Collecting the Pieces Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016, L.A. Fiore

  All rights reserved

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781537352435

  ISBN-10: 1537352431

  Cover Model: Franggy Yanez

  Cover design by Hang Le

  Editing by Editor in Heels, Trish Bacher

  eBook formatting by Lisa DeSpain

  Typeset graphics, title page art and paperback formatting by Melissa Stevens, The Illustrated Author, www.theillustratedauthor.net

  For all those we have loved and lost

  The Luckiest…Ben Folds

  Stay...Rihanna

  Kiss Me…Ed Sheeran

  Make You Feel My Love…Adele

  Take Me to Church…Hozier

  Say You Love Me…Jessie Ware

  Photograph…Ed Sheeran

  Yours…Ella Henderson

  How Long Will I Love You…Ellie Goulding

  Wasted Time…Keith Urban

  I'm Not The Only One…Sam Smith

  Behind Blue Eyes…Who

  American Boys…Halestorm

  Say Something…A Great Big World

  Everybody Hurts…R.E.M

  The Promise…When in Rome

  Animal…Neon Trees

  Hot Dog…Limp Bizkit

  She Talks to Angels…The Black Crowes

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One 1997 Invisible

  Chapter Two 2002 Butterflies

  Chapter Three Nuisance

  Chapter Four Belonging

  Chapter Five A First

  Chapter Six 2006 Shattered

  Chapter Seven Three years later—Present Day

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Abel- Epilogue

  About The Author

  For some, love is like a fairytale that sweeps you off your feet and instantly turns your sorrows into joy. It’s a lifetime of clear skies and smooth roads, where your dreams come true and your heart sighs. For others, love is a reckless ride—a sliding into home plate and taking that hit from the careening ball. It hurts, it cuts, and yet you go back for more because it makes you feel alive…it brings you back to life. Regardless of what love you find, the simple act of loving has the power to fix the broken, to lift the fallen and to light the dark. A gift of the heart, lost on some and taken for granted by others, but for those of us lucky enough to appreciate the beauty of it, it’s the glue that takes all the pieces of ourselves and makes us whole.

  Then

  Sometimes we find a love that we’ve wished for, a love that is beautiful and pure that heals our hurts and fills the emptiness.

  — Sidney Ellis

  1997

  Invisible

  I was left on the steps of a hospital as a baby. My birth mother, and possibly father, couldn't get away from me fast enough because they hadn't left a note explaining why they were abandoning me, nor a blanket, not even a teddy bear. In fact, they were in so much of a hurry to see the last of me that they hadn't even bothered with giving me a name. I was baby girl number three until one of the nurses named me—a person who'd cared for me for two days before never seeing me again. Sidney Ellis. At least I liked my name.

  I lived in a group home in Trenton, New Jersey for the first ten years of my life. It always happened that I was either the youngest of the group or the oldest. Unlike little orphan Annie, I didn't get a family out of the strangers. To me, they were all just strangers. The people who worked in the home tried to remember birthdays, but there were just enough kids that more often than not a birthday would come and go without so much as a ‘happy birthday’. And holidays? The powers that be claimed there was too much diversity among the children, which was really just their excuse to get out of celebrating any of them.

  When I turned ten, I was fostered to a family and for the first time I allowed myself to imagine a family of my own. While I lay in bed, I secretly wished for a mom who would run her hand down my hair in affection. I saw that at school once from a mother dropping off her daughter and it was the loveliest thing I'd ever seen. So simple, but it was like that mom couldn’t get enough of the wonder of her daughter. I wanted that. I wanted a dad who would play catch and teach me to ride a bike. And a brother or sister who just liked my company. I made all those wishes and held them in the very deepest part of me.

  I was ten, but I felt a lot older. Growing up the way I did, I guess I matured faster than kids my own age. I wasn’t worried about clothes and what clique of kids to hang with. I didn’t agonize over if I’d get invited to the popular kid’s birthday party or if my soccer team would win the championship trophy. For me, it was more where would I end up? Who would ever want me? Who would ever love me? And at ten, those questions were finally going to be answered.

  The day I met my new family, Mrs. Crane, the woman who ran the group home where I lived, had found me a new outfit—a pretty yellow dress with little pink flowers all over it. I was a bit old for the dress, but she'd gone to the trouble to find it. My feet hurt in the white sandals; they weren’t my size, but I made do.

  A man and woman waited with Mrs. Crane when I entered her office and I felt terrible because, on first impression, they didn't look like the family of my imagination. The lady had been pretty once, her hair was long and blond and her eyes were blue, but she looked tired and unhappy, as if the world had beaten her down. The man was tall and had a stomach like Santa Claus. His hair was black but he was losing it in spots. His face held no expression, as if what was happening in that room held very little interest for him.

