Falling to Pieces

by Jamie Canosa

  “I think . . . I’m having . . . a h-heart attack.”

  “You’re not having a heart attack.” His hand soothed up and down my heaving back, calming my raging pulse by degrees. “I know it feels that way, but you’re alright. It’s just a panic attack. It’s completely normal. Just breathe. Breathe for me. Put your hand on my chest.”

  It took all the strength I possessed to move. I felt weaker than I ever had in my life—weaker than the time I’d had to fight off a brutal flu in third grade with no medicine—but I managed to do as he asked. Beneath my palm, his heart beat like a herd of elephants, but his breathing was slow and steady.

  “There you go. Now concentrate on my breathing.” His chest rose on a deep breath and held a moment before deflating. Again. And again. “You do it. Copy me. Just like me, Jade. In.” He took a deep breath and I tried to do the same. “And out.” His chest sank as I felt a puff of air escape my lips. “Keep going. In.”

  He kept at it for I don’t know how long. It felt like years as my breathing slowly began to slow to match his. With the control he gave me, my head stopped spinning and the pressure eased.

  “There you go. That’s better.”

  I was still seated in his lap with zero inclination to move a single muscle. “How did you know?”

  “That it was a panic attack?” I nodded and Caulder took one more deep breath, this one I doubted was for my benefit. “I’ve had one or two, myself.”

  “And someone talked you through them?”

  “Not exactly. Now, where are you hurt?"

  Hurt? Everywhere. I hurt everywhere, but if he’d experienced what I’d just experienced, he already knew that.

  "There's blood all over your face and in your hair, Angel. Where'd it come from?"

  Blood? Why would my face be bleeding? Self-awareness drew out the sting and I realized it wasn't my face at all. Peeling open my clenched fists, I displayed the bloody mess of my palms between us. Shards of glass still protruded from the shredded skin.

  "Jade . . ." Caulder's eyes cut to mine, swimming with sadness I hadn't meant to put there.

  "I didn't mean to."

  "I know. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

  My legs still felt wobbly as Caulder led me across the hall to the bathroom. Knocking the toilet lid shut, I flopped down with about as much grace as a bull in a china shop while he rooted through the medicine cabinet.

  “Do you have any gauze?”

  “Actually, I think we do.” I wracked my brain for where I might have seen the stuff. It had been sitting in there for ages. “Try the top drawer under the sink.”

  He did, and voila. Armed with gauze, a washcloth, and my mother’s tweezers, Caulder crouched at my feet. “Let me see.”

  I unveiled my tattered palms again and he set to work, carefully extracting each tiny shard of glass. I watched him work, but if he felt me staring, he gave no sign of it, focused solely on the task in front of him. A reminder that his mother was a nurse flashed through my mind, and I wondered if he planned to follow in her footsteps.

  “I didn’t see any peroxide.” My thought to ask him about nursing was blindsided by that random statement.

  “Huh?”

  “In your cabinet. Do you have any?”

  “Peroxide?” I wasn’t even sure exactly what that was. “No.”

  Caulder’s eyes lifted to mine as he tossed the last shard of glass in the waste basket. “It’s an antiseptic.”

  “We don’t have anything like that.”

  The news earned me a sigh as he reached for the washcloth. “Then we’re going to have to clean them up as best we can and keep them covered. You don’t want to get an infection.”

  Considering we had no insurance of any kind, no, I most definitely did not want that. He set to work again, gently cleansing my hands until no trace of blood was left. They were quite the mess, however. Long, jagged slashes sliced through most of my skin. A few still oozed a little blood.

  “They don’t look too deep. You shouldn’t need stitches, but keep this on and rewrap them every morning.” He told me all of this while wrapping my hands in a layer of gauze that set the throbbing sting to a constant, subtle burn. "So how’d you do this to yourself, anyway?"

  There was no use lying, he'd already seen me at my worst. "Got in a fight with a clock."

  He nodded like the crazy made perfect sense to him. "I put my fist through a wall. Not quite as symbolic, but it did the trick. And broke my hand in two places. Mom was pissed. Yelled at me the whole way to the hospital and the entire time we sat in the waiting room. I kept waiting for her to lose her voice."

