The Fragile Line: Part One (The Fine Line #2) (6 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

~Chloe~

Present Day

F
acebook.
M
e.
L
ater. 

I hadn’t washed Matt’s message off my bathroom mirror yet, even though it’d been almost a week.  I hadn’t tried to contact him either, even though his message on my mirror said he wanted me to. 

I didn’t like the way he just came over when I called.  Didn’t like that he thought enough of me to bring me food.  Didn’t like the way he made me feel safe and unjudged.  I didn’t like the way my skin became fire when he touched me or the way he asked me to
do what’s right
like he had no doubt that I was actually capable of it.  I definitely didn’t like how he turned a desperate, irreparable morning into something good. 

I hated it. 

Only—I didn’t.  When I woke up alone later that night, I found that I actually wanted
more
of it.  More of him.  More of the way I feel when I’m around him.  And that’s what scared me.  Because I know how this goes.  This
thing
that happens between men and women.  This is how it starts.  And I also know how it ends. 

That’s
what I hated.

Having all that stuff I crave will never be worth the pain of betrayal and heartbreak that comes when you get even a tiny fragment of it.  I don’t even know why I tried with Logan when I knew how it would end.  That’s a mistake I won’t make again.  It’s better to remain numb. 

If you don’t have a heart, it won’t get broken. 

Come to think of it, numb is exactly how Logan felt toward me.  And I toward him.  Maybe that’s why I became so infatuated with him.  Well, that and the phenomenal sex.  Maybe that’s why I thought we were so perfect for each other.  Maybe that’s why I didn’t want to let him go.  Because good sex and a lack of anything substantial was what I needed.  And that’s exactly what he gave me. 

So much for that. 

Luciano’s was packed tonight.  All three of our private VIP rooms were booked all night, and word had it that a marriage proposal would be taking place in one of them.  Not an uncommon thing; I’d been involved in several over the last two years. 

I didn’t think I’d have to be involved in tonight’s proposal until Lauren cornered me in the kitchen while I placed table eighteen’s dinner plates on a serving tray. 

“Chloe!” With bouncing brown curls, she rushed toward me. “I have to go.  Like,
now
.  My sitter just called, and Braxton has a fever of 104.2.  He has been puking non-stop.  Would you mind taking over a couple of tables for me?  I only have two more that need coverage.  Please say yes,” she pleaded.  “If I don’t get someone to take over my tables before I go, I might get fired.  And I really need this job.” 

I was already swamped and had customers waiting longer than they should’ve been for their meals.  Part of me was irritated with her because being a single mom with a four-year-old seemed to always be her excuse for getting out of work early or not coming into work at the last-minute.  Part of me wondered if she was even telling the truth. 

The other part of me knew I could use the extra tips, and if she her son really did have that high of a fever, he needed to get some medical attention.

“Yeah, absolutely.  What do you need?”

“Oh, thank God.  Thank you, Chloe! I owe you one.”

This wasn’t the first time I had covered for her.  She owed me many.

“I need to get these plates out, Lauren.  What tables do you need covered?  Tell me quick.”

“Okay, table four got their food about ten minutes ago.  You might want to check up on them soon because I haven’t had a chance to yet.  VIP room three is the proposal.  I just finished clearing their plates.  He’s going to propose after you bring out the dessert menu.”  She handed me a menu that looked nothing like the Luciano’s dessert menu or any other menu that we have here in the restaurant. 

“What’s this?”  I grabbed it and read the title on the cover. 

Lifetime of Happiness

Menu

I opened it to find a list of “menu items” like love, commitment, and communication along with paragraphs that I would assume describe how each item fits into their relationship.  It was an interesting concept, but I didn’t have time to read through it. 

“Cute.”  I closed it up, stuck it in my waiter pouch, and continued placing dinner plates on the serving tray.  “So, I’m supposed to act like this is a dessert menu?” 

“Yep.  He’ll excuse himself when you get there so that she can read it alone.  You give her the menu to read and leave her to read it.  Then he’ll come back and propose a few minutes later when he knows she’s read it all.” 

“Got it,” I said, lifting the serving tray and placing it on my shoulder.

“Thanks, Chloe,” she said, as I pushed open the kitchen door.

I nodded, “No problem.  Just take care of your kid.”

After serving table eighteen and checking on table four, I headed to VIP room three.  Our VIP rooms were the best in town, offering riverside views out of floor-to-ceiling windows, private music selections, and instead of just being in a separate area of a larger space, they were actual intimate rooms that could be closed off to the rest of the restaurant just by shutting the door. 

