Cerulean (Book one in series)

by A. L. Singer

  Cerulean

  A Novel

  A. L. Singer

  ©2012 A. L. Singer. All rights reserved.

  ISBN:978-0-9851848-0-3

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No reproduction, storage, or retrieval of this material in any media in current use or invented in the future is permissible without direct written permission from the author and/or publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, events, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover art by Tham Nguyen Design.

  Acknowledgments

  To my many siblings, thank you for all your support and encouragement.

  To my father, who always teased me about my never-ending stories, and to Connie, who is anything but my “other mother”—I love you both and know you are proud.

  To my husband, whom I love and adore. With you beside me, I was able to get through my darkest days and look forward to tomorrow.

  To all my prereaders—Natalie, Kim, Gina, Ferin, Adam, Laura, Angela—thank you for your opinions and feedback. I’m glad you all loved the book and repeatedly told me to get it into the world.

  To my editor, Lisa Drucker, thank you for all your help, hard work, and encouragement.

  Chapter 1

  I turned back to the graveyard once more before getting into the car. The rain had started to intensify from a light mist to heavy drops. The pings echoed on the umbrella someone held over me. A hundred yards away, I looked one more time at the canopy over the two caskets covered with white roses. I just stood there, numb, not wanting to walk away. Twenty-three was too young to be burying my parents. The air was thick and hot, and the rain only made it worse. I swallowed hard, in spite of the lump in my throat, and whispered good-bye.

  “Mia. … Sweetheart, it’s time to go.” I barely heard my name when Jennifer’s husband Aaron spoke it. I closed my eyes, releasing the tears that filled them. Finally turning back to the car, I slid into it. Someone closed the door for me. I lay my head back on the seat and closed my eyes. My fingers played with the pearls around my neck. I had borrowed them the week before from my mother’s jewelry box. Visions of her wearing them filled my mind. The car started to move slowly, swaying over the gravel beneath us toward the main road. I would be home shortly.

  I drifted off and recalled the day I died inside. Ever since the phone call a few days earlier, I had felt empty within. I had been up in the attic finishing a series of paintings for the local deli. As I concentrated on the holes in a block of Swiss cheese the phone rang. Seeing the name flash across the screen, I thought it a little odd my mother’s best friend was calling. Odder still, from her cell phone. I assumed she was going to scold me for not coming with my parents to her annual Fourth of July celebration. Only before I could finish the word hello, I heard her crying.

  My blood ran cold. “Jennifer … what’s wrong?” I heard myself say. A part of me instantly knew it was bad. Just five years before, my boyfriend, Gavin, had drowned during spring break. His mother had called to inform me. Sorrow was all I had heard in Gavin’s mom’s voice too. Jennifer’s crying brought me back to that heartbreaking time.

  Jennifer’s voice cracked on the phone. “Gina saw everything … she was headed home. She left the same time as your parents.” More crying, but I couldn’t ask anything. All I could do was listen as she continued. “They were the first through the intersection when the light turned green. Mia … the other car ran their red.”

  I dropped my paintbrush and crumpled to the floor, unable to sit on my stool. Jennifer’s voice started to sound far away, and the room began to tilt. “Poor Gina was only two cars behind them.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Mia … Mia, honey, they rushed your mother to the hospital. I’ve sent Aaron over to get you and meet us at the hospital.” She started sobbing “Mia … you there? Do you understand everything I just said?”

  I realized I had yet to respond to what she was telling me. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in disbelief. This was not real. Glancing to the small window on the opposite side of the attic, I saw that it was just after dark outside. Jennifer’s voice was back, only she was speaking to someone else. “I don’t know,” I heard her say. She started crying again. “She hasn’t said a word yet. …” Then her voice came through the phone louder. “Mia, please answer me.”

