Flawlessly Broken (Broken #2)

by Anna Paige

  When I reached the car, I turned and watched for a moment. Hailey sat quietly on the bench, watching Cameron who was sitting on the ground near the headstone chattering on, talking to my little girl like they were in a sandbox instead of a graveyard.

  I couldn’t bear to watch anymore, so I headed up the path to find the groundskeeper and thank him for the obviously fresh daisies in the other vase on Amelia’s headstone. Lots of flowers got donated by families who didn’t want to take them home and he always looked out for yellow flowers for her, having seen that those were all I ever brought.

  I caught up with him at the rear of the main building. He was putting away a sprayer that I assumed was full of weed-killer, jumping when I cleared my throat to get his attention.

  Hand to his chest, he still managed a broad smile. His eyes and mouth were heavily lined at the edges, and I was sure it was entirely due to his perpetual smile. Always chipper and cheerful, even in such a sorrow-filled place. I had to admire someone like that.

  “Hello, Miss Galiano. Is everything okay?” His concerned tone only endeared him to me further.

  I waved him off easily, returning his smile. “Absolutely, and call me Talia, please. I just wanted to come thank you for those exquisite daisies. They are the most beautiful ones yet.” I found myself wanting to hug him, this virtual stranger who always went out of his way for me.

  I was about to lean in and do just that when he shook his head. “Sorry ma’am, I didn’t do that. There weren’t any yellow flowers donated this week. The last batch were holding on okay but I was worried they wouldn’t make it through this warm snap. Luckily, the gentleman who came the other morning took them away and left the daisies in their place.”

  Tossing a glance over my shoulder, I squinted in the distance to make out the flowers from where we stood. “Gentleman? What gentleman? No one other than myself ever visits, with the occasional exception of my best friend—who happens to be female.” I frowned, trying to fathom who it could have been.

  The grounds keeper—who really should have a name tag or something so I didn’t feel like an ass for not remembering his name at that very moment—shrugged timidly and pursed his lips. “I don’t know who he was. Never seen him before the other day.”

  “What did he look like?” I kept my voice level, wanting to sound more curious than alarmed, though I was a little of both at that particular moment.

  “Tall, messy dark hair—it might have been brown but looked black from a distance. He had a beard, which was trimmed neatly. The clothes he had on were kind of nice, slacks and a collared shirt. I remember thinking he was going to ruin his pants kneeling there on the grass like he was.”

  My heart was in my throat and I thought I might choke on it as I asked, “He was kneeling at her grave?”

  “Yes, ma’am. For a long time. His head was down, kind of like he was praying or talking.” The man looked up at me, kind eyes tense for a moment before he said, “Or crying. I was too far away to tell which.”

  I had to be sure, had to ask the final question that I knew would leave no doubt who the mysterious visitor was. “Did you happen to see what he was driving?”

  His face lit up and he nodded. “Yes, I sure did. Hard to miss a beauty like that. He was parked where you are now, direct line of sight from where I was working in the flower beds out front. That’s what made me pay him so much attention. I was contemplating going over to ask about the car. It made me nostalgic just seeing that thing drive up.” His eyes danced happily as he announced, “I used to own a Chevelle like that myself when I was a young man.”

  I WALKED NUMBLY toward the familiar marker, idly noting that Cameron was now on the bench with his mother, both of them sitting in contemplative silence.

  All I could focus on as I approached was the phantom image of Spencer that the grounds keeper’s description called to mind. Had he been speaking and, if so, what could he have possibly come here to say?

  I dared not ponder the possibility that he’d been weeping.

  Even the thought of such a scenario was enough to make my legs turn rubbery.

  I didn’t understand it, couldn’t fathom what it was he sought to find here. It had been nearly ten days since I ended things. More than a week of silence from him, not that I actually expected him to call me up to chat or text me a good night like he’d done on the night’s he’d spent in Richmond. I knew better than to expect anything other than well-deserved animosity from him, if anything at all.

  Clearly he was working through what I’d done to him—or what he thought I’d done—I just failed to make the connection between that and Amelia.

  Cameron stood as I approached and took my hand, walking the last few steps alongside me. “I think it’s pretty here,” he told me, his expression both serene and sad. “It makes me happy that I finally got to see it. I was worried she was somewhere with tall weeds and scary sculptures like in the movies, even though I knew you would never let that happen. I wanted to see it for myself, to know she was okay.”

  I pulled him into my side, my hand on his thin shoulder. “I’m glad you got to see it, too, Cam. I know how much you miss her.”

  He nodded, still holding onto the little floral envelope. “I do. All the time.” He raised his head and looked up at me sheepishly. “I know you said I could put the note in the vase but I was kind of nervous. Will you open it and I’ll just drop it in?”

  Poor little guy, he was scared to touch the headstone. It was a stark reminder that just because he talked like someone much older, just because he’d seen more suffering in his short life than most people did in a lifetime, when it came right down to it, he was still just a little kid.

  Somehow, his perfectly childlike reaction was a comfort to me. Made me feel like there was a chance he could go back to just being a kid one day, instead of a former cancer patient. I wanted that very much for him.

