Break Through

by Amber Garza

  After peeling off my clothes, I tried on the pink dress. It was too tight, but not like it didn’t fit me. Clearly, it was the style, but I didn’t like it. The last thing I wanted was to look cheap or desperate. I wanted to look sophisticated.

  I wanted to take Carter’s breath away.

  “How are you doing?” Polly trilled from the other side of the curtain.

  “Fine.”

  “Are you finding anything you like?” Mom asked.

  “Not yet,” I responded, wishing they would leave me alone.

  “If you need another size or anything let me know,” Polly said.

  “Will do.”

  The next dress was black with a large belt in the center. It didn’t look like much, but I pulled it over my head anyway. Then I zipped up the back and arranged the belt. When my gaze lifted to the mirror, I inhaled.

  This was it.

  It was perfect.

  I stared at my reflection for several moments, taking in the way the dress molded to my curves. The way it made me look. The way it made me feel. I imagined how Carter would react when he saw me in it, and my heart skipped a beat.

  “Aspen?” Mom called. “How’s it going?”

  “Good.” I was practically giddy at this point. “I think I found the one.”

  “Well, let me see.” I could hear the excitement in her voice. And even though I was upset with her, I wanted to show her. Hell, I wanted to run down the street in this dress. I’d never felt this pretty before.

  Dragging the curtain open, I stepped out into the store. Mom’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Aspen. You look gorgeous.”

  Polly smiled. “You do.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.” My cheeks warmed as they continued to stare at me, so I slipped back into the dressing room.

  After changing back into my clothes, Polly helped me pick out a pair of black pumps to match the dress. Then Mom paid for everything and we headed outside. I held the bags in my hands as we headed down the sidewalk, Mom’s heels clicking on the pavement.

  “Where do you want to go to lunch?” Mom asked.

  “I’m not that hungry. I’d rather head home.”

  “Oh, come on, Aspen. Don’t ruin all the fun. Let’s go grab a bite to eat.”

  I stopped walking. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

  Mom glanced around, as if worried I was causing a scene. It made me even angrier. A car drove past, the man in the driver’s side glancing over at us. Mom pressed her lips together, waiting for him to pass. Once he was gone, she said, “What is wrong with you today?”

  “Nothing.” I averted my gaze. “I just want to go home.”

  “Fine,” Mom spoke through gritted teeth. Spinning around, she walked in clipped strides toward the car. I trailed behind her.

  Once inside, Mom turned on the engine and pulled away from the curb. She drove in silence for awhile, her face forward, her hands white-knuckling the steering wheel. But I could feel her anger radiating off of her. I kept praying that she’d let it go. But I knew I’d never get that lucky.

  It wasn’t until we pulled onto our street that she finally spoke. “I don’t understand where this attitude is coming from. I was hoping we’d have a fun day together. I bought you a dress for your date, and you’re completely ungrateful.”

  “I’m not. I love the dress,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Then what’s wrong? I know something is. I can tell.”

  I played with the handles on the bag in my lap.

  “Aspen, I deserve an explanation for your behavior.”

  My buttons were officially pushed. “You deserve an explanation? What about me? Don’t I deserve an explanation?”

  “What?” Mom glanced over at me, a look of confusion cloaking her face. We were coming up on our driveway, and she slowed a little.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you explain to me why you were alone with Kurt having a secret conversation with him a week before I was taken?” My body slammed forward, my head barely missing the dashboard. What the hell?

  Mom had slammed on the brakes. All the color was drained from her face, her expression one of horror. “What did you say?”

  I swallowed hard. “I heard you, Mom. I came in the house to get a towel and I heard the two of you talking.”

  “Oh, Aspen,” she breathed. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “I just remembered.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “I don’t even know what I think.” I stared out the window. “I don’t understand any of it.”

  Mom eased her foot back on the gas, and we bumped along the gravel. “Then I’ll explain it to you.” She guided the car down the driveway. “As soon as we get inside.”

  TWENTY

  Mom wrung her hands until her skin was bright red. I worried that she’d rip her skin if she didn’t calm down a little. I sat on the couch in the living room facing the window. There was a hummingbird feeder hanging from the porch, and a hummingbird flew over to it. I watched it as it fed, swiftly sticking its beak in and out of the opening. Mom took the recliner seat across from me, still wringing her hands and chewing the bottom of her lip.

  “Kurt was always kind of flirtatious with me,” Mom started. “But I never thought much of it. I thought it was his way. You know how some people have a flirtatious personality?”

  I nodded. A month ago I would’ve said no, but that was before Carter. Now I’d seen what a flirtatious person was like.

  “I never thought much of his offhanded comments. I assumed that’s how he was with all the ladies. Besides, he hung out with your dad and me. He knew I was happily married.” Mom stared at her hands as if this was a test and she had the answers written on her palms. The clock on the wall ticked, marking time. In the distance I heard a dog barking, the hum of the breeze as it swished across the window pane. “But then one day he cornered me at our house. That’s what you overheard.” Her head lifted, her eyes pleading with mine. “I pushed him away. I made it clear I didn’t want to be with him.”

