Broken and Beautiful

by Ryan, Kendall

  When she’s finished looking at all the machines, she turns and smiles at me. Her brown eyes are kind, and I strain to speak. I want to ask how much time has passed. How long I’ve been here.

  “Let me get you something to drink,” Sylvia says, nodding. “Just give me a second.”

  Scanning the room, I try to find a notepad or anything I can use to write my question. Seeing nothing, I drop my head back on the pillow and sigh. Frustration aches in my chest, and more tears slide down my cheeks.

  The nurse takes my pulse, warm fingers clamped on each side of the bone. I lie back and wait. She listens to my heartbeat, and with the scope on my skin, our eyes meet. Hers frown.

  “Does something hurt?”

  The wounds in my arm and hip are muted, and my head is only a dull ache. Clearly I’ve been given some sort of painkilling drugs. I just want to know how long I’ve been here. I want to know where Stuart is, how long he’s been away, and when I can go home.

  Sylvia returns to my side with a cup, holding the straw to let me sip. Setting it aside, she covers my hand with hers. Worry lines her face.

  “How… long?” I whisper.

  Her brow lines, and she glances at the nurse. “Umm… Good news. You only have to stay another day or two.”

  Shaking my head, I try again. “What day… is it?”

  “Wednesday,” Sylvia says.

  Nodding, I close my eyes. Four days. I’ve been here four days. Amy was supposed to go home on Sunday. Opening my eyes again, I scan the room. No sign of her anywhere. The last I remember she was screaming. Jessie was screaming. My eyes squeeze shut against that memory.

  It feels like she was here. I seem to remember her voice in the room. “Amy?”

  “She went to the house to shower and change, but she’ll be back. She rescheduled her flight so she could stay until you came home.”

  That only leaves one missing person, and my heart breaks at having to ask. “Stuart?”

  Her eyes drop, and the ache in my chest twists harder. More tears fall onto my cheeks as I accept the worst. He’s not here. He’s gone. Ignoring the pull of the tubes, I roll onto my side and tuck my chin into my chest. My arms are bent, and I do my best to cover my face as I cry.

  I’d forgotten the nurse until she breaks the silence. “Let me move this stand.” She does something and the pressure eases on my IV. “I’ll leave you two alone. Let me know if she needs anything.”

  A few moments pass, and I hear the clicking of my door close. The side of my bed indents, and the warmth of a body is behind me on the bed. Sylvia’s arm goes above my head, and she strokes the hair away from my cheek. I only lower my chin more, trying to hide my face in the thin blanket.

  “Bill went to find him,” she says softly, continuing to stroke my hair. Nothing is comforting to me. “He hates when I say this, but Stuart is so much like his father.”

  I don’t even know what to do with that, so I don’t answer. “When we lost Sophie, he was gone for weeks,” she sighs. “I guess he thought by staying away he was giving me room to grieve? I never knew why he did what he did.”

  The feeling is very mutual, I think ruefully. Only I do understand Stuart. He goes away because he has to, and the worst thing I could do is go after him. I learned it from our first days together, the days when he would tell me over and over he was leaving, not to set my sites on him. Now it’s so much worse than before. Pain, frustration, heartbreak, loss—all of it twists into a rock in the center of my chest. I have to wait until he comes to me, if he ever does.

  “He loves you.” She rubs my arm. “If he didn’t he’d never have tried to shoot that poor horse.”

  I jolt at her words. Lifting my chin, I look over my shoulder at her. “No,” I whisper, straining my voice. “She didn’t mean to hurt me. She was afraid.” The pain is too much, and tears are again in my eyes. “It wasn’t her fault…”

  “Shh,” Sylvia whispers. “I know. Bill will find him. It’s going to be okay.”

  Slumping back onto the bed, I close my eyes against a new flood of tears. He tried to kill my horse. He probably wishes he could kill me for going into that pen, being irresponsible. Well, trust me. I paid for that mistake.

