Kismet (5 page)

This place is woven into every fiber of my past, and it feels familiar—like maybe this might be the ticket to healing my damaged heart. My optimism is short lived though as I remember that things are so much worse this time. My whole world is gone.

I know coming back here is part of the greater plan. I’m not stupid. The farm and the horses were part of my therapy before, so it makes sense that they want to try it again. Maybe being back here with the animals will allow me to find myself. Maybe it will give me just enough of a distraction from the pain I feel to allow myself to start healing. For the first time since the accident, I find a sliver of hope within me.

Stepping out of the car, I breathe in the fresh air. I forgot how refreshing the air outside the city is.

I stand there for a moment taking in the scenery, focusing on the fields, the trees, and the mountainous background. My mind stops reeling. Optimism slowly creeps in and I can tell already that the simplicity here will be good for me. But my hope is short lived as Mom grabs me by the elbow and starts walking me around like I’m incapable of doing so myself. I can’t say that I blame her because I wouldn’t think I was capable of caring for myself either.

Instead of fighting it, I let her lead me into the house. She guides me through the foyer and into the living room and after she straightens her already impeccable living room, I sit down on the couch facing the bay window.

I love sitting here because it gives you a perfect view of the horse stables. It had always been my favorite spot in the house. It still is. I could spend hours here. No, correction, I
will
spend hours here.

Mom finishes straightening some magazines on the coffee table. I’m not stupid. I know she planted them there in hopes of getting me to pick one up and thumb through it. I glance down and see all of my favorite trashy gossip magazines, but it doesn’t stir anything within me. I have no interest in what might be between those pages. None of that nonsense matters anymore.
That girl, the one who cared about celebrity goings on, is gone, Mom.

I see her deflate as I look back up and stare out the bay window at the stables. “I’ll get you some lemonade,” she says quietly.

As much as she tries to hide it, I hear her sniffle as she walks out into the hallway towards the kitchen and I can’t help but wonder if she’s regretting bringing me home yet. I don’t like that I’m doing this to my family, but I can’t bring myself to pretend like everything is okay.

Because it’s not, and it never will be.

There’s a familiar tightening in my chest and tears prick my eyes when I catch sight of the horses running in the yard. The horses that I have always loved are running free and I find myself jealous of them. They’re free of worries.

I wonder if I’ll work up the courage to ride again? It was once my solace. It had proven to me that there was no greater therapy than sneaking out in the middle of the night and riding my favorite horse bareback.

Watching them run, their manes flowing in the air behind them, stirs something inside of me. I stand up and stalk to the window to get a better look. That’s when I spy the most beautiful horse I think I’ve ever laid eyes on. A gorgeous black Friesian gallops gracefully across the yard, its mane bouncing with each step. It’s a new horse, one I’ve never seen before, and it is absolutely stunning. Breathtaking even.

“You should ride again.”

Tommy spoke quietly from behind me, causing me to release the air I had been holding in my lungs. “It might be good for you. It was before.”

I don’t bother to acknowledge his presence. Instead, I become mesmerized as I watch the horses move about the yard. I focus on the rhythm of their muscles contracting with each movement.

He sighs and a few tense moments pass before he joins me at the window, obviously trying to get a better view of exactly what has caught my attention. “Ah, you’ve spotted the new Friesian. That’s Onyx. She’s been here about two months. She was abandoned at some bankrupt farm up in Maine but Pop rescued her. When we got her she was nothing but a mangy mess, but she sure is a beauty now, isn’t she?”

There’s a pause as Tommy waits for me to respond, and the strain resounding within him is palpable. I notice him flexing his hands, his angry tic making its presence known. Obviously frustrated with me, he walks toward the door. “You and her are a lot a like, ya know, Katie. She just needed a little time and love to get back to her beautiful self, just like I know you will. You did it before, and you’ll do it again. You’re still in there, Katie, and I refuse to give up on you.”

Without so much as another word, he’s gone again.

I feel my knees go weak, my heart pounds in my chest, and I have to rest my forehead on my arm against the wall. A single tear finally falls free. Spending so much time trying to keep my emotions locked up is exhausting. Flicking it away with my index finger, I take a deep breath before slumping back against the wall. I’m unable to wrap my mind around what’s going on in my head. The heartache comes from every angle and it’s overwhelming.