  “When I heard you, it sounded like you were flirting back at first.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Maybe I was a little. It felt kind of nice to be flirted with. And I didn’t think he meant anything by it. But the minute I did, I put a stop to it.”

  “If this is true, then why didn’t you suspect him after I was taken?”

  Mom’s lips trembled a little. “I had no reason to think the two things were related. Besides, he apologized later for his behavior.”

  My head spun. So many questions swirled inside. It was hard to figure out which one to ask first. But the one word that kept surfacing was daughter. It stood out from the rest in bold block letters like the ones I used to draw when I was a kid. “He said I was his daughter. Said it all the time.”

  Mom shook her head vehemently. “You are Frank’s daughter. You know that.”

  “Then why did he say it?”

  “Kurt was a sick man. He was trying to make you into his daughter. But trust me, you are in no way related to him.”

  “How long had you known him, Mom?” I needed her to tell me the whole story. I needed her to prove it to me.

  She fiddled with the gold chain on her neck. “Aspen, I can’t believe you’re asking this. I never had an affair with that man. Not at any point.”

  “Just answer the question,” I said firmly, staring her in the eyes.

  “I met him about a year before he took you.” Her voice wavered. I dug my fingers into the palm of my hand. This was hard for both of us. Talking about that time wasn’t something we liked to do. Ever. “It was at some fundraiser. You know all those charities I used to be involved in. I think this one was for sick kids or something.” She waved her hand. “I don’t even remember. Anyway, Kurt started talking to me. Asked about my family. He seemed nice. I found out he had recently moved to the area and was having trouble making friends. He liked golf and smoking cigars. I thought your dad and him might get along, so I got his number and g
ave it to your dad. I thought he could invite him golfing or something. And he did.” Guilt covered her features. “I wish I had never talked to him. God, Aspen, you can’t know how much I wish I’d never spoken to that man.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and her lips quivered. “I’ve replayed that day a million times in my mind, and I imagine just walking away, not engaging in conversation at all. “ She stood and started pacing in front of the window. “God, I was so stupid bringing that monster into our lives.” Her head turned to me. “I hate myself for it. I blame myself every day for what happened to you.”

  Moisture filled my eyes, but I blinked it back. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to hug her, to tell her it was okay. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t okay. None of it was. And I wasn’t going to lie to her. So I kept my lips pressed together as tears slipped down my face. Mom stood by the window sobbing, watching me, waiting.

  The thing was that I believed her. I knew she was telling the truth. I could see it in her eyes. And I knew it wasn’t her fault. Not really. I mean, how could she have known what he had planned? But that didn’t stop the anger from boiling in my veins. Not anger with Mom necessarily. Just anger. Anger at the whole thing.

  The truth was I couldn’t tell Mom it was okay, because I agreed with her.

  I wished she’d never talked to him either.

  And this revelation changed everything. For the first time I realized that it wasn’t only my mistake that sealed my fate. It was all of ours. We all shared a piece of the blame.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The window was open and a cold breeze blew in, causing a shiver to run up my spine. I awoke, sitting up in bed and rubbing my upper arms as goosebumps broke out on my flesh. The curtain waved, more wind filtering in and rustling my hanging plants. Crawling over my bed, I shut the window. It closed with a thud. Leaves skittered across the skylight, branches scratched the window pane. It was windy today. I hugged myself. With the hundred degree temperatures we’d been having it was kind of odd.

  Shrugging, I hopped out of bed and walked to my dresser. After picking out my clothes, I headed outside. When I hurried across the yard, I almost bumped into a giant easel set up in the grass. What the hell? I ran my fingers over the wooden easel, impressed with the nice quality of it. A large white canvas sat on it, a photograph tacked to the top right corner. I smiled, immediately recognizing it as one of Carter’s. A splash of writing on the back caught my eye. I turned it over.

  Aspen,

  You and I are the same – both creative people. No one can steal that creativity. It’s a part of us. So don’t let him take away what’s inside of you.

  I gave you a picture, and now you can give me one.

  Have fun exploring your creative side.

  Carter

  Grinning, I glanced down and saw a container with pencils, markers, paints and paint brushes sitting right under the easel. God, he’d thought of everything. Biting my lip, I stared at the blank canvas. Reaching out my hand, I ran the pads of my fingers over the smooth white surface. Closing my eyes, I tried to imagine what I could create. I swirled my fingers around the same way I’d done for years in the carpet. In my mind I saw what I would draw, and my insides jumped.

  Feeling giddy, I raced into the house to shower and get dressed. I didn’t bother with breakfast, because I was too excited. The truth was that I never thought I’d draw again. In fact, I’d never had the desire too. But ever since I’d touched that easel, exploring the possibilities, I knew I had to do it. I had to create something. I had to prove to myself that he hadn’t taken this from me too.

  This time when I stood in front of the easel I had a purpose. It started out as a sketch. Using the pencil, I outlined the picture that emerged in my mind. My heart swelled as it took shape, as it came to life. Once I had the image down, I picked up the paintbrush. I had never painted before. Well, not really. I mean, sure I finger painted in elementary school, and I used watercolors a few times as a child. But not like this. This was different.