  “Sidney, this is Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

  The meeting veered further from my imagination because they didn't immediately walk to me, smiling and reaching out a hand or offering a hug. They stayed rooted to their spots across the room and looked at me about as passionately as someone might study a tomato. Disappointment burned in my gut, but I remembered my manners. “Hi.”

  “Are you ready?” The lady asked.

  I think I knew then that my wishes had fallen on deaf ears, but what was done was done. “Yes.”

  “Very well. Let’s be on our way.”

  The man walked from the room without even saying a word with the lady following after him. Mrs. Crane, the person who had been the closest to a mother, really the only family I'd ever known, simply said, “Be happy, Sidney.” And then I was forgotten, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she retreated down the hall. I stood in her office, dressed in clothes more appropriate for someone much younger than me, and felt totally and completely invisible.

  The Millers were farther down the hall by the time I walked from Mrs. Crane's office, still walking toward the exit. Not once did they look back to see if I was coming. Defiance kicked in. I wanted to drag my feet, w
anted to turn and walk the other way, wanted to run from the building and keep running until I found a place where I wasn't so alone. Instead, I hurried to catch up to them.

  My new house was a small, pretty house on a street with other small, pretty houses in Princeton, New Jersey. As soon as I crossed the threshold, Mrs. Miller said, “Your room is the first door on the left.” I waited for her to lead me upstairs, to show me around, to ease me into the life-changing transition, but she turned from me and followed after Mr. Miller.

  It was a tiny room, just big enough to fit a bed, dresser and a desk. There were two windows, one that looked out to the front yard and one that faced the backyard and the woods that butted up against their property. The closet was filled with clothes; most of them looked worn, but they were for me. Based on what I'd seen so far of the Millers, I suspected the clothes were there because they were required—a mandatory checklist that had to be completed prior to me moving in—since it didn't seem likely they would have thought of it on their own.

  I went in search of the Millers as hope stirred that they had only been uncomfortable earlier with the formality of the group home and Mrs. Crane, but now that they were home they would welcome me for real. The idea was one I liked so much my excitement nearly had me running down the stairs. It was a small house so it didn’t take me long to find them. They didn’t look like people waiting to welcome me; I had the sense they had already forgotten I was there. They had changed their clothes into sweats and both were lounging in the living room with a bottle of beer. A big bowl of chips sat on the table in front of them and the sound of the game on the television filled the small room. I stood there not sure what to do because though they knew I was there, neither acknowledged me.

  Mrs. Miller finally looked over as she brought the bottle to her lips. She took a long drink then said, “There are frozen dinners in the freezer and soda in the fridge. Keep it down so we can hear the game.” The words had barely passed her lips before her attention moved back to the television.

  I walked back to my room and resisted the urge to slam the door behind me. I tried to keep the tears from falling as I settled on the edge of the bed, but they welled up and over my lids anyway. A knock at my door startled me.

  “Sorry for just coming in, but you have to be hungry.” It was a boy; he was older than me and he carried a tray with frozen dinners and soda. “Sidney, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m Connor. Are you hungry?”

  My stomach answered for me. He smiled and placed the tray on the dresser before handing me one of the dinners. He took the other and sat with me on my bed. “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

  I didn't answer; I just stared down at the macaroni and cheese in the little black plastic tray.

  “I know you’re scared, but it does get better.” He moved so he could see my downcast eyes. “It really does get better.”

  “Are they like that all the time?”

  “Yeah, we’re a paycheck.” He sounded mad when he said that.

  “A paycheck?”

  “They get money from the state to foster us. We’re a paycheck. Most foster parents aren’t like that, but the Millers are in it for the money. But it could be worse. They don’t yell and they don’t make demands. There’s always frozen dinners and soda. I’ll show you around the kitchen tomorrow after school. You’ll get used to it, trust me.”

  And I did. I didn’t get the mom and dad I had hoped for, but I did get the brother, and he was even better than the one I imagined.

  “Sidney, hand me that wrench.” Connor’s oil-covered hand shot out from under the car. He was turning sixteen, was getting his license soon and had bought himself a car. I think calling the hunk of metal he was currently working on a car was a leap, but he was in love. It had cost him a thousand dollars—all those hours at the Circle Market stocking shelves had paid off. The Millers had agreed to add him to their insurance policy, but only if he paid the difference the addition of him added. They gave nothing without getting something back.

  It had been two years since I had come to live here and even with the Millers being completely uninvolved in my life, those two years were still the best I’d ever had.

  Connor slid out from under the car. His overalls were stained from the various fluids leaking from what I believed, based on his swearing, were important components of the car. He was convinced he could get his baby purring, his words. I had my doubts, but when he climbed in and keyed the engine, it turned over with only the smallest billow of smoke coming out of the tail pipe.

  His face split into the widest of grins. “Success.”

  “I can’t believe you got this hunk of…I mean car working.”

  “Careful, Sidney, or I won’t take you to the beach.”