  Caulder smiled at the memory and I could just see it—Mrs. Parks pulling her hair out over her eldest's self-destructive actions—and despite everything, I found the strength to smile back at him.

  “Thanks, Cal.” I pushed off the toilet, prepared to balance myself on the sink if my legs gave out, as Caulder gathered up his supplies. The moment I was upright a sharp pain tore up both legs.

  "I saw that.” By ‘that’ I could only assume he meant the look of intense pain no doubt plastered all over my face. “Where else are you hurt?"

  With a defeated sigh, I sank back onto the toilet lid and lifted my feet. I couldn't see them, but from the way Caulder winced, I guessed they looked about as good as my hands.

  “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?” He reached for the washcloth and dabbed at my soles, while I tried my best not to wiggle and giggle like a two-year-old. “Hold still.” He shook his head with feigned annoyance, but a faint smile played on his lips. “They don’t look too bad. I'm gonna wrap them up just to keep the blood off your sheets for tonight, but by morning they should be alright. Maybe just wear a second pair of socks for some extra cushioning. And don't go running any marathons."

  Propping my heel up on his knee, he carefully wrapped each foot until I felt like some kind of freaking mummy. I intended to argue when Caulder scooped me up off the toilet, but one look shut that thought right up. He carried me across the hall, where he deposited me in my bed and pulled the blankets up to my chin before taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.

  "I'm sorry for dragging you out on the middle of the night. Again. And for blubbering all over you. Again.” God, I was such a mess.

  "Don't ever be sorry for your pain, Angel. It means you care. That you have a heart. Otherwise it couldn't break like this." He looked so sad.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  “Angel? Because you are one.”

  “What?” I was suddenly concerned he’d made a stop at DJ’s before coming over.

  "I mean it. Look at you. Nothing about this is easy." His gaze wandered around the room, settling on the back of my closed door. "As far as I can see, nothing about your life is easy, at all. And yet here you are." His eyes came back to mine, leaving me utterly speechless. "I know Kiernan didn't want to hurt you, but I think a lot of the reason he didn't tell you sooner was because he didn't want to lose you."

  "But, I'd never—"

  "He knows that . . . now. But a lot of girls would have. Hell, his own father did. Can you really blame him for worrying about it?"

  My head rocked slowly from side to side on the pillow. Of course I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t tell under the day-old stubble if Caulder had dimples like Kiernan, or not, but it didn’t make his smile any less devastating. "I should get going. You hanging in there?"

  "Yeah." I was hanging, alright. By a thread. "Thank you, Cal. For everything."

  "Good night, Angel." He bent over to place a brief kiss on my forehead and then he was gone. Almost as quickly, exhaustion claimed me and so was I.

  Twenty One

  If the smells drifting from the pan in front of me were any sign, I’d found my calling. Over the past hour, I’d successfully sliced, diced, marinated, and sautéed. All without causing myself bodily injury. It was a minor miracle. That, or I had a really excellent teacher.

  “Make sur
e to stir it every five minutes or so, until the sauce thickens.” Mrs. Parks swirled her wooden spoon around the pan set on the burner in front of her, and I followed suit.

  Kiernan and Caulder were out getting in some ‘male bonding time’—I was almost afraid to ask—when I arrived. The minute I walked through the front door, their mother had pounced on the opportunity, dragging me into the kitchen and digging out a half dozen cookbooks. I loved every single second of it. And now we had a mean looking chicken stir-fry for lunch.

  “I hope this doesn’t come off as insulting . . .” Mrs. Parks set her plate down beside me and pulled up a chair to the small eat-in kitchen table. “I know your family’s on a bit of a budget, so I went ahead and made copies of some of the cheaper recipes I could find. It’s none of my business . . . I just want to make sure you’re eating right.”

  My gaze followed the stack of papers she pushed across the table as the vice inside my chest I thought only Kiernan had access to tightened. Apparently, it was genetic. I could already feel the telltale sting in the corners of my eyes. Jeez, what was it about this family that turned me into a leaky faucet?