I knocked three times, then waited five “Mississippis” before entering.  I learned the hard way that when you don’t wait a few extra seconds, you may barge into something intimate, hence embarrassing everyone involved, which in-turn leaves me with a shitty tip.  

I’ve had my fair share of uncomfortable moments in these VIP rooms, and I’ve seen everything from make-out sessions to full-on sexual interactions.  I thought I had seen it all.  But nothing prepared me for what I walked into tonight. 

I saw him first.  Before her.  Baby blue eyes gaped at me from the table as I entered the room, shock registering in them as I came to an immediate halt at the sight of his exquisite face.  His sandy blond hair was the same medium length I remembered.  In fact, nothing about him had changed.

She turned around to face me.  She’d dyed her hair.  It used to be blond like mine.  Now dark cherry red, it contrasted her porcelain skin perfectly, bringing out her beauty even more than I remembered.

“Chloe,” she whispered, turning whiter than she already was.

Nobody said anything else, but I was sure they could hear my heart hammering its way out of my rib cage, providing the beat for the Frank Sinatra tune that flowed out of the room’s speaker system.  My glare went from her, to him, to the menu I was supposed to give them.  The menu he would be using tonight to propose to her.  Propose marriage.  Because he wanted to make her his
wife.

“What the FUCK?” I yelled, probably louder than I should have.  “Are you kidding me?”

I wanted to scream
no!
  I wanted to scream
get out of my restaurant!
I wanted to take the damn “happy life” menu and tell Ryan what a
stupid
idea it was, and that my sister would
never
marry him.  I wanted to make them as miserable as they made me. 

But a voice in the back of my mind said
do what’s right.
And I realized that nothing I said to them would matter.  It never did before.  It never would.  So I turned around and walked out, slamming the door violently behind me. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

~Chloe~

Age 12

The press called my parents’ deaths “romantic.”  I call the press “morbid” for talking about it that way.

My father had surprised my mother with a hot air balloon ride for their twentieth wedding anniversary.  As the balloon attempted to land, and as the grounds crew attempted to anchor it, a mooring cable got wrapped around the gas cylinder, starting a fire in the basket.  As the pilot jumped out, the grounds crew fled, and before the pilot could help my mom and dad out of the basket, a gust of wind caused the balloon to rise rapidly into the air while the basket quickly became engulfed in flames. 

With my parents still inside, it continued to rise and continued to burn.  To escape the fire, my parents locked hands, and jumped to their deaths.  But not before one last kiss.  Hence the so-called “romantic” death.  Shortly after, the basket burned up, and the balloon fell to the ground. 

Someone had caught the entire thing on video, and the news stations repeated the footage of their jump for days. 

Until something more interesting came along. 

I was twelve years old and home alone when the two officers and the middle-aged woman in black pants and a purple blouse came to my door to tell me the news of their deaths.

“Are you Chloe McCarthy?” the woman asked.

“Yes.”

“Chloe, I’m Davila Arnold, and this is Officer Banks and Officer Fowler.  May we come in, please?”

“My parents said to never let anyone in the house when they’re not home.”  Little did I know that it probably wasn’t the best idea in the world to divulge that I was home alone.

“Your parents have taught you well, Chloe.  Is there anyone here with you?” the woman asked, peeking past me into the foyer.

“That’s none of your business,” I said, closing the door, locking it, and running to our cordless house phone.  I tried Mom’s cell, but there was no answer.  Then I tried Dad’s cell and again, no answer.  These people at the door creeped me out, and I didn’t know what to do.  Finally, I tried Brynn’s cell. 

“Hello?” she answered.

“Brynn!  Mom and Dad aren’t here, and there’s some people at the door who want to come in.  Do you think I should let them in?”

“What?  No, don’t let anyone in.  Who are they?”

“I don’t know.  Two of them are police, and there’s a lady.” 

There was a brief pause, and I could hear music pumping and people talking and laughing in the background.  “Let me talk to them.”

I opened the door.  When the officers and the woman heard the creak of the screen door opening, they stopped their hushed conversation and turned to look at me.  

“Here.” I handed Miss Arnold our phone.  “My sister wants to talk to you.”

“Thank you, Chloe.” She took the phone and walked far enough away so that I couldn’t hear what she said.

The looks on the officers’ faces made me nervous.  One of them was a younger man, maybe around the same age as Brynn or a few years older, and the other must’ve been about Dad’s age.  A sadness reflected in both sets of eyes as they looked down at me, giving me tight-lipped, fake-assed smiles.  Why were they so sad?

We stood there for several minutes in silence while I unsuccessfully strained to hear the conversation between my sister and Davila Arnold. As I traced my big toe along a crack that had developed in our concrete porch, I thought about how strange it was that the officers weren’t saying anything to me or to each other.  Police officers were supposed to make you feel safe.  These two made me feel anything but safe. 