  I can still see Jessie’s black eyes wild with fear. I can still hear Amy screaming. I can still feel the shuddering panic as I realize I won’t be able to open the door with my injured arm.

  I can still see my little girl dancing away from me across the grass. I see her lovely wings extending as she takes flight, and my heart is left behind in my chest, hollow and dead. If only she’d taken me with her.

  When I open my eyes again, Amy is back. She’s standing with her mother talking to the nurse who’d taken my pulse and helped me earlier. The stinging tube is gone from my arm. All the tubes are gone, and a plastic tray of food is on a table beside my bed. My stomach rumbles with hunger. Pushing against the mattress, I sit up, and they all turn to face me.

  “Look at you!” the still-happy nurse says with a smile. I can’t return it. “The doctor said you’d be ready today, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “Ready for what?” My voice is better, stronger.

  “Do you feel like eating your lunch?” she asks.

  I look over at the tray and pull it closer to me. A scoop of mashed potatoes sits beside a short stack of orange carrots. A few broccoli spears are curled beside it, and a container of soup is in another corner, covered with a strip of plastic. At the opposite corner is a cup of juice.

  Taking the fork, I scoop a small bite of the white potatoes and put it in my mouth. It’s soft and buttery, and it makes my stomach growl harder. I take another bite, and Amy walks quickly to my bedside.

  “Do you want to go back to the ranch?” Her face is lined with concern. “The doctor said once you were eating we could take you home. I thought you’d be more comfortable there.”

  I look from her to her mother, and Sylvia nods. “The doctor says you’re well on the road to recovery. He doesn’t see why you can’t go back to the ranch.”

  “I would like to leave this place,” I say. I don’t add that I don’t only mean the sterile hospital room. I want to leave Montana.

  Stuart is still missing, but now I’m not even sure I want to see him. I’m wounded and sad. My heart feels battered and empty. I want to protect it, as if like my body, it’s too injured to risk letting anyone near it right now.

  I want to go back to Bayville. I want to go all the way back to the beginning, before this nightmare started. I want to see Kenny and go to Ocean Community College. I want to finish my master’s in fine art and be a teacher like I’d planned so long ago. I want to escape this place of misery and pain, where my heart is being torn apart, where the one person I long to hold me vanishes when I need him most.

  “That settles it,” Amy nods. “We’ll get the paperwork started and have you released. Finish up, and I’ll help you get dressed.”

  I’m in the backseat of Sylvia’s steel-gray Cadillac wrapped in a red Indian blanket over jeans and a beige tunic Amy brought for me to wear. She turns to face me from the front. Her sleek blonde hair is swept to the side in a low ponytail, and she’s dressed in a tailored shirt and slacks, looking very out of place here.

  “I’m so sorry this happened.” Her green eyes are round and glistening. “I wish there was some way I could turn back time. I wish it had been me instead of you.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Silence fills the car, and her eyes drop to the console. “I hate to bring this up… but we have to decide what you want to do. If you’d like to have a memorial service? For… the baby?”

  Another spear of pain slices my injured heart, and I clutch the blanket tighter around my shoulders. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

  “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, but this time, her voice wavers as well. “We just… we have to let the hospital know something. I didn’t want to make any decisions without you.”

  “I understand.” I cle
ar the thickness from my throat. “I would like to do something.”

  She nods. “I’ll take care of everything. You rest.”

  Leaning my head against the window, I look out at the falling rain. The prairie grasses are dark and gloomy. My little girl took the gold with her when she danced up to heaven.

  “Renee,” I say.

  “What?” Amy turns to me again.

  “Jessica Renee.” We’re quiet, and I finish. “It’s what I would have named her.”

  * * *

  Stuart

  The empty bottle of Macallan lies on the counter near the small sink. Another empty bottle of Ketel One is at my feet, but nothing kills the pain of what I’ve done. Reaching up, I scrub my fingers over my eyes trying to clear the haze.

  It’s dark. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but I can still see her in the soft yellow light of our bedroom. She was sad, and I’d held her in my arms. I’d told her nothing would happen to her on my watch then the next morning I left her alone.

