Break Through (4 page)

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Aspen,” Mom said as we sat down for dinner.

Mom and Dad sat at opposite ends of our large dining table while I sat in the middle. When I was younger I used to imagine that we lived in a castle and Mom and Dad were the king and queen. It certainly felt like it with the ornate high back chairs and the distance between us. As an adult I’d
encouraged Mom to take out the leaves in the middle of the table to make it smaller, but she refused.

“It’s the perfect size for when we have company over,” she always said. I didn’t bother mentioning that we rarely ever entertained anymore. Not after the kidnapping.

Our lives had been divided into two parts - before and after the kidnapping. Even though we were the same people, nothing about our lives felt the same at all. I may have been the one taken, but we were all irrevocably changed.

Before the kidnapping my parents had people over all the time. My mom loved to entertain. Every weekend our home was alive with excitement.
We had barbecues in the summer, garden parties in the spring, and dinner parties in the winter. I used to love the parties at our house; the way the scent of freshly baked treats filled the air, and laughter and chatter swirled around me. I loved how Mom and Dad seemed so alive and happy.

Since my return
, our home had been quiet and solemn. It made sense though. My parents had been betrayed by someone they trusted; a guest they had invited into our home. They were both afraid of making the same mistake again. It only got worse after we moved. The people of
Red Blossom
were strangers. And after what we’d been through, trusting strangers was nearly impossible.

“Why not?” I scooted my chair forward, my bare knees raking across the bottom of the table. “I thought you liked Carter.”

“I do, but he’s not a reporter. So why is he taking an interest in you like this?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “B
ecause he’s a nice guy, and he knows Neil’s an ass.”

“Aspen,” Mom admonished
me.

“Oh, Caroline. She’s an adult. She can use the word ass,” Dad interjected as he reached a thick hand into the bread basket in the center of the table.

Mom pressed her lips together, clearly annoyed. I felt bad that I caused tension between them. Mom always seemed to be making up for lost time, while Dad consistently tried to remind her that I was an adult. Sometimes I thought about how different life would be for all of us if things had gone according to plan. If
he
hadn’t shown up, disrupting everything, I would have grown up in this home, safe and happy. And once I hit eighteen I would have gone away to school, and my parents would have been empty nesters, free to be whoever they wanted to. Instead we all seemed stuck in this never-ending ride; this merry go round that no one knew how to stop. Round and round we went day in and day out. Frankly, it was starting to make me sick. And ever since I’d met Carter, I could see him standing at the edge of the ride, motioning for me to get off. I wanted to leap out and follow him, even if it meant getting hurt in the process.

“Do you think it’s a good idea for her to spend time with this boy, Frank?” Mom pursed her lips, awaiting his response. She held the fork in her hand that
lingered over her plate. I shoveled a piece of chicken into my mouth, watching Dad.

“He’s not a boy. He’s a grown man,” Dad responded. “And I don’t know
if it‘s a good idea or not. I haven’t even met the guy. But if Aspen feels comfortable with him, then I think we need to trust her judgment.”

Mom frowned, clearly unhappy with his answer. Bu
t my insides warmed. I assumed that Dad would side with Mom on this one. I knew he worried about me too. But I loved knowing that he saw me as an adult who was capable of making her own decisions.

“
She needs to be careful. We don’t know what Carter’s agenda is.” Leaning forward, Mom stabbed a green bean with her fork.

Hearing the concern in Mom’s tone, my heart softened toward her. “I will, Mom. I promise.”

Huffing, she took a bite of her dinner.

“At least he’s more sensitive with her then that jackass reporter was,” Dad said gruffly.

I smiled a little, the image of Neil filling my mind. Dad was not thrilled when I told him how Neil had treated me. It sort of made me wish Dad had been home when Neil was here. He would’ve scared him a lot more than Carter did.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. He’s a little
too
sensitive with her.” Mom dropped her fork on the table next to her plate and reached for her wine glass.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I think you know what it means.” She gave me a pointed look.

Dad’s eyebrows knit together in a look of confusion.

My cheeks felt hot. “He’s just nice, Mom.”

“A little
too
nice, and you seem to like it a little
too
much.” She narrowed her eyes at me.

“Aspen?” Dad
stopped eating as well and stared at me like I had two heads.

I swallowed hard to keep from yelling at them. What I wanted to do was remind them that I
was an adult, and if I liked Carter there was nothing wrong with that. Only I knew that argument wouldn’t fly. I may have been an adult, but to my parents I’d always be damaged goods. I’d always be that little girl who left her house after refusing to wear her rain boots, and never returned. So instead, I said, “I’m not interested in Carter, Mom. Not as anything more than a friend, okay?”

Clearly a
ppeased by my reassurance, Dad went back to eating. Mom eyed me suspiciously for a moment before reluctantly resuming her meal too. They were both silent as they chewed. I bent over my plate, tucking my fork into the potatoes. The sound of silverware scraping plates, chewing and swallowing surrounded me. No one spoke the rest of the dinner, and I imagined we were all lost in our own thoughts. Having been raised in a home full of noise for the first eight years of my life, it was weird how silence had become the norm the past ten years. At first I thought it was because of me; because I hardly spoke during my years in captivity. Therefore, silence had become a way of life. But after awhile I noticed that my parents seemed to have become quieter too. It made me wonder what it was like when I was gone. Perhaps they hadn’t spoken at all during my absence. The thought made me indescribably sad. It’s funny the ripple effect an event can have. When I was kidnapped it felt like the bad thing had only happened to me. Like life had gone on for everyone else in the world. But when I returned, I realized that wasn’t the case. My life wasn’t the only one stolen. He had stolen my parents’ lives too.