  Dipping the paintbrush in the purple, I slid it out, careful not to spill. Then I swiped it across the canvas, carefully following the lines I’d drawn. The picture I’d painstakingly penned.

  “Someone likes my gift, I see.”

  Carter’s voice startled me, and I drew the paintbrush back. A little paint dripped on my arm, splattering deep purple on my pale skin. I stood in front of the picture, blocking it from Carter’s view.

  “C’mon, I want to see it.” He attempted to see behind me.

  “No, not yet. It’s not ready,” I told him.

  “But I’m impatient.” Reaching for me, he grinned.

  “Watch out.” I held out my paintbrush, and purple paint dripped into the grass. A few droplets landed on my bare foot. “I have a paintbrush, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “You wouldn’t.” His eyes held a challenging gleam.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “You were a wimp during the water fight. I doubt you’d want to start a paint war.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. In one fluid movement I swiped purple paint over his wrist.

  He glanced down, stunned. “I gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  I was so focused on the stripe of purple on Carter’s arm, I didn’t see him move until it was too late. He snatched the paintbrush out of my hand and feathered it over my cheek.

  “Hey. That’s not fair. I didn’t get you in the face.”

  He threw up his arms. “The ball’s in your court. Show me what you got.”

  Laughing, I bent down, retrieving one of the other paintbrushes. I dipped it in bright pink paint, and then stood up.

  “Pink, huh? I should have known.” A large grin spread across his face.

  I wagged my hand back and forth and pink paint escaped the brush, splattering Carter’s face and clothes.

  “Purple and pink? Those colors don’t look good on me. I’ve been told I’m a fall,” he teased.

  Smothering my mouth with my hand, I giggled. “Well, I guess that explains your obsession with khakis.” I indicated his pants.

  “Oh, that was low.” In one swift movement, he painted my neck.

  “Carter!” I squealed, whirling away from him. My hand flitted to my neck, slick with paint. It came off on my fingers. “You’re crazy!” Taking off, I ran the other direction. Carter’s footsteps pounded behind me. I couldn’t contain my laughter. It erupted in my throat, trailed from my mouth, filling the backyard.

  Carter’s arms came around my middle, and he tackled me to the ground. We landed softly in the grass. But I had dropped my paintbrush and fell right on top of it, so I was sure my backside was covered in paint. Carter hovered over me, holding himself up with one arm, the other one swishing a paintbrush in front of my face, teasing me with it. I smacked it out of his hand and it landed on the ground beside him. Before he could reach for it, I swept my arm out and shoved it across the lawn.

  “Someone knows how to play dirty.” He growled, lowering his body down on top of mine.

  “Yeah, and that someone is you.” I gave him a stern look. “I was trying to paint, and look what you did.” Reaching up my hand, I indicated the colorful marks on my skin.

  “You started it.” His gaze landed on his wrist.

  “I guess you do have a point.”

  Carter propped his body up on his elbows, and rested one finger under my chin. Our chests were pressed together and I fought to breathe evenly. “That’s okay. I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, two conditions.”

  “You can’t up the ante like that.”

  “Who says?” He smiled.

  Not having a good answer, I groaned. “Okay. What are your two conditions?”

  “First.” He lowered his face until our lips almost met. “You can kiss me.”

  My heart arrested. That was going to be easy enough. Arching up my back, I brought my lips closer to his until they brushe
d together causing a spark reminiscent of igniting a fire by rubbing two sticks together. My whole body tingled, my skin sizzling. With his palm splayed, he ran his hand along my stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under my shirt. My skin flushed from his touch, and I imagined it left blisters in its wake. His mouth captured mine, his breath hot, his tongue warm and soft. Feeling bold, I put my arms around him and clutched his waist. Hesitantly, I glided my hands under his shirt and up his back. His muscles flexed beneath my fingertips.

  When we parted, his forehead dropped to mine. I kept my arms fastened around him, enjoying the way his flesh felt under my palms. “And second, you can come over and help me with my plants. You’ve only been promising for over a month. I think it’s time you deliver.”

  Even though I was nervous, I knew I couldn’t turn him down a second time. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Johnston.”

  “No, no.” He waggled his fingers in my face. “Mr. Johnston is my dad. I’m Carter to you.” He paused, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Or sexy beast, hottie, babe magnet. You take your pick.”

  Extracting my hands from his shirt, I shoved him off me. “I think I’ll stick to Carter.”

  “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it’ll have to do.” Carter chuckled as he peeled himself out of the grass. Then he extended his hand out to me, helping me up.

  When I stood, I glanced down at my clothes. “Oh, my god. I’m covered in paint.”

  He assessed me. “Man, I wish I had my camera. I’d love to get some shots of you like this.”

  Placing a hand on my hip, I glared at him.

  “Oh, don’t be mad, you still look ravishing.”

  “Sure.” I snorted, trying to stay mad. But I couldn’t. Not with him saying sweet things like that. My gaze scoured the yard, at the paint sprinkling the lawn, coating the flowers. “I’ve gotta get this place cleaned up.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I waved away his offer with my hand.