  We made our way across the grass and Cameron knelt down by the marker, holding the tiny envelope while I lifted the lid on the converted vase so he could place his letter inside.

  His movements were slow and halting, but he leaned forward and dropped the envelope into the cup.

  Directly on top of a small yellow envelope that was already inside.

  What the hell?

  I dipped a finger into the vase and nudged the contents until the first envelope, the one that shouldn’t be there, was on top of Cameron’s. Pale yellow and about the size of an index card, I knew as soon as I saw it where it had come from.

  Spencer.

  Cam frowned at me as I reached inside to pick it up. “Is that one from you?”

  I shook my head and scrambled for a way to explain why I was taking a note out of the vase, which probably made no sense to his ten-year-old mind. “No. I think my friend might have left it here the other day but I’m not sure.” Friend was a bit of a stretch. Actually, it was basically an outright lie but the complexities of adult relationships were a topic for another day.

  He pursed his lips and considered. “Are you going to read it?”

  My voice was barely more than a whisper as I thumbed the sealed flap on the envelope. “I don’t know.”

  He thought for a minute and said, “Maybe you should. I mean, if you’re not sure who sent it. I know my mom would read it first if she thought it was a stranger writing me a letter.”

  Hailey stood from the bench and made her way over to us, oblivious of the conversation or the appearance of the odd envelope as she placed both hands on Cam’s shoulders. “You want us to give you some time alone before we leave for the airport?” She asked me, her eyes red from crying.

  She’d loved Amelia, too.

  I reminded myself why we were here and that I still had guests to attend to, and that had to take precedent over everything else. I couldn’t let them see me upset. They had had a wonderful visit and I refused to mar it with my personal drama.

  I shook my head and tucked the yellow envelope in my back pocket, deciding it would have t
o wait until later, after I’d seen them off and made it back home.

  Assuming I could gather the courage to open it at all.

  AFTER MUCH DEBATE and several false starts, I found myself sitting in the middle of my bed, knees tucked under me and a large glass of chianti on the bedside table, just in case. It was nearly midnight and I honestly didn’t care that I’d spent the better part of the day staring at the little envelope from across the room like it was a rattlesnake, just waiting to strike.

  Whatever else had happened, I knew deep down that the contents of that unassuming looking envelope had the capability to devastate me all over again. But I had to open it, there was no way I could live with not knowing.

  My hands shook as I slowly slid a nail under the edge of the flap, the sound of the glue giving way seemed unnaturally loud in my quiet apartment, the only sound besides my galloping heart.

  I removed the note card, and flipped it open to find small, precise letters—Spencer’s careful script. A flash of movement caught my eye and I realized something had fallen onto the comforter.

  A tiny dried buttercup.

  I retrieved it and sat it atop the discarded envelope. Swallowing thickly, I reached over and snared my wine glass, taking a large gulp before allowing myself to focus on what he’d written. My pulse roared in my ears as my eyes started to move across the page, Spencer’s voice following along in my head.

  Tears began falling before I’d finished the first sentence, and they continued long into the night.

  Sweet Amelia,

  It has become one of the greatest regrets of my life that I never got to know you. I find myself missing your smile, though I only ever witnessed it from photos.

  Your smile reminds me of hers.

  I’m feeling very lost right now, and I have nowhere else to turn so I’m asking you for your help, sweet girl.

  I need you to watch over your mother and keep her safe until I can find my way back into her heart. Please help me find the words to make her understand that nothing is more important to me than her.

  And, if she chooses a future that doesn’t include me, help her see that no love is ever wasted. Especially not my love for her.

  Rest well, angel. Though I never got to hold you in my arms, I hold you in my heart always.

  Spencer

  Spencer

  Six weeks later...

  DENSON, VIRGINIA WAS and is a place for life altering moments. I’d felt it in my bones the first time I’d set foot in this place, even after a twenty year absence, and long before Clay ever laid eyes on Alison Walker.

  Something about Denson facilitated healing.

  And today, under the full leaves of the massive Willow tree planted long ago by Clay’s mother, it would forge a lifelong bond that left us all in awe. My best friend had found his purpose, his reason, and his meaning with Ali. I’d never been happier for him.

  And never more envious.

  The ceremony would be small, just a few of us who are the closest to the couple. This would be the ‘real’ wedding, the one that Clay’s mother had dreamed of for her son so many years ago. Ali had finally caved and allowed her mother to plan a big, fancy wedding in the city but insisted that she have her tiny wedding beneath the willow, first.

  Eileen hadn’t even balked when Ali told her she wasn’t on the guest list for the Denson wedding. It wasn’t ostentatious enough for her upper-class tastes.

  Each of them had chosen three people to attend as their guests. Talia, Teach’s wife Marilee, and Ali’s dad for the bride. Gran, Brant, and myself for Clay. Teach was also in attendance.

  It would be the first time I’d seen Talia since things went to shit.

  I’d received an email from her a few days after her visitors left, no text in the body of the email but there were more than a dozen pictures attached showing Cameron enjoying the various excursions I’d planned out for them.

