We All Fall Down (Of Love and Madness Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  The house was cold and still. The silence screamed at him, filling his brain, flowing through his veins like ice water, leaking out from all his broken places.

  How in hell could he act like everything was okay? Go back out on the road and play like nothing happened, then come home and deal with Christmas?

  He swept his arm across the kitchen island. Glass canisters shattered at his feet, sugar and flour falling like snow.

  How could she do this? How could she leave him like this?

  He ran his hands through his hair and over the scruff on his unshaved face.

  Fix himself? How the fuck was he supposed to do that when there was nothing left to fix? What he needed was a drink.

  The cabinet above the refrigerator was empty. Wine. There was always wine.

  He opened the refrigerator door and gagged at the stench. Food leftover from Thanksgiving and God knows when filled the shelves. He grabbed containers and began throwing them into the sink. When he pulled opened the vegetable bin, he thought he would vomit for sure; decaying lettuce leaves lined the bottom of the drawer, mixed with moldy cucumbers and rubbery celery.

  Cursing, he scooped up the slippery mess. Cold, wet sludge slipped between his fingers. He tugged open the cabinet under the sink and plunged his hand into the trash. Pushing the contents down to make room for the rest of the slop, his fingers caught on something soft, unexpected. Familiar.

  He yanked out his hands. Strands of long, dark hair clung to his fingers, held in place by the dark green slime. His knees gave way.

  “Oh, Katie.”

  Horrified, he tore the trash can out from under the sink. Buried beneath blood-smeared paper towels and shards of glass were great mounds of hair. Hair that he’d touched, played with, buried his face in. Hair that he’d wrapped around his hands in some of the most tender, most passionate moments of his life.

  He wiped his hands on his pants. Then he reached into the trash and gently lifted out as much of Kate’s hair as he could separate from the mess.

  Doubled over, he clutched it in his fists and began to wail. His mind replayed everything he’d ever done wrong, every hurt he’d heaped on her, even the hurts he’d had nothing to do with that had also destroyed her. He pressed his hands to his face, breathing in the hint of citrus hidden within the foul stink of garbage, and held on tight.

  He remained there long after his body began to ache. Then he gathered her hair in one hand and reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

  “I’m ready,” he said when Doug answered. “Make it happen.”

  If Kate was going to save herself, it was time he did the same.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  March 5, 2013

  Billy stood stiffly, his hands clasped before him, staring at the words inked along the side of his right hand: You are my madness and my love.

  Doug jabbed an elbow into his arm. He lifted his eyes to meet the judge’s.

  “Mr. Donaldson, you are in agreement to enter a plea to the lesser charge of simple assault? It that correct?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “On that charge, how do you plead?”

  “Guilty, Your Honor.”

  The judge rattled through the rest of the charges. Billy answered guilty to all of them.

  “I also understand you’ve taken it upon yourself to undergo inpatient rehab for your drug and alcohol problems.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Just over sixty days.”

  “And did you successfully complete the program?”

  “Yes sir. I was released this morning.”

  “And you’re prepared to begin your sentence immediately?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Very well, then. Mr. Donaldson, I sentence you to ninety days incarceration, but I will give you credit for those sixty days. You will, however, serve the remaining thirty days in the county jail forthwith. Following that, you will serve twenty-one months of probation. I also sentence you to one hundred hours of community service. You are to reimburse Mr. Jaworski for one-half of his medical bills, and you are to pay one-third of the costs associated with the damages that occurred on the evening of July 19, 2012, at the Hilltop Tavern in Andrewsville. You will also pay all fines and court costs associated with this case. I order you to undergo a drug and alcohol evaluation and impose zero tolerance for any drugs or alcohol during the duration of your sentence.”

  The judge lowered his head and regarded Billy over the bifocals perched at the end of his nose. “Given your history, I strongly suggest you consider making that a permanent life choice.”

  The judge banged his gavel, rose, and left the courtroom. A sheriff’s deputy appeared at Billy’s side.

  “Can I say goodbye?”

  “Make it quick.”

  Rhiannon threw her arms around him. “I’ll be out to see you Wednesday.”

  He distanced himself enough to look down into her tearstained face and shook his head. “No. No visits.”

  “Daddy!”

