When Destinies Collide Read online

  Turning, I lean over the back seat to grab my backpack then open the door and dash to the front porch. My dad is already inside, and the door has been left cracked open, so I take that as my invitation to enter. Quietly, I close the door behind me and follow the sound of two voices in a strained conversation.

  “Now, Mike. You know I would do anything for Elizabeth and Selene, but you can’t just abandon this girl. She just lost her mother,” I hear Aunt Violette say in a near whisper.

  They are discussing me. Didn’t my father ask if I could live here before showing up? Leaning against the wall, I continue to listen. I try to slow my breathing while my heart pounds in my chest, waiting for his reply.

  “Violette, she isn’t a little girl anymore. Selene is a strong and independent girl. I can’t take care of her, especially not now that Elizabeth is gone. I don’t know her or how to talk to her. She won’t even care that I’m not around,” he tells her, sounding as if he is talking about a stranger or estranged relative, and not his daughter who has lived under the same roof with him for the last eighteen years.

  As if there is no need for further discussion, he changes the subject. “I need to get her things out of the car, and then I’ll be on my way.” He pauses a moment before adding, “Life will be exactly as it has always been between the both of us.” He leaves the kitchen and walks right past me as I lean against the wall, his indifferent gaze connecting with mine for only a moment. His eyes never betray any guilt over the words that he knows I just overheard between him and Aunt Violette. I remain still until I hear the front door close behind him.

  Pushing away from the wall, I cautiously enter the kitchen. When I’m standing in the doorway, Aunt Vi looks up and gives me a look of sad understanding. Opening her arms wide, she starts toward me. “Oh, honey,” she says as she wraps her arms tightly around me. With only a moment of hesitation, I accept the warm embrace Aunt Violette is offering, and for the first time since Mama died, I lose myself in the comfort someone is trying to offer me.

  Our goodbye is brief and unemotional. It isn't like I expect a big, dramatic farewell, but I did expect to at least hear some regret. I mean, I’m his only daughter. I’m not sure why I continue to think that even matters. I should know better.

  Aunt Violette helps me carry my things up to my room, which is located in the back of the house and looks over the Perdenales River, which flows just past the large, open backyard full of mature oak trees. I’ve always loved this room and all its feminine touches. The walls are a sky blue, and a pure-white sheer curtain hangs over the large arched windows. The wrought-iron bed is covered with a delicate white quilt, pale blue and violet flowers giving it a more subtle beauty. I love it.

  It isn't that I’m very girly, and I’m far from perfect, but this room is everything that represents my mother, and my childhood spent at Aunt Vi’s house. Aunt Violette insists that I make it my own, but as I slowly turn a small circle in the middle of the room, I know that I will never change a thing about my new room.

  Walking over to the window box seat, I sit on my knees and pull the airy fabric curtain to the side. It has finally stopped raining, and the sun is just beginning to set behind the giant oaks outside my window. The sky is a dark purple and pink, with hints of blue—something that only happens after a storm passes through and all the skies clear. Mama always said that when the sky looked this beautiful, God was saying sorry for all of our sorrows. For the first time, I realize that I may not be able to forgive him.

  An overwhelming awareness suddenly hits me that not only will I have to move on without my mama, but now I will have to do it in a new place without everything and everyone I’ve always known. How am I going to get through the night, let alone the next year, without my mama or friends, or even Ryan?

  My heart tightens in my chest. A single tear slips down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away. No. No crying, I tell myself. If I allow myself to cry and feel the devastation of my situation, I know I will never be able to stop. And if I don’t stop, I won’t just break…I will shatter.

  Once again, I wake up fully dressed, but this time I’m curled up on the cushion of the window seat, in a new place. I feel every stiff movement as I sit up. Rubbing my eyes as they’re hit by the light coming in through the window, I observe my surroundings. A crocheted afghan is now on the floor beside me, and I realize Aunt Violette must have come in at some point and laid a blanket on me. The corner of my mouth slightly tips up at the thought of the sweet, elderly woman who has always been so nurturing and gentle. I realize that I have a few hours of unpacking to do, but first I need a quick shower, and maybe I’ll even try to eat a little.

  Walking through the doorway, I turn back and look at what will now be my room. Maybe, just maybe, I can keep myself together here. I just have to keep from feeling or caring about anything, and I will be just fine.

  Drake

  I DON’T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING, or so that’s what everyone thinks. It’s something I’m not interested in changing their opinions about, either. The one thing I did care about, I destroyed.

  Pulling the weeds that have grown up around the stone since my visit the week before, I talk to her as if she were right next to me. Today, I brought lilies to replace the already wilting daisies in the permanent granite vase. There is a slight breeze, and I can’t help thinking that Lacey would have loved a day like today: the sun shining, the smell of spring blowing through the trees, and the quiet whispers of nature surrounding me.

  As I lean back against the headstone, I open her favorite book and begin to read. She loved to read. It was one of the many differences between us, although most never noticed it. It didn’t matter how long people knew us; they only ever saw our similarities. Before everything happened, I was more of a CliffsNotes type of guy. Things are different now. I’ve read at least one book every few weeks to her. I only have time to read one chapter today. With some reluctance, I close the book.

