd stood quietly.

  Nobody would look her in the eyes.

  Joe stepped down the last stair, but Emily continued her retreat and stumbled backward over a raised lump of earth. Out of nowhere, Adam's hands closed around her wet shoulders and lifted her back onto her feet. But in saving her from a tumble, his actions also forced the terrified teenager to stand still and face the truth.

  Emily whimpered softly.

  "Emily," the Sherriff extended his hand and instantly started to sob so painfully that the words coming next were disjointed and cruel. "They're…they're dead, Emily."

  Those words were something that she would never forget. Every light, color, smell-even the metallic taste of vomit burning in the back of her throat-was seared into her memory that cool summer evening.

  "No," she stammered, "no that's not possible.

  The welling of tears made the corners of her eyes burn. Because of it, her vision narrowed until everything in front of her was shrunk down to a pin-prick of light. She didn't feel Adam's hands-which were still clasped around her shoulders-begin to shake, nor did she see Barbara barreling down the stairs to help hold her up, leaving behind the rest of the stunned guests. Emily didn't notice that her thin knees were about to give out and she certainly didn't hear the words that were coming out of the Sherriff's mouth. The only thing that the dark-haired beauty knew in that moment was pure, unadulterated pain.

  Emily collapsed into a screaming, tear-soaked mess just as Barbara's arm slipped around her waist. The woman's support still wasn't enough and the young woman fell back against Adam, forcing their wet, sticky bodies together as he lowered her down to the ground.

  "Emily," he said into her ear. "Talk to me."

  Barbara took her hand and knelt down in the dirt next to where Emily and Adam had fallen.

  "We need to get her inside," she said to Adam.

  The mysterious artist was at a loss for words. He could practically feel her soul shatter right then and there.

  But that wasn't the worst part.

  As the two of them sat there, Emily fell back against his chest, allowing him to feel every violent sob as it racked her small frame. The powdery dirt below had turned into a sticky layer of mud that coated both of their legs. Between them, their combined body heat was enough to make Adam start to sweat. His mouth locked shut and the words that he wanted to say got stuck in his sandpaper throat.

  It was all too familiar.

  Sherriff Joe grabbed Adam's arm, snapping him back to the harsh reality curled up in his arms.

  "Come on, son," he sounded frustrated and worn-down at the same time. "Let's go inside."

  Everything after that was a blur. By the time that Emily felt the hysteria start to die down, she was inside and sitting on the couch. Her legs had been wiped off, but there were still long streaks of mud staining much of the exposed skin below her knees. She was sitting near the edge of the cushion with Adam behind her.

  His arms were still wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

  "Emily?"

  The Sherriff's voice came through the fog, though it still sounded far away.

  "Emily," he said as he kneeled in front of her and took both of her hands in his, "I need you to talk to me…please."

  She looked up into his red, teary eyes and searched for a sign-any sign-that the whole thing was a dream but found none.

  "Joe," she suddenly grabbed his face, "you're lying. You have to be lying!"

  He placed his hands over hers and pressed down so that she could feel the hot tears running down over his face.

  "I wouldn't lie to you," he whispered to her.

  Though almost half of the crowd had gathered in the room around them, the air was filled only by the sound of weeping. Nobody dared to speak right then.

  Emily lowered her head and closed her eyes together tightly. The gravity of the situation was starting to settle on her shoulders and it already felt like more than she could bear by herself.

  "Emily," the Sherriff let go of her hands, allowing them to fall back down into her lap.

  Her tears dripped freely onto her and Adam's dirty calves.

  "How-how did it…," her voice faded out before she could finish the question.

  "There was a car accident."

  Emily groaned and rubbed her face with both hands. She didn't want to ask the next question, but something inside of her destroyed any filter that she might have had just an hour earlier.

  "Whose fault was it?"

  The Sherriff turned and looked over at his deputies. He didn't want to give her the truth at that moment but he knew that he couldn
't keep it from her.

  "Tell me," she said and slapped her hands onto her knees.

  "Your mother," he paused, "your mother was driving. We found-"

  He stopped and swallowed, though his mouth was bone dry.

