A tale of fragile fate, p.1
A Tale of Fragile Fate, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by L.C. Watson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
Book design by: PyrooPlays
ISBN 9798218161408 (Paperback)
ISBN 9798218208455 (Hardcover)
ISBN 9798218161415 (E-book)
For Kristen, Kat, Evelyn, Logan, and Daniel.
Thank you for reading every version of this story.
&
For Dallas. Thank you for believing in me.
one
“Lake?”
Rain falls from the dark clouds that blanket the gloomy gray sky, and a harsh wind whips through the trees in my backyard. Branches quiver and leaves tremble as lightning shoots through the sky in a mesmerizing bolt of blue and white for only a split second before fading away to nothing. I stare out the empty bay window of my living room, arms crossed over my chest in protest as I deliberately ignore the voice that calls for me.
“Lake,” the voice repeats, and a hand rests on my shoulder.
Four years, five schools, and never a sense of normalcy, this latest move was supposed to be the last. I was promised it would be the last. It wasn’t.
Knowing I can’t ignore him forever, I turn from the window to face my dad. My shoe hits something solid, and I glance down at the last small pile of remaining boxes in our empty home. Some might say I’d be a pro at moving by now, and others might say it’s exhilarating to see so much of the country within the first seventeen years of my life. They’re wrong.
I look to my father, a burly, round man who stands at around six foot two. His dark brown hair is hidden beneath a gray beanie that pairs nicely with his puffy sweater vest and jeans. His usually bright green eyes showcased behind gold glasses seem sad today. A thick dark mustache, best described by my mother as the rough side of a Brillo pad, covers his upper lip.
“Honey, we need to get going,” he mumbles, motioning towards the door.
I nod, grab my bag from the stack of boxes, and sling it over my shoulder as a loud thump echoes from the foyer. I roll my eyes as a small scream rings in the same direction. Without needing to investigate, I already know it’s Daniel.
Daniel. My ten-year-old, parasite of a younger brother who’s more than likely tried to ride the railing from the second floor and fell. Again. My suspicions are confirmed when I round the corner and see him sprawled on the yellow linoleum floor, clutching his knee to his chest.
“Daniel, do you always have to be obnoxious?” I ask.
My brother scoffs at me, slapping the ground with an annoying yet satisfying smack. “Dad, Lake called me obnoxious!” he squeals in retaliation before sticking his tongue out at me.
Point proven.
Our father appears beside us with a hearty chuckle before bending down to help my brother to his feet. I gaze around what remains of our home…which isn’t much. We didn’t live here in Milton, Georgia, for very long, and no house has ever competed with my childhood home back in New York. However, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I hoped this would be our home for the foreseeable future.
Dad fishes around in the pockets of his faded jeans, pulling out his keyring. It jingles as he swirls it around his pointer finger before clasping it tightly. I gaze at the gold wedding band on his hand, a ring he still hasn’t taken off. I don’t blame him for not doing so, even now.
I can’t help but sigh. Going again. Always moving, never staying in one place for too long, unable to truly settle. Maybe I am a pro at moving at this point, but it doesn’t make it suck any less. For the past four years, it’s felt like my life has been nothing more than a revolving door. New town, new school, and new classmates that never got a chance to be anything more than acquaintances. Every time I finally got comfortable, my father would explain why it wasn’t the right place for us, and off we’d go again. I’m convinced I’m destined to be that random face in a yearbook that I’d never receive.
“Why don’t you both wait in the truck while I finish up,” my father offers, handing the keys to me.
I nod, and my brother grabs his backpack hanging from the banister. His favorite plushie, Benny, dangles upside down from the front pocket.
“You’re going to lose your ratty dinosaur if you don’t hold onto him,” I tell him, propping the front door open.
“He’s not a dinosaur, Lake. He’s a dragon,” my brother argues, holding the lime-green toy up to my face as he slips past.
“The difference being?” I pull the hood of my black sweatshirt over my head to shield myself from the torrential rain. I follow Daniel to our father’s Chevy Silverado, the wind picking up now as it whips a strand of hair into my mouth.
“Dinosaurs are extinct,” he exclaims, swinging the back door open. “Dragons still exist.”
I roll my eyes, diving into the front seat and out of the rain. I toss my bag down before sticking the key into the ignition. Daniel scrambles into the back, flinging his bag onto the seat beside him.
Watching intently as my father emerges from the house holding two old suitcases, I narrow my gaze at the luggage. I’ve never seen them before, even with all our moves. As he walks past, he mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head.
“Where did Dad say we’re going again?” I ask, following my father in the side-view mirror.
“Vermont, I think,” Daniel replies.
Dad runs back into the house, disappearing momentarily before reappearing to lock the door for the last time. Now holding something small in his hand that I can’t quite make out, he makes his way back to the truck. The driver’s side door swings open, and he slides in beside me, glasses foggy from his labored breathing.
My father is nervous, an emotion I don’t see him display often. He glances at me, followed by my brother through the rearview mirror, fingers fumbling with the box.
