Their connection breaks. The woman pulls her arm back, tucking it close to her side.
For Lucy, this is the strongest and the hardest vision. Images of a war torn country, jagged at the edges, splattered with crimson, hover in her mind's eye. Each one slices through her, opening old wounds, old pain. She cries out.
The woman shoots from her chair and cowers to the side before sprinting out the door. Lucy struggles to get up from her chair and into the bathroom before the grief consumes her, before she completely blacks out.
The man shouts. “That's right. Get outta here while you can. This so called mystic robbed my wife Lyla of hundreds over the course of weeks. I want it back.” He shoves his face into Lucy's, the red veins popping across his nose, his hot breath like the stale wind of the desert.
If she were thinking clearly, Lucy would tell him his wife's money was spent the day it came through, on rent and on food; that, yes, she did lie to his wife because that's what she wanted to hear. Stupid stuff like confirmation of the weather for her luncheon.
Lucy will never forget Lyla. That was the day Lucy’s rent was due, and her fridge was empty of everything except moldy cheese. This lady breezed through and dropped a hundred. Lucy told her what she wanted to hear.
That was the day she turned into the crook and the fraud her mother always accused her of being.
But she can't say or do anything because the vision won't be held back anymore. It bursts through her mind like a burning ball of white fire.
Lucy stumbles against the man, falling at the last second into his arms.
JULIANA
It’s afternoon. Juliana sits on the edge of her bed, the phone resting between her ear and her shoulder.
“Mom, that's why we got you a cell phone. For you to use,” Mia says on the other end.
“I think this was a mistake.” She can barely get the words past the lump in her throat. “Do you think I really saw him?” she whispers into the phone.
Her daughter pauses, then says. “You mean Dad?”
“Yes.” Juliana accepts the empty silence she expected. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you earlier.”
“No, Mom. I'm glad you told me. This is my fault. Maybe you weren't ready. I can be out there by tomorrow. You can travel home with me. Can you hold on?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I'll see you then.”
After the phone call, Juliana sinks to the floor. The phone falls from her hand, the dial tone beeping. Memories cling to her, seeping into her soul, dragging her farther down into the abyss. She’s been there before, in the months following Danny's death.
She went to counseling. She pretended it worked. She gave the answers everyone wanted to hear. She said her goodbyes.
But not really.
They wanted her to say goodbye to the man who saved her from her life.
Juliana and Danny stay in the grass talking all afternoon. He’s a wanderer, taking time off to find himself, to travel the world. In her eyes, he’s a rebel, everything she wants to be.
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Just travel,” she says, “Go where you want to go without answering to anyone.” Her father would never allow that.
“I worked hard, saved up for a few years, and my family gave me a big send off. Easy.”
“Oh.” She doesn't know how else to respond. How can she explain to someone like him what it’s like to have someone else rule your life? Tell you where to go to school, what to study, what time to be home, what time to sleep.
“Hey, I know a great little place for coffee. Wanna go?” He smiles, stealing every little piece of heart.
She grins back, jumps to her feet, and grabs his hand. “Let's go.”
MIA
Mia slides the phone back into her pocket and joins her friends. She told her mom she’d be there…in Paris. She ordered plane tickets for the next day from the stall of a bathroom. It’s too much to think about think; she wants escape.
The first two glasses of wine disappear quickly. Her smart set of friends surround her, carrying the conversation. If they notice that Mia seems subdued, they don't mention it. Cara with her short pixie cut works as a paralegal and hopes to someday be a partner in a firm. Emma has a degree in physical therapy but fell in love with being an instructor and personal trainer in the gym. Taylor waitresses while waiting for her big break as an actress.
The wine calms her nerves and slows her thoughts that keep darting back to the fact that her mom claims to have seen her dad. The weight of that settles on her, and she downs the rest of her wine. The bar grows crowded as more singles and socialites arrive, needing a break from the long day of work. A dull ache starts behind her eyes.
Emma touches her arm. “Hey, girl. You going to be okay?” she asks discreetly.
Mia shakes her head no. “I think I'd better get home.”
“Should I call Adam or maybe a cab?”
“A cab.”
Her best friend in true Emma-fashion texts Adam.
When Emma touches her arm again, Mia looks up to see the love of her life walk through the door. Her breath catches in her chest as it does every time she sees him. The sour taste of regret causes her to bite her lip. Adam will know right away something’s up, because she hardly ever drinks enough that she can't drive.
