Chapter Seven – Broken In
Chapter Seven
Maisey
brOKEN IN
Performed by Ella Langley
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
HER: I don’t know what to do.
HIM: What’s wrong?
HER: Dad left this morning. Chelsea didn’t come home. And Mom is gone.
HIM: What?
HER: I came in to check on her before I went to sleep. But she’s…
HER: She’s…God. I can’t type it.
HIM: Dad and I are coming over. We’ll be right there, Maise. We’re coming.
PRESENT DAY
As I closed the door on Titan’s stall after rubbing him down, I reached into the bag I’d hung on a hook by his door and pulled out an apple. He softly nuzzled my palm as he took it, eyes bright with affection.
My emotions had been a problem for us in the corral today. I’d missed tricks I shouldn’t have, and it wasn’t just because I was rusty from lack of practice. If Titan hadn’t been as steady as a rock, I’d be leaving the ranch with a lot more bumps and bruises.
If I didn’t get my act together, I was going to fall on my ass during the Fourth of July show.
I’d have to double my practices between now and then because I refused to embarrass myself or Fallon.
Neither of us got to perform much anymore, mostly for special occasions, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make it the best show we’d done since we’d started performing as teens.
I ran a hand over Titan’s silky mane. The American Paint’s white-and-chestnut design that ran down his neck, over his body, and down his fetlocks was smooth and healthy.
He’d never once missed a meal or day of training, and that was all due to Fallon and her family taking him on when Dad had sold him.
The ranch had saved my horse while Fallon and Beckett had saved me.
I hadn’t thought of it as saving, not until Chelsea had rubbed it in my face that I was always being rescued. At the time, I’d simply seen it as friends helping friends. Family helping family. And I’d been eternally grateful.
Not only for the way Beckett had taught me to read and lifted my spirits when I was a kid, or for how Fallon had stood up for me at school, but for how both of them had stepped in to take care of the household chores when Mom got sick.
With Dad on the road, everything at home had landed on me, because Chelsea hadn’t lifted a finger.
Instead, she’d escaped the house, running wild with her fast crowd of friends that included Carter, Randy Cleaver, a few cheerleaders, and her theater groupies, while leaving me to care for our dying mother.
Even after Mom had passed, when I’d been drowning and I’d finally had the courage to ask for help, Chelsea had refused.
You’ve always gotten whatever you wanted, Maisey, while I stood empty-handed. I won’t be your latest victim, letting you bleed me dry like you’ve bled our parents. But I’m sure if you turn your tear-streaked face toward your friends, one of them will come running to save you.
That was when I finally realized my sister had stopped protecting me years before. She’d gladly handed off the duty to Fallon and Beckett. She’d let the bitterness of a childhood spent getting less of our family’s limited resources drive a wedge between us.
What I’d told Chelsea this morning was the truth.
I wasn’t some fragile flower who couldn’t figure out how to save herself.
I’d survived things in my childhood a lot of grown-ups couldn’t handle.
But I had leaned on my friends to do it.
Had it been selfish? Had I greedily gotten what I’d needed at some greater cost to the people I loved?
Or were Chelsea’s words just digging up old worries and wounds?
Reading my emotions, Titan pushed his nose into my shoulder, blowing air out his nostrils in a soft snort as if to tell me to knock it off.
“You’re right. You’re right. I can’t let Chelsea get to me. But what am I going to do about Dad’s mess?”
Dad wasn’t rich, by any means, but he’d earned enough to pay his bills, just like when I was growing up.
It had only been the extravagant costs that had us really pinching pennies.
If my parents hadn’t already bought Titan before the costs from my orthodontic work kicked in, I never would have had my horse.
Once the budget had gotten really tight, Mom had arranged a deal with the riding school, bartering my classes and Titan’s food and board in exchange for our work.
She used her handyman skills to handle routine maintenance, while I helped feed the horses and muck the stalls.
But after Mom was gone, I couldn’t keep up the arrangement on my own, and that was when Dad sold him.
The gratitude I’d felt back then overwhelmed me all over again.
Since I’d returned to Rivers, I’d started paying for Titan’s board and upkeep, even though Fallon fought me on it.
And I’d promised myself that, someday, I’d pay the Harringtons back for all of Titan’s costs and buy him back, even if I’d never be able to pay back the college tuition they’d handed me.