  I took a deep breath and spoke into the phone, my voice a monotone. “My mother and father were in an accident on the way home from the barbecue. They rushed my mom to the hospital. Dad is fine, and Aaron is on his way here to take me to the hospital.” I said it so matter-of-factly, as if I were reporting the weather. I somehow picked myself up off the floor and started down the stairs to the second floor. Jennifer starting sobbing again. “Mia, I am so sorry. I didn’t. … The accident was really violent. The other driver was speeding, and when he hit your parents’ car, it threw them into a pole.” She choked trying to catch her breath. “Your dad is not fine. They didn’t rush him to the hospital … because they couldn’t do anything for him. The paramedics said it was probably … he didn’t feel any pain, Mia.” She cried louder. “He was already gone by the time the ambulance arrived. They were lucky to get your mother out of the car so quickly. …” Jennifer’s voice trailed off.

  I grabbed the banister as my knees went weak. I only made it down a few steps before I collapsed on the stairs below me. “Mia, I’m at the hospital now. I have to hang up. I’ll see you soon.” The phone went dead, and I simply let go of it. It bounced down the stairs and landed a yard or so in front of the inside of the front door.

  Just then there was a frantic knock at the door, and then Aaron burst in. He kicked the phone unintentionally as he rushed in looking for me. I couldn’t move toward him; I couldn’t move, period. My whole body felt so heavy, and I was unable to lift it from the steps. My dad was gone … just like that—gone.

  “Mia, we have to go now!” Aaron rushed up the stairs to me, putting his arm around my waist. He got me to my feet and walked me down to the doorway, bending to retrieve a pair of sandals lying near the entrance. I couldn’t even find my voice to say they were my mother’s, not mine. He fumbled as he tried to help me into them, and then he shut the door behind us.

  The car ride to the hospital was similar to the current one home from the cemetery. A hazy blur in slow motion, with the same disbelief running through me. I’m sure Aaron sped that day to the hospital. He knew the severity of the situation and wanted to get me to my mother. Even if it was only to say good-bye to her. Be there for her last moments alive.

  But it was too late. I knew it soon as the ER entrance door opened in front of me. Jennifer and her twin sister, Gina, were rocking back and forth, sobbing with their arms wrapped around one another. Aaron caught me before I collapsed. I closed my eyes as the realization of it all began to sink in. I was all alone; no mother and no father. The hospital could have been empty for all I cared. I had never felt so utterly abandoned and alone before that moment. In a blink of an eye they were taken from me forever. The tears started, and all I could do was softly whisper no over and over again. …

  The car came to a halt in the present, and someone squeezed my hand tenderly. “Mia, you’re home, honey.” Jennifer’s voice cracked a little, and she started to cry. I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling of the car. This wasn’t my home anymore. Nobody I loved with my whole heart waited inside for me. The house had become an empty shell just as I had.

  I sat up and looked toward Jennifer. Even with tear-streaked cheeks she was beautiful. She had shoulder-length blonde hair that was currently pulled into a
bun at the base of her neck. She wore a black cotton dress with a sweetheart neckline. My eyes lowered briefly as I fought my own tears, unable to see hers.

  Jennifer also wore a small silver snowflake pendant around her neck. I couldn’t remember the significance of it, but I knew it was a gift from my mother years ago. Her hand left mine as she moved to wipe away her tears. I looked up to see that Jennifer’s sapphire eyes had shadows under them. She cleared her throat and smoothed her dress. I didn’t want to go inside the house I used to call “home.” Now it was a place that would constantly remind me of my pain and loss.

  Aaron left the driver’s seat and stepped back to open Jennifer’s door for her. She stepped out and her husband shut both car doors. He wrapped one arm around his wife, holding an umbrella in his other hand. Aaron leaned forward and whispered something into her ear. Some kind of encouragement I was sure; yet another reminder of what I had lost. I remembered my parents hugging every day. My father always whispered some encouragement after my mother had a difficult day.