“Hello ladies. Having a good time?” He pulls Mia into his arms, knowing she’ll be unsteady on her feet. His warmth radiates through to her, and she wants to stay right there; it has been weeks since they’ve been this close.
They all start talking at once. Adam has that effect on women, including Mia. He was never the jock and didn't peak in looks until college where he finally shot past six feet and broadened out. His dark mysterious eyes set against a flawless complexion just complement the easy charm he has with people. And he’s smart.
The room spins, and she leans into him, already starting a drunken mumble. She hates that she cries when she’s drunk. Too easy for secrets to spill out.
Emma squeezes her hand and whispers, “Call me tomorrow.”
The words float over Mia as Adam leads her away. He’s fallen silent now that he’s just with her, the easy charm dissipating. He leads her outside, the air cooling her flushed cheeks.
On the drive home, Adam’s quiet, his hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. Mia closes her eyes and lets the world spin around her. She isn't too drunk. Just enough to feel good, to forget.
He pulls up at the curb. “Don't try and get out. I'll help you.”
It’s the tenderness in his voice, like a soft caress, that stirs the desire inside Mia. It has been so long. Maybe for tonight they can put everything aside and just love each other.
He helps her up the stairs to their apartment in a swank area of the city. They plan to move out to the suburbs when they have kids, but that vision tears a little bit every day.
“I was just having fun with my friends.”
His grip steadies around her. “I noticed.”
“I didn't mean to get drunk. It just happened. Emma and I were at the gym and talked about getting drinks and before I knew it I'd had too much.”
He doesn't say anything, but Mia’s past caring, used to his silences. At one point, he tried to carry the conversations, but she was so lost in her grief and dealing with her mom, that eventually, he stopped trying. She still feels warm from the compassion in his voice and wants to take advantage of that. “Sorry you had to come get me.”
He pauses at the door, trying to mask the hurt in his eyes. “I’ll always come get you, Mia.”
“Thank you.” She can barely get it out, because the emotion thickens in her throat. Tears prick her eyes. She wants to go back to when she and Adam were hopelessly in love and excited for the future.
She stumbles into the living room. Balancing on the couch, she turns, not caring about the desperation in her words. “Make love to me, Adam.”
His eyes go from compassionate to
questioning.
She mumbles, “Right now. Let's forget about everything else…just be us.”
“Mia, we can wait. You should probably sleep.”
“But I want you.” She attempts to pull off her T-shirt but it wraps around her arms partway off. She’s stuck.
His hands find her waist and help her get untangled from her clothes. He kisses the hollow of her neck, his lips burning into her skin. It has been so long since she’s felt this way. She reaches back and manages to unhook her bra, letting it drop to the floor; she slips off her yoga pants.
“Make love to me.”
In one swoop, he picks her up and carries her to their bedroom. On their bed, he touches her, loves her, makes her feel things she hasn't in weeks.
“I love you,” she whispers but doesn't know if he hears or not. She pulls him close, lining up his hips with hers, knowing he wants this as much as her. “Now, honey. I want you now.” This can be it. They will reconnect and then she can talk to him in the morning about everything.
That's when he sighs and rolls off her.
It’s over. She suddenly feels exposed and vulnerable, naked on their bed.
“Mia.” His voice is hoarse and steeped in emotion. “I want you, too…but not like this. Not when you're drunk. I know something happened, and this isn't going to make it go away or fix things between us.”
His words dig into her, painful, and prick at the soft parts of their relationship. She reaches for her clothes, the tears falling freely. Tenderly, he helps her into one of his T-shirts. “Sleep tonight and you can tell me in the morning.” He kisses the soft skin on her shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow night we can go out on a date, rekindle what we felt tonight.”
When they lie side-by-side, inches apart, Mia feels drained, empty on the inside. Her mom's words repeat once more in her head. She tries to tell him now but can't form a coherent thought as sleep pulls at her. She passes out, knowing that tomorrow morning will come and it might be too late.
To finish reading download All That We Have Lost.
Also by Kate
Every Little Piece
Every Little Secret
Every Little Dream
A Last Kiss Goodbye
All That We Have Lost
About Kate
Kate Ashton is the author of the contemporary YA/NA crossovers Every Little Piece, Every Little Secret and Every Little Dream, and the adult contemporaries, A Last Kiss Goodbye and All That We Have Lost. She writes about relationships and love, heartbreak and healing. And everything in between.
Text copyright © 2013 by Kate Ashton
All rights reserved
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Edited by Cindy Davis, The Fiction Doctor
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