“I’m so sorry, Miss McCarthy,” I vaguely heard Miss Arnold say to my sister as she began walking back toward us.  “We’ll stay until you get here…  Yes…  Here she is.”

I took the phone, unable to control the quiver in my voice, “Brynn, what’s going on?”

“Let them in, Chloe,” my sister sniffled, her voice cracking. “I’ll be there in two hours.”

After hanging up, I opened the door and did as she said.  The police officers came inside first, followed by Miss Arnold.

She placed her hand on my shoulder, “Is there somewhere we can sit down?”

“Okay,” I said, unable to control my shaking hands, as I led them to the living room.  What was so important that I had to let these strangers in our house?  Or that my sister had to immediately come home from college?  And if it was so important, why weren’t Mom or Dad here?

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning for me to sit on the couch as if this were her home and I was the guest.

She sat down next to me, while the young officer found a place on the ottoman, and the older one took a seat on the piano bench. 

“We have some difficult news,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Chloe.  There was an accident with the hot air balloon your parents were riding in this afternoon.  As a result, your mom and dad have died.”

~~~

I still hadn’t spoken a word by the time my sister arrived two hours later.  I hadn’t cried either.  Miss Arnold and the officers must’ve known I was in shock because even though the tears didn’t come, the officers tried to console me, speaking comforting words and asking if I needed anything.  They even turned the TV on to try to distract me, but I just hugged my knees to my chest and buried my face in them, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to force myself awake.  Because this couldn’t be happening for real.  It had to be a dream, and I wanted to get out of it. 

All I could think about was the way Mom always smiled with her eyes and how she was the only one who knew how to make oatmeal the right way.  I thought about Dad’s warm hugs, his deep belly laugh, and the way he could always talk Mom into letting me have extra screen-time, especially when I did something nice. 

After a while, I began to wonder, if they were really gone, who would help me with my homework and take me to volleyball practice.  And then I thought about what a horrible person I must be to think of
myself
in a time like this.  So I started thinking about the accident.  How exactly did they die?  Did they suffer? 

Little did I know, I’d have the “privilege” of witnessing it on video the following day.

All the while, I reinforced in my mind the fact that if this wasn’t a dream, it had to be some kind of cruel prank, like the ones you see on the Internet.  Parents the ages of mine don’t die, and if they do, it’s never together at the same time and never because of some freak accident.  It’s always cancer or car crashes. 

Yes, it must be a prank.
  Something as unrealistic as a freaking hot air balloon accident could have no other explanation.  I almost expected Mom and Dad to walk through the door when my sister opened it and entered the house.  And when I saw that it was her and not them, I finally broke down. 

Brynn rushed to my side, and I buried my face on her shoulder, the distinct smell of her Victoria’s Secret spritz flooding my mind with memories of when she used to live with us and making it feel like she’d never left.  It had only been seven months since she moved away for school, but it wasn’t the same here without her.  I could tell her things I could never tell Mom, especially about boys, and she always understood and helped me through it.

“We’ll give you two a few minutes,” Miss Arnold said.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me, Chlo,” she squeezed me tightly.  “I’m so sorry I wasn’t the one to tell you.  Miss Arnold said it would be best if the news came from someone outside the family, but the whole drive here I kept thinking it should’ve been me.  I should have made them wait.  I’m so sorry.” 

“What happened to them, Brynn?  Do you know what happened?  With the accident?”

“No, but I’m going to find out.” 

She held me a while longer until Miss Arnold came back into the room with her files and folders.  She sat down next to my sister, placed the pile of paperwork on the coffee table, and began sorting through it. 

“I know this is a difficult time for you both,” she said between finger licks and paper shuffles, “but since Chloe is a minor, we have to discuss her options.  As I said on the phone, Brynn, I am the Child Welfare Caseworker assigned to Chloe’s case, and I will be handling her placement.  For now, we just need to find somewhere temporary for her to stay until we can get the ball rolling with legalities.  How may we reach your grandparents?”

We didn’t have any.  No aunts or uncles either.  Without my parents, the only family we had was each other.  That’s when the panic set in.  I was old enough to know that the foster system was a bad place to be.  What would happen to me? 

Brynn must’ve noticed my muscles tense up and the blood filter out of my face because she took my hands right away.  “Chloe, look at me.”

Her voice ripped me out of my racing thoughts. 

“I’m going to take care of you, okay?” she reassured me, her words a faint whisper to the pounding in my ears.

I nodded.

“No matter what it takes, I will not let anything else bad happen to you.  I promise.”