  "What?!" Emily finally looked up at him. "What did you find?"

  Joe sighed and continued, "We found a few of those single-shot liquor bottles in your mother's purse. They were empty."

  Emily took a moment to respond, "You mean that she-"

  The Sherriff nodded before she needed to finish the question.

  "There are still toxicology reports to do, but I don't think that they will change anything."

  Emily knew that her mother would knock back a drink once in a while, but never once did she imagine that the problem ran so deep. Even in her wildest dreams, she never thought that a couple of those little, plastic bottles would have the potential to ruin everything.

  "Did they suffer?"

  The fleeting wince that Joe made wasn't comforting.

  "Your mother was killed instantly."

  Emily didn't like the way that he was talking.

  "Carl," he continued with a pained look in his eyes, "he died at the hospital right before we got here."

  Emily sank down against Adam and started to sob again, though that time she was more acutely aware of his heavy breaths pressing out against her still damp back. Their clothes were mashed together and the earthy smell of him danced around in her nose.

  The Sherriff reached into his breast pocket and dug around for a second before pulling out a golden chain.

  "He," his voice got choked up again and made him stop speaking long enough for Emily to look at him.

  He dangled the chain from one finger and grabbed Emily's hand, opening it just enough to allow the plain piece of jewelry to fall into her palm. Once it was all there, he closed Emily's hand around it.

  "He asked that we give this to you."

  Emily opened her hand and looked down at the small chain that she had given him for Father's Day when she was only five. A flood of pain welled up inside of her again. It was still easy for her to remember: from the sweet smell of apple pie in the oven that day to the empty box of animal crackers that she had "wrapped" it in. Most importantly, she could vividly see him sitting at the kitchen table with the chain in his hand and tears in his eyes. The sweetness of it made her stomach twist up into knots.

  Emily clenched the necklace in her fist and looked around the room, ending with Adam, who was still sitting right behind her. He looked into her eyes for a second, then reached around and pried the necklace from her shaking fingers.

  Adam opened the clasp and swung the golden chain around her neck. When he finished hooking it back together, he pressed both hands down onto the hot skin right below her hairline. He knew that simple words couldn't convey his sympathy.

  Nobody else noticed, but Emily shuddered under his assuring touch.

  Hours later, once the police were gone and the other guests had retired to their rooms, Adam lifted Emily's sleeping, tear-stained face off of his shoulder and lowered her down onto the couch. When she was settled and covered up with a blanket that had been tossed over the arm rest, he laid down on the ground in front of the couch and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 4

  In the weeks following her parents' well-attended funeral, Emily did everything that she could to keep her hands and mind busy. She didn't think much about her plans, nor did she stop to deal with the mixed bag of emotions that had been brewing, unchecked, deep inside of her.

  There was so much to do in and around the antique Inn, and Emily quickly became very grateful for one person in particular: Barbara Seward.

  The other half of Gary, she might have been a large woman but she always carried herself with poise and a chatty disposition. But the one thing that distinguished her most was that, when everything came crashing down, the older woman dropped all of her plans and stayed there to help Emily out.

  One warm morning, she was downstairs early to help Emily with a simple breakfast consisting of oatmeal, toast and some fresh fruit. The two were stationed next to each other with only the sink between them.

  Barbara reached over and grabbed a loaf of bread.

  "How are you feeling today?"

  It hadn't been long since the painful loss that rocked Emily's world to its core, but she managed to surprise even herself with the resilience that she never knew she had. It still hurt, of course, but the endless busy work around the Inn was enough to keep her mind off of things.

  "Okay, I guess. None of this really seems real yet."

  "It will in time."

  Emily grabbed a handful of strawberries out of a green basket in the sink and plopped them onto her cutting board.

  "I don't know if I want it to, honestly."

  "I'm not saying that you have to deal with everything now, honey. I'm just saying that you will have to do it eventually. Keeping stuff like that built up will eventually rot your soul."

  Emily raised her small paring knife and watched intently as its sharp edge slipped through the berry's blood-hued flesh. To her, it felt good to ignore the rest of the world around her and focus on only the most mundane things. A strawberry, after all, wasn't going to ruin her life.

