“I’m going to run home and get changed,” I say. I’ve been in leggings and a T-shirt all day, knowing it was pointless to get dressed while cooking. “I’ll be back in like fifteen minutes.” I turn to Chase. “You can stay here and hang out with the guys if you want.”
Scott, my brother-in-law, and my dad are in the den watching football. Chase had been in there with them, but keeps coming into the kitchen to ‘check on me.’ It’s a bit odd, and it’s almost as if he’s nervous, which doesn’t make sense. Chase isn’t shy and doesn’t care what others think about him. He’s been around my entire family before. Well, except for Scott. But Scott got here two days ago, and he and Chase get along great.
“I’ll come with you,” he says.
“You don’t have to. I’m going to change and probably fix my makeup.”
“Probably?”
“Okay, I will fix it.”
Chase’s hands land on my waist and he leans in. “I’m coming with you. Because I want to fuck you.” He kisses my neck.
“Mhhh,” I moan and let my head fall back. “Yeah, you’re coming with.” I take his hand and go out the door. He insists I do my makeup first, and says he has to go to the car to get something.
He’s still outside when I’m done with my makeup. Wondering what’s going on, I look out the window and see a single lantern light near the edge of the forest. I grab my jacket and go outside to see what the heck Chase is up to.
“Babe?” I call, picking up the lantern. I hold it out in front of me and look into the trees. Another candle flickers next to the river, and I see Chase crouched down by the water. “What are you doing?” I ask.
He stands, and candlelight flickers on his face. “I was going to wait,” he starts and holds out his hand. I pick my way over tree roots and uneven ground, coming to a stop by the side of the river. “I had this whole big thing planned.”
“Wait for what?”
Chase pulls something out of his pocket, not taking his eyes off me. “To ask you to marry me.” He drops down to one knee and opens the box. Firelight flickers off a giant diamond ring.
My jaw drops and my hand flies to my chest. Tears fill my eyes and I look from the ring to Chase.
“Sierra, I love you more than anything. You’ve made me a better person and have given me everything I never knew I wanted. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I say, hardly able to find my voice. “Yes, yes I will!”
Chase gets to his feet and puts the ring on my finger. “I love you so fucking much,” he whispers and then kisses me. “Do you like the ring?” he asks nervously.
“Yes!” I assure him with a laugh and bring my hand up. “It’s beautiful.”
Chase kisses me again, and then grabs me by the waist, grinning. “We should hurry so we can get that quickie in before your family comes looking.”
* * *
“You have to have a June wedding,” Mom says.
“No.” Gran shakes her head. “May is better.”
“June weddings are classic,” Mom persists.
“June is overrated,” my aunt chimes in. I look at Chase and smile. I warned him this would happen. The wedding planning started the moment I walked back into the house and showed off my new ring.
“I like May,” I say to Chase. “June is good too. October is my favorite, but that’s too far.”
“I’m good with May,” he agrees.
“We’re getting married in May,” I announce.
“Not this May,” Mom and Gran say at the same time.
“There’s hardly any time to plan!” Mom exclaims. “Venues are already booked.”
“I’ve always wanted to have the reception here,” I go on. “I don’t want a big wedding.”
“You could always do a wedding in Disney,” Scott suggests. He winks at me. “It would have to be small that way.”
“I like that idea,” Chase tells me with a smile. “I’ll marry you tomorrow in Vegas if that’s what you want. As long as we’re together.”
“What?” Mom practically shrieks. “No one is getting married in Vegas! Though I am open to the idea of a Disney wedding.”
“Don’t worry about what you want, Sierra,” Lisa jokes. “You’re lucky enough you got to pick your fiancée and not have an arranged marriage.”
“I’m not that bad,” Mom insists. Sam and I laugh. “I just want to make sure things are perfect.”
Chase takes my hand and smiles. “They already are.”
Epilogue
Chase
Three years later…
“Ethan?” I look around the living room. “Where’s Ethan? Where’d he go?” Wild giggles come from under the pile of pillows in front of me. “Mom, have you seen Ethan?”
“Oh my goodness,” Sierra says, slowly walking into the living room. “Dad, did you lose Ethan again?”
“Here I am!” our son says, popping up from the pillows.
“Whoa!” I say and bring my hands to my face. “Where did you come from?”
“Again, Daddy, again!” the toddler giggles. He puts his face into the pillows and chants you can’t see me over and over.
I bury him in pillows again and sit on the couch. “I’m tired and need to lay down. This pile of pillows looks comfy.” I pretend to fluff up the pillows, and Ethan erupts in laughter. “Wait a minute. Why is my pillow laughing?”
“I’m not a pillow! I’m not a pillow!”
“Why are the pillows talking? What is going on? Hey!” I move the pillows and lift Ethan up in the air. “You’re not a pillow!” I kiss his cheeks and he tries to blow raspberries on my arm, which just leaves a trail of slobber. The second his feet hit the floor he takes off, running full-speed at Sierra.
“Mommy!”
“Careful, buddy!” I say. “You don’t want to hurt your sister!”
