Broken Promises (Broken Series) - By Dawn Pendleton Page 0,2

deep breath. This was going to be harder than I anticipated. I drove through the streets of Casper, noticing there were dozens of children out playing in the warm sunshine. May was the beginning of tourist season in the area, and the weather was cooperating perfectly. I sighed as I realized I was going to be forced to interact with people I hadn’t spoken to in years, people who thought very little of me and I of them. I had a feeling it was going to be a summer of fake smiles.

The town boasted a single stoplight three years ago, but I noticed they added a second near the corner of the grocery store and the one fast food joint. I smiled as I stopped when the light flashed red. Maybe things had changed while I was gone. The light glowed green and I kept straight, turning right three streets down. Another half a mile and I pulled into the driveway of my dad’s ranch-style house.

It had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, for which I was truly grateful during my teenage years. Who wanted to share a bathroom with their parent? Especially their Dad.

The yard was trimmed and the porch looked like it had been somewhat repaired recently. Maybe my dad hired someone for that, since there was no way he was mowing the lawn or fixing up the porch in his condition.

The door was, as expected, unlocked. I carried my purse and a small duffel inside, dropping both bags on the couch. I walked through the kitchen and noticed how clean and fresh it smelled. Nothing was out of place; there weren’t even any dirty dishes in the sink. He must have hired a housekeeper in addition to hospice; my dad was anything but organized.

I went back to the living room, grabbed my duffel, and made my way to the back bedroom. It was almost exactly the same as it had been three years ago. The paint was a deep purple, the closest color to black my dad had allowed. The bedspread was black and purple; even the curtains were dark and gloomy. What an emo child I’d been, I thought. I looked down at my bright blue t-shirt, wondering if my life in Boston had changed more than just my color habits. I used to be a depressed little girl. I suddenly felt grown up, as if I hadn’t realized I was an adult until that moment, when I saw the childish ways of my past. It was eye opening.

My desk was in the corner of the room, looking old and tiny. My office in Boston had a desk at least three times as large as the student-sized one in my bedroom. It made me chuckle. I tossed my duffel on the full-size bed and opened up the closet. There, underneath a loose floorboard, was the shoebox I never thought I’d ever want to see again. I was suddenly anxious to open it and let the memories come flooding back.

I brought the box to my bed and sat, lifting the lid. It was full to the brim with pictures, movie ticket stubs, and letters. I flipped through the photos first, ready for the rush of emotion. The first picture was one of my mother, who’d been a legacy in this town.

After getting pregnant at seventeen, she and my dad agreed to get married two weeks after I was born. But she’d left him at the alter; she’d left him and me alone for the remainder of my life. I often wondered how she could just bail on her own family. Lucky for me, Dad stepped up. He raised me. Alone. I closed my eyes, mourning the mother I’d never known.

The second photo made me laugh aloud. It was a candid shot of me on my dad’s shoulders. I was probably about seven years old. I remembered the day perfectly; he insisted we needed some photos of us together and enlisted a professional photographer to follow us around all day. I only agreed if we could take some goofy pictures, too.

The next picture made my heart clench as if a vice was secured around it. It was a group photo from my senior prom. There I was, arm-linked to Luke Bates. He’d been my boyfriend for all four years of high school. He was two years older than I was, but I’d been in love with him since the first day of freshman year. He put off college for me,