Splintered Souls

Chapter 1

"Tell me about it. Though it took me a few more than five. And I have several more to donate to the church. I don't think we need to cart your dad's old clothes with us to Port Michael." Sadness leached the warmth from her voice.

Sharp pain sliced through me, and I swallowed to keep from crying out. "No. I guess not. Except maybe his old sweatshirts. I mean,"-I glanced at the faded bulldog on my chest-"I like wearing them. And I'm sure the peanut will want a few... someday. When they don't swallow him up completely, that is." Imagining my eleven-year-old brother wearing our father's clothes like dresses triggered an unexpected giggle.

Mom's face lit up for a moment, and she nodded. "You're right. You and Josh should have something of your dad's. I'll drag the boxes with us, and we'll dig through them later. We can always donate some to the local church when we get there, right?"

"Sure. I'll bet they'd like that." Not that I had a clue what the churches in Port Michael, Maine would or wouldn't like. I'd supposedly spent summers there when I was a toddler, but other than a few fleeting images of blood red roses climbing a white trellis and a pair of chipped croquet mallets, I didn't remember a thing, not even the little shop on the square where Mom swore I had my first banana split-and where Jackie Kennedy supposedly bought ice cream cones for her kids when they were little. I remembered the story well enough-Mom had told it at least three times since she'd decided to pick up and move-but if I'd ever been there, that memory was as lost as Miley's innocence.

"Okay, good. The movers should be finished packing up the truck within the hour, and then I need to drop the keys off at the real estate office." Mom stared past me out the window and pushed another loose lock of hair out of her face. "After that, we'll hit the road. We have a long drive ahead of us, and I'd like to get there before dark." She studied me for a long moment, as if trying to see my future or something. She still worried that I'd regret my decision to give up my dreams and follow them to Maine. She never asked the question, but I saw it in her eyes every day.

I meant to ask her if I could help with anything, like scrubbing the bathrooms or vacuuming the cobwebs from the corners of the kitchen. The words were right there on the tip of my tongue. At the very least, I should have asked if my brother had packed up his crap or if he needed a hand. Instead, I watched as she turned and disappeared down the hallway then sat in my barren room, picking at the twisted strands of purple shag carpeting as if they were blades of grass in a field. I let my mind wander, running through eighteen years of milestones as I tried to commit every single detail-every whiff of nail polish, every bedtime story, every creaking floorboard-to memory.

As promised, the movers came to take my boxes sometime in the next hour. I didn't speak a word, just grabbed my pink duffel and left, scooping my phone and charger from the floor on the way out.

"I call shotgun." Josh bolted through the house and out the front door after my mother, a bright blue backpack slung over his shoulders. "Can we stop at McDonald's?" He threw his bag into the back of Mom's new cherry red Durango then ran around and climbed into the front passenger seat.

Mom loaded the last of her bags, glancing at him then at me before huffing out a breath and closing the hatch. "No."

With the front seat taken, I climbed in behind Josh and shoved my stuff to the floorboards beside my feet. Having the backseat to myself was hardly a sacrifice on a road trip.

"Burger King?" My brother bounced, making the entire car rock from side to side. With each jump, the brim of his baseball hat crested the top of the headrest.

With an exasperated sigh, Mom climbed behind the wheel. "No." She turned the key, cranking the SUV to life.

"Wendy's?" With another bounce, his hat taunted me from the front seat, and I reached out, timing my movements to his bopping head.