“Maybe you’ll make her come out,” Sierra says with a groan. She’s two days past her due date and is miserable. She kisses Ethan’s cheeks and hugs him tight. “Dinner’s ready, boys.”
I hold out a hand and help her to her feet. Not a second after she’s up, Sierra sits back down again.
“Ow.” Her hands fly to her large belly.
“Did you just have another contraction?”
“Yeah. We should probably eat. Now.”
“Maybe we should call your mom. You had a fast labor last time.”
“Not yet. They’re still too far apart.” She takes my hand and lets me help her to the table. She doesn’t make it to her chair before she pitches forward. “Okay. Call her.”
In somewhat of a panic, I rush around the house. We moved a few months ago into this house. It’s big and brand-new, built on the Belmont family property. The river runs through our backyard and it’s perfect.
I get Sierra’s hospital bag, Ethan’s overnight bag, and the bag packed for our daughter, Emma. I call Mrs. Belmont to let her know to meet us at the hospital. Then I pack up Ethan and help Sierra to the car. I’m more nervous than she is and am half convinced we waited too long and Sierra’s going to have this baby in the car.
She’s contracting every two minutes by the time we get to the hospital, and Ethan cried the last quarter of the drive, not understanding what’s going on or why Mommy is in pain.
Only three-and-a-half hours after getting checked into labor and delivery, our daughter is born. She’s nineteen inches and six-and-a-half pounds of perfection.
“I don’t remember Ethan being this little,” I say, taking my daughter in my arms.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Sierra agrees. “She’s so little and cute.” Sierra’s eyes fill with tears. “She’s so perfect.”
“She is.” I kiss her soft cheeks and put her back in Sierra’s arms, going into the waiting room to get Ethan. Holding his hand, we go back into the delivery room. He stops at the foot of the bed, staring at the little bundle in Sierra’s arms.
Then he smiles and climbs up, eager to meet his sister.
“Hi,” he says. Emma o
pens her mouth. “She said hi! Can I hold her?”
“Let me help you,” I say and pick Ethan up. We sit on the bed, and I put a pillow in his lap. Carefully, Sierra lays Emma on his lap, keeping a hold of her head. Ethan grins and bends down to kiss her.
“She tastes like a baby,” he says and we laugh. I lean in, putting my arm around Ethan and Sierra. I look down at my family. We’re an hour from our house, but sitting here together, I feel at home.
Free Fall
For anyone who feels surrounded by darkness. Remember to look for the stars.
Copyright
Free Fall
Copyright 2018
Emily Goodwin
Editing by Ellie, Love N Books
Editing by Lindsay,Contagious Edits
Cover Photography by Lauren Perry, Perrywinkle Photography
Cover Design by RBA Designs
* * *
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or places is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Nora
They say something is only lost when someone is looking for it. Missing it. Searching for it. Frantically. Desperately.
If that’s the case, I’ll never be found.
No one is missing me.
No one is even looking for me.
I’ve convinced myself and the world that I’m okay with that. In two years, I can get my life back. Two years. Until then, I have to grin and bear it. Keep my head down and stay quiet. I angle my body away from the bright sunlight that’s streaming through the dirty window in the front of the Social Services office and look back down at my book. It’s a young adult paranormal romance that’s cheesy as hell, and I love every single word of it. Though right now, I can’t concentrate. I read the same line over and over, but the words escape me. I close the book and reach into my bag, pulling out my iPod. I put on my headphones and close my eyes, subconsciously tapping my foot in rhythm to Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.” The song is about to end when someone steps into the lobby and calls my name.
“Eleanor Fisher.”
I turn my head up, not expecting the social worker to be young with shoulder-length pink hair. “We’re ready for you,” she says with a gentle smile.
I pull my headphones off and stuff them back into my bag. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. My chest tightens with pain in a way I imagine a heart attack feel. Already broken into a million tiny pieces, my heart is just barely hanging on to begin with.
My fingers shake and I can’t get the stupid zipper up on my bag. I inhale but get no air. My legs weaken, and I fall back into the hard plastic chair. Squeezing my eyes shut, I remember some of my grandmother’s last words. You’re a tough girl, Nora, but when the day comes, it’s still going to be hard. Always remember. You don’t give up. You don’t quit. You keep walking the road no matter how hard it gets. If it’s still hard, you’re not done walking. You can change the world. Just don’t let the world change you.
I let my mind wander, taking me back to the front porch of her house. We’re drinking lemonade and eating chocolate chip cookies, watching the sun sink low in the sky. We did that at least once a week, and I’d tell her about the drama at school, she’d quiz me on whatever book I read from the reading list given to me by my student advisor, or she’d give me juicy details about her celebrity clients. Sometimes we’d just sit there in silence, and on rare occasions, she’d tell me stories about my mom.
Those were my favorite nights.
My grandma’s face flashes before me, blue-gray eyes surrounded by wrinkles, ones she wore proudly as markers of her life. She’d been through a lot and learned even more. She did her best to teach me all she knew in the little time we had.
