Pieces of a Mending Heart (22 page)

             
“Doctor Michael Colson,” he says, shaking my hand lightly.

             
“I promise to drink more water,” I say with a smile, knowing full well that dehydration had nothing to do with the reason I blacked out.

             
My aunt steps into the room from the hospital doorway, looking exhausted. I doubt she got any sleep
last night in that lumpy chair
and I feel a twinge of guilt for not insisting on leaving last night.

             
“Good morning, Katherine.
Hope you’re feelin’ better. Doc says you should be rarin’ to go and that everything’s just fine,” she says with a chipper tone that doesn’t correspond with the bags under her tired eyes.

             
“Yeah, I feel great, actually,” which isn’t a lie.

             
“Tristan called your phone this morning when you didn’t answer the door. I told him what happened and he said you felt faint yesterday after school and asked if it was alright he came over after classes today. I told him you’d be fine with it,” she winks.

             
We leave the hospital and embark on the half an hour ride home in Aunt Rachel’s newly fixed car. The first few minutes are filled with heavy silence, until we hit the highway and my aunt speaks.

             
“Katherine
, you know your mother is the way she is for a reason, right?”

             
The random conversation starter throws me for a loop
and I’m not sure what to say. My mother, who is supposed to be
my best friend and guiding light, has been controlled and manipulated by my father, a man whose career as a police officer has hardened him. My mother had never stood up for me and never took the time to build any type of stable relationship with me, and the effects left me without paternal or maternal figures in my life.

             
“Yes, I know. Was she like this as a kid? So…” I can’t even finish the sentence, but Rachel knows. She seems to know me inside and out.

             
“No, she wasn’t. Not until she met your father. We don’t have to talk about heavy stuff if you don’t want to. In fact, I’ll bet you’re hungry. You’d think they’d feed you at that gosh darn place, but pudding and water just won’t do,” my aunt says, effectively ending our conversation.
Fine with me.

             
We pull into a tiny diner
called “The Beehive” that’s
straight out of the sixties
.
Once inside and seated, a preppy little waitress struts over to us, tucking a piece of her
blonde
hair behind her ear.

             
“What’ll it be today?” she asks in an unpleasant voice. I have to cough to stifle a laugh; the girl is a walking Barbie.

             
“Two double bacon cheeseburgers with fries and chocolate milk shakes,” says Aunt Rachel, not even giving me a chance to refute.

             
“Right up!” replies Barbie before gracefully waltzing away.

             
“Jeez, I think we just won ‘spot the skank,’ huh?” she whispers, making me laugh out loud.

             
“Tell me about you and Tristan. Two weeks isn’t very long to have known a person, but you really seem to have taken a liking to him,” my aunt says, genuinely interested.

             
I can’t stop a smile from breaking across my face. “He and I are very similar. We like the same music, movies, sports, books, classes… he’s a truly wonderful person.”

             
Aunt Rachel smiles, flipping her blonde hair out of her eyes as she replies, “You know that he’s had some rough patches, right? He isn’t as squeaky clean as you’d like.”

             
I shrug. “Neither am I,” is all I say, which causes her to frown. “I’m not saying that to make you feel sorry for me, Aunt Rachel. I’m saying that because it’s true, demons are hanging all over me, just waiting for a weak moment to pounce. I feel like, when I’m with Tristan, I’m stronger. I’m stronger because I have someone just like me, who knows my feeli
ngs inside and out. I’m
not
friends with him
just
for that reason; it’s not like he’s some weird rebound to help me stay afloat. He’s genuinely a wonderful, pure of heart young man, and I would’ve been friends with him even if my life wasn’t like it is now,” I finish, my lengthy speech hanging in the air.

             
Aunt Rachel rests her chin on her fist, leaning on the table. “You’re just friends? Maybe a lot has changed since my high school days, which weren’t all that long ago, mind you, but it seems to me you don’t go around holding hand
s with a friend. Or kissing said “friend
,” she raises her eyebrows.

             
My forehead scrunches, and a frown shows on my face. “We haven’t really put a name to what we are. I don’t think it matters much what we call our relationship; words are insignificant.”

             
“So wise, Confucius. I’m impressed with your maturity, Katherine. Have I ever told you that? It’s unfortunate; the circumstances under which you had to grow up so fast. But you’re obviously where you need to be,” she says, smiling a small, sad smile.

             
“Honestly, Aunt Rachel… I couldn’t agree with you more,” I say just as Barbie returns with our food.

             
We head back to the house holding our stomachs, overwhelmed from e
ating so much
. It’s nice to finally have an adult in my life; one that I can look up to. A woman like Aunt Rachel is the type of person everyone wants on their side: smart, witty, trustworthy and kind. How she’s related to my mouse of a mother is a mystery to me, and why I’ve never tried to connect with my aunt before this year is puzzling. My mother and father always told me that she was an irresponsible partier that they didn’t want brainwashing their children. If they thought that, why they would send me to stay with her is a mystery, too.

             
I think they knew she would break me out of my shell. They must have, because why else would they keep me from this amazing woman I’ve grown to love so much?

             
“Tristan gets out of school around noon, right?” my aunt asks, setting her backpack down.

