Raising elle, p.1
Raising Elle, page 1
Raising Elle
The Sweet Valley Series
Book One
S.E. Reichert
Contents
Domestic Violence Hotline
Also by S.E. Reichert
Prologue
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
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
Granting Katelyn
Granting Katelyn
Please Review
Meet The Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2022 by S.E. Reichert, RAISING ELLE
All rights reserved.
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This is a fictional work. The names, characters, incidents, and locations are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination, or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by 5 PRINCE PUBLISHING & BOOKS, LLC
PO Box 865, Arvada, CO 80001
www.5PrinceBooks.com
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ISBN digital: 978-1-63112-307-8
ISBN print: 978-1-63112-308-5
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Cover Credit: Marianne Nowicki
For my Grandma Emma, and all the strong women I know, who pull themselves up, stand tall, and keep fighting.
Domestic Violence Hotline
“Abusers repeatedly go to extremes to prevent their victim from leaving. In fact, leaving an abuser is the most dangerous time for a victim of domestic violence. One study found, in interviews with men who have killed their wives, that either threats of separation by their partner or actual separations were most often the precipitating events that lead to the murder.”
—National Coalition Against Domestic Violence (NCADV)
* * *
For anonymous, confidential help available 24/7, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY) now.
Also by S.E. Reichert
Sweet Valley Series
Raising Elle
Granting Katelyn
Composing Laney
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Stand Alone Titles
Back to the 80s
Prologue
6:50 pm, Los Angeles County Hospital, March 5th
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Memories are funny. Faded and disjointed. The creak of the iron stair railing, the hard and quick pressure of his boot between her shoulder blades, the flashes of sunlight through the stairwell windows. The sickening crack of ulna and radius, as momentum overwhelmed their frailty. A jarring stair against her stomach, the metal clang before the world went black.
Breath—whisper.
Taste of blood, warm rush between legs. She tried to sit up but every limb felt a thousand miles away. She needed to change before he saw but her body was weighted to the earth. Yells funneled to whimpers, lost to a discord of light and noise, flutter of paper gowns, the even cadence of beeping machines.
Fight.
In and out of consciousness, while a disjointed reality played old movies just behind her eyelids. Sunlight and open hayfields. Her grandmother. Her sisters. Her mother. Power seeped through her anesthesia-addled brain, restrained for too long. The moment she knew she had to leave, by any means necessary, was the one she woke up in, still alive.
One
Elle arrived in Sweet Valley with a little over a thousand dollars, a small bag of clothes, and face bruised to hell. Six years had not changed the town, save a new digital clock in front of the Valley Bank and Trust and a fresh coat of paint on the broken-up curb. The early spring wasn’t immune to snowstorms, so the planters in front of the Thompson’s Hardware store remained bowls of dirt, and the banners that flew during the summer events of the small town were still stored somewhere in the vaults of the Community Center. The town was sleepy, a slower-paced slice of Americana, tucked away from the world.
Elle grunted and shook her head. The quaintness was a double-edged sword. She parked her dilapidated truck and looked at the main street, showing the signs of wear and age without the income to repair it. Sweet Valley was always teetering on the brink of being another one of Wyoming’s ghost towns. People here hated change. They didn’t want big city life intruding. But that meant new businesses rarely made it, and the kids of the town moved away to where work could be found. The only people left were those that had no place else to go.
She guessed she was in the right spot.
She hadn’t told her family she was coming. Shame seemed the most likely culprit. As if there wasn’t enough of it in her crawling back home, but to see her parents’ faces fall in disappointment at what she’d let herself become…
Elle swallowed the empty taste of bile when it rose to the back of her tongue.
Forewarning or not, they’d know soon enough. Some things in life change, but Elle was fairly certain Sweet Valley’s gossip chain was not one of them. She imagined what they might say about her now, with a twist of anger in her belly, and all the ways she hadn’t lived up to the girl she once was.
She was not at all the effervescent, small-town sweetheart that had won homecoming queen, science fairs; the fund-raiser extraordinaire. The years and the disastrous haircut she’d given herself in a truck-stop bathroom in Moapa erased the former beauty and her bouncing blonde curls. Mostly it was the years.
To be honest, she hadn’t really known if she was going to make it this far. She didn’t know what would catch her between L.A. County and here. She hadn’t let herself think about anything but the next mile marker, the next rise of the sun. The next anything that was hell and far away from her past.
Elle’s neck ached, her head throbbed, and the rumbling in her stomach turned to an angry discord of nerves and hunger. She sat in the seat of the truck, that still smelled slightly of the desperation of a gambler selling it for the next big chance, and listened to her body turn on itself. She felt the emptiness she’d come to associate with being Elle. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. What was she doing here? She searched back through the memories. The why. The who.
