Pieces of Love

Chapter 1

 

I’ve heard it said it takes twenty-one days to make or break a habit. At least that’s what the Medusa Lady said. Amanda and I called her that on account of her crazy, bleached blonde hair sticking up in all directions, and the icy glare she gave us when she didn’t like something we said. Amanda had a way of pissing people off. In my opinion, a family therapist who couldn’t see past a little sarcasm or a few swears was clearly in the wrong profession. But Mom made us go anyway. Until Amanda went off to college and acted like everything was cool. She was always better at pretending than me.

 Almost a year without my sister and her absence still ached like a raw and bleeding ulcer. A wrenching sadness flooded my chest as my stepfather pulled into the airport parking lot.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, Ali, but I can’t handle work and dealing with you while everything is so…difficult with your mother.” Mitch forced a smile past the worry on his face. “It’ll be okay. I promise.” He stood on the curb next to my luggage, holding the car door open as if he was a chauffeur and I was a rock star. Without my guitar and heading for exile, I felt more like a prisoner on death row.

“This sucks. I don’t want to go.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder, and with my hair tumbling over my eyes in a dark curtain of bangs, dragged my feet toward the check-in kiosk.

 “I know kiddo. But your mom and I agree that this is the best thing for everyone.” He slowed his pace, rolling my luggage beside him, his loafers squeaking on the polished concrete.

It seemed useless to argue any longer. Obviously, I’d pushed him and Mom too far. I knew it wasn’t that he didn’t care about me. He’d been my stepdad for four years, and he was nice most of the time, but he didn’t understand me any better than he had understood Amanda. Mitch had some pretty strict rules about right and wrong, and the Hartman women seemed to see rules as being made to be broken. He had married Mom after only six months of dating. Even if he’d known he was signing on for heartache and tragedy, I couldn’t blame him for wanting me out of his rapidly thinning hair. The little he had was gray, and the wrinkles around his eyes made him look older than his mid-forties. With a paunch starting around his mid-section, he looked more like an accountant than a cop.

I grabbed his arm for one last plea. “Can’t I even talk to Mom?”

“Not yet. Her doctor wants to make sure she’s stabilized before she has any contact with family.” He patted my shoulder. “I miss her too. But this is only for a little while. She’s going to get better and be home before we know it.” His tone didn’t sound so sure and my heart took another plunge. “As soon as she’s feeling better, I’ll have her call you,” he finished.

Mitch slid his credit card into the machine and a moment later it spit out a boarding pass with my name and destination on it. I studied it, my eyes burning with tears. Alexis Hartman, flight 1242 to LAX. I had a sudden urge to bolt for the exit. I couldn’t believe he was shipping me off to California to stay with my grandmother—a woman I hadn’t seen since I was twelve. That was four years ago, and I could barely remember what she looked like. The only details that stood out in my mind were her dyed red hair and fancy jewelry and the emptiness in her eyes at my grandfather’s funeral. Since then, our contact had been limited to forced phone conversations at holidays. I also hadn’t flown again and desperately hoped I’d outgrown my propensity to get sick. My forehead beaded with sweat and I gulped for a breath.

“I don’t see why I can’t stay here? It’s not like I’m a danger to myself.” I wanted to assure him I wasn’t like Amanda, but I couldn’t get the words out. My throat closed as he lifted my suitcase onto the scale and the woman at the desk checked it in.