When Destinies Collide Read online

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  When Destinies Collide

  Copyright © 2015 by Shirl Rickman

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  https://shirlrickman.wordpress.com/

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Giving Thanks...

  About the Author

  Selene

  HUDDLED AGAINST THE BACK OF the couch with my knees pulled against my chest, I listen to my mother question my father about his lack of affection for me. I feel like crying, but the tears refuse to fall. They never fall, and some days I feel like my chest is a dam about to break, as if all the tears I have never cried are about to burst out of me and kill me. It scares me. I can’t understand what I ever did to make him hate me so much. He has never said it, but I can feel it. I can see it from our occasional conversations when he pretends to look at me. I can see he isn’t looking at me, but rather looking through me.

  My mother's voice rises a little and pulls me from my thoughts. They don’t know I’m here. They think I’m in bed. I was, but I heard them say my name.

  “Mike, I don’t understand why you continue to act this way. She isn’t a baby anymore. Selene can sense the distance you put between yourself and her. She blames herself.” A tiny sob leaves her.

  I hate when Mama cries. I want to jump up and say boo. She always laughs when I sneak up on her and scare her. I love making Mama happy. I don’t jump up though, because I’m supposed to be asleep.

  “You don’t see things clearly, Elizabeth. I’m not sure what you want from me. I was there. I congratulated her on receiving her award. Isn’t that enough?” I can hear his footsteps as he walks toward her. “I love you, Lizzie. Can’t you see that? You’re such a good mama. Selene doesn’t need me like she needs you.”

  I peer around the side of the couch and see he has put his arms around her. There is music playing in the background, just as it plays every night after dinner. It’s slow, and I see him trying to sway their bodies to the music. My mother appears stiff in his arms and glances up at him.

  “You just don’t get it. She needs you, too. She needs you like I need you. Why can’t you see that?” She begins moving with him, but she doesn’t relax.

  “I just need you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I think you’re overreacting.”

  My mother gives him a slight nod and a tight-lipped smile before laying her head on his shoulder. He can’t see her face, but I can. She isn’t smiling, and I can see the tears shimmering in her eyes. “I know you love her too,” she whispers back.

  He doesn’t though. I would know, because Mama shows me love. I don’t want his love. His love hurts, and I don’t like pain. I will only ever love my mama. And Great-Aunt Vi. She loves me. They love me. I won’t let anyone hurt me, because when I hurt, Mama hurts too.

  I watch for a while longer. My father kisses my mother softly on the lips and walks into the kitchen, leaving her alone.

  Mama thinks she’s the only one in the room as she covers her face with her hands.

  My eyes never leave her. I don’t like seeing her so sad. Just as I’m about to crawl back to my bedroom, I notice her reach into her sweater pocket and pull something out. It appears to be a small photo.

  I watch her as she looks at it, and for the first time, I see sadness on her face. It’s different from the look she gets when she’s trying to convince Daddy to be kinder to me.

  She lifts her head when she hears footsteps coming from the kitchen at the same time I do, and she quickly puts the photo back into her pocket. I want to ask her questions, but I can tell by her face I shouldn’t.

  I quietly crawl my way back into my room and into my bed. Closing my eyes, I pray for a strong heart because I never want to feel the heartache I just saw on my mama’s face.

  Drake

  LACEY’S TINY SHADOW IS HANGING over me when I hear her whisper my name. “Drake…Drake, are you awake?” she asks me, just as she’s done nearly every night for as long as I can remember.

  “I am now,” I say as I yawn into my hand to muffle the sound.

  Before she even asks, I slide over and push my blanket aside so she can crawl into bed next to me. My body goes rigid as I wait for her cold feet to make contact with my legs. I hate it and love it at the same time. It makes me want to smile. Lacey is the only girl I will ever love. I wrap my arm around her as she moves closer.

  I wait for it. She’s sad tonight, and as hard as I’ve tried, I can’t bring her out of it. I know she will start asking questions, because we feel everything the other feels. Questions run through my mind too. Questions I’m too afraid to ask.

  She sighs. “Drake?”

  I roll my eyes beneath my closed lids. Man, I’m tired. “Yes,” I say quietly back to her.

  “Do you think they ever wanted us? Do you think she has ever loved us?”

  I hear sadness in her voice that echoes what I feel in my own heart. Lacey is the only person I know who would understand the pain I feel…the fear I feel of what the answers to those questions truly are. I don’t want to say it out loud though. It scares me almost as badly as her asking them.

