Page 66 of Fractured

“Oh, Nick. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the time.” He attempts to wipe the tears away without my noticing. My heart squeezes in my chest at the site.

“You all right?”

“Yes, just chokes me up every year. But this is a day to celebrate Lydie, not mourn, right?”

“Sure, Dad, but we’re human. It’s okay to cry.”

“You wouldn’t think after twenty years there’d be any tears left.”

“I don’t know… I still get choked up when I think about her. My first love.”

My dad pats me on the leg as another tear tumbles down his soft, wrinkly skin. “Yeah, we were lucky.”

Every year since my mother died, my father has made a big to-do over her birthday. We choose not to remember the day she died, only the life she lived. We spend each year much the same. We start the day with a trip to the florist to pick out the perfect flowers for her graveside. We’re often so inspired by the floral shop’s selections we decide to stop by the local nursery to pick out a new rose bush to plant in the yard in her honor. I think every color of the rainbow is now well represented. We end our day with a big meal, prepared at home, followed by her favorite cake. Although she baked most of our celebration cakes by hand, her birthday cake was always a local grocery chain yellow-pound cake with buttercream icing. Nothing fancy, but extra sweet. Just like Mom.

* * *

The day progressed as it did most years, laughter mixed with a few tears. As the sun makes its descent I can tell my dad is exhausted, and quite honestly, so am I. It’s been a long weekend, and I need some quiet time to get centered before beginning another busy week.

As I drive home, I reflect on the mix of emotions I’ve felt this weekend. Sebastian, Sophia, Kat, and my dad. It’s been an emotional rollercoaster. I thank God for my dad and his ability to handle loss in such a graceful way. My misguided interpretation of his loss as emptiness, when in reality it’s his utter devotion to the woman he loved. I admire Kat for taking a chance with me despite her past. And I decide I’m going to let go of my feelings of animosity toward Sophia and Sebastian. Hanging on to that hate is only hurting me.Hell, they deserve each other. Why should I stand in their way?

Walking into my home, I put both hands on my hips and take a good look around. That’s it. I’m doing it. I’m selling this damn place. There may not be any memories of a happy home torturing me here, but I need a clean slate. I’m going to start looking for something else. With that decision made, I somehow feel lighter already. Closing out this weekend with a drink and some Sports Center is about all my brain can handle at this point.

Unless Kat was here. I don’t have the mental energy to talk or text, but still wish she was here with me. I wonder what she’s doing right now.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kat

Sitting on my bed, knees pulled up against my chest, rocking back and forth, I contemplate what I’m going to do. My dreamy mood has shifted faster than Danica Patrick can change gears after receiving that text. Seeing that picture has me instantly alarmed and humiliated.How is this my life?

I turn to sit at the edge of the bed, my body trembling. I’ve taken a scalding hot shower and put on the ugliest pajama pants and shirt I own. To curb the shaking, I’ve donned a sweatshirt and put on a pot of tea. Nothing is helping. I hate to do it, but I think I’m going to have to wash my Benadryl down with a glass of wine. If I don’t get my nerves under control, I’m going to go off the deep end.But hey, I can watch the whole thing unfold on camera later if I do something else worthy of what? Blackmail?

I’m certain the texts are coming from Mark. It’s the only thing that makes sense. But why the unknown number? Is he protecting himself since he knows what he’s doing is wrong?

I don’t have time to worry about his criminal behavior. I’ve got enough of my own inappropriate actions to contend with. Has anyone else seen this photo? There’s no doubt it’s me. I’m standing tall in all my glory, wearing only that ridiculous thong, those damn knee-high boots, and a shocked expression.Now I have proof. No need to use the Nanny cam to show I’ve lost my mind.

Speaking of losing my mind, I have an appointment with Dr. Miller in two days. Thank heavens because I can’t tell anyone else about this. I’m mortified.

Walking to my kitchen, I look for a bottle of wine. I couldn’t care less what it tastes like. Heck, I’d drink cooking sherry if it’d help me to calm down. I simply need something to dull the quaking nerves until my Benadryl kicks in. I pour a glass of Pinot Grigio and sip the crisp, fruity beverage as I walk to my front door. I ensure the door is locked, and my front porch light is on. I double-check my garage door is closed, and the door into my home is locked. Lastly, I verify the back door is locked, and everything seems sound. I have no reason to think Mark would come and harm me, but then again, who would’ve ever thought him capable of this. And for what?

I return to my bedroom and decide to look through my phone’s playlist to see if there’s anything there to distract me. I jump, startled, as my phone buzzes unexpectedly.

10:50 p.m.

Unknown number

Unknown number: Only you’ve seen this picture, but don’t tempt me.

11:01 p.m.

Unknown number

Unknown number: This phone is untraceable. Don’t try.

The shaking is now ten times worse. I text back.

11:04 p.m.

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