“You’ll set your standards high? Believe that you’re worthy of being treated right. I haven’t provided that example for you, and I regret it. More than I can say.”
“I wouldn’t want any other mama. And I’m glad you’ve decided Lance isn’t good enough for you. Because he’s not.”
“You really think that?” she asks, glancing over at me with tears in her eyes.
“I do,” I say. “I always have.”
“I know I don’t deserve that.”
We’re passing Brandi’s house now, a small, white A-frame with a drooping porch and a yard full of old car parts. The single bulb light is on above the front door, and my stomach drops with the thought that Brandi has a dad who sounds a lot like Lance. “You know the girl I’ve told you about who rides the bus with me. Brandi?”
Mama nods without glancing away from the wheel. “She lives back there, right?”
“Yeah. I don’t think she has a very good life.”
“What do you mean?”
“She doesn’t have much, and her dad isn’t nice to her.”
Mama says nothing for a few moments, and then, “Everybody knows her parents are meth heads.”
“Then how can they be allowed to keep her?” I ask, feeling an overwhelming surge of anger for Brandi.
“I know social services has been out there a few times, but I don’t guess they’ve found anything serious enough to take Brandi and her brother away.”
“She comes to school hungry most days,” I say, not hiding my fury. “What does it take?”
Again, Mama is quiet enough that I have to wonder what she’s thinking. The look on her face makes me think she’s debating whether to go on or keep it to herself. “What?” I ask.
She shakes her head, and then, in a voice I’ve never heard before, “Maybe me letting the sheriff know about the drug buys I see him making in the parking lot at work.”
I’m so surprised I can do little more than shake my head. “You see him buying drugs?”
“Two or three times a week,” she admits in a low voice.
“You’d really go to the police about it?”
She sighs and glances over at me. “I don’t want to, Ann-Elizabeth. But maybe that’s one thing I could do to make up for not kicking Lance out way before now.”
I lean my head against her shoulder, and love for her makes my voice wobble when I say, “Thank you, Mama. Thank you.”
*
Ann-Elizabeth
I LIE IN bed, wide awake, still unable to fall asleep when the sun starts to glint through my window blinds.
Henry is curled up in the curve of my arm, his soft snoring wonderful confirmation of his sense of security.
As awful as this night has been, I would go through it all over again for this to be the outcome.
I pull Henry closer and hug him tight.
He makes a snuffling sound, burying his nose in my armpit. His breath tickles, and I smile as I readjust his head so that he’s breathing above my shoulder.
I think about Nathan, and my smile dissolves beneath a sudden well of tears. It had been the right thing to do. I know in my heart this is true.
But I know what I’ve lost. I know what I’ve given up. And I can’t take it back.
We would never work.
To let myself think otherwise is just a big recipe for heartbreak. And it’s not like I need to order that up on a big ole platter.
But if I think about what might have been. . .well, there’s no denying the sadness of that. Guys like Nathan don’t exactly come along every day. Not for girls like me.
I think about the look on his face just before he’d left the hospital room. And I want to take it back. Reel in the words all the way back to the point where Nathan looked at me as if I were the girl of his dreams. Where the idea of going to Homecoming with him lit me up inside like a Christmas tree.
I turn over and bury my face against Henry’s neck, his soft coat all but absorbing each and every tear.
*
A KNOCK AT my bedroom door wakes me.
I raise up on one elbow, noticing that Henry is at the foot of the bed, wide awake, watching me.
Mama sticks her head in the door, and in a soft voice, says, “You up, hon?”
“Yeah,” I say, groggy. “What time is it?”
“Two o’clock.”
“In the afternoon?”
“Yes. I’ve checked on you a few times but since you were sleeping, I thought it was the best thing for you. I’ve fed Henry and taken him out too.”
“Thank you. I can’t believe I slept that long.”
“How do you feel?”
“Good,” I say, pressing a hand to my hip. It’s tender but no longer throbbing.
“Do you want one of the pain pills the doctor prescribed? I ran out earlier and had them filled.”
“Maybe so.”
“Why don’t you come eat something first?”
“Okay. I’m going to grab a quick shower.”
Mama leaves the room then, and I get up, pulling clean jeans and a t-shirt out of my closet. In the bathroom, I run the water until it’s warm, stepping under the spray and closing my eyes.
I remember then that this is Homecoming day. The dance is tonight. I think what it would have felt like to go with Nathan, to wear that pretty dress and be his date.
I feel suddenly guilty for letting him down.
But how could it not be the best thing for him? And for me, too. After all, what would be the point in beginning something for which we could already write the ending?
*
Ann-Elizabeth
IT’S A LITTLE after three when Mama and I finish eating the sandwiches she’s fixed us for lunch. Henry sits beside me, his tail swishing on the linoleum every once in a while, as if he can’t quite keep his happiness in check.
I reach over and rub his ears and tickle him under the chin.
When he barks and gets up to trot to the window by the front door, my heart sticks in my throat for a second. I pray it’s not Lance, and it’s only now that I realize I’ve been expecting him to come back ever since I woke up.
