Precious And Fragile Things. Megan Hart
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MEGAN HART
Precious and Fragile Things
First, to my friends and family who read this book in its many stages—thank you.
It’s a better book because of you.
To my agent Laura Bradford for not curling her lip when I first told her about the book, and for believing in it all along.
To Superman—
I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. Thanks for catching the kids.
To my spawn—
I love you both, even if I did throw you out the window as “research.”
As always, I could write without music, but I’m ever so grateful I don’t have to. Much appreciation goes to the following artists whose songs made up the playlist for this book. Please support their music through legal sources.
“Give it Away”—Quincy Coleman
“Take Me Home”—Lisbeth Scott and Nathan Barr “Everything”—Lifehouse “This Woman’s Work”—Kate Bush “You’ve Been Loved”—Joseph Arthur “Iris”—Goo Goo Dolls “Look After You”—The Fray “The End”—The Doors “One Last Breath”—Creed “A Home for You”—Kaitlin Hopkins, Deven May “Over My Head”—Christopher Dallman
And a special thanks to Jason Manns, whose version of “Hallelujah” wasn’t there when I started the book but was there all through the end.
Contents
January
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
February
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
March
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Acknowledgments
1
This was the life she’d made.
Cheese crackers crunching beneath her boots. A tickling and suspicious stink like milk that had been spilled in some unfound crack coming from the backseat. An unfinished To Do list, laundry piled and waiting for her at home, two over-tired and cranky children whining at her. This was her life, and most of the time Gilly could ignore these small annoyances that were only tiny details in the much larger overall picture. Embrace them, even.
But not today.
Please, shut up. For five minutes. Just shut up!
“Give Mama a few minutes” is what Gillian Soloman said instead, her voice a feathery singsong that belied her growing irritation.
“I’m thirsty, Mama!” Arwen’s high-edged, keening whine stabbed Gilly’s eardrums. “I wanna drink now!”
Count to ten, Gilly. Count to twenty, if you have to. C’mon, keep it together. Don’t lose it.
“We’ll be home in fifteen minutes.” This would mean nothing to Arwen, who didn’t know how to tell time, but to Gilly it was important. Fifteen minutes. Surely she could survive anything for fifteen more minutes, couldn’t she? Gilly’s voice snagged, ragged with the effort of keeping it calm, and she drew in a breath. She put a smile on her face not because she felt like smiling, but because she didn’t. Kept her voice calm and soothing, because an angry tone to the children was like chum to sharks. It made them frenzied. “I told you to bring your water bottle. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”
Gilly made sure she’d signed the check in the right place and filled out the deposit envelope appropriately. Looked over it again. It was only a check for ten bucks and change, but if she messed up the amount written on the envelope, the credit union could and would charge her a fee. It had happened before, unbalancing her checkbook and causing an argument with her and Seth. The numbers blurred, and she rubbed her eyes.
“Mama? Mama? Mama!”
Gilly didn’t even bother to answer, knowing the moment she said “what?” that Arwen would fall into stunned silence, nothing to say.
Fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops. You’ll be home and can put them in front of cartoons. Just hold it together until then, Gilly. Don’t lose it.
From the other seat came Gandy’s endless, wordless groan of complaint and then the steady thump-kick of his feet to the back of Gilly’s seat. Bang, bang, bang, the metronome of irritation.
“Gandy. Stop kicking Mama’s seat.”
For half a second as her pen wavered, Gilly thought about abandoning this venture altogether. What had she been thinking, making “just one more” stop? But damn it, she needed to cash this check and withdraw some money from the ATM to last her through the week, and since she’d already had to stop to pick up her prescription at the pharmacy…
“I wanna drink now!”
What do you want me to do, spit in a cup?
The words hurtled to her lips and Gilly bit them back before they could vomit out of her, sick at the thought of how close she’d come to actually saying them aloud. Those weren’t her words.
“Fifteen minutes, baby. We’ll be home in fifteen minutes.”
Thump, thump, thump.
Her fingers tightened on the pen. She breathed. She counted to ten. Then another five.
It