  Talia’s smiling face was noticeably absent, an intentional omission I was sure.

  That evening, I gave in and called her, but she was either at work or screening because I got her voicemail. I left a message and waited to see if she replied. She didn’t. The next day, I sent a text with the one sentence that told her all she needed to know.

  I will never give up on us.

  I hadn’t expected a reply, and I didn’t get one, but that was okay.

  I had a plan.

  She wanted me, I knew she did, but she was still so scarred by her past that she was afraid to take the chance. I understood that, really I did. I’d felt the same way until her.

  And she was braver than she realized, I just had to make her see that.

  I pulled my truck—no way was I driving the Chevelle down the driveway to Clay’s property—under the carport at the rental cabin, the same one we’d used when Clay was here working last summer, and got out, snagging my garment bag from the back seat as I did.

  The ladies were preparing at Teach’s house—Teach was Ali and Talia’s former college professor and the reason that the couple had met in the first place.

  Clay opened the door and grinned. “Hey, fucker. ‘Bout time you got here.” He eyed the bag in my hand, laughing. “That’s not the castrated tux, is it? Because even though we’re going informal today, I do have to ask that you keep your mouse in its house.”

  “Blow me,” I groused, pushing by him and making my way to the second floor. I nodded to Brant—who was sitting at the small table in the kitchen, pressed, dressed, and smiling broadly at our banter—before turning back to Clay. “The bedroom back here open or should I use one of the ones downstairs?” I gestured to the hallway that ran beside the kitchen.

  He held up an arm, ushering me down the hall with a big, goofy grin. “Either one is fine, Brant’s already ready and has his stuff tucked back into his truck.”

  I frowned at the statement before nodding. “Ah, I get it. So he won’t have to come back here and be exposed to your post-wedding shenanigans. Good idea. I think I’ll do the same. I need to get some work done, anyway.” I walked into the bedroom and plopped my stuff onto the bed.

  Clay’s grin bordered on salacious as he looked around the room, gaze pausing on every flat surface from the bed to the dresser and even the damn TV stand. I groaned and gave him an annoyed look. “You two have fucked in here haven’t you?”

  He cocked a brow and pursed his lips, thinking. “Maybe.” There was no uncertainty in his voice.

  “I think I’ll switch rooms.” I reached for my things but his laughter gave me pause. “The other rooms, too? This place has four bedrooms, Clay. Shit, did you have to defile them all?” He and Ali had been in town for two days and apparently, they’d been busy.

  He laughed even harder, not the least bit apologetic. “If you’re worried about spending time in places we’ve had sex, maybe you should dress in the garage.” He frowned for a second. “Nope. Not there either, got that one last summer. Come to think of it, if we factor in all the places we’ve ever christened, I’d avoid the kitchen counter, the table, the couch...” He held his hand up and counted off places. “The pool, the deck, all the bathrooms, the washing machine...” He snapped his fingers, pointing skyward. “And you might want to stay out of your office back in Richmond.”

  I stopped him when he was about to have to take off his shoes to continue counting on his damn toes. Still a sex-fiend. “Maybe I’ll just dress in my truck.”

  His grin froze and he looked up at the ceiling, whistling softly.

  “You son of a bitch! In my truck? When? Where?” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Never mind, don’t tell me but you owe me the best detailing job money can buy. Asshole.”

  He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “What can I say, man, when opportunity knocks, she and I answer. Just be glad it wasn’t the Chevelle.”

  I glared at him until I saw a flash of genuine fear in his eyes.

  He held his hands up in supplication. “Come on, even I wouldn’t cross that line. I know not to fuck with—o
r in—that car. You barely let anyone sit in the damn thing. Shit, you never even let Ivey drive it and you were married to her.” He flinched when he realized he’d brought up ‘she-who-must-not-be-named.’

  “True, but Talia drove it several times. With and without me,” I told him matter-of-factly, not sure why I’d mentioned it. Every time I thought of her my chest tightened and I had trouble breathing.

  Clay stood there looking at me like I’d just kicked him in the balls or something. He opened his mouth several times, only to snap it closed again. He looked like a fucking fish, gasping.

  I turned back to my stuff and tossed over my shoulder, “You want to give me some privacy? We haven’t dressed in front of each other since high school gym class.”

  There was no indication he’d heard me. He just stood there gawking. Eventually, he shook himself and glared over at me. “No, dammit. You can get ready in a minute. I want to hear more about you handing over your keys to Talia, because I think you’re shitting me. I’ve never even driven that car and I’m your best friend. When I tried to snake the keys, you threatened to put my balls in my own damn bench vise. And you’re standing here telling me it’s not okay for me to drive it but you had no problem letting her behind the wheel?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you.” I turned to stare him down in challenge, I wanted him to just let it go. I should never have told him anything about Talia. He still believed it had been a casual thing, I made sure of that. And now I’d opened a damn can of worms.

  “Nope. That’s not what you’re telling me right now.” He studied me with narrowed eyes, sounding so condescending that I wanted to kick his ass.