  I turned away and reached to open my car door. It opened before I lifted the handle, the rain had returned to a heavy mist and it drifted into the car. It tickled my face as I looked up and saw Kayla, Jennifer and Aaron’s daughter. She looked just like her mother, only a younger version. She was newly eighteen and normally the most upbeat girl you would ever meet. Kayla glanced back at the house before speaking. “There are a lot of people inside already, Mia.” Her voice was so soft, and concern slowly washed over her face. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I wanted the day to be over. I didn’t want to be around people another minute. I yearned to be alone, to curl into a ball and convince myself it was all a dream. Kayla’s forehead wrinkled a little more. She saw it on my face, the dread of going inside and hearing the condolences over and over. Hearing stories and reliving the memories of my parents throughout the house. I glanced at the front door, at the people pouring in, and swallowed hard, barely getting past the knot in my throat.

  Aaron led his wife to the front steps, kissing her temple just outside the door as he shook his umbrella free of the rain. “I’ll sneak you in the patio door if you want. I’m sure the mama bears will take care of everything Mia.” Kayla forced a smile that didn’t reach her bright-blue eyes. The “mama bears” were what Kayla and I called our mothers and her aunt Gina. The three women were partners in the town’s coffee shop with attached bakery. Of course now there were only two mama bears.

  “No, I can do this Kayla … but thanks. You have done so much the past few days. I just want to thank you.” I finally climbed out of the back seat, stood up, and hugged her. Giving her a quick squeeze, I headed into the house.

  My eyes traced it as I slowly walked. A two-story cream-colored house with large front windows facing the road. I avoided looking at the attic windows so I wouldn’t think about where I’d been when the awful call from Jennifer came. Rosebushes lined the path to the front door. It was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and cars were now overflowing the circle. I passed the front door as it crowded with people shaking off their umbrellas before entering. I made my way to side of the house and entered through the garage door. Once inside I continued through the mud room to the large kitchen and looked around. Friends and coworkers of my parents along with my only family member present filled the kitchen.

  My uncle Massimo—my dad’s brother—had come in from out of state and, thankfully, took care of my parents’ arrangements. He had lost his only sibling, who was only a few years older than he. He saw me and made his way across the room. The past few days had been rather awkward. I had not seen him in over two years; he’d lived on the other side of the country for as long I could remember. Our families rarely got together. Massimo and his wife were West Coast, and we were East. “How are you doing, Mia?” He was genuine in his concern. “Your mother’s friends have coffees and teas from the shop. They also brought a selection of baked goods from the bakery. I’ll go get you something to eat … you look a little pale.” He was almost pleading with me to eat. I wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t even force myself to eat. Gently shaking my head no, I began staring off into space, and he gave up, leaving my side.

  Jennifer was at my side all of a sudden. “When did you eat last?” I tilted my head to the left and looked past her. My eyes met my uncle’s, and he quickly looked away. I hadn’t watched him but knew he had run to a mama bear when I turned down something to eat. She asked me again and then began rambling. I realized that I was a distraction for her, if only for a minute. Someone to fuss over and keep her mind occupied.

  “No mama bear today …” I said. “Please, Jennifer, don’t fuss over me.” I tried to sound grateful for her concern but feared I’d hurt her feelings anyway. I knew I wasn’t the only one who lost loved ones, not the only one grieving today. But they were my parents, not anyone else’s. Jennifer looked down and slowly turned away. I took a few steps away myself, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. I couldn’t go through the dining room to the family room where everyone else was. Couldn’t share memories and listen to stories.

  Jennifer must have recovered from any hurt feelings I had caused because she held a plate of fruit and was walking my direction. I quickly looked for Kayla, flashing her a look of desperation for help. She called for her mother just as Jennifer reached me, something about being out of sugar. The mama bear turned and motioned to Kayla she would be right there. She held out the plate in front of me. I did the only thing I could to guarantee a moment to myself. I forced a smile and took the plate from her. Jennifer left my side after patting my back and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll let you be for the day, Mia … or at least the next few hours.” She was stern and I knew she meant it.

