Broken Heart 06 Come Hell or High Water by Michele Bardsley Read Free Book Online

me. I should've protested, bein' a girl of principles an' all.
    But I was too cold, too tired to work up the protest.
    Connor's heat soaked me as he gathered me close. I pressed against him, and his strength and his warmth and his kindness weaved around me.
    I'd be furious with Connor tomorrow.
    With my check pressed against his chest, and the reassuring sound of his heartbeat in my ear, I fell asleep.

Chapter 6
     

     
    I t's raining .
    I'm standing on the back porch, watching the silvery water pummel the backyard. People are in the house drinking iced tea and speaking in low tones about death. About my mother. These people went to Momma's memorial service, came to the wake to eat casseroles and Jell-O and pies, and want to tell me how sorry they are.
    Aunt Alice joins me. She's thin and pale, her graying hair pulled into a bun. Her black dress is wrinkled, as though she slept in it. Mine is black, too, and I know I will never wear it again.
    I don't want anything around that invokes the memory of this day.
    My aunt says nothing. We watch the water sluice down the sloping hill with its patchy grass. The fence clangs as the wind pushes through its rusted links. It's so empty, I think. There should be flowers. And a swing.
    "You should take her. The urn with... her ashes," I say. "She was on her way home. She should" - I swallow the knot in my throat - "finish the journey."
    "Her home was with you, Phoebe."
    "Take her." I meet my aunt's sad gaze and lean down to kiss her papery cheek. "Please."
    She nods, then slips back inside, and the murmurs recede, then strengthen, like waves lapping a deserted beach.
    The door opens again and it's Jackson. We went to high school together, and I remember the way he used to flirt with me.
    He puts his arm around me. "I'm sorry, Phoebe."
    I turn my face into his shoulder and weep.
     
    It's raining.
    I'm staring out the kitchen window, my hands in the sink water idle against the plate I'm washing. It's midafternoon but it's overcast, thick gray clouds belching out torrents of water and cracking the sky with sound and with light.
    It feels like midnight. Out there, and in my own heart.
    I have realized something important.
    And it will affect the life growing inside me. I use a tea towel to dry my hands and then put them, cold and trembling, on my rounded belly. Nearly five months along.
    "Another Oklahoma storm," says Jackson as he walks into the kitchen. He has grease smeared on his cheek and his hands are black with dirt.
    My heart is thudding. Say the words, I think. Be strong. "Any luck?" I ask.
    God, I'm such a coward.
    "I need another part. I'll get logs for the fire-place," he says. "It'll keep us warm enough until I can get the heater fixed."
    I look at him, and I see a good man. He is handsome and strong and kind, but he's not mine. I am not his.
    I suck in a breath, and on the exhale I say, "I don't love you."
    His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out.
    "Go on. Say you love me," I say softly.
    His lips compress in a thin line. "I care about you. I care about our baby."
    "It's not enough. You know it's not."
    "Phoebe." His voice is an ache, the same ache that echoes all the way down to my soul. "Our son."
    "Will be happy if his parents are happy," I say. "I don't want to hate you."
    There is acquiescence in his gaze, and grief. "Okay," he says, "okay."
     
    I am alone.
    I'm standing in the middle of Main Street. If I look right, I see the old dance studio. It's boarded up. It seems vampires and werewolves aren't interested the art of dance, because no one has bothered to start it up again. I think about the lessons I took there as a little girl and I remember the gleaming mirrors, the polished ballet bars, the sleek pink leotards. It always smelled like lemon polish in there.
    If I look left, I see the darkened windows of the Old Sass Cafe. I think about my work there, how much I enjoy talking to people and bringing them old-fashioned meals. The place