Page 1 of Full Circle

PROLOGUE

Celeste

Mama always used to say that life comes full circle. Some of my earliest memories are of her explaining that what goes around comes around because my mama believed in the power of karma. It made her feel better to imagine rude customers at The Comfy Cushion, our family’s restaurant, stubbing their toe or having an umbrella turn inside out than for her to reply in kind. Poor manners were inexcusable, according to Mama.

She didn’t live long enough to explain the concept of soulmates to me, but I’d like to think that she and Daddy were destined to be together. They used to turn up the old jukebox at closing time after all the customers left and slow dance right there in the middle of the dining area.

I know it devastated him when Mama passed, called too soon by the good Lord. At least, that’s what the preacher said. Daddy didn’t abide much by the church, but my nana said her daughter wasn’t a heathen and wouldn’t be buried like one, so the preacher man came out and said his piece. Daddy was a blubbering mess by the end of it, so who’s to say really? I was twelve years old when Mama died, too angry at the world for taking her away from me to care one way or another what the preacher said. He would forevermore represent the day we buried my mother’s body in the ground, and it was a grudge I felt I’d hold til my last breath.

“We’ve still got each other, sugar bee,” Daddy said that night as he cuddled my sob-wracked body to sleep. His words comforted me, my child naivete convincing me that my daddy could never leave me like my mama did. Boy, how wrong I was.

It would be years before I ever felt the kind of eternal love Mama gave me from another person. Wesley Madden blew into my life like a hurricane, all roaring winds and crashing waves. Receiving his love was like swimming in the ocean for the first time—you wanted to open your eyes and see everything even when it burned like hell. I used to wonder if Mama sent Wesley to me because she knew I needed saving or if she recognized the good I could bring out in him. Our opposition became the perfect balance, our personalities clashing in ways that could only complement one another. But when you’ve only known suffering and loss, the glimmer of light shining through the cracks can petrify you. That’s a lesson I learned the hardest way possible.

Life comes full circle, huh? Fate must’ve missed the mark with me.

PART ONE

“What one loves in childhood stays in their heart forever.”

-Mary Jo Putney

CHAPTER 1

LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL

CELESTE

The grass had barely begun to sprout on the ground above my mama’s grave, but I ignored the damp soil underneath my bottom. Nana would probably tan my hide when she saw the muddy patches on my jeans. It was worth it to have the quiet moment with Mama.

I had gone to the cemetery to visit her grave every day since we buried her seven weeks ago, shortly before my thirteenth birthday. Talking to her headstone was a crappy replacement for seeing her beautiful smile or feeling her warmth as she held me an extra second longer for a hug, but nothing else brought me any comfort. Missing her felt like a phantom limb; how could I go on in a world without my mama? She had been the center of my world, my very best friend, and my heart ached with the sting of her loss. The future stretched ahead like a barren, arid desert—dusty, painful, and empty—without her bright laugh or delicious cooking.

A car horn honked behind me and I turned abruptly to see Daddy’s truck outside the gate. He had the windows rolled down and could have just hollered my name, but we were both stuck in our own downward spirals of grief. Nana figured Daddy didn’t know what to say to me to make me feel better, so he stuck to not saying anything at all. Whether that was true or not, even I recognized he would be wasting his breath to try to get my mind off things right now.

Rising slowly, I wiped as much of the debris off my bottom as I could before heading forlornly over to him with my head down. The twinkle had gone from his bright blue eyes and I hated to see yet another reminder of what Mama’s death had done to our family. “Good Times Roll” by The Cars echoed faintly from his stereo as I approached, and I stopped next to the driver’s side door rather than get in the truck with him.

“Why don’t you go hang out somewhere other than the graveyard, sugar bee?” Daddy asked. He always called me sugar bee because he said I was sweeter than honey but buzzed about more than a bumblebee. Normally it gave me all the warm fuzzies on the inside to hear the term of endearment in his gruff voice. Today it merely reminded me of the void I felt.

I shrugged rather than answer him. If we weren’t both still reeling, the action would have fired him up because he considered it poor manners not to respond when someone spoke to you. Mama’s death meant manners went out the window.

He sighed heavily. “Hop in. I’m gonna take you over to the park.” His firm tone warned me that he’d brook no argument.

Neither of us said another word as he followed the gravel path of the cemetery out to the main road. It was late spring here in Georgia, and the sun was bright and high, making the temperature quickly yield to the heat. My tank top was already sticking between my shoulder blades, making me wish I would have worn shorts along with it instead of jeans.

The park was a joint playground and baseball diamond near the town square. Mama and Daddy had always let me play there on days when I didn’t have school because it was located across the street from The Comfy Cushion, Mama’s restaurant. People came from miles around to eat her recipes, though I always thought she charmed the customers just as much with her flattering words and pretty smiles. Daddy handled the books and all the ordering, a job he took on because he saw how happy it made Mama to cook for everyone. It was the only real restaurant in town, unless you counted the fast food joints right off the highway, but given how my mama’s meals always stuck to my ribs, I didn’t see how they could hold a candle to her.

On a Saturday afternoon without a cloud in the sky, the park was jampacked with kids. The problem was, I hated being around them now. None of them knew what it felt like to lose someone so special and since everybody in town adored my mother, it rankled me to see their pitying looks. Their eyes followed me as soon as I set foot in the park. Eyes that all held relief that it was my mama and not theirs mixed with uncertainty over what to say to me.

“I’ll be in the office for a bit longer,” Daddy told me through the car window again. “Just head on over when you’re hungry. Marla will whip something up for you.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond before pulling away to park his truck in his usual spot across the street.

I sighed heavily again. Marla was my mama’s best friend who had stepped in to help Daddy with The Comfy Cushion. She seemed to think the only way I could heal was being force fed large casseroles. Even if it was Mama’s recipe, it never tasted the same. My stomach wouldn’t accept anything Marla made me choke down. The prospect of being made to swallow anything at the moment filled me with dread.

Following the path around the dugout of the baseball diamond where a pickup game was in full swing, I trailed behind the bleachers until I reached the edge of the woods at the back of the park. There was a small dirt trail into the trees that was mostly overgrown with bushes and moss, but I had been down there so many times that the growth didn’t bother me. It led down to a small creek where there was a good climbing tree, full of shade with wide branches. I liked to hide up there among the foliage so that the other kids couldn’t stare at me, the girl with the dead mama and no friends.

“Hey!” a voice snapped as I hauled myself up to the lowest branch.

It startled me to the point where I misjudged my hand placement and went tumbling face first over the branch and down onto the creek bed below. I was instantly covered in mud and felt a sting above my right eye from where my face landed on a rock. My knees took the brunt of my fall, however, and I cried out in pain on impact.

“Oh my god, are you okay?!” The same voice as before hollered over me. Gentle hands pulled at my shoulders to roll me onto the creek bank and I made eye contact with what must have been an angel. It was a boy around my age with sandy blonde hair and the bluest eyes I had ever seen. A small halo of light shone around his head, making me pinch my leg to check that I wasn’t dreaming. People didn’t die from falling out of trees, right?

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