Love's Fate (Love Trilogy #1)

I stared across the long room trying to focus on anything but the argument going on behind me… so much for our family trip to the museum. I had known it would be a failure before it began, and yet part of me was sad I had been right.

Sad but not surprised.

For as long as I could remember my parents had avoided each other, but for some reason my mother insisted on this family outing. I couldn’t remember the three of us ever spending a whole day together before this. I spent plenty of time with my mother. Every weekend we would go somewhere; the beach, the San Diego Zoo, Sea World. My father never came along. I couldn’t understand why she insisted that my father come for this particular trip. He was not happy about it when she asked, but she stood her ground, which surprised me. My mother was kind and beautiful, smart and funny, but when it came to my father she was timid. I had never seen her stand up to him before.

“You need to spend more time with him.” My mother had pleaded. “A boy needs his father.”

I didn’t think so. My father spent all of his time working, which was just fine with me. He was a horribly cruel and intolerant man. The only time he spoke to me was to criticize. I had accepted at an early age that I would never live up to his standards, but it was easy to ignore his disapproval when my mother’s love overshadowed it.

After less than an hour at the museum my father was already complaining about what a waste of time this was and insisting that he was ready to go, my mother was begging him to be patient. I knew that would never happen, he could never appreciate the beauty that surrounded us.

I tried to tune them out as I absorbed my surroundings. I examined the paintings that hung on the walls of the long corridor, some were very realistic representations of people or places, and others were just a myriad of colors and abstract design. One painting near where I was standing seemed to have texture, and my fingers itched to reach out and touch it.

There were also planters, benches and sculptures that broke up the large expanse of floor space. The room seemed to extend indefinitely; it made me feel very small to be standing in such a large space. I looked up toward the towering ceiling and was surprised to see a giant sculpture that was precariously suspended above the large room.

As I inspected the twists and turns of metal I noticed that it seemed to be swaying gently as if some invisible breeze were blowing through the room. I closed my eyes to feel the air around me. It was cool, but very still. There was no breeze. I looked around again and saw that there were no exterior doors in this wing and as I searched the walls I discovered there were no air vents either. I gazed back up and was fascinated by the strange movement. I decided it must be some sort of optical illusion.

I looked around at the other people in the hall to see if anyone else seemed to notice the captivating sculpture overhead. Some people looked bored, others enthralled, but none seemed to notice the subtle movement above the crowd. As I scanned the faces around me something caught my attention. Something so out of place in my mind that I couldn’t help but stare.

A perfect little family stood together near the other end of the long room. They looked so happy, smiling at each othe
r.
It seemed so alien, nothing of what I knew a family to be. The man was tall and looked strong but he had a kind smile and warmth in his eyes. Nothing like the stern expression my father always wore. His smile was so loving as he watched his little girl dance around one of the planters. His arms were wrapped around the waist of a beautiful woman who also adoringly watched the child.

The woman was truly stunning. Her long chestnut hair framed her delicate face and then fell in soft waves down her slender back. Even from across the room I could tell her eyes were the color of emeralds. I was mesmerized as I stared at her. I had never seen a woman so beautiful in all my life, granted I was only 10 years old, but still I knew she was something special. It was obvious her husband knew as well. Even though his eyes never left the little girl, his arms remained wrapped around his wife in a loving embrace. As if invisible strings connected them, they moved in perfect synchronicity as they followed their child.

The little girl was almost as beautiful as her mother, although she couldn’t be more than 5 years old. Her dark hair was the same color, but she wore it in pigtail braids that bounced as she danced around her parents. She reminded me of a porcelain doll, her features were so perfect, just like her mothers. Her parents seemed so happy just to watch her as she explored her surroundings. Content to simply be together.

Had my family ever looked like that? Had my parents ever been so happy, so much in love? I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever seen my father so much as touch my mother, let alone hold her the way this man held his wife. And never had he looked at me with as much pride and adoration as this man showed his child.

I watched enviously as the little girl skipped to her parents and they immediately, instinctively reached down to lift her up into a loving embrace. Then somehow the little girl looked at me. I must have been at least 100 feet away but it seemed like she was staring right at me, our eyes locked for just a moment and I saw that she had her mother’s emerald eyes. She smiled at me. Then something overhead caught my attention.