  My shoulders drop and my face is in my hands. I fight against the heat filling my eyes. The image of her unconscious and lying in that hospital bed sears through my memory like a brand, but stronger than that is the pain of knowing I put her there.

  She should be in Bayville right now. She’d wanted to go to summer school with Kenny and finish her degree. I made her transfer to Princeton so she’d be closer to me. I told her to skip summer school, and I’d fucking brought her to this place.

  She was afraid, and I promised to keep her safe. Then I left her to go and establish myself as the future owner of this ranch, this place where she’s only been hurt. I never asked her what she wanted. I’ve been a selfish bastard from the beginning.

  Just like my father…

  Unable to stop myself, I haul my ass off the floor and push through the door. I jerk open the door of the rented truck and drive all the way to the hospital. It’s the middle of the night. Visiting hours are over, but I walk past the vacant nurse’s station all the way to her room. The lights are dim, the monitors beep, and the air conditioner hums.

  I stand silently in the doorway and allow my eyes to travel over the beautiful girl lying unconscious in the bed. Tubes still run from the machines to her body. Her eyes are closed, and I linger at a distance aching for her. My arms want to hold her. I want to crawl into bed with her, pull her broken body to my chest, and tell her I’ll never let it happen again, tell her I’ll do anything to take her pain away.

  Does she know what happened? Have they told her about the baby? Has she even been awake yet? My legs start to move, when I see my mother asleep in the chair. A blanket is pulled up around her neck, and her face is lined with sadness.

  In that moment my past, everything I’ve done, pushes me back. I remember the years of sadness growing up. I remember my father and his selfishness. Year after year he wore her down. She did everything he wanted, lived wherever he said, and she only smiled when he was gone. I can’t remember a day she was happy with him.

  Just like your father…

  The words trickle into my brain like a cruel truth. I reach for the doorjamb as they move through my chest. I have to let Mariska go. I can’t hold onto her when I’ll only hurt her. I can’t watch the light fade from her eyes as she slowly grows to hate me.

  My heart breaks as I turn away. I return down the hall, my eyes fixed on the glossy beige linoleum. One of the nurses speaks to me, but I don’t stop. I leave the small hospital and drive through the night back to the ranch. My mind is silent. My stomach cramps with pain, and I grip the steering wheel as heat burns my eyes.

  I drive for what feels like hours until I’m at the quiet house. My idea is to gather clothes and things so I can stay away, but instead I take the last fifth of crown off the wet bar and leave.

  I go back to the cabin, back to the floor. My knees are bent, and my head is in my hands. Scrubbing my fingers against my scalp, I whisper her name as my entire body burns for her. “Mariska.”

  I have to let her forget me. I have to let her go back to her life. I won’t be like my father.

  The sharp toe of a boot nudges me awake. I’m on the floor, and the half-empty bottle of Crown is on the coffee table. My head feels like it’s been hit with a sledgehammer.

  “You don’t look so good.” My uncle sits on the sofa, arms on his knees. His brown eyes are sad.

  Pushing against the floor, I sit up, pulling my knee to my chest to steady myself. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Not surprised,” he grunts. “Have you eaten?”

  “Not hungry,” I manage through my cottonmouth.

  “Well, I brought you some food anyway.” He pauses a beat before reaching out and holding my shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  My hand goes over my eyes, and I rub the heat away. Pain radiates through my chest at his words, and even though I don’t have the right to ask, I need to know. “How is she?”

  He exhales deeply, leaning back. “She’s coming home. She’s asking for you.”

  More pain twists in my chest. “As if she needs me.” My voice is ragged. “As if I didn’t take everything from her.”

  “You’re working on it.” Brown eyes level on mine, and for the first time, I detect a slight edge in his voice.