And the guilt.

Life just isn’t fair.

Tears fall faster, my cheeks quickly becoming wet. I hate myself. My family is hurting too and they don’t deserve this. The way I’m acting is selfish, I know that, but they didn’t love them like I did. They don’t know the half of it—the secrets and pain that I’ve locked away with their loss is more than anyone should have to cope with. My family means well, but I just don’t see how anyone ever gets past all this. When your whole existence is ripped from your life, you can’t flip a switch on your grief. I’ve just lost three people who I loved more than myself. There is no quick and easy fix for that.

“Here’s your lemonade, sweetie.”

Startled, I quickly wipe at my face and make my way back to the couch. Flopping down, I let out an exasperated sigh. Mom frowns as she takes a seat next to me on the couch. I’m sure her heart is breaking. She was always my best friend and I want nothing more than to reach out to hug and comfort her, despite the need for my own comforting, but I just take the cup from her hand.

The ice-cold glass feels nice in the unusual springtime sweltering heat. It’s damp with condensation, and I finger the beads of water with one hand lost in the patterns that I make on the glass. I take a gulp and let the sweetness cool me from the inside out. It’s refreshing and damn good. My mom always did make the best lemonade. Memories of Tommy and I waiting impatiently for her to make us a pitcher on hot sweltering days like today, come flooding back but I shake them free. I don’t need to go there. Memories do nothing but reopen the wounds of my past.

I have to hand it to her, Mom knows what she’s doing, trying to awaken a part of the old me by surrounding me with familiar things. She gently pats my leg, giving me a hopeful look. I press my lips together to form a hard line and try lifting the corners of my mouth. I want to smile at her, but my lip starts to quiver. Smiling just feels so wrong. Tears threaten to unleash themselves again.

Mom quickly stands, getting ready to flee and I have no doubt that she’s about to break down.

“I’ll just leave you be,” she chokes, spinning on her heels. I know she’s heading to the kitchen to cry.

I sigh heavily, getting my own emotions in check. Focusing on my deep breathing, I wonder if I will ever get used to this perpetual feeling of walking on eggshells, the breakdown always imminent. I highly doubt it.

Glancing around the living room, I finally notice the faded boxed outlines all over the wall. The metallic taste of blood hits my taste buds when I bite down hard on my cheek, and sadness mixes with anger as I realize that picture frames have been taken down and hidden out of sight to keep me from freaking out. I appreciate the effort, but tucking them away in a box as though they never existed seems wrong, and that isn’t what I want.

Or is it?

Somehow, I get lost deep in my thoughts, which happens a lot lately. What exactly I’m thinking about is unclear because it’s a jumble of mess.

My own world.

My past.

The memories.

All the pain and heartache.

The sound of laughter comes from the kitchen and I move slightly, my muscles stiff from sitting still so long. There’s loud talking, a voice belonging to someone other than my immediate family. It’s a voice I think I recognize but I hope I’m wrong. Gingerly, I stand from the couch, deciding to go check it out. Weeks of sleeping in a crappy hospital bed have done nothing for my normally athletic body. My muscles constantly ache and I’m finding that I have very little strength, tiring more easily than I should.

Turning the corner from the hallway into the kitchen, I find my family talking to someone. It doesn’t matter that his back is turned to me because I would recognize that frame anywhere. Frozen in my space in the doorway, my breath hitches and my heart jumps to my throat, causing me to choke. I know without a doubt that the person standing there is Tommy’s lifelong best friend, Parker McKenzie.

“Hey, sis, look who came by to say hi!” Tommy smiles. It’s not a genuine smile, it’s his smug smile—the one he uses when he’s done something sneaky. In an instant, I know, without a doubt, that he’s done this on purpose and I want nothing more than to punch him in the face for it. I consider jumping across the kitchen and grabbing him by the throat, but I decide that the action would be too full of emotion. So instead I stew on my anger, filing it deep down within me for some other time.