  I say the only thing I can say. “I don’t know, Lacey.” I hug her tighter. “I love yo
u, though. And I know you love me. You’re the best sister in the whole world. You’re the other half of me. It’s the only thing that matters.”

  I feel her give a slight nod.

  “Remember that girl I told you I met at Mrs. Durham’s house?” she asks.

  I remember, even though I was only half listening the day she told me about this funny and sweet new friend she made. It’s hard. She is such a girl sometimes. Lacey just never quite understands why I don’t get excited about the idea of picking flowers and playing games along the river at Mrs. Durham’s house. Half the time, Tommy and I are trying to get away from her and her friends. I also don’t like to hurt Lacey’s feelings, so I go along with her question since she seems to want to tell me something.

  “Yeah, sort of,” I say reluctantly.

  “Well, she has a mama, and her mama loves her,” Lacey says, so plainly my chest hurts a little at the longing I hear in her voice. I feel it too. “You should see them together. I never knew a mother could love like that.” The uncomfortable feeling increases a bit in my chest. I feel a slight resentment for this girl I don’t even know.

  “Why are you saying this, Lacey?” I ask her, a little more harshly than I intend.

  “I heard Mother telling Daddy we all ruined her life. Daddy was angry and said we ruined his life too.” I swallow a lump in my throat as the words settle over me. “I just don’t understand, Drake.”

  I pull her into me tighter. I’m not sure if I’m trying to comfort her or myself more. Either way, we are all the other really can count on. I will always protect Lacey. She is the only thing that matters to me. We don’t need them. Lacey is all I will ever need.

  Ten years later…

  Selene

  IF THE HEART IS BROKEN over and over, do the pieces eventually become so small there isn’t hope for it ever being put back together?

  At this moment, I feel like I’m never going to be whole again. In fact, I’m not even sure how my heart is still beating. I can hear it bumping against my chest, the pain increasing with each thump. Sitting in the front seat of my dad’s beat-up Ford Escort, my head resting on the window, I’m mesmerized by the sound of the rain lashing the glass. I can see the gray mist hovering over the hilltops as we pass them. It seems Mother Nature is setting the scene for how my life feels—dreary.

  My dad is sitting next to me, singing the Beach Boys as if this day were perfectly normal…as if the world hasn’t crashed down around us. I don’t understand how he can do that, pretend everything is exactly as it has always been. I catch him glance at me from the corner of his eye, and his gaze lingers. For a moment, I think I see a little bit of guilt and sadness, but just as quickly, he resumes his sing-a-long.

  Since the night my mother passed away, I’ve never seen him miss a step in his day. I know he loved her. I can remember them laughing together when they didn’t think I was listening. I even walked in on them a few times dancing in the living room, my mother’s head resting on his shoulder as they turned slowly in a circle. Now, to see the way he is acting… I would never know he loved her if I didn’t have those memories.

  I’ve never seen him cry or show any sign his life has been dramatically altered. The only indication he may be grieving his wife’s death at all is the gradual increase in his alcohol consumption.

  The most painful part is the fact he completely overlooks my grief. He has never once offered words of comfort or any paternal support. He has never once acted like a father.

  When I think about it, it isn't as if my dad and I have ever had any real lines of communication. The father-daughter relationship has always been nonexistent. He hasn’t acknowledged me much over the years. He hasn’t put his arms around me. He has never wiped my tears. He hasn’t even squeezed my hand to show he can see it. Can he see my heartache? Does he recognize the despondency of my life now because a piece of me may have died that day with her?

  Of course he hasn’t, though. We never talked before my mother’s death, so why did I expect that to change now? Maybe it’s the small child who still resides in me, wanting to believe. I did expect him to be here for me. I expected comfort. I expected a father. As usual, I’m disappointed. My mother is no longer here to make excuses for him. She isn’t here to defend him and his actions.

  When I was little, the explanations were easier to believe, but the older I get the more evident the truth of our real relationship becomes. There are moments when I think I see something more in his eyes, maybe love, but it vanishes quickly into nothingness. As often as I tell myself my dad’s lack of interest in me doesn’t matter, I know I’m only lying to myself. I do care.

  I think over days since that fateful night. I think of what my life was before her death.

  Once upon a time, I was a healthy, happy teenager. A young girl sitting on top of her world. My senior year and whether or not I was going to get into the college of my choice were my only worries. I spent most of my waking hours with the same friends I’ve had since kindergarten. We were inseparable. I was a cheerleader, and my best friend was the captain of the baseball team. I lived a life any eighteen-year-old girl would envy. It’s only now I realize it was all a disguise. I had been holding back and pretending for years. The worst part is my mother was the glue that held my world together, and now she’s gone. Now that she’s gone, I’m unfixable.