  “Jade? I didn’t mean to—”

  “I’m sorry.” Shoving back my chair, I was halfway to escape when her hand closed over mine.

  “Please wait. I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I—”

  “You weren’t. It’s not that. It’s me.” I tried again to pull away, but she wasn’t having it. I could see where her son got his persistence from. “It’s nothing.”

  “Sweetheart . . . you’re crying. It’s obviously something.”

  Giving up the fight, I settled back into my seat, eyes fixed on the food growing colder by the second in front of me.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a mess.” I was really hoping to leave it there, but Mrs. Parks sat back, watching me with infinite patience. “You’re just so wonderful.”

  “What?” A surprised smile lit her face. “So wonderful I made you cry?”

  “I mean . . . you taught me how to cook. And you took the time to find recipes that I could afford. And . . . and . . .” My eyes welled up again, forcing me to stuff the tears back down and my voice to come out strained. “And . . . you care.”

  The vice cinched tighter and I gasped as more tears overflowed, blazing paths down my cheeks. It was just a stack of recipes. Such a dumb thing to cry over.

  “Oh, honey.” Mrs. Parks scooted her chair closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Of course I care. I just want you to be healthy. It’s the nurse in me coming out, that’s all.”

  “It’s just that . . . No one’s ever . . .” Why was I still talking?

  “That’s not true. I’m sure your mother—”

  “No. She doesn’t care.” The moment the words slip through my lips, I wanted to reach out and snatch them back. What a horrible thing to say about my own mother. Especially to Mrs. Parks—another mother. She must have thought I was the most ungrateful child a parent could get stuck with.

  “I’m sure that’s not true. But the fact that you believe it is, is unacceptable. Come on. Get your coat.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Mrs. Parks was already halfway down the hall before I caught up with her. My stomach lamented the fact that we were leaving lunch behind, but my heart was too busy pounding out a frantic rhythm for me to notice. She didn’t answer. Just handed me my jacket and pulled on her own.

  I followed her silently out to her SUV, knowing damn well where we were headed long before she verified I lived in Halfmoon Park.

  ***

  It felt strange standing outside my own door, waiting for someone to answer it, but Mrs. Parks had walked right up—as soon as I pointed out which one was ours—and knocked, without expectation of me letting her inside.

  I knew Mom was in there because we’d passed her car on the way in. All hope that she was passed out in her bedroom where she wouldn’t hear the door went down the drain when I heard her shuffling around and muttering to herself. The door jerked open and breathing ceased to be an automatic response to living as confusion clouded her face and her eyes darted back and forth between Mrs. Parks and myself.

  “She in some kind of trouble?” Mom didn’t sound particularly concerned with the fact that I was being escorted home by some random adult.

  “No. Of course not. Jade’s a lovely girl. My name is Claire Parks.” Mrs. Parks extended her hand and my mother stared at it like it was some kind of foreign greeting.

  After a moment, Mrs. Parks cleared her throat and dropped her hand to her side, unwelcomed. Mom, for the most part, continued to stare at her, casting occasional glances my way. Each one told me how profoundly unhappy she was at finding a stranger on her doorstep and that’ I’d be hearing about it later.

  “What do you want, Claire Parks? And what are you doing with . . . her?” It occurred to me then that I couldn’t remember my mother ever referring to me as ‘her daughter’. The lack of recognition left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  “Well, this concerns her, so would you mind if we spoke . . . inside?”

  I knew that particular request was likely to be met with a door in the face, but the couple from next door came home at just the right—or wrong, depending on how you looked at it—moment. With a withering glare aimed directly at me, Mom spun around, disappearing into the dimly lit apartment. We weren’t going to get more of an invite than that, so I nodded Mrs. Parks inside.

  “What is this all about?” Mom cracked the top on another can and I had to put a lid on the groan squeezing its way up my throat.

  Mrs. Parks eyed Mom’s beverage of choice, but didn’t comment. “It’s about your daughter. I think there may be some . . . misconceptions between you two that you may want to work out.”