  “Rhiannon, please. I don’t want any visitors. It’s only a month. You’ve gone much longer than that without seeing me. I need time alone to get into my head and figure some things out. And I also don’t want my little girl coming to see me in jail.”

  She continued to argue.

  He turned to his son-in-law. “I mean it. No one.”

  Doug slipped his arm around his wife. “Don’t worry.”

  Devin watched, his face grim, his mouth a thin, straight line. Their eyes met, and Devin held out his hand.

  “Nice try.” Billy pulled him in for a hug. He squeezed a little tighter when Devin’s arms circled around him.

  He was raw. His grief over Katie was as fresh as if she’d disappeared that morning. Saying goodbye to his children—again—was just as painful.

  The deputy moved in. “Time to go.”

  Cold steel snapped over his wrists. He took one last look at what was left of his family.

  “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

  It was what he’d told himself every day for the last one hundred and four days, ever since his heart had been ripped from his chest.

  And once that iron door clanged shut and the key turned in the lock, it would be the only thing he would focus on—making good on that promise.

  Note To Readers

  Reviews are important to independent authors. If you decide to leave a review after you’ve read this book, please email me a link to your review at klcmaterialgirl@gmail.com, and I’ll send you a We All Fall Down bookmark as a thank you.

  About the Author

  Karen Cimms is a writer, editor, and music lover. She was born and raised in New Jersey and still thinks of the Garden State as home. She began her career at an early age rewriting the endings to her favorite books. It was a mostly unsuccessful endeavor, but she likes to think she invented fanfiction.

  Karen is a lifelong Jersey corn enthusiast, and is obsessed with (in no particular order) books, shoes, dishes, and Brad Pitt. In her spare time she likes to quilt, decorate, and entertain. Just kidding–she has no spare time.

  Although she loves pigeons, she is terrified of pet birds, scary movies, and Mr. Peanut.

  Karen is married to her favorite lead guitar player. Her children enjoy tormenting her with countless mean-spirited pranks because they love her. She currently lives in Northeast Pennsylvania, although her heart is usually in Maine.

  @KCimms

  KarenCimms

  www.karencimms.com

  Acknowledgments

  This wasn’t an easy book to write, and I found myself in tears many times. There are a lot of difficult scenes in this part of Billy and Kate’s story, and I agonized over each of them. I pulled back on some, softened them a bit, but on others, I had to go with my gut. Please don’t hate me too much.

  I did a lot of research for this book, and I spoke with a lot of people, all of them experts in their fields. In most cases, I took everything they to
ld me as gospel, but here and there, I may have tweaked the truth a bit for the sake of the story. I hope I haven’t deviated too much, and if so, I hope the experts will forgive me.

  One of the first people I’d like to thank is Dr. Cara Guilfoyle. Shortly after publishing At This Moment, I learned I had breast cancer. Cara was my surgeon and guided me through one of the scariest times of my life. And as a fan of At This Moment, I was able to turn to her for help in guiding me through difficult medical scenes for this book. She read and re-read those scenes to make sure they were accurate. So thank you, Cara, for saving my life and my story. Thanks also to her husband, Dr. Gregg Guilfoyle, who suggested an entirely new scenario when I learned the first one I’d written didn’t really work. Thanks also to Beth DeJoseph Hamburger, PA, and Dr. Shari Brandli. And a big gold star to my friend Joni Gestl, a paramedic, who not only advised me on several different scenes, she listened to me blather—on more than one occasion—about this series, and still invited me to spend the day with her on the ambulance for a closer look at what she and her colleagues do every day.

  I’d like to thank the following law enforcement officials for spending time with me, answering my numerous questions, and sharing their vast knowledge: President Judge Roger N. Nanovic, Chief of Police Joseph Schatz, NYPD Sgt. Matt Soblick, and District Attorney Jeanne Engler.

  Thank you to my beta readers: Patty Morgan, Diane Lane Stone, Ace Leccese, Beth Yaroszeufski, Amber McKenney, Allison Hart, Dena Williams, JudiRae Kessner, Amy Levasseur, Sally McGarry, Shasta Anderson, Rhonda Donaldson, Deidre Popp, Valarie Savage Kinney, Marge Ayers, Nicole Redden, Tyra Hattersly, Sarah Shanley, and Stacy Hagemann.