             
“Yeah, he does.”

             
“He’ll probably be over soon. I think I’ll head to the office, if you’re feeling okay. Maybe you two should take a ride when he gets here, get some fresh air. Have you made any other friends? What about that nice girl who brought you home yesterday?”
             

             
“Sorren? Yeah, I feel close to her already; like I’ve known her for a while. It’s kind of strange, actually. It’s nice to have someone to just… be a girl with,” I say, smiling to myself.

             
Suddenly, Aunt Rachel grabs my arm, tearing it away from my wrist where I was absently tracing my scars.

             
“Why do you always do that?” she says forcefully, surprising me with her venom.

             
My mouth pops open and I don’t know how to answer. Why do I always trace my scars? Is it to remind myself of what I should never return to? Or am I punishing myself, my own form of punishment including having to look at the ugly mutilations on my wrists.

             
“I didn’t know anyone noticed,” is all I reply, unable to give her any other answer.

             
“Well I do. And
I’d appreciate it if you’d stop
,” is all she says as she quietly walks out the door we just entered.

             
I stare at the wood, slightly warped and splattered with tiny white drips of paint, from an unfinished project, maybe. The house is deadly silent, filling the air with a thick feeling of loneliness that is all too familiar to me. For a few moments, I do nothing but breath in smells of cinnamon, lavender and vanilla; the smells of home.

             
I’m having one of those moments when you force yourself to stop and think about the mysteries of the world around you. When everything seems to be moving in slow motion but at warped speed at the same time. When you’re afraid to think about the future, but forcing yourself to not think of the past. So what does that leave you to
think of? Simply… the present.

             
A light knocking on the door disrupts my thoughts, and I am jarred from my moment by the sharpness of the sound. I open the door and find my angel himself. His eyes scan over me and I realize I probably look like death. I haven’t showered or changed my clothes from yesterday and suddenly, I’m embarrassed. He must sense this because he speaks up.

             
“Are you feeling alright?” he asks, voice sounding casual but I can see the worry in his light blue eyes.

             
“Yes, I’m feeling fine. Nothing was actually wrong with me, Tristan. I had another… vision,” I feel like an idiot saying that aloud, but there’s no other word I can think of to describe what I saw.

             
His eyes grow wide, but before he has a chance to speak, I realize I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet today. “Let me clean up, will you? I feel pretty scummy,” I say.

             
“You’re going to leave me in suspense?” he says, only half joking.

             
I laugh a little. “Sorry! Make yourself at home and I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

             
Leaving him in the living room, I saunter down the hall to the bathroom. I shower, shave, and towel dry my hair, which is magically straight today, and realize I forgot to grab clothes. I have my dirty ones that I wore before, but I refuse to put those back on because they smell like grease and hospital. Gross.

             
I wrap the towel around my torso and tie it in the front, fashioning a make-shift dress for the five foot walk to my bedroom. Hoping Tristan is on the couch, I open the door only to find him standing right in the middle of the hallway
, looking at pictures on the wall
. Steam from my showe
r made the wooden door stick and
the
popping
sound it makes when I open it sends goose-bumps to my arms.

             
For a moment, we just stare at one another. His eyes automatically shift over my absurdly short towel-dress, but then he looks away with eyes that are
embarrassed, lustful
and ashamed.

             
“Well this is awkward,” I say, laughing to myself as he makes a show of closing his eyes and shuffling down the hallway backwards.

             
Once in my room, I clothe myself in a pair of my favorite comfy jeans with a t-shirt that reads “Mount Amelia,” the name of my old high school. The names of my former peers are listed on the back in two rows, with my “best friends” names circled wit
h black sharpie, something Sam
did at a sleepover during our freshman year. Only now do I
realize that these girls, Sam
and Julia, who were the only two people to ever
really
talk to me, were just using me for booze and invites to parties.

             
Thank God I’m a better judge of character now. Glancing in the dirty mirror on the wall, which could use some serious Windex, I apply the barest amount of mascara to my blonde eyelashes.

             
“Thanks. Sorry to keep you in suspense,” I joke, but Tristan seems lost in his own little world. “Tristan? Anybody in there?” I ask, running my hand over his hair. My touch wakes him from his daydream, and he looks in my eyes with a concerned look on his face.

             
“Do you want to take Dino for a ride?” he asks, grabbing my hand while waiting for an answer.

             
I nod and smile. “I always thought having a ‘spot’ with your…” I cut myself off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. What I was going to say is, “
I always thought having a ‘spot’ with your boyfriend was cliché
,” but caught myself. I should ask him if he’s my boyfriend. We’ve never officially discussed it.

             
He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to finish, but I just shake my head, mumbling a “never mind.” My answer obviously dissatisfies him, because he frowns.

             
The walk to the barn in a quiet one, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. His hand feels so strong, so sure, wrapped around mine that I forget all about the conversation we’ll undoubtedly have once we get to the cliff. His thumb starts tracing little circles on the back of my hand, and I smile to myself, perfectly content.

             
“Hop on,” Tristan says once we have Dino set to go. He waits for me to mount the black horse, then climbs on behind me, leading the horse on his way.