“You stay here,” Mama says, following Henry out of the kitchen. It’s clear that she’s thinking the same thing. I sit frozen in the chair for a moment, but I can’t let her face him alone, so I walk after Henry and her.
But Henry is looking out the window, and his tail is now wagging. And Mama is standing with a hand on her chest, staring as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
“What is it?” I ask, stepping up beside her.
“Is that. . .” she begins and then stops, as if she can’t bring herself to say the words.
I look out the window, see the big black SUV in the driveway and the blonde woman who’s standing there talking with the driver. The beautiful woman who I instantly recognize.
But it can’t be.
“That’s not CeCe MacKenzie, is it?” she finally asks.
I want to say it couldn’t possibly be, but it is. It really is. “Oh, my gosh,” I say.
Just then, a dog hops out from the open back door. A tall hound who I recognize as quickly as I recognized her. I’ve seen him in countless magazine photos with CeCe. Hank Junior.
“What on earth?” Mama puts a hand over her mouth and adds in a hardly audible voice, “Well, have you ever?”
My chest is so tight that I realize I am forgetting to breathe. I let out a whoosh of air, saying, “Maybe she’s lost?”
She laughs a little. “Lost out here? I’m guessing that songwriter boyfriend of yours more likely has something to do with it.”
We both watch in stunned silence as CeCe and Hank Junior walk to the front door. The knock makes me jump.
“Go on and answer it, honey,” Mama says, reaching out to brush her hand across my hair.
“This is crazy,” I say.
Henry’s whole body is wagging now. He follows me to the door, and I pull it open far enough to see that I am not still asleep,
and this definitely isn’t a dream.
“Hi, Ann-Elizabeth,” she says. “I’m CeCe Mackenzie.”
“I know,” I say, the words barely more than a whisper. “You are.”
She laughs a soft laugh and says, “I hear you were supposed to go to Homecoming tonight with a friend of my husband’s. He asked me if I could try to convince you it’s still a good idea.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Is it all right if we come in?” she asks, waving a hand at Hank Junior who is trying to peer around the open door at Henry.
“Sure,” I say, stepping back so quickly that I nearly trip over Henry.
CeCe walks inside, HankJunior walking after her, his tail doing a lazy wag. He and Henry sniff noses, assessing each other with a playful stance before Henry does his puppy dance and takes off for the kitchen, HankJunior trotting after him.
CeCe looks at Mama and smiles, and I suddenly remember my manners. “This is my mom.”
“Oh, my goodness, I’m such a fan,” Mama says. “I so love your music.”
“That’s so nice to hear,” she says, again smiling her beautiful smile. “I was wondering if you and Ann-Elizabeth would like to come to our house and get ready for the dance. I have all kinds of primping stuff, and to be honest, I never went to Homecoming in high school. I’d love to be a part of helping Ann-Elizabeth if that’s okay.”
Mama looks as floored as I feel. “That’s just amazing,” she says.
“I don’t know what to say,” I manage, feeling as if I’ve stepped into some kind of time warp where reality cannot possibly be reality.
“We’ll have fun,” CeCe says. “All you have to say is yes.”
I want to tell her what I know to be the truth. That none of this will change the fact that I am not a girl who will ever fit into Nathan’s world. But Mama’s looking at me with such hopeful expectation that I can’t say anything other than, “Thank you so much. That sounds wonderful.”
*
WE ARRIVE AT CeCe’s house with Hank Junior and Henry in the second back seat of the Escalade, my borrowed dress hanging on the hook above my window.
CeCe makes chitchat with Mama and the driver while I try not to think about the flock of butterflies in my stomach and the extreme unreality of what is happening.
The house is beyond incredible. Mama and I both stare out the windshield as if we have landed on an unrecognizable planet. Which I guess we kind of have.
The front door opens, and out steps Holden Ashford. In real life. Holding the cutest little girl I’ve ever seen.
She has one arm around his neck, a pink stuffed dog under her other arm. She spots the vehicle, and her face lights up with the fact that her mama is home.
CeCe gets out, indicating we should too.
She walks over and kisses her on the cheek. I don’t know who’s more starstruck. Mama or me. But neither one of us can find a word until he smiles at us and offers his free hand to Mama and then to me. “I’m Holden,” he says. “This is Giovanna.”
It’s all completely surreal, the fact that we somehow find the ability to make small talk with him, and then follow the three of them into the house where CeCe leads us up a wide set of winding stairs and to a room she calls her getting-ready room.
“I like to keep a few secrets from Holden,” she says. “Men don’t need to know all the work involved in us making ourselves presentable, right?”
“Right,” I say, smiling.
“So let’s get to it, shall we?”
*
Nathan
I’M SO NERVOUS I’M nearly sick.
Holden has assured me Ann-Elizabeth has been at the house getting ready with CeCe directing the whole thing, but I feel like I’ve forced her into agreeing to go and am now doubting the wisdom of it. I mean how could she really have said no with her favorite country music star forcing her hand?
I pull into the circular drive of Holden’s and CeCe’s house, turning off the ignition to my mom’s BMW and wondering if I’m going to be able to find the courage to knock on the door.
