If I Break #4 Shattered Pieces

by Portia Moore

  “So the video seems as if it’s going viral—all it’s done is increase the popularity of this place. There is no such thing as bad publicity, remember? I’ve been fielding calls all day. You’re going to be fine, Lauren. All but three of the paintings you showcased sold, and even Ian has agreed to show with you again… on the condition that your husband isn’t in the same room with him.”

  All of the things that Hillary has caught me up on should make me smile, and feel a tiny bit happy, but it doesn’t. While I’m here I just keep replaying the last time I was in the gallery. My joy, hope, and optimism seem to have been sucked away like leftover food and debris. I only had a certain allotment of smiles for use today and Caylen took each one.

  “Can you send him a really expensive bottle of champagne, and maybe some really good food?” I clear my throat and take a drink from the water bottle that’s sweating in front of me.

  “Already done.” She takes my hand and clasps it with hers. “I’m so sorry again, Lauren.” Her big blue eyes plead with me for forgiveness.

  “It wasn’t your fault… well a very tiny miniscule part was but I’m done blaming other people for what happens with us. I always do that and I’m tired of it. I won’t look to lay blame on anyone so that it doesn’t lay on him. I won’t do it anymore.” I tell her squeezing her hand back.

  “Aidan says you haven’t visited him or called,” She says hesitantly. My eyes dart from hers. “Not that I blame you,” she adds quickly. My chin goes to my chest and I let out a deep sigh and a soft shrug.

  “I don’t know what to say to him. Did he mention when he’ll be coming home?” I ask quietly, both anxious and afraid to hear the answer. She shakes her head and at that moment the buzzer rings for the gallery. We look at the camera and my stomach drops when I see him standing outside—the heart I swore had died has just reminded me it’s still alive and kicking. Hillary glances at me, and I take my lip in between my teeth and begin to chew.

  “Should I…?” she asks.

  I nod almost immediately, and then a small part of me wonders if I should… what if he’s still… no… I swallow hard. She hits the buzzer to open the door and we both head downstairs. By the time we make it down the stairs he’s inside, standing awkwardly by the door, his shoulders cast down, hands in his pockets. When his eyes reach mine I can read them from across this room, and my heart clenches in my chest. The tension in the air is so thick you can slice it, words unspoken float through the air. He doesn’t have to speak, I know it’s Chris. He’s the only one who wears guilt around his neck like a tie and an apology written across his eyes. I let out a sigh of relief as my eyes trail over his T-shirt and jeans. If he had on a suit I just may have passed out.

  “Hi,” Hillary speaks before either of us does.

  “Hey Hillary.” He gives her a broken smile. She looks between us and twirls a finger around a strand of her hair.

  “Uhm… Aidan’s in the car.” Chris tells her pressing his lips together.

  She glances towards my direction giving me a look to ask for permission to leave and I nod letting her know it’s okay.

  “Cool… I’ll go say hi.”

  I cross my arms across my chest, feeling if I don’t my heart will escape and jump in his arms, and right now, my heart can’t take the lead on this. My mind has to be on high alert.

  “You didn’t come to the hospital,” he says quietly. I look down guiltily and shrug away the apology fighting to escape. “Not that I blame you,” he follows up quickly. He approaches me slowly but stops about an arm's length away.

  “I can’t begin to apologize for what happened here…” his voice is wobbly and filled with emotion. I take in a deep breath through my nose, and rest my gaze on the floor, because if I look at him, I may do stupid things like tell him it’s okay when it’s not, or hug him when nothing has been solved.

  “You didn’t deserve that… you don’t deserve any of this,” he continues quietly. “I saw the video and… if I could take anything back it would be that…” he says, his voice weak. I feel tears starting to settle in my eyes.

  “Collin took…” He lets out a long breath through his nose. “I… I took pills—too many and the side effects—well you saw it,” he explains. I slowly bring my eyes to his face.

  “I’ve been hoping that this would all work out, that I could solve it all on my own. But yesterday showed me that what I’m doing isn’t working, it’s not enough and when I saw what I did to you—” He clenches his jaw. “After the thing that happened with Cal and Clayton, I should have known then that this was something bigger than I could handle.” He clears his throat, and my heart starts to feel as if it’s going to break.