  “The beach? Seriously, we’re going to beach?” I had never been, but I so wanted to ride the waves.

  “Yeah, first trip in the car after I get my license. We’ll spend the whole day in the water and we’ll stuff our faces with funnel cakes. We can even build sand castles if you want.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “With a car, we’re only limited by our imaginations. The world just got a little bit bigger for us, Sidney. And one day, this place will just be a bad memory.”

  “It hasn’t been all bad. I got you.”

  He turned from me, not because he didn’t feel the same, but because he did and had trouble sometimes showing it. He shut off the engine and glanced back at me. “It’s the same for me.”

  “I know.”

  “All right, it’s time to wash my baby. You in?”

  “Yep. I’ll get the bucket and sponge.”

  I hadn’t gone far when he added, “Thanks for helping. This wouldn’t have been anywhere near as fun without you.”

  My heart felt so full it should have cracked through my ribs. I smiled then said, “You might feel differently when you’re soaked to the bone.”

  “Bring it on, little sis, I don’t sweat you.”

  Yep, he was even better than the brother of my imagination.

  2002

  Butterflies

  I spent an unusual amount of time getting ready for school because not only was it my birthday, but I was starting high school. A freshman. Nervousness had me brushing my hair again even though I’d already brushed it until my scalp hurt. Looking in the mirror, I studied my features but they looked as they always did. Nothing spectacular. My hair was brown, hints of gold in the brown, but still brown—the same color as my eyes.

  In the five years that I'd been living with the Millers, it was all much of the same with them. Two more disconnected and uninterested people never existed. Sometimes I wanted people to know just how horrible they were as foster parents, because neglect was still abuse, but I had Connor and fear of them separating us kept me silent, because what had changed was me. I was no longer the lonely and empty girl I had been, and all because one person showed me kindness and love. Connor was my family and that was enough to start the healing. It wasn’t the same for him. In the last three years I had started noticing a change in him. He loved me, I knew that, but it was like he hated himself. We had similar backgrounds and knowing I wasn’t enough to help him find his way hurt. Watching him turn that anger into reckless behavior hurt more. And the fact that no one but me saw the change in Connor, that he was still invisible, gutted. My hope was that Connor would find that person that would heal his hurt. It was something I wished for every night.

  I often walked in the woods behind the Miller's house and that was where I discovered what I wanted to do with my life. I'd found several stray cats and they reminded me of me—discarded and unwanted. Unlike me, I wanted to find them loving homes, so I worked with the vet in town, Dr. Livingston, and we had for all but two. Those two I'd named Tigger and Stuart and fed them everyday with food provided to me by Dr. Livingston. His office became like a second home, not that I really had a first one, and I absorbed every part of what he did like a sponge. We’
d talked about me becoming a vet, even knowing it required lots of schooling, which cost tons of money, but he said I had the passion for it so the rest could be figured out. When it was time, he offered to help me with applying for schools.

  “We’ve got to go, Sidney.” Connor called from the hall. He was driving me to school today, though I wouldn’t count on a ride every morning because Connor’s attendance at school was iffy at best. But getting a ride for my first day of high school was definitely cool.

  “Coming.”

  Grabbing my backpack, I ran from my room and flew down the stairs. Climbing into the passenger seat, Connor already had the car idling. My eyes met his and he grinned as he handed me a donut with a candle in it. “Happy birthday, Sid.”

  The Millers might not recognize birthdays, but Connor and I did. “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready for high school?”

  “No.”

  “You’ll be fine. And if not, I’ll be there.”

  The high school was massive; a single-level brick building that sprawled out for as far as the eye could see. The parking lot was filled as kids walked in groups toward the entrance, though no one seemed in any great hurry.

  As soon as Connor climbed from the car, his focus moved behind us and instantly he changed. His usual laid back easiness turned guarded. “There’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll catch you after school.”

  And off he went before I had a chance to respond. Curious about whom he needed to see, I didn’t move and watched as Connor approached some guy at the back of the lot. He was leaning against a fancy silver car and had several other kids huddled around him. He looked too old for high school and was in serious need of a shower. He greeted Connor like a close friend, though I’d never seen him before. Not that Connor’s friends made a habit of coming to the house.

  Turning from Connor, I headed for the door and had just reached it when a sporty, black car drove past. Tracking the car, it parked as about a dozen kids moved toward it. When the driver climbed out, he was greeted like a celebrity. He was a distance from me, but there was no denying the boy was hot. Short, spiky brown hair and a body that was honed to perfection. There were girls inching closer to him, all trying to gain his attention over the others who were doing the same. And the guy, he took it all in stride. I’d expect arrogance, or at the least cockiness, and maybe he was, but his body language told a different story. He looked a bit uncomfortable with all the attention and yet resigned to it. I wondered who he was, but then the bell sounded and I turned and hurried inside. I didn’t want to be late for my first day.