“We’re pretty lucky, Titan. Aren’t we?” I whispered, and he nudged me in agreement.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a message from Meredith.
She’d been unable to find anyone to cover the L&D shift and was begging me to come in.
I’d planned on stopping in to see Fallon before I left the ranch, but after the way my morning had gone, I could use the distraction a shift would bring.
I kissed Titan’s star, gave him another good rub, and then headed out of the barn, waving to some of the staff. I skirted a group of guests waiting for their guided horseback ride and headed for my truck in the parking lot.
The Victorian Gothic Revival castle Fallon’s ancestors had built in the 1930s stood tall and proud, casting long morning shadows over the vehicles parked there.
The curls and flourishes along the golden gables and towers gleamed in the sunlight, thriving just like the expansive pools and grounds did since the renovations.
Fallon’s dad had even brought a bit of his Vegas casinos to the ranch by adding an animated centaur fountain to the circular drive that came alive each night with music and lights to entertain the guests.
I’d barely driven past the fountain when my phone rang, announcing Beckett.
“Two calls in two days,” I greeted. “That has to be a record. But I can’t talk long. I’m heading home to get cleaned up for my shift.”
“Maise,” his voice cracked with deep emotions, and my heart lurched. “First, I want you to know, your dad is okay. I’m looking at him right now, and he’s okay.”
My palms turned clammy, and my pulse raced as my mind spiraled through a host of ghastly scenarios. Had Dad had another stroke? Was he even now lying on a stretcher, struggling to talk and move? Or had there been a fire? At the house?
Oh God…was it gone? Had we lost everything?
I choked out, “Wh-what happened?”
“A fire. It started in the kitchen, but we contained it.”
The house. My stomach cramped, bile rising to the back of my throat.
Dad was okay. Beckett wouldn’t lie. He was okay.
But he’d nearly lost the house.
I bit back a hysterical laugh because hadn’t he already lost it to the bank? That thought spurred an even more terrifying one. Had Dad done something on purpose? In desperation?
A horrible sense of foreboding filled me.
This morning, he’d looked… defeated. Even more so after the encounter with Chelsea. More so after I’d told him I’d come by later and work through the bills with him.
But there was no way he’d risk the last faded memories of Mom we had left by purposefully setting a fire. He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.
“How…” My voice shook. “How bad is it?”
“We’re still mopping up, but the kitchen is gutted and part of your old room. The back porch is toast.”
I thought of the teenage leftovers I’d just considered clearing out of my room this morning. My stomach rolled again. At least it wasn’t the scrapbooks Mom had made. Those were all in a cabinet in the living room.
“I’m on my way,” I said and then hung up before he could respond.
Dad could have died.
I could have lost my father.
My hands on the steering wheel trembled so badly I had to fight to keep the truck on the road.
When I finally turned onto our street, my breath evaporated.
A fire truck blocked the road, with a fire hose running from the hydrant through the front door.
I winced, thinking of how much time and effort Mom had once put into the wooden floors, making sure they were waxed to perfection. Now, they’d be a mess.
More of a mess than they’d already been.
The house had suffered Mom’s absence the most. While my dad and I hid our fractures behind practiced masks, the walls had surrendered, every faded corner and peeling edge marking the truth in ways we couldn’t deny.
She was gone, and I’d failed to keep her legacy alive.
In my desperate attempt to put boundaries up between childhood Maisey and adult Maisey, I’d let her down. I’d let Dad and the house disintegrate before me.
I parked down the street from the Helmers’ house and ran the rest of the way. The smell of burnt plastic and wood slammed into me, a terrifying nightmare playing out in front of me.
But there was no smoke coming from the house, and I reminded myself that Beckett had said they were mopping up. They’d put it out. The fire wouldn’t continue to eat away at wood and childhood memories.
I didn’t see Beckett when I got to the porch, but Dad was there, sitting in the old Adirondack chair Mom had once sanded and painted a bright blue but was now nothing more than chipped paint.
Dad’s elbows were on his knees, head in his hands, much like I’d found him this morning, except this time one hand was wrapped in gauze.
Bugsy was standing over him with a hand on his shoulder.
The EMT’s face was so grim that tears pricked my eyes, and I had to fight them back. I fell on my knees next to Dad, drawing his injured hand closer. It was the same one he’d had the IV marks on.