  Lydia Fasteland and Ann Travis, you guys are the best. And Lori Ryser, thank you for tons of feedback and again, for being the last pair of eyes to scour these pages before publication.

  My friend, Liz Vigue, you were my earliest cheerleader, and you encouraged me to start at the very beginning. For that I am so grateful. You are always in my heart.

  For my editor, Lisa Poisso, thank you again for guiding me, firmly but gently, and for polishing my words and making them shine.

  Thank you to my cover models, Garrett Cimms and Annmarie Mazur. And thank you, Garrett, for another awesome cover design. Jade Eby, thank you for the beautiful interior design.

  Nancy Blaha, thank you for your encouragement and for helping me learn to believe in myself.

  To my author friends, Lisa Clark O’Neil, Valarie Savage Kinney, Whitney Barbetti, and Fiona Cole, you are all so talented, generous, and kind. Thank you for everything.

  Thank you Karla Sorensen, Kerry Palumbo and Laura Broullire for helping me tighten my back cover copy.

  To my children: Karen, Margaux, Garrett, and Amanda, thank you for being you. I love you guys. I hope I make you proud.

  And of course, all my love and gratitude to my husband, Jim. Thanks for doing it all so that I can write. Thanks for keeping me in nachos. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, thank you for making me a musician’s wife. What a ride! You will always be my favorite lead guitarist.

  Surprise!

  Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek from All I Ever Wanted, the final book in the Of Love and Madness series. Due for release this spring.

  Excerpt

  The first couple of days were damp and dreary. Not cold enough for snow, but cold enough for a chill to settle deep in her very core. Kate woke early the morning after Tom left. Gray light filtered through the barren branches outside her window. Strands of pale pink stained the horizon.

  She dressed quickly and rousted Charlie. Together, they descended the steep hill down to the water. She shoved her bare hands into the pockets of her lined jacket and stood at the edge of the steps that led to the dock. Her breath floated in tiny clouds about her face, mimicking the mist atop the water. A cormorant skittered across the glassy surface, then lifted out of the water with a great disturbance of air and headed toward the open sea. The expanse of ocean that lay before her was deserted. A smattering of empty docks lined the cove, but the boats that harbored there had long been pulled out and stored for the winter.

  A forest of dense pine ringed the inlet, which at high tide seemed more like a lake than a finger of the Atlantic. The rising sun illuminated a thin band of white clouds hovering above the tree line, which remained black against the fading darkness. Fifty shades of orange, from palest apricot to deepest tangerine, streaked the horizon until Kate was finally forced to shield her eyes as the sun burst above the trees in a neon ball of butterscotch, blinding in its brilliance.

  The imprint of the fireball seared itself upon her closed lids, and in spite of the cold, she felt the memory of its warmth on her upturned face. Her senses awakened. She breathed in the tang of the salty ocean and marshy shoreline and listened to the haunting cry of sea birds springing to life as darkness surrendered to day.

  It took her by surprise, but there it was—a fleeting hint of promise, no more than a flutter, really. Her heart was heavy, and it was nearly impossible to see beyond the sadness, but somewhere deep inside, an errant ray of light had squeezed its way through a tiny crack and called her name. It was gone in a blink, like a memory, but she recognized it all the same: hope.

  It was time to move forward. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and turned it on. Forty missed calls and messages. She hadn’t listened to or read any of them. She shouldn’t look at the pictures, either, but she couldn’t stop herself. Determined to ignore pictures of Billy, she doted over pictures of her children and her grandchildren, but she couldn’t stay away from his face.

  The last picture on her phone was from last spring. She was smiling at the camera, and Billy was smiling at her. She’d loved that picture and had meant to have it printed for her desk at work, but life had fallen apart not long after it was taken and she’d forgotten about it.

  She ran her finger over the image, touching his face. If it were even possible, her heart broke a little more. She shoved the phone back into her pocket. Careful of her footing on the slick, frost-covered boards, she picked her way to the end of the dock. It bobbed under her weight, sending gentle ripples into the cove.

  When she reached the end, she retrieved the phone from her pocket, took a deep breath, and then hurled it as hard as she could. It traveled less than twenty feet before dropping into the frigid water with a soft plop. A lifeline to her past, it bobbed to the surface, spun once, and then disappeared into the murky stillness.