“This was your mom’s. She wanted you to have it,” he murmurs, offering it to me. A bittersweet smile accompanies a soft mistiness to his eyes. Four years and it never gets easier for him to talk about Mom. “I was going to wait until your birthday, but I thought now was a good time.”
With a nod, I take the box. Removing the lid, I find a silver locket nestled in pink tissue paper. I gingerly take the necklace, holding it by its chain out in front of me. The locket is dainty and rectangular, with faded scratches on the surface. I slip my fingernail between the clasp, but my father holds a hand out to stop me.
“It doesn’t open,” he states. “It’s sealed.”
“That seems…silly,” I reply flatly, staring at it.
“So was your mom.” Dad chuckles, shaking his head. “Beautiful and silly.”
Beautiful and silly she was. My mom, Elizabeth Watson, was the most radiant woman on this earth. She had a sweet, pink smile that always complimented her rosy cheeks and curly brown hair. She spread positivity like a child throwing confetti into the wind.
Her happiness made others happier.
It used to make me happier.
I unclasp the necklace and close it around the back of my neck, letting the locket find its new home a few inches below the base of my throat. Replacing the lid on the small box, I tuck it into my bag.
Dad pulls out of the driveway and onto the slick residential street. My brother rambles on about the difference between dinosaurs and dragons, but I tune him out, staring out the window as I mentally say goodbye to all the places I frequented in the short time I called this town home. The grocery store my dad and I always went to on Sundays together, the bowling alley where we spent my brother’s birthday, and the park where I’d go to get away from Daniel fade away in the rearview mirror.
The sky darkens as we pull onto the highway, and I nestle into the passenger’s seat, slipping my phone out of my pocket. This certainly isn’t my first car ride from one end of the country to the other. There’s plenty of time to waste. I scroll aimlessly before noticing my father shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Turning my head, I notice how he’s now biting his lip—a tell-tale sign that he’s nervous about something. I know it to be true because my brother and I do it, too.
“Dad?” I ask, hoping I can help calm his nerves.
I can’t imagine what it’s like to be my father. After Mom died, it was like our world shattered. He’s always tried his best over the years, making sure Daniel and I were safe, fed, and happy, but I know that didn’t come without sacrificing his own well-being.
“Hm?” he mumbles, keeping his eyes on the road.
“How long is the drive from here?”
Silence.
His grip tightens over the steering wheel, gaze narrowing at the road. The energy in the vehicle shifts, even my brother falling quiet in the backseat.
“Can you tell me where we’re going? I could put it in my phone,” I persist, holding my cell up with a nervous smile.
No response.
It’s unlike my father to act this way. We tell each other everything. His eyes are darker now, clouded with apprehension, adding to my uneasiness.
“Dad?” I reach out to touch his arm and feel him stiffen beneath my touch.
He looks in the rearview mirror at my brother. I turn to look at Daniel, who’s suddenly pale.
“He’s leaving us,” Daniel whispers.
I turn back around as my father flicks on his turn signal, swinging the car off the highway and down an exit ramp so fast my head almost hits the passenger side window. My chest tightens at the sight of the hula dancer on my father’s dashboard, no longer bobbing like hundreds of other rides together. It’s now swinging so erratically that I hear the springs grinding against its plastic casing.
Rain slaps the windshield faster than the wipers can keep up, and Dad mutters something under his breath. A cold chill runs down my spine as the car glides off the exit ramp onto a street not far from our home.
“Dad, where are we going?” I ask.
“The train station,” he replies, tone impossible to read.
I glance out the window as the truck pulls onto the street leading to Maguire Train Station, and I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “Why?” I ask.
The bobblehead convulses up and down, and I fear it may break. My father presses on the gas again, jaw clenched. I stare blankly at him, silently begging for a response, a trembling hand clutching the locket around my neck. It tingles at my touch, a cold sensation shooting through my fingers. A gasp escapes my throat, and I drop it instantly.
The bobblehead all but explodes on the dash, the little hula girl’s head dislodging from her body and hitting the windshield. My father swears under his breath, something I’ve never heard him do before, and he looks in the rearview mirror at my brother. I whip around in my seat, met with a pair of distressed eyes as Daniel stares past me like I’m not even here.
“Lake, I need you to promise me something,” my father states, anxiety dripping from his words.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, my heart in my throat. I can’t seem to look away from Daniel, a strange hollowness in his eyes that I’ve never experienced before.
“Promise me you’ll take care of your brother.”
two
Standing beside my brother under a flimsy umbrella, I watch my father pull the once-suspicious luggage from his truck and place them at our feet. Rain cascades from the sky, the umbrella protecting Daniel more than myself. My sweatshirt is uncomfortably damp, sticking to my skin in a way that makes me shudder.
With a heavy sigh, Dad leans down, fumbling around in the inner pocket of his jacket. “You need to get on the express train to Astryn Penn. Track twelve,” he states, pulling out a single white envelope. He holds it out for me to take. I don’t.
“No.” I tighten my grip on the umbrella. Daniel squirms beside me.