I get out and find my way along the stone path to the enormous wood front door. It opens wide before I can rap the wrought iron knocker, and Holden is standing there with a smile on his face. “You clean up good, man,” he says, waving me inside.
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my palms on my suit jacket. “Hope she thinks so.”
“Well, she is the one who matters,” he says, clapping a hand on my back. “And just so you know, your publishing on our song is still yours. I’m impressed that you would give it up to get our help with your girl, but it’s not necessary.”
“But I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
“I know. And that’s cool. We’re good though. CeCe has been in her element teaching Ann-Elizabeth all that girly stuff. Giovanna’s even been helping out. They’ve been having fun.”
“Thanks, Holden,” I say, truly grateful. “If there’s ever anything I can do to pay you back-”
“No need,” he says.
Laughter drifts down the staircase, and I turn to spot CeCe at the top of the stairs, Ms. Casteel just behind her. They walk down to join us in the foyer, both of them looking as if they could not be more pleased with themselves.
“Okay,” CeCe says. “Here she comes.”
I stand, waiting with my heart in my throat. And then Ann-Elizabeth steps out from the upstairs hallway. I forget to breathe. I can only stare in stunned silence as the most beautiful girl I have ever seen looks directly at me, smiling a soft, hopeful smile before she walks slowly down the staircase, coming to a stop in front of me.
“Hi,” I say, uttering the only word I can manage to bring to my lips.
“Hi.”
“You look . . . amazing.”
“Thanks. All CeCe.”
“Ah, no,” CeCe says, slipping her arm through Holden’s and shaking her head. “Look what I had to work with. You’re beautiful, Ann-Elizabeth.”
“Isn’t she?” Ms. Casteel says, looking as proud as any mom I’ve ever seen.
“And you look pretty incredible yourself, Nathan,” CeCe says. “How about we get some pictures by the fireplace?”
We agree and spend the next fifteen minutes taking shot after shot until Holden finally says, “Okay, we need to let these two get on their way. The restaurant has your table waiting, Nathan.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t know how to thank you both.”
Ann-Elizabeth hugs her mom and then CeCe. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. If your mom can stay for dinner, we’ll take her and Henry home a little later.”
They all walk us to the front door. We say our good-byes and then, just like that, we’re in the car alone, pulling out of the driveway and heading for the restaurant.
Ann-Elizabeth looks over at me and says, “You’re not one to take no for an answer, are you?”
“When it comes to something I believe is right, I guess not.”
“What if you’re wrong?” she asks softly.
“I don’t think I am.”
She glances out the window, quiet for so long that I am sure she’s going to disagree. “Because of you . . . I’m starting to think all things are possible if you want them enough.”
“If you’re willing to take a chance,” I add.
She looks at me then, smiles the smile that kicks my heartbeat into overdrive. “I am,” she says. “Willing.”
I reach over and slip my fingers through hers, squeeze her hand and say, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I spot the entrance to a park just ahead and swing the car in at the edge of the lot. I cut the engine and turn to face her. “I realize this was a little heavy-handed.”
“I don’t know anyone else who could have pulled it off,” she says, shaking her head. “Holden said you offered to give up your publishing on the song you and your dad wrote with him.”
“He wouldn’t accept it.”
“Thank goodness. No girl could ever l
ive up to a date that cost that much.”
I smile. “It would have been worth it.”
She reaches out and laces her fingers through mine. “I never dreamed anyone could do something like this for me.”
“There’s only one thing I want right now.”
“What?” she asks, her voice low, as if she’s already guessed the answer.
“To kiss you.”
We stare at each other for several long seconds, and I swear I hear both our hearts beating. Or maybe it’s just mine.
She presses her hand to my face, and I lean in, closing my eyes as my mouth finds hers.
Her lips are soft and sweet, and I think I understand in this moment, why real love is worth waiting for. Why it’s the thing that people are still trying to capture in songs, in books. I don’t know if I’ll ever convey the truth of it in any song I write, but I know the truth of it here, now. I feel it in my soul. And I don’t ever want to let it go.
She pulls back, looks at me with the kind of longing that makes my pulse throb harder.
“This is so much better than heart break,” she says softly.
I laugh and pull her closer into my arms, kissing her again. And I know we’re just beginning.
********
*
Thank you so much for reading The Heart That Breaks. If you haven’t read my Nashville series and would like to read CeCe and Holden’s story, I hope you’ll enjoy the bonus copy of Book One, included here.
Bonus Copy of Nashville - Book One - Ready to Reach
CeCe
I’ve been praying since before I can ever actually remember learning how. Mama says I took to praying like baby ducks to their first dip in a pond, my “please” and “thank you” delivered in a voice so sweet that she didn’t see how God would ever be able to say no to me.
Mama says my praying voice is my singing voice, and that any-body listening would know right off that the Father himself gave that voice to me. Two human beings, especially not her and one so flawed as the man who was supposedly my Daddy, would ever be able to create anything that reminiscent of Heaven.
The Heart That Breaks Page 11