  I’ve pulled away from everyone. I try to pretend I’m fine, but it just doesn’t work anymore. All the pretending is just so hard. I’ve always been one to hold myself at arm’s length from most people, so their incessant need to comfort me only makes me push them further away. I can’t help the way I feel. For some reason, their sympathy only makes my pain worse.

  I wanted more. I wanted to feel different. I’ve imagined my future with these same familiar faces. They are the only ones I really know. We would come home during breaks from college. My mom would dote on me just as she has done my whole life. As much as I held a wall up between myself and everyone else, I wanted things to be and feel normal. I wanted them to be happy. Mama always said, “Fake it ‘til you make it.” And that is just what I’ve always done until now.

  I keep wondering if it’s wrong that I’m not quite myself yet. Apparently my friends think I should be over losing her. It broke my heart a little more each time one of my friends stopped asking me to go to parties, movies, shopping, or even lunch. Part of me is screaming for my old life. I want the girl who had the strength to put on a happy face just so she could move through life. Now, I’m hardly ever happy, and I can feel how uncomfortable they all are around me. None of them knows what to say, and then they just end up saying something that makes the awkward silence worse. It’s just that I don’t know why I should get to be happy when my mama is gone. I stopped accepting their invitations and even began avoiding them when they came to my house.

  Eventually, they all ceased trying, and then a week ago Ryan came over to confront me. Could I really blame him? He told me he couldn’t wait for me to get over this. He said I was selfish for ignoring him and all of our friends. That I needed to try to get back into the real world. He was walking away from me.

  Get over this? Selfish? I wanted to scream at him. I could see the heartbreak in his eyes. I’ve always known he wanted more from me than friendship. I’ve never wanted more than that. I did try, and the desperate part of me wants to try now. I want to keep the boy who is so familiar in my life with me. Part of me feels the urge to give him what he wants, but it would be a lie. As he stood in front of me, I couldn’t find the will to say anything that might change his mind. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Ryan turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the driveway as he pulled away. I stood there, watching as his taillights faded into the dark. My mind was numb to the pain of losing someone else.

  Slowly, I turned and walked back into my house. I didn’t shed a single tear, and maybe that should have told me something. I felt so detached from myself as I climbed the stairs in my empty house to my
room.

  Later, I awoke on top of my comforter, still in my clothes, to the sound of the front door closing. I knew it was my dad, so I pulled the covers over me and went back to sleep, not even bothering to undress and put on pajamas.

  The next morning I carried myself to the kitchen, only to be surprised to find my father leaning against the counter. He grinned at me—I could hardly recall a time he had ever done that before—and informed me that I was going to live with my mother’s aunt, Violette. He didn’t even try to explain. He was sending me away. I couldn’t believe it, although he had never shown an interest in raising me. His ability to act as if Mama had never existed was devastating. It was unthinkable. I felt another crack splinter its way across my heart. Once again, I was screaming on the inside, but I remained quiet. Nodding, I turned and walked back to my room without ever showing him how much this hurt me.

  Now, it’s like I’m waking from a dream as the car gradually begins to slow down. I notice a familiar sign welcoming us to small town, Texas, population 987. My mama and I would often visit her aunt on and off during my childhood at her home in sleepy little Montgomery, Texas. I have many fond memories of this place, but they are all with my mama. Being here without her makes the sadness I feel more acute.

  Taking a deep breath, I scan my surroundings as we drive down Main Street. It’s practically a ghost town, which isn’t out of the ordinary. A few cars are parked in front of the local diner and the hardware store. I suppose most people stay indoors when a storm like this blows through town. It’s still pouring as we turn down Aunt Violette’s street and pull into the driveway.

  Unfastening his seatbelt, my father sits quietly, staring straight ahead before getting out of the car. He never looks at me or speaks a single word. I watch as he saunters toward the house. The rain doesn’t seem to create any sense of urgency in his movements.

  I remain motionless as I take in the butter-yellow Victorian house with a wrap-around porch. I’ve always loved this old house, especially when I was younger. It reminds me of a perfect dollhouse with its white trim around the windows and doorway. The white wooden rockers that line the front and the two porch swings that hang from the ceiling on the second-story balcony give it a homey feel. Everything about this place has always been comforting. Even with the dark clouds and rain, it reminds me of sunshine and happier times. But now I wonder if I will ever feel that warm and happy feeling again.