  I make a joke about the hero of the book and how weak he is for chasing the girl. Lacey would love it and every sappy word. I do all of this because she always loved when I teased her, even though she pretended she didn’t. Knowing this doesn’t make up for anything that has happened, I still come here every week. It’s where I can be alone. It’s the only place I can be who I am and feel what I do without holding back.

  Everyone has always known me to be in the center of the action. I was always the life of the party. I was a party. I had it all, but that was before. It was before everything changed. Well, before everything changed for me. It seems life continues on around me as if that night never happened four months ago. My parents constantly talk about it and expect me to carry on in the same way. My friends were sympathetic at first, but now they just continue on as usual. I mean, she was their friend too. They loved her too, but it’s easier for them to move on.

  For me, moving on feels impossible. I’m not sure if it's because my parents covered everything about that night up. They made sure our family name was protected by keeping this all out of the paper. Keeping secrets in a small town is hard for the average person, but my father isn’t an average person. He’s the mayor.

  It’s because of this that I’m different. No one has even noticed how I’ve changed. They don’t see me, and frankly, I don’t care. I let them see what they want. My parents have always seen what they wanted to see. The fact they ignored my recklessness gave me permission to act and do whatever I wanted without consequence… Or so I thought. Consequence came in the hardest form imaginable. I’ve slowly distanced myself from everything I was before, because I owe it to her to be better.

  I stand up to leave. “See you soon,” I whisper. The now familiar squeeze around my heart tightens in my chest. I’ve never been able to say goodbye.

  As I pull my car up in front of my father’s office, I sit and stare at the sign hanging over the door: Mayor Gregory Thomas welcomes you to Montgomery, Texas—Hill Country Heaven. My Dad has been Mayor for the last ten years. The people
of Montgomery have voted him in year after year based on his family values and honesty. I feel nothing but disgust at the idea of my parents’ morality and family values.

  Before the accident, I never gave a second thought to people’s blatantly misguided beliefs about my parents and our family. I only saw the benefits of riding the power behind it, using it to my advantage every chance I got. Isn’t this what was taught to me my whole life?

  Suddenly, I’m pulled from my thoughts by a loud knock on the window of my truck. I look up to find my mother smiling at me, as if she has never been happier to see anyone in her life. I know it isn’t true. It’s always an act with her.

  Reluctantly, I play my part too and place a broad smile on my face. I wonder if my mother can see the truth behind the smile. I wonder if she can see what I actually feel when I see her. Even more so, I wonder if she even cares.

  Opening the door, I get out of my truck. “Hello, Mother,” I say as I step down out of my black Ford F450. Placing a kiss on her cheek, I pull back and place a happy expression on my face once again. I play my part as expected.

  “Hello, Drake, dear. Where did you run off to so early this morning?” my mother asks as she turns away and heads for my dad's office.

  She sounds as if she doesn’t care one way or the other what I’ve been doing this morning. Her tone gives the impression she has just asked me because she feels it’s what she is supposed to want to know as my mother.

  Shaking my head, I speak the lie to her back with ease. “I went up to the track at school to run.” I stand still and wait for her reaction. I’m always waiting for her reaction.

  She keeps walking and doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken as she enters the building. I followed behind her, giving Marilyn, my Dad’s secretary, a sincere look of friendliness as we pass her and walk into my father’s office. Marilyn has known me most of my life and has always been kind. I often wonder how much she actually sees and hears but keeps to herself.

  My dad looks up from his desk as we enter. “Claire…Drake, glad you could join me.” He always sounds so serious and business-like that I constantly feel as if I’m about to be let go from a job. I always sense his detachment from our family more than I can see it. I’ve always wondered why but have never had the courage to ask.

  I watch my mother as she walks around his desk and leans forward to place a stiff kiss on his cheek. “Hello, darling,” she states without feeling.

  “Dad,” I say with a nod in his direction before sitting in the chair across from his desk.

  Without any other pleasantries, my father gets right to the point. “Drake, your mother and I want to be sure that your head is on straight for the start of football season and school this year. We know that the school year ended badly last year, but it has been four months.” I feel gutted. The shaking in my hands is beginning to move up my arms.

  For a moment, I think I see regret in his eyes, but he drops his gaze from mine.

  My mother continues for him. “You seem to be a little…should I say withdrawn still? We discussed the necessity of continuing life as we always have and representing a united front with the election coming up.”

  I stare in complete disbelief at the man and woman who are standing on the opposite side of the desk in front of me. Hatred builds in me for these two people who are supposed to love their children unconditionally. The people I’m supposed to love with the same intensity. They show no human compassion at all. All I can do is stare and blink at them, searching their faces for something. I linger on my father’s because sometimes I feel that he holds his real feelings back. I need to believe he cares. The longer I remain silent and watch him, I begin to recognize a flicker of my same pain reflected in his eyes. I shift my eyes to my mother’s, and there is nothing, so I move back to my dad’s, willing him to confirm what I think I see. Then he blinks, and it’s gone.

