Page 3 of Pieces of Me

“You’re going to be late.” The backs of Dean’s fingers brush against my thigh as he changes gears. “I’ll drop you off at the front and find a place to park.” He cracks a smile as he eyes me sideways. “I’ll be quick, so you don’t have to go it alone.”

I exhale, long and slow.

I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t terrified or that I wasn’t grateful he was here, but the truth is, I’ve been alone for so long that having someone by my side almost makes it worse. Like I have to fake who I am and what I feel so I don’t hurt him the same way I’ve hurt everyone else. “Sounds good.”

I shake off the dampness from my arms as soon as I’m in the building and go straight for the elevator. I’d spent a few minutes this morning planning this very moment. I even rehearsed every single word to every sentence I’d planned to use. I figured that the more prepared I am, the less power I’ll give to my emotions. Once inside the elevator, I press the number for the floor of the lawyer’s office and refuse to look at myself in the wall-to-wall mirrors. I already know what I’ll see:

The neat bun

Pleated skirt past my knees

Blinding white blouse with the buttons done all the way up

Not a single part of me is out of place, and yet… it takes everything in me not to scratch at my flesh, tear off the facade. It’s suffocating—this continuous front of perfection, and I don’t even know why I do it anymore.

I’m allowed to break.

I just don’t want to.

When the doors open again, I step off the elevator, making eye contact with the receptionist behind the large desk. She’s in her late thirties, with bright red lipstick and sky-blue glasses that sit on the tip of her nose. Long dark hair curtains her face, hangs over her shoulders, and as bored as she looks, her smile is warm. For a moment, I wonder if she knows why I’m here.

Most likely.

I wait until I’m close enough to say, “Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Marlon.”

She points me in the right direction, and I make my way there while shooting Dean a text letting him know where to find me.

Outside the closed door of the boardroom are people I recognize. People I saw only a few days ago. They get to their feet, starting with Miss May. We exchange quick, fake pleasantries, and then everything else is a blur. I’m forced to sit. To wait. A hand takes mine—an action that seems so natural for the person beside me. If only they knew how uncomfortable the touch makes me.

Thankfully, Mr. Marlon appears only seconds later, giving a curt nod to the solemn group as he opens the door, and we file in one by one. I don’t say a word.

I have nothing to say.

Mr. Marlon sits at the head of the long, rectangular table while the three older ladies take up one side and I sit on the other. It’s not as though I want to create a divide between us or distance myself from them; it’s just… they deserve to be here, and I… I don’t know why I am.

“As you all know,” Mr. Marlon starts, his voice a deep rumble to match his appearance. He’d introduced himself to me at the rec room of a church while I sat on a plastic chair against a wall, a paper plate of untouched food on my lap and Dean sitting beside me. He stood when Mr. Marlon approached us, but I remained seated. The lawyer wanted to make sure I knew to be here on this day, at this time. Now, Mr. Marlon leans forward in his seat, his elbows resting on the table. “We’re here for the reading of the will for Mrs. Esme Wallace.”

At the single mention of her name, my heart twists, sinks to my stomach. Throat tight, I lower my gaze to the table, unwilling to look at the sad, mourning eyes in front of me.

I shouldn’t be here.

A single tear escapes, and I’m quick to swipe it away just as the door opens. My head snaps up at the sound, my eyes traveling the short distance to the door where I expect to see Dean.

Only it isn’t Dean.

It’s the boy who makes up my dreams.

“Sorry I’m late. I…” The boy—now a man—stands before me, his words dying in the air as his eyes catch mine. One moment. Two. And then they’re gone—those eyes of his now dark with an emotion I can’t decipher.

I look back down at the table, focus on the grain of the wood below the polish. Heart racing, I settle my hands on my knees, stop them from bouncing.

I thought I was prepared.

I’d gone over every single likely scenario of what this day could bring, and never, not once, did I think I’d be forced to come face to face with the demons that have haunted me for the past five years.

Mr. Marlon acknowledges his presence with far more grace than I did and continues the proceedings. The entirety of Esme’s monetary fortune goes to her church, along with her vehicle. The house and its contents are to be split fifty-fifty between me and the lone figure sitting stoically at the end of the table. I chance a peek in Holden’s direction, but he’s not looking at me. Instead, he’s staring ahead, wide-eyed, clearly having no idea this was coming. Did he know why he was asked to be here? He wasn’t at her funeral—at the one place I’d prepared myself to see him.

Holden and I are handed keys to the property, and as quickly as it started, it ends. I don’t move as the others stand, hug the man controlling the meeting.

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