There it was in shuddering waves behind the layers of so much dark. She locked on to the pictures. Seven miles outside of town, Warren and Melissa Sullivan were just getting done with the morning chores, feeding the horses, grooming, and taking temperatures. They’d be getting ready for breeding season and looking to figure how many they could manage with the budget that shrank every year. They would work beside each other, effortlessly, so attuned to the pattern and need of the other that they barely had to speak. But they would smile, often and sweetly, at each other.
Her father would head out on house calls or to his clinic in town. He’d be in his Wranglers and button-down shirt, a ball cap because his Stetson was too nice for a Wednesday, and definitely too nice for the blood and gore of veterinary work that came on any given day. Her mother would be in the garden, getting it ready for spring planting, feeding the chickens, maybe looking forward to an afternoon ride to check on the irrigation and fence lines. The memory chiseled away at the dark curtain and their lives froze in that perfect, cold morning of habitual work and peace. In Elle’s mind, they had to.
She needed to believe that there was still something good in the world.
“Were you planning on telling us you were back, or were you just gonna sit here parked all catawampus in front of the hardware store until we heard it from Laura nose-up-your-business Pratt?”
The voice outside her window barked, and Elle jumped away. Her gut-reaction to throw all limbs out in defense was halted by the sight of the woman standing and scowling in at her. Elle’s eyes grew wide in recognition, but paralyzed with disbelief.
“Katie?” A breath, a prayer. The freckled-nosed younger sister that she’d left behind at the age of twenty hadn’t changed much but for a few extra curves and a keen look in her blue eyes. She’d just come from the hardware store with a new set of shears in her hand and an extra pair of gloves sticking from her back pocket. Katelyn stepped back and motioned for her to get out, and Elle scrabbled at the handle and unfolded herself from the truck. Tears that lay dormant for the last 1,800 miles bubbled up into her throat and broke out in a cruel sob.
“Katie,” she whispered.
“Well, shit, Elle, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” Katelyn didn’t let her fall into a crouch. Didn’t let her run. Didn’t let her do any of the things that Elle did to stay safe. She rushed her, pulled her into her arms, and held on tight. The muscle memory of being held caused Elle to shudder and freeze. But Katelyn didn’t smell like cheap cologne and sweat. She smelled like sweet hay, and barn dust, and dirt. Like the home that Elle wanted so badly to remember. The home behind that dar k curtain.
Katelyn looked around at the deserted street. “When’d ya get in?”
“I just—just today. I didn’t call or anything. I should have called,” she sniffed.
“Well, I’m headed that way. Let’s go together. Whooee! They’re gonna love seeing you.” Katelyn said. Elle wiped her nose on her sleeve and left a streak of blood. Katelyn took an old bandana out of her pocket and offered it. Then she pushed Elle’s shortened hair back from her face. Uncovered the fading bruises. The still-pink scars.
“What the fuck happened?”
Elle looked away with a scowl.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fair enough, but if I see that son-of-a-bitch, I will kill him, make no mistake about that.” Katelyn scowled back.
“I’ll follow you out,” Elle said, aching to change the subject.
“Like hell, Eleanor Augusta. You look like you haven’t slept in a week, or eaten in a month. I’m driving.”
“Do we gotta do this, right now?” Elle said, and tried to evoke the big sister voice.
She knew she’d been too long away and lost her touch when Katelyn responded by pulling her towards their dad’s vet truck with a simple, “Yep.”
“Katelyn—”
“Six years, Elle! The last three, we haven’t heard a word from you. I tried telling Dad we should go after you.” She paused when tears threatened. “Goddamn it, I should have come for you.”
“Katie, you were just a kid.” Elle hung her head. Katelyn took her hand.
“So were you, Elle.” She tried to look down into Elle’s bowed head. “Get in, Slim.” Katelyn nodded to the truck and Elle looked back to her own.
“What about my truck?”
“We’ll send someone back to get it.”
“Someone?”
“Sure, Dad probably forgot something else. I’ll be running into town for later. Come on.” Elle didn’t follow and Katelyn looked back. “I swear to God, I’ll hog tie you if you even think about leaving now.”
“When did you get so pushy?”
“Well, Laney taught me a few things.”
Elle swallowed. “How is the professor?” Sadness wrung her heart out for the older sister who had so often came to her rescue when they were kids.
“Well, she’s divorced. I guess you might not know that with everything you got going on.” Katelyn paused and huffed out a breath, clearly out of her emotional element.
“But her kids?”