  Confused, I meet his gaze. “It’s not a work in progress. I’ve done a damn good job.” Pushing all the way up, I go to the window and look out at the miles of empty grassland. I wonder how long this torment will rage in my chest. “Everyone was right. I’m just like him. I’ll only break her down, make her unhappy…”

  “I don’t know what kind of lies you’ve been out here telling yourself, but you’re not your father. The choices you make right now are your choices, not his.”

  A small echo seems to resonate in the cabin behind his words. I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn. I search for a point far on the horizon as I think about what he just said.

  Clearing my throat, I answer. “I have to let her go. She needs someone more like her.”

  He pushes off the couch and walks to where I’m standing. “How about you let Mariska decide what she needs.” He pauses, and the warmth of his hand is on my shoulder. “Your sister planned a memorial service. Get yourself cleaned up and come to the house.”

  Going to the door, he pauses to look back at me, but I don’t turn. I don’t believe he’s right, but I will go back to say goodbye.

  Returning

  Mariska

  It’s evening when we gather for the memorial service. Amy found a secluded location on a hill not far from the house. A cluster of young trees provides shade over a small thicket, and a spray of happy yellow flowers mixes with bluebonnets in the tall grass.

  The hospital sent me a certificate stating how she died. I don’t want to look at it, so I tuck the envelope into my suitcase. The doctor released me to return to Bayville on the condition I would see a doctor there. I agreed, although I doubt I will. I’ve reached a point where I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore.

  I watch as Amy sets a bouquet of purple flowers in front of a small white cross that stands near a mound of dirt where we buried a small box containing the yarn we used to measure my waist and the Polaroid. The only thing I kept were the ultrasound pictures and my wish for her to find her true love and live happily ever after.

  “It’s the best I could get on short notice, but I ordered something more official,” she says, backing up to stand beside me. “A headstone with her name engraved on it and the year.”

  “It’s very good,” I say, looking at the cross and the tiny mound of dirt beside it. She was so tiny.

  Amy and I hold hands as we gaze down on her memorial. Bill stands across from us with his arm around Sylvia, who touches her eyes with a cloth handkerchief.

  “Lord, in your infinite wisdom, you know the beginning from the end,” he starts, and we all bow our heads. My eyes close, but I’m far from here. “I pray that in this time, you will be near us as we mourn,
weep, perhaps even harbor bitterness. I pray you will bless us with hope for the future. Help us to know that in our deepest sadness, you are comfort. You are hope. Amen.”

  We’re all quiet, and Sylvia steps forward to put a bunch of small roses on the little grave.

  “There he is,” Bill says. He’s smiling warmly, and his eyes are focused behind me.

  I turn, and a flash of pain steals my breath as my eyes connect with the ones I’ve been longing to see. Stuart wears jeans and an untucked long-sleeved shirt. Scruff covers his jaw and dark shadows are under his eyes. Instead of joining us, he stays away, down beside a tree. A bouquet of yellow daisies is in his hand.

  I have to look away. I can’t bear to analyze his expression or try to understand what he’s feeling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since we lost everything.

  As if on cue, Bill touches Sylvia’s hand, and they approach me. Sylvia gives my arm a squeeze, and they continue on in the direction of the house. Amy wraps her arm over my shoulder and gives me a hug.

  “Take your time,” she says quietly before releasing me and following her mother and uncle.

  We’re alone, but I won’t look at him. The nonstop breeze pushes tendrils of my hair around my shoulders. I’m wearing a black shift dress that stops at my knees. A flesh-toned bandage covers the crescent-shaped bruise on my upper arm. The hideous bruise on my hip is gradually fading from purple-black and blood red to a nasty yellowish green. The only invisible wound is the one that will never heal, the one on my heart.

  Neither of us moves. I study the small mound where my heart was buried along with my childish dreams of a family. At last, I can’t take standing here any longer, wishing for something that isn’t going to happen.

  I step forward and place my little bunch of bluebells on Jessica’s grave then I turn and begin walking to the house. I’m at his side when he stops me.

  “Wait.” His voice is rough. I stop walking, but I don’t meet his eyes.