  Since I don’t respond, my father clears his throat and continues. “It’s not that we expect you to carry on as if nothing happened, but we need to present ourselves as if, despite this loss, we’re strong enough to get through anything. It’s also imperative that you remain in good standing in school and sports, because of your scholarships. Your success means everything to our family.” Again, my dad pauses like he is expecting a reaction from me.

  When my mother realizes I’m not going to say anything, she looks from my father to me. “Is your father making himself clear?”

  The beating of my heart picks up the pace, causing me to feel a little dizzy. Clenching my fist at my sides, I try to gain my composure, because losing it will only mean more pain. Except I can’t hold back any longer.

  Abruptly, I stand up without taking my eyes from my father's, which are the same emerald green as mine. I feel bile in the back of my throat, and my control is slipping further and further away. Dammit, I want him to say something. Anything that will let me know he is a man. He won’t, though. He never does.

  Suddenly, I slam my fist down onto my father’s desk, startling both of my parents. I no longer think about the consequences of my actions. I gaze red-faced at them both, deep breaths rapidly coming in and out as I try to hold myself together.

  Through clenched teeth, I utter, “Sure. You’re both clear. I’ll start school. I’ll be happy, but with an underlining sadness for effect. I’ll focus on school…on sports…on the election, because we wouldn’t want anyone to think we’re not strong enough to get over the death of a daughter…of a sister.” And with that, I turn and slam the office door.

  As I walk past Marilyn once again, there is an apology in her eyes, and for a second I wince at the thought of what my actions just now will mean for me later.

  Selene

  IT HAS BEEN TWO DAYS, but I finally finish unpacking and decide to take a walk along the river to a hidden spot Mama always took me to on our visits to Aunt Violette’s house. Aunt Vi sweetly packs me a little picnic, and I dash back upstairs to grab my guitar before heading out the door.

  Aunt Vi has been so wonderful over the past couple of days. From the moment my father dropped me off and I began crying on her shoulder, I haven’t been able to stop. It’s like coming here has made me more vulnerable. The numbness is beginning to subside, and it scares me a little to allow myself to feel. I just need to get out and take a step back.

  It’s a typical hot, humid August day in Texas. I’m wearing my favorite old pair of cutoff shorts that my mother hated because she thought they were too short, and a seafoam-colored tank top that she bought for me last summer. She always said it made my cat-like eyes even brighter.

  I make my way down the river and take in the familiar surroundings. It has been a while since Mama and I have been to visit Aunt Violette, but it's easy for me to remember the way to our favorite spot. Finally, I reach the secluded area where the cypress trees grow tall and the branches hang low over the river’s edge.

  Looking around, I try to remember the last time Mama and I were here. It was a day similar to this one. We picked some of the yellow flowers that always bloom along the river; I think she called them sour grass. On that day, we chewed on their stems before picking some so we could braid them together into a crown. After years of trying to convince me, I finally believed her when she told me that I would actually enjoy chewing on the green stems. The funny thing is it’s good and disgusting at the same time. I remember it being a good day. It was the last day of our visit before we had to go home because the school year was starting in a little over a week.

  I can remember how excited I was because I was going to be a freshman that year. I could feel that my life was going to change. I remember telling my mama that I was nervous things would change too much, yet I was impatient for something new to begin. She pulled me into her arms and told me things would change, but they were going to be good. She said high school was going to be the time of my life. I can recall smelling her hair and thinking the lavender scent was so comforting. I felt so safe. My lone dimple deepens at the memory. Thi
s is what I needed.

  Opening my eyes, I lean against one of the enormous cypress trees. The sense of hope I felt stirring in me when I was getting dressed that morning seems to linger. I unpack my picnic lunch, taking a small bite of my PB&J sandwich that Aunt Violette made for me. The peanut butter combined with her homemade plum jam is the best thing I’ve tasted in weeks. I haven't had much of an appetite, and this hits the spot. I take a long drink from my water bottle to quench my thirst from the heat.

  I’m thankful I piled my wild auburn hair in a messy bun on top of my head. This humidity has always been the bane of my existence, but today I’m sort of enjoying the heat. The warmth on my skin feels pleasant. It reminds me of good times and makes me feel alive.

  It’s quiet except for the running water pushing over the rocks in the most shallow areas of the river. I picture my mother leaning against this exact tree, looking on in amusement as the nine-year-old version of myself tries to skip every last flat rock I could find across the water. The image makes my heart tighten in my chest, but it also brings me a sense of happiness at such a fond memory.

  Although I feel hopeful, I can’t help but wonder how I’ll be able to start over. I’m not even sure how my father thought moving me here to a new town, away from everything familiar, away from all of my friends, was supposed to make things easier for me. I’ve been trying to justify it, but who am I kidding? I know the truth. My move to Aunt Violette’s isn’t to make things easier for me; it’s to make things easier for him.