  “But seeing me do that to those people… to you…” He shakes his head and I see his eyes tear up. I let the ice in my demeanor break a little and cross the imaginary line between us to take his hand.

  “You weren’t yourself,” I tell him, and his brows furrow together. “We’ll get through this.” I take his other hand in mine, and his big hands wrap around mine.

  “See that’s the thing. I can’t do this to you anymore.”

  Every muscle in my body tightens, and he must sense it as he squeezes my hands tighter. This feels eerily similar to so many years ago, when I met Cal that faithful day in our home, when everything was supposed to be fine but it changed in an instant, but I push those thoughts away.

  “You’ll see Helen more often… we’ll make sure that you won’t take any more pills, we’ll do counseling, as much as it takes, as long as it takes, you can go on a leave of absence at work. We can even go back to Michigan with your parents….” My words come out a mile a minute, and when he presses his lips together and takes my face in his hands, I lose my breath. I see his answer in his eyes long before the words reach his lips.

  “No.” His word is short but the most painful thing I’ve ever heard—it’s like a knife in my heart. His eyes lock with mine, and his face blurs from the tears accumulating.

  “No?” I ask him, my voice breaking, my body beginning to tremble. He shakes his head slightly. “What are you saying?” I ask him pulling away. “You’re not doing this to me again. You can’t, Chris. You won’t hurt me like that, I know you won’t.” I know it’s not playing fair right now, pitting him against Cal, but I can’t afford to play fair. I can’t lose him. I won’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him to change the direction this is going in. He tears his eyes away from me, and when he looks up, I see a single tear fall down his cheek.

  My heart crumbles, and I’m starting to feel numb all over. “Please…please don’t do this.”

  “Lauren…” he says and turns away from me, and I can see he’s wavering. I latch on to him.

  “No you can’t.” I’m begging pathetically, desperately, tears suffocating my words. The moment before he walked in I wasn’t sure if I could move past what happened. I couldn’t see a way, but now I realize through my anger and anxiety, there is no other way to move forward without him. I can’t see it or imagine my future any other way.

  His body turns stiff and when he turns around and clasps my face in his and makes me look in his eyes, I see its Cal. I take gulps of air as if I’m drowning. I am drowning.

  “Cal no! No! You can’t do this to me!” My voice is sharp yet weak, infested with burning tears.

  “We have to do this, babe. It’s for you. For you and Caylen,” he says, his eyes melancholy, his tone hard and expression determined. I go weak, my body limp and he must know because he catches me before I fall to the ground and pulls me up in his arms.

  “Not again, not again Cal. I-I can’t lose you again. No, I won’t. If you love me you won’t leave.” I’m crying so hard now, and I can feel his heartbeat as I cry into his chest.

  “It’s because I love you….I’ll be back. I promise,” he whispers in my ear. I ball his shirt into my hands and try to catch my breath.

  “How long?” I ask through a whimper.

  “As long as it takes
,” he responds, and I feel my spirit starting to crumble.

  “I won’t ask you to wait,” he says, a quiet strength to his voice. I pull away from him, anger fueling me.

  “You won’t ask me to wait? How gallant of you!” I spit angrily but it dries up in seconds.

  “I don’t have a choice. I never had a choice. No other option! You took my heart the day I fell in love with you!” I cry. “How do you expect me to live without it?!” I tell him before bursting into sobs again. His arms envelop me, and he holds me, but if it isn’t for eternity it won’t be long enough. I cover my face in my hands. He kisses both of them softly.

  “When I come back, I’ll be the man you deserve.” I don’t know how long it is before he’ll leave me but I know my soul is going with him.

  “My parents have the information as to where I’ll be, but don’t come see me, Lauren. We… I have to get fixed.” His voice is stern but some how manages to be tender. I’m afraid to look up at him.

  “Do I make you worse?” My voice stutters. His lips land on mine and they’re so soft and gentle that for a second they makes me forget about the pain and the devastation that I’m sitting in the middle of.

  “You make me want to be a better man.” His arms envelope me again, and I know it’ll be the last embrace we’ll have until… I don’t know when. My entire body aches—anger, despair and bewilderment swells in me.