  “How about a week without you hovering over me, mama bear?” I tried to smile. I wanted to walk right through the doorway on the opposite side of the kitchen. Down the hallway to the guest room where I had stayed since the accident days ago, only having a few hours of sleep here and there. The lack of sleep was catching up with me. Crossing a room seemed too much at the moment. There were so many people at the island filled with pastries and coffee, I couldn’t possibly make it past everyone without being stopped. I turned again to the family room and noticed a few people at the bottom of the staircase.

  The one thing about my house that struck others as odd was how different the upstairs and main level were from one another. Down here on the first floor it was picturesque, something you would see in a home style magazine. The kitchen was filled with the newest appliances. A marble-topped island with copper pots and pans hanging above it sat a few feet from the sink and counters. Dried herbs hung from the cherrywood cupboards and always scented the room. The dining room had a few pieces of artwork hanging on the walls. There was a dining room table where we actually sat as a family and ate meals together whenever we could. I looked at the huge oak table with chairs that were too heavy for me to move as a child. The family room was through the opposite doorway across from where I stood now. I could see the beautiful stone fireplace with a few small sculptures on the mantel. Again just a few pieces of art hung on the walls.

  I could just see the bottom few steps to the second floor from where I stood. I didn’t look farther up the stairs. I began to wonder how many more days would pass before I would ascend that staircase and look at what waited to surround me once again. As beautiful and simple as the downstairs was, another world greeted you at the top of the steps. I sighed, trying to block it from my mind but failing miserably. Upstairs the walls were covered in family pictures and my childhood artwork. Endless frames captured every possible milestone of mine. A close-up of my almost-year-old smiling face, with my first tooth visible. Another held a picture of me with melted chocolate ice cream all over my face and a soggy cone in my little hand. I had always assumed that because I was an only child, my parents had wanted to capture and display things like my first ice-cream cone. The artwork that hung above the doorways upsta
irs was nothing foreign or bought from galleries like the downstairs. My name in crayon claimed artistry randomly throughout the pictures. Then somewhere in my mother’s feminine print would be something like “Mia’s first tree,” “Mia’s tiger after a trip to zoo,” and so on.

  Upstairs was my bedroom—the one I had known my whole life. With walls that had seen many colors of paint over the years. Windows that had been covered in everything from a pink nursery print to my favorite cartoon character. But my bedroom wasn’t the only one upstairs. My parents’ room was above those steps also. Their room that held their bed and pillows that I ran to when it stormed as a child. I would bury myself in between them and pretend to be scared just to be near them. I would enjoy the smell of their pillows around me. I’m sure those pillows upstairs still held their scent. My father’s of mint; my mother’s, floral, usually rose. No I wanted to stay downstairs away from a gallery of pictures that displayed a family that no longer existed. And bedrooms that held bittersweet memories. I wanted to escape to the guest room down the hall through the kitchen. Maybe if I kept my head down and didn’t make eye contact, everyone would let me pass. No one could fault me for wanting to be alone, maybe even hide until everyone left. I pictured crawling into my temporary bed, pulling the covers over my head. All alone, no parents on either side of me. I was surprised when my eyes started to water and a few tears fell. I honestly didn’t think I had any left to cry.

  “Mia?” I heard my name and blinked. “Mia, you’re standing in the same spot I left you thirty minutes ago. And all the food is still on your plate.” I was taken aback when Jennifer took my elbow and led me into the dining room. I started to shake my head no. I didn’t want to move from the safe spot I had found. You promised! I screamed in my head. She took my plate and pulled a chair from the table. I froze; I hadn’t seen them. Pictures … more than a dozen of them, framed and laid out, covering most of the table’s surface. It was a wave of pain straight through my heart. My parents smiling up at me from our family portraits. My head started to spin, or maybe it was the room. I hadn’t eaten a real meal in days and was operating on a few hours of sleep in the past seventy-two hours. To now see my mother and father who were forever lost was enough to make me completely shut down.