  Mom was digging through a drawer for God only knew what. I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell from the way her shoulders tightened that we weren’t going to get the response Mrs. Parks was hoping for. In fact, I could tell that—if Mrs. Parks hadn’t been there—now would have been a good time to run for cover.

  “Excuse me?” She turned slowly and I cringed at the blatant outrage on her face. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  Mrs. Parks stood her ground beside me, something I admired. “I’m someone who’s worried about your daughter. Maybe if you’d like to put the drink down—”

  “Get out of my home!” I took an unconscious step back as spittle flew from Mom’s lips. Mrs. Parks had crossed the unspoken line, bringing her drink into it.

  “Maybe we should—” I was ready to cut our losses and sound the retreat, but Mrs. Parks was more stubborn—and insane—than I gave her credit for.

  “No. Mrs. Carlson—”

  “It’s Ms. I never married that good-for-nothing piece of trash that spawned her. All that man ever did was saddle me with unwanted baggage that ruined my life.”

  I sucked in a breath and silently cursed myself. When was the truth ever going to stop hurting? Mom didn’t notice, or she didn’t care, but Mrs. Parks did. “Jade, I want you to go call Kiernan.”

  “What?”

  “Go outside. Call Kiernan and have him come pick you up.”

  “But . . .” I spied Mom, who had gone back to rooting through her drawer, completely ignoring our exchange. “What about you?”

  “I need to speak with your mother. Privately.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Jade. Go.” She wasn’t asking. Mrs. Parks was kicking me out of my own house. And like the coward I was . . . I went.

  The shame of leaving her there alone to face my mother’s untamed wrath ate at me as I dialed Kiernan’s number with shaky fingers.

  “Hey. Are you at my place already? We’re on our way back. We should be there in—”

  “No, Kiernan. I’m not at your place.”

  “Oh. Okay, are you home? Do you want me to come pick you up?”

  “Yeah. I’m at home.” I bit my lip
and then dove right in. “With your mom.”

  “My mom?” I could hear Caulder’s voice saying something in the background, but I couldn’t make it out. Kiernan shushed him before returning to me. “What’s my mom doing there?”

  “I don’t—” I had to clear my throat to loosen it enough to get the words out. “Talking to my mom. She wants you to come and get me.”

  “We’re on our way. Meet me outside. I’ll be there in five.”

  My mother’s voice blasted through the door, loud and angry, making it hard to breathe. Without thinking, I ran for the stairs. I couldn’t hear anymore. I didn’t know what the two of them could possibly have to discuss, but I was certain I didn’t want to find out.

  Tugging on a pair of gloves, I stepped outside into the cold. Wind whipped around the corner of the building throwing my hair in my face as a midnight blue Bentley pulled into the lot.

  “Hey.” Kiernan reeled me in for a quick hug and kiss the minute he was out of the car.

  “What’s going on up there?” Caulder came up behind me and I couldn’t help feeling surrounded. And more than a little guilty.

  “I don’t know. Your mom told me to leave.”

  “Should I—?” Caulder rolled his head toward the front door.

  “No!” One member of the Parks family was more than enough. “She said they needed to talk, privately.”

  “No offense, Angel, but I don’t really feel comfortable leaving her alone up there with your mom.”

  That made two of us. “She may be . . . vocal every now and then, but she’s in no shape to hurt anyone, physically.”

  Caulder’s gaze shifted to Kiernan who nodded his agreement. “It’s true. And you know Mom can handle the rest.” He tried to smile at me and failed miserably. “Working in the ICU comes with the added bonus of developing a thick skin. You should hear some of the crap nurses have to listen to.”

  Caulder still didn’t look ready to bail, and truthfully, if I thought for one second that sending him up there would convince his mother to leave, I may have opened the door and ushered him in myself. But it wouldn’t. I knew now where Kiernan—and even Caulder—got their determination from, and Mrs. Parks wasn’t going to leave until she’d done whatever it was she’d set her mind to do. What that meant for me remained to be seen.