  “I love you more than my own life… you’ll get through this,” he tells me, and I laugh bitterly as he lets go, déjà vu.

  “Because I have to?” I mutter before he leaves out of the door. He stops and turns to me.

  “Because I need you to.” And with that, he’s gone.

  Chris

  “So, here we are.”

  Cal is standing in the same doorway, his arms folded across his chest, and a blank expression on his face, but I know how he’s feeling, the same way that I do after leaving the woman we love most. We’re lost, desperate and angry. We had made this deal the last time we spoke about him coming when I needed him, but I took his word with a grain of salt since he still hadn’t shared any of his memories. After everything that happened, I’m not sure if they just didn’t take or if I wouldn’t accept them, but…we share her.

  “I told you that son of a bitch was off his rocker,” he grumbles. I ignore his I told you so.

  “Great, so where does your I told you so get us?” I ask him. He walks over to the table and kicks a chair out from under it to sit in.

  “So, what do we do now since we’re in the country club for crazies?” he asks.

  “I need you to call Collin,” I tell him and he laughs.

  “You don’t want me to do that,” his tone is viciously low.

  “Yeah I do,” I tell him. He scowls, but after a few moments it’s replaced with a tight smirk.

  “Collin… old buddy old pal. Come out, come out wherever you are,” he calls, amused after a few minutes.

  “Did you really do it?” I ask him annoyed, and he scowls.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  There is an eerie stillness in the room and the lights flicker.

  “I’m here.” We both turn, and see Collin standing in the entryway. A pair of black, square reading glasses on, a loose white button-down and tan slacks. Cal shoots out of his seat before I can blink and grabs him by the neck and slams him onto the dining room table.

  “Hey, stop it!” I yell at Cal.

  “He pushed my girl!” He growls back at me, eyes full of anger but wearing a half-smirk. “He tried to get rid of us,” he continues. I pry him off of Collin who takes several breaths.

  “It’s not like you never tried…” he says through gasps. “The medication didn’t react quite how I expected, I admit that.” he says full of guilt pushing himself off the table.

  “Look, we need him!” I tell Cal with a warning glare.

  “I apologize for my behavior. I will never forgive myself for what I did to Lauren. But none of us here have been saints,” he adds. Cal shrugs and sits back in his seat.

  “Right, Cal?” Collin, says his eyes narrowed on Cal.

  “Don’t make me end you,” Cal spits back at him.

  “Christopher, he wasn’t going to share consciousness with you. He just wanted to get rid of me and the moment that happened, he was going to bury you.” Collin spits out, and I look at Cal who gives a half-shrug.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” I let out a sigh.

  “We can’t keep doing this… the fighting, the secrets, this weird power struggle.” I yell at both of them and their eyes dart from mine. “If we do, Lauren’s going to end up in someone’s psych ward and I don’t think it’ll be through voluntary check-in. Can any of you live with that because I know I can't?” I ask them both and see guilt on each of their shoulders.

  “So what are you suggesting, Chris?” Collin asks.

  “That we do whatever it takes to keep her,” I say quietly, and Cal laughs bitterly.

  “So we’re back taking advice from Daddy now?” he asks condescendingly.

  “Hey, do you have a better idea?” I ask, and for once his smug grin disappears.

  “So are you proposing that we integrate?” Collin asks with an arched brow.

  “I don’t trust either of you farther than I can throw you,” Cal snarls.

  “Okay, well how about we keep on going how we’re going but if that’s your choice—get good and comfy at Elm Memorial because I’m not checking us out until we get this right. No one will see her until we get this right,” I tell them and I expect an argument or some form of protest but none comes.

  “You in?” I ask Collin, and he nods. I turn to Cal, and he’s quiet then he looks at me with a sincerity that I've never seen.

  “I’d do anything for her.”

  “I have something to show you both then. If we’re going to agree to do this,” Collin stutters. Both Cal and I look at him curiously. The lights dim in the room we’re in and suddenly we’re somewhere else, a small house. There are kids playing in the living room, and a TV is on. We follow Collin to an open doorway. We look in and my heartbeat picks up when I see me—the little boy standing in front of my mother, gun in hand, pressed to a woman’s face with tears streaming down her eyes.