  From just beyond the doorway leading into the living room, Adam's groggy voice wafted through the stagnant silence.

  "What are you two ladies up to?"

  Both of them turned to look at him, but the look of distress on Emily's face was unsettling all by its self. Adam hated to see anyone in so much pain, though it was even worse when it was a sweet girl like her.

  "Just getting some breakfast ready," Barbara said. "Do you want something?"

  Adam answered, though he never took his eyes off of Emily's tired gaze, "I'll just take one of these with me."

  He grabbed one of the apples next to Emily and then took a couple of steps back.

  "I'll be back around lunch time."

  Emily nodded and Barbara answered, "Okay."

  After that, Adam hurried back to him room to collect his supplies. As hard as things surely were on the young object of his affection, the palpable discomfort was too much for him to deal with.

  Back in the kitchen, the two women's conversation had turned back to a somber one.

  "You know, I'm sure that your parents would be so proud of you right now."

  The only retort from Emily was the steady clacking of the knife against the plastic cutting board.

  "Look," Barbara continued as she lowered four bread slices into the commercial toaster and pressed the lever down with a hollow click, "I may not know you very well yet, but it would take a fool not to realize that you are in a bad place and, honestly, you are allowed to be there for a little while. Just never forget that you are capable of handling this. I can see it in you, Emily. You will get through in your own time."

  Emily reached up and used the tip of her finger to sweep away a stray tear.

  "I guess. It's just that-"

  Three hard knocks echoed through the house. Barbara reached out and squeezed Emily's arm.

  "Do you want me to get that?"

  "No," she smiled with gratitude. "Thank you, though."

  Barbara just nodded and gently slipped her hand away.

  When Emily swung the door open, she was greeted by a tall, pale, wrinkled old man in a suit. Outside, the summer sun had begun to ramp up the temperature. This was made painfully evident by the glistening beads of sweat that shimmered from underneath the tiny slick of white hair that the man had left on his head. His dark slacks and jacket hung from his body, making him almost look like a child in his grandfather's nice clothes.

  How ironic, Emily thought to herself.

  "Hello. May I please speak to, Emily Harper?"

  "That would be me," she said. "Would you like to come in?"

  The haggard old man adjusted his thick, wire-rimmed glasses and replied, "Yes, please. It is already hotter than hell out here!"


  "I can see that." Emily stepped to the side, allowing him to hobble through.

  Once indoors, he pulled a handkerchief out from one of the jacket's inside pockets and blotted off his sun-spotted forehead.

  "Please forgive me for not introducing myself." He shoved the cloth into his hip pocket and extended his hand, "I am Martin Seville."

  Emily shook his hand and raised an eyebrow. Even though she knew his name, she still had no idea who he was or what he wanted.

  "I was Carl and Caroline's lawyer."

  "Oh!"

  Emily let go of his hand and directed him toward the couch a few steps away, "Please, have a seat."

  "Thank you, miss."

  The two sat down in opposing seats: Mr. Seville settled down into the sagging couch while Emily took up a spot in a chair. They were separated by a low table, which Martin set his briefcase on.

  "I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Harper."

  "Emily. Emily is fine."

  Martin smiled and snapped the lid of the case open. From inside, her pulled out a manila folder and opened it up on the table between them.

  "Now Emily," he traced his finger down the page, "I know that the past few weeks have been very hard for you, but there are some legal matters that you and I have to talk about."

  Emily didn't like the sound of that. She already had enough to worry about.

  "Like what?"

  The lanky attorney leaned back into the couch and sighed.

  "You know, I was here when your mom and dad brought you home from the hospital."

  "Really?"

  She had no idea that he had known them for so long.

  Martin nodded and continued, "Your mother…oh she was so excited. She had wanted a baby for years but she and Carl had a lot of bad luck. Then you showed up out of nowhere."

  He propped his leg up on his other knee.

  "You were their miracle."

  His words hurt her in a way that she couldn't explain. Emily didn't want to believe that her mother ever loved her. She didn't want to imagine the close relationship between them that they had somehow missed. It was too painful.