He brought me some clothes. As I held them in between my fingers, I wondered where he got them from. I was afraid he was going to stay in here while I changed, but thankfully he left me alone. After peeling off my stinky, sweaty shirt I discarded it on the floor. Then I pried off my pants and underwear. They reeked of urine. I knew I’d wet myself, and I felt mortified by that. The last accident I had was when I was in preschool. I had been playing on the bars on the playground and I didn’t want to stop. I thought I could hold it. It was so embarrassing when I couldn’t. The teacher had to call my mom, and she brought me a change of clothes.

A tear slipped down my cheek at the recollection. If only my mom could come here now. With shaking hands, I pulled one of the clean shirts over my head. It was a little small but it would work. I shoved my legs into a pair of pants. They were a little big, but I was grateful since he didn’t bring me any underwear. If the pants were too tight
, they’d hurt me. It was already uncomfortable enough, but I wouldn’t complain. I didn’t want to upset him. So far he hadn’t hurt me, and I wanted to keep it that way.

But I didn’t hold out a lot of hope. I was sure he’d hurt me at some point. Wasn’t that what happened when you were kidnapped? Why else would he have me here?

My stomach knotted. I glanced up at the window. Reaching out, I touched the bars that ensured I couldn’t climb out. A sob tore at the back of my throat, and I wondered where my parents were. I pictured our house. I envisioned my room with the flowers painted on the walls, the fresh scent of my sheets, the stuffed animals in the corner, and the comforter my mom bought me last year.

As my gaze lifted to the sky, I wondered if Mom and Dad were looking for me. One night I stayed up late and watched the news with my parents. I remember a story about a young girl who’d been abducted. They showed video of friends and family putting flyers up all over town. I wondered if there were flyers posted to telephone poles and store windows with my face on it.

Panic choked me as I stared around the room; at the four walls that held me captive. Even if they did, how would anyone find me in here? Hopelessness blanketed me, and I fell to my knees in despair.

I was never going to be found. I was sure of it.

The shrill ring of the phone pierced through the quiet
room. Mom pushed away from the table, stood up and scurried to the kitchen where the cordless phone sat on the counter, nestled in the cradle. Dad and I continued eating as she answered.

“Just a minute,” I heard her say, and then footsteps neared the dining room. Dad turned, fully expecting the phone call to be for him. However, Mom’s eyes locked with mine. “It’s for you, Aspen.” She held the phone out toward me like an accusation.

“Me?” I didn’t bother masking my surprise. No one ever called me. “Who is it?”

“Carter,” Mom said, her voice clipped.

A week ago she was beyond giddy about Carter Johnston coming to our house.
What changed?
I slowly wiped my napkin across my lips and then stood up. On shaky legs, I walked toward Mom. My heart hammered so loudly in my chest, I was sure everyone in the room could hear it. Why was Carter calling me? If he wanted to schedule a time to come over and take pictures, he could’ve told my mom. As my fingers curled around the phone, I felt like something significant was happening. Like once I took this phone call my life would be changed forever.

Before the kidnapping I never thought like that. Then again, I was only eight. But after he abducted me I realized that one mistake, one action, one decision, can alter your life and the lives around you forever. It’s a huge weight to shoulder; all that responsibility. And sometimes the knowledge of that would crush me. I would feel so overwhelmed by it, I would be paralyzed, unable to do anything at all. Unable to make even the slightest decision for fear that it would ruin us all again.

I pressed the phone to my ear, a mixture of trepidation and excitement both swirling inside of me. “Hello.” My voice was timid, unsure. With my head down, I walked into the kitchen and up the stairs, not wanting my parents to eavesdrop.

“Hey,” Carter’s rich voice floated through the line.

I bit my lip, not knowing what to say. Small talk wasn’t something I was good at. I racked my brain, thinking of how people acted in movies and TV shows. “What’s up?” I asked, attempting to sound casual, but not certain I achieved that. I was sure it was evident that I wasn’t a normal girl, one who could carry on conversations with ease.

“After all that talk earlier about plants,
” Carter said, “I’ve come to the conclusion that I am going to go out and buy all the artificial flowers I can, and stick them all over my yard.”

“Don’t you dare.” A giggle escaped through my lips as I sat down on the top step, leaning my head against the
bannister.

“Why not? I think it’s the perfect solution.”
He paused, and I could hear his smile through the phone. “That way I can have beautiful flowers in my yard without all the hassle.”

“Beautiful?” I snorted. “Fake flowers are not beautiful. They’re hideous.” My body practically shuddered at the thought.

“The real flowers in my yard are hideous too. They’re pathetic and shriveled looking. Not beautiful at all, I can assure you.”

“Didn’t I say I’d help with that?”

“Well, I need your help fast. I’m in a flower crisis over here.”

My entire body warmed at his words.

“What about tomorrow?” he asked.

I froze, listening to Mom and Dad moving around downstairs.
It was fine when we were talking more in hypothetical terms, but now it all seemed too real.

“Aspen?” his voice was soft.

“Um…” I scratched my arm until red lines appeared on my flesh. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t want to….” His words trailed off, making me feel like shit.

He was the first person who’d reached out to me in years. Why was I pushing him away? What the hell was wrong with me?

“No, I do. I really do,” I said honestly.

“Great. I can pick you up in the morning. Does ten work?”

My heart arrested. “Um…yeah. Ok.”

“See you then.” The phone went dead before I could respond.

I stared at the phone in my hand, perplexed.

“Aspen?” Mom stood at the bottom of the stairs, a questioning look on her face. “What did he want?”