What do you do when it gets dark? she’d ask from time to time.
Look for the stars, I’d reply and look up, no matter where I was. The heavens are above me, even if I can’t directly see them. Mom is above me.
“Eleanor?” the social worker calls softly. I hear her heels click on the slick tile floor, and her hand lands on my forearm. “Need a minute?” she whispers, and I’m grateful she didn’t feed me the bullshit line ‘it’s going to be okay’ that I’ve heard more times than I can count in the last three days.
I open my eyes and nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“I’m Summer,” the social worker tells me. “I’m handling your case. I believe Jennifer spoke with you before, right?”
I give her another nod, and then push my shoulders back and force myself to take in a deep breath.
“I’m ready,” I tell her, not liking how weak and small my voice is.
“You can take some time,” she assures me.
“No need to prolong the inevitable, right?”
Summer’s brown eyes meet mine, and I see pity reflected back. At least it’s genuine. I suppose she’s young and new enough not to have been burned out by this job yet. Lucky for me, right?
“All right then.” She stands and motions to a door behind the front desk. “This way.”
My heart hammers in my chest and my legs feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. I have to physically force myself to move. Summer’s hand lands on the doorknob, and my stomach flip-flops as she twists the metal and pushes open the door.
I have no idea what my foster family looks like. I don’t even know their names. Everything happened so fast. As I was whisked away from Becca’s house, I was told I was lucky.
Fostering a sixteen-year-old isn’t the same as fostering a six-year-old.
“Well,” Summer says and shuts the door behind me. “Let’s get started. What do you want to do, Eleanor?”
I blink and move my eyes from her to the couple sitting on the couch in front of me. The woman leans forward, a kind smile on her face. She looks like she’s in her thirties and has hair so blonde it’s almost white. Her husband is at her side, brown eyes matching his brunette hair. His hand is resting on her thigh and he smiles as well.
“Nora,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Nora. It’s what I like to be called. No one calls me by my full name.”
“Oh, all right. Nora, it is. Let me introduce you. Nora, this is Stephanie and Doug Keller, your new foster parents.”
They are not my parents. Stop pretending to be something you’re not.
It’s the first thought that goes through my head, shocking me with the venom in my words. My hands start shaking again, and a throbbing starts in the middle of my chest, spreading over my whole body. I miss my grandmother. I miss my bedroom. My friends. My fat cat named Thackery Binx.
My life.
“Hello, honey,” Stephanie says softly. “I’m Stephanie. You can call me Steph if you’d prefer. Would you like to sit?”
I don’t want to move, but the manners my grandma was careful to instill in me kick in, and I move on autopilot. I take a seat on the couch across from them, fiddling with the buttons on my plaid shirt.
“I know this isn’t easy,” Stephanie tells me and looks at her husband. “We’ve done this a few times and find it’s best to just jump right in. We’ll start by telling you about ourselves.”
I smile and nod, listening to them talk about their lives and their jobs. About the nice weather here, and about the nature parks in the mountain with miles of trails fit for hiking. They tell me about the town and the school, about the Christmas Festival in the winter, and the new movie theater that just opened.
“If you have any questions, go ahead and stop us,” Doug says.
“I actually do,” I say, speaking for the first time. All eyes fall on me. “What type of
extracurricular activities does the school offer?”
Stephanie blinks, caught off guard by my question. I guess most kids she takes in aren’t worried about joining the Spanish Club.
“The usual, I believe. We can get a list from the school on the way home.”
“That’s okay. I can probably find it on their website. I have a computer.” I motion to my backpack. “Do I start school tomorrow?”
“I thought you could take the day off,” Stephanie says. “And then start on Monday. Take the weekend to adjust.”
“Okay,” I simply agree, not sure I’ll ever adjust, and I don’t want to. I refuse to let this be my new normal. Going to school will keep me busy at least. We talk some more, and then it’s time to go. Just like that.
“Want to get something to eat, kiddo?” Doug asks, and I have to work hard not to let his playfulness annoy me. I’m not his kid. I don’t need to be here. I would have been fine back at the house—my house—or with Becca. Her parents were cool with it and liked that Becca basically would have had a live-in tutor for math and chemistry.
My stomach grumbles at the thought of food. I haven’t eaten anything since last night when I got the call saying a family wants to foster me.
“Sure.”
“What do you want? Your pick.”
We walk to the sunny parking lot, and I slow, turning around to find Summer. She’s standing right outside the doors of the office, talking on the phone and looking concerned.
“Nora?” Stephanie asks. “Are you all right, hun?”
“I need my stuff,” I say as Doug gets out his keys and unlocks a blue minivan.
Her eyes go to my backpack, brow furrowing. “You have more than that?”
I blink, wondering what the hell kind of question is that. Of course I have more than this. Then I remember two Christmases ago when I did volunteer work at our church putting together duffle bags for kids in the system. It made me sad back then to hear that the majority of children who are in and out of foster care hardly own anything at all, and often have to put their few possessions in garbage bags when going from place to place.
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