Parker turns his attention toward me, looking over his shoulder in my direction. The minute his eyes catch mine my heart stops beating. I wasn’t ready to see him. Not yet, probably not ever in fact. He’s already smiling, the same earth shattering grin that I’ve seen a million times before. He looks just like I remember him, only older. He was a kid the last time I saw him, but now that boy had turned into a man, a five o’clock shadow in place of his previous baby face.

“Hey, Katie.” He stands from the kitchen table and with two easy strides he’s hugging me, his arms enveloping me just as though no time has passed.

My own arms hang at my sides, my heart palpating from the sudden contact. My breath hitches with unease. If I could claw at my skin, I would, but my arms are still pinned to my sides, Parker holding them firmly into place. I watch helplessly as Tommy taps him on the back, indicating that it’s too much.

Suddenly realizing that he’s made a mistake he mutters, “Sorry,” and he lets me go. I close my eyes and rub my arms, attempting to cleanse my skin from his touch. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. That hug wasn’t his to take.

Seething, I look up at him. I know Parker means well, he always means well, but he never did have much sense when it came to personal boundaries. And what was he sorry for? Sorry for hugging me? Sorry for my loss? Sorry for coming here? He should be sorry, sorry for it all. I fight the urge to reach out and slap him for being such an inconsiderate bastard. But I don’t.

I fume silently to myself. He has no right to show up here today, let alone be the first one to touch me like that. My own family hasn’t felt comfortable enough to hug me yet. The most contact I’ve had is holding Tommy’s hand, and he’s my brother.

The room fills with uncomfortable silence. I know that everyone is waiting to see my next move, but there won’t be one. I refuse to react.

“Katie, sit down and eat with us.” Tommy motions toward the plate of finger sandwiches on the table. I want to turn around and leave but my stomach growls, reminding me that I have yet to eat today.

I push past Parker and take the empty seat next to Pop. The room is quiet as I grab a roll full of egg salad and tentatively take a bite, all the while glaring at Tommy. I’m pissed at him for bringing Parker here. This is a family matter, and Parker isn’t part of that—he made that perfectly clear all those years ago. I wonder how much Parker knows about my situation. I was sure he knows it all, he is Tommy’s best friend after all. Tommy had to have spoken to someone about it all because I’m sure it’s stressing him out.

“As I was saying, Parker,” Pop starts, “I’m going to need another hand around here on the farm. It’s getting a little bit too hard for me to keep up with it. I’m getting up there in age.” He pauses and takes a sip from his coffee cup. “It’s probably time for me to start pulling back anyway. With the cost of running the place continuing to rise, retirement is looking more and more appealing. Plus, with Katie being home I’d like to spend more time with her and the horses.”

What. The. Hell?

Parker, still making eye contact with me, clears his throat. “Yes, sir. Like I said, I can come help mornings and evenings.” Cautiously, he joins us at the table and takes a tuna sandwich, finally breaking eye contact. “Things are slow at the shop right now anyway.”

Obviously Parker had taken over his father’s mechanic shop, just like he always said he would. Thinking about that shop, I remember how he looked as a teenager, his greasy, white t-shirt hugging his muscles while his coveralls hung around his waist. He drove me insane then, and I would spend countless hours pining away for him. But that was the past. This is the present. I am a widow. A grieving mother. The girl that idolized Parker McKenzie is long gone.

The kitchen, once the boisterous center of conversation, was filled with yet more uncomfortable silence.

“It sure is great to see you, Katie,” Parker mumbles as he chews his sandwich.

More awkward silence.

The wind had been taken out of their sails. I was the pink elephant in the room.

Everyone grasps at straws, trying to find some sense of normal conversation. Tommy wasn’t about to give up. “So, I saw Katie checking out that new Friesian, Pop,” he says, subtly redirecting the conversation. I hope he’s feeling guilty for doing this to me, but I seriously doubt it. Tommy never sees fault with anything he does—he is always right, and no one ever puts him in his place when he isn’t.

“Ahh,” Pop smiles in my direction, “Onyx is a beauty, isn’t she? She’s still a bit wild though, I really need someone to break her in for me.” He looks to me, knowing that I have a weakness for horses that need rehabilitation. He’s hoping that I’ll say I’ll do it. But I won’t.