  “Come on, pull it for Daddy.” Our heads all turn and we see a man… not just any man but young Dexter Crestfield goading my five-year-old self. I turn away and hear the shot. In the blink of an eye, we’re back in the meeting place I chose, a façade of my parents’ kitchen. At this moment I wish it was real, that my mom would walk through the door and tell me everything is going to be okay.

  “I’m going to kill him!” Cal’s face is red, and he’s trembling.

  “You can’t kill him,” Collins says, evenly unaffected. I look at him in disbelief.

  “How long did you know that?!” I ask him angrily. He looks away, but not before I see the guilt in his eyes. Cal charges him like a mad bull before pinning him up against the wall by the throat. This time I don’t stop him.

  “You’ve been holding out on us—on this bastard killing our mother for what—let me guess so you could blackmail him?” he says through gritted teeth.

  “We can’t bring her back, we’ll never be able to prove he did it…” he says, his voice strained. Cal punches him in the face before letting him go. He grabs a chair and then slams it against the wall before sinking to the floor. My brain feels like it’s being smashed with a rolling pin.

  “I have an idea,” Collin says.

  “You shut the fuck up!!!” Cal screams at him. I sit on the floor and try to catch my breath. I don’t know how I’ll get them to integrate after this. I scowl at Collin.

  “If you would just listen to me,” he pleads, only making eye contact with me. “I planted a bug in his office and car, and I have people…” he starts to say. “We may not be able to get him on murder charges, but we can get him put away for a very long time on insider trading, embezzlement, and coercion.”


  I look over at Cal. “Are we on the same page?” He nods his affirmation.

  Collin does as well. “Okay.” He mutters.

  We all look at each other. Or our self. I swallow the lump in my throat, all of us in different thoughts, fighting different ghosts but for the first time I don’t feel alone, or as if I’m in an enemies camp.

  “Whatever it takes,” Cal says quietly, and we all repeat it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lauren

  “Mommy sand!!” Caylen squeals as the white sand pours through her fingers.

  “That is a beautiful sand castle sweetheart,” I tell her before stealing a kiss on her cheek.

  “Look at mine, Lauren!” Willa giggles.

  “Beautiful!” I exclaim, and she twirls around in her pink princess swimsuit.

  “I’m so glad to get away from all of the madness. This is close to heaven,” Mrs. Scott says, a wide smile on her face.

  “Girls, why don’t you go bury Papa!” Mrs. Scott suggests pointing the girls in her husband's direction who’s about fifteen feet away from us reading his newspaper on the Ipad we gave him for his birthday.

  “Daddy, can we bury you again?” Willa asks Mr. Scott who feigns a groan but agrees.

  “Come on, Caylen,” Willa says as they make their way over to him.

  The past four months have been like a whirlwind. Hillary was right. The night that turned my world around seemed to be one of the best social media kickoffs our gallery could have had. I have a wait list for artists work to be featured, we’ve been featured on several celebrities’ social media accounts, and I’ve even listed some of my own work. Nothing as personal as I had the last time but it feels good to run a successful business and still be an artist. With Dexter Crestfield Sr. beginning his trial soon, we thought it was as good a time as any to get away from the madness that’s likely to ensue. The sun is hot and there is a cool breeze off the water. The sky is clear and I can’t help but drift back to my wedding day on that beach in Rio. I blink the thought away, the joy of the memory tied around sadness. I’ve been trying my hardest to not be sad, to not think about him. It’s been four months since he left me at the gallery, when he told me he had to get better. The days after that nearly suffocated me, but Caylen pulled me out of that depression—the thought of her losing both her parents in mere days was more than the overwhelming need to pine, cry, and linger in the depth of my pain. I wish I could hear his voice, that I could just touch him. At least this time I know where he is. Elm Memorial, according to Dexter, is the crème de la crème of psychiatric hospitals. I looked at the website—no stark white paint, no bars on the doors, no creepy workers in matching outfits that sneer at you and stuff pills down your throat to keep you crazy. I guess those images came from a collage of movies I’ve seen over the years. Instead, it looks like a day spa, boasting days of individual therapy, group musical therapy, group therapy and family therapy.