“Yeah, well, apparently they weren’t as important as the young piece of ass David found.”
The sadness of it; of the time Elle had lost; the time taken from her made Elle heartsick. Her nieces were just babies when she’d left. Her older, steadfast sister, unbreakable, now broken. They were all broken. Except Katelyn, who seemed to be ornerier than hell.
“I—I’d really rather not go home right now.”
“Girl, you’re already home.” Katelyn said. “Come on. Mom will tan my hide if she finds out I let you out of my sight.” She paused, looked around the quiet street. “Speakin’ of out of sight, where is Aaron, Elle?”
“I don’t—I don’t know.” Elle swallowed. He could be anywhere. Around the next bend in the road, or still a thousand miles away. He could be standing behind her. She felt hot air touch her neck and turned around on instinct. Her little sister saw it all.
“Come on. Let’s get you home.” Katelyn yanked open the door to the truck and gave Elle’s lanky frame a gentle shove inside.
The drive took forever and still not nearly long enough for Elle to collect her thoughts and gather the courage it would take. Her stomach tied itself in such tight knots that she was sure she was going to throw up. Luckily, there was nothing in it to come out. Katelyn watched her as they pulled into the drive.
“You look like you’re about to be lined up for a firing squad.”
Elle stared straight ahead, pale and unmoving.
“Hey,” Katelyn reached out to touch her shoulder, and Elle jumped away, curling up against the door of the truck. Katelyn pulled her hand back.
“Jesus Christ, I will kill him.” She grumbled, slammed the door, and came around to Elle’s side. She opened the door, but Elle made no move to exit.
“I got you, Elle. I know it’s been a while, but they got you, too. They always have. They always will. You just need to get out of the truck.” Katelyn extended her hand and used a tone so soft and soothing it was no wonder she was a bona fide horse whisperer. From the house, a sudden squawk erupted, followed by the sound of a screen door slamming and hurried feet headed their way.
“Watch out now—” Katelyn tried to warn before Melissa Sullivan rushed in and pulled Elle from the truck into a tight hug.
“My baby! My girl!” she sobbed and buried her head of graying hair into Elle’s chest. Elle tensed at the pressure and noise. Panic rose in her chest. Then…she breathed, and the smell stopped it. Dove soap. Fresh baked biscuits. Coffee. Home. Mom. Something deeper, cellular, caused Elle’s panic to abate, and her lean arms went around her mom. She held on.
“Hey, Momma.”
“Why, you aren’t anything but skin and bones.” she sobbed, pulling away to look at Elle.
“I can’t argue with that,” Katelyn said.
“Where are your things? Where’s Aaron? Oh my God—” Melissa stopped her deluge when Elle’s face caught her attention. “I’ll kill him.”
“Seems to be the general consensus,” Katelyn muttered under her breath. Elle lowered her eyes. Her mother tilted her chin up.
“You look at me, you brave, beautiful girl. You are loved, and you are safe, and you’re never going back there. You hear me?”
Elle didn’t have time to respond. Her father was taking long strides towards them and when he saw Elle’s face, his bright eyes turned stormy blue.
“I swear to God, I’m gonna k—”
“Kill him. We know, Dad. Get in line,” Katelyn said.
“Slim,” Warren said, voice cracking as he moved to hug her. Elle shook, every muscle tense. All of the years of being told she was worthless, unloved, unwanted, had built up a universe of disease in her heart. “Easy, Slim. Just take a breath.” Her father’s soothing voice was lilting and calm, his steady hands moving gently towards her as if he could sense the wounded animal in her.
Elle’s heart quickened, heat rose in her chest, sweat sprung up in painful flashes, and the world tunneled into darkness.
Two
She woke up startled, and sure that Aaron was at the foot of the bed, watching and waiting for her to regain consciousness. Every time she woke, it was the same. Things were still fuzzy; two concussions would do that. The first, he’d pushed her out of the car while it was still moving. The last one…Elle shuddered and a wave of nausea made her fall back into the bed. Stairs. So many fucking stairs, and she’d hit every single one of them on the way down. At least the bruises and breaks said so. She opened one eye to find her old bedroom dark and empty. She must have fainted, right there, in front of her parents, panic-attacked out, and lost it. A groan of embarrassment issued from under the blankets, tucked up to her nose.
Her skull pounded with the residual headache; a protest echoed from her empty belly. Everything felt hollow and dark. Why had she ever come home?
Then a heavenly smell floated up from downstairs. Pot roast with vegetables and homemade bread. And mashed potatoes. It had to be a dream. Elle flung the blankets from her legs and stood too fast. She sunk lamely back to the floor.