“This isn’t up for debate, Lake,” he replies, fidgeting with his glasses. Another nervous trait I’ve picked up on over the years.
“You said we were moving to Vermont,” I argue.
Dad nods. “Astryn Penn Academy is a boarding school in Vermont. Your mother went there when she was your age. It’s the best place for you and your brother.”
“Boarding school?" I’m fully convinced my father has lost his mind. We’ve moved a lot since my mother died, but we have always stayed together. The thought of him suggesting we suddenly be separated is ludicrous.
My father places a hand on each of our shoulders. “The plan was always for both of you to attend the academy. It’s what your mother wanted.”
I hear his words, but my brain doesn’t allow me to process them.
“What about you?” Daniel asks quietly, grabbing my hand.
A whistle blows loudly in the distance, and my father sighs. Reaching again into his jacket, he pulls out a much smaller envelope and hands it to my brother. Daniel tucks it into his pocket without opening it.
“I’ll meet you up there,” Dad says. “I need you to trust that I’ll be okay on my own, and you will, too. Go to the academy and do as they tell you. Learn what you need to learn, and I will see you soon.”
The look in his eyes tells me that this is final. There’s nothing I can say to change his mind. Nothing I can do to keep him from shipping us off on our own.
“Dad?” It’s the only word I can manage, and it physically pains me to say it. I can’t help the tears welling in my eyes or the lump forming in my throat, making it hard to swallow.
Another whistle blows in the distance, and a cold chill runs down my spine. A streak of lightning illuminates the sky.
Instead of answering, my father takes my necklace into his trembling hand. “Mom would be so proud of you,” he whispers, his voice cracking. He crouches down to wrap Daniel and me in a hug. With my face squished against his chest, I breathe in my father’s scent, a strange combination of honeysuckle and cigarettes. He lowers his lips to my ear and whispers, “Take care of your brother.”
“Who’s going to take care of me?” I ask, half joking, half serious. I’m seventeen and in no way, shape, or form capable of being in charge of anyone, let alone Daniel.
Dad boops the tip of my nose with a sad smile. “We both know how much like your mother you are, Lake. You’ll be okay. You will be safe.” Safe seems like an odd choice of wording, and something about it doesn’t sit right with me. He releases us and points at the train station looming in the distance. “I don’t want you to miss your train.”
With tears in his eyes, my brother looks up at our father. “Bye, Dad.”
Dad mouths I love you to us, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t physically say it because he doesn’t want me to catch on to how this hurts him, too. He doesn’t want to let us go, but for some reason, he is. I wish I knew why.
Daniel and I each pick up a suitcase and walk side by side through the rain, neither of us saying a word. I don’t think there are words to accurately describe how either of us feels.
We lug ourselves up a small set of stairs, and I collapse the umbrella, tucking it under my armpit. Upon reaching the landing, I turn back toward the parking lot, hoping this is some sort of sick joke.
With a hopeful smile, my eyes search the area, waiting for the punchline to kick in, for my dad to jump out from somewhere and laugh. He’d pull us back into his truck and head somewhere, anywhere other than here…but my dad, his truck, and any sense of security are already gone.
Trying not to let the anxiety that brews deep within reflect on the outside, I turn to my brother and motion for him to follow me. There aren’t many other travelers around, and my heart begins to race, my face feeling hot.
“Need help?” a voice asks from behind.
I turn to find a tall, lanky man towering over us, wearing a light blue button-up, a navy vest, and matching pleated pants. He has a kind smile and a nametag. Elijah is his name.
“We’re uh—” I take a deep breath in an attempt to soothe my trembling voice. “We’re looking for track twelve. Our dad said it’s supposed to go to Vermont.”
The man’s crystal-blue eyes light up, and he nods, his smile growing into a wide, brilliant grin. “You’re in luck,” he chimes, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “The train to Astryn Penn is this way.”
The man, Elijah, leads us down the long platform to the opposite end, which seems more or less deserted. Goosebumps rise on my arms beneath my soaked sleeves, and Elijah pauses in front of a dusty blue train with gold, ornate detailing. He reaches behind him, producing a navy conductor’s cap from nowhere, and secures it on the top of his head.
“Here we are, children. Track twelve, express, to Astryn Penn Academy. Tickets?” he asks politely.
I glance at Daniel, and he shrugs, pointing at my sweatshirt. Reaching a hesitant hand into my pocket, I pull out the envelope from Dad. I rip it open, finding two tickets inside, one labeled L.W. and the other D.W. I hand them to Elijah, watching intently as he nods, tucking them away in his pocket before saying, “Right this way.”
Daniel and I follow Elijah onto the train, which is seemingly empty upon entry. Elijah stands to the side, holding his arm out for us to pass.
“I’ll take care of your luggage,” he says kindly, motioning toward the space beside him.
We place our suitcases at his feet and head down the aisle. Daniel takes the lead, moving slowly from one end of the passenger car to the other. He chooses the last row, back left, and I take the seat across the aisle. My brother slowly slides to sit beside the window, staring with wide eyes out into the rainy evening.