The gentle sway of the large sculpture above us seemed to be gaining speed. I watched curiously as the monstrous ensemble rocked from side to side, wondering again what could be causing the motion. Obviously there was no wind blowing in this room, but it was definitely moving. This was no optical illusion. I didn’t have long to ponder the source of the strange movement.

In a split second I saw a cable snap then another and instantly the large figure was silently hurtling toward the ground below… to the perfect family below. They didn’t see it. No one did. Only I was looking up at that instant, at that exact moment when everything seemed to happen at once. I screamed as the reality of what was happening hit me. Then everyone was looking, everyone was moving. It all happened so fast.

I looked back at that perfect family and saw the terror in their eyes as they realized too late what was happening. The man took the small child in his arms and threw her as hard as he could just before the tangled mass of twisted metal crashed down on top of them.

I packed the few personal belongings I had into my small tattered suitcase. It didn’t take long. I was already wearing my favorite pair of jeans and a comfortable t-shirt. I only owned a few other articles of clothing and some basic necessities. I had learned it was simpler to keep only the bare essentials when you moved around as much as I did. Easier to keep up with, less to be lost or left behind, and no reason to be sad if you did forget something.

Everything I had could easily be replaced. I kept no mementos from my childhood, I had learned not to. Once I had a doll, and I grieved so heavily when I left behind that one link to my past. It was just a doll, but at the time it had felt like so much more. When I lost it, it was like losing my parents all over again. It was all I had left from my life with them, a life that had been cut too short.

Sometimes I wondered if I died that day too. Not physically obviously, because I was still walking, still breathing. But on the inside I felt dead. I couldn’t smile, I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t be the happy child that people expected me to be. My happiness died with my parents. I suppose that is why I was never adopted. Foster parents were always so excited to get me… at first.

“She’s so beautiful!” they would exclaim.

I never felt beautiful. I never felt anything. I guess I didn’t hide it well. I didn’t really try. When they inevitably realized they had a child who was dead inside they always gave me back. Some tried harder than others, but in the end it was always the same.

I spent my childhood that way, moving from one foster home to the next. However, I knew I wasn’t the only one who lived this way, and I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself. So many others had it worse than me living in group homes or institutions. I was lucky that I had been placed in relatively nice homes over the years, but I was grateful that this would be my last “home”.

I had just turned18 and my Fate was finally in my own hands. I looked around at the drab room that had been mine for the last 2 years, just a small square room with bare walls. I felt no sadness in leaving. It never really had been a home to me just a place to stay. I hadn’t had a real home since I was 5 years old. And those memories were so vague they seemed more like a dream. I couldn’t remember anything concrete about that life, just that I had been happy then, and not since. I pulled myself out of my sad reverie when I heard the honk from the taxicab waiting outside. 

“Katherine!” a gravely voice shouted impatiently down the hall, as if I hadn’t heard the honk.

I glanced quickly in the small cracked mirror on the wall and pulled my long dark hair into a ponytail. I took one last look around at the water stained ceiling, the paint peeling off the walls, and I said goodbye to this room I would not miss.

I walked down the narrow hallway and stopped in front of the dingy kitchen where I knew my foster mother would be sitting. In the 2 years that I’d lived here I had only seen her sitting in this small dark room so I knew she would be there now. It was where she always was when I left for school in the morning and where she would be when
I came home from work at night.
I always ate at the diner where I worked so when I came home I could go straight to my room. I sometimes wondered if she ever left that chair, if she ever slept or ate. I had never seen her do anything but chain smoke and stare at the small fuzzy TV in the corner. This is how I found her now.

“Goodbye” I said, looking in the doorway of the smoke filled room.

She nodded once not taking her eyes off the television. I hadn’t expected much more. We had interacted very little in my time here. It was obvious that she was only a foster parent to earn the small sum she was paid for her services, and not in some attempt to satisfy a maternal need. I didn’t mind.

In a way this was better than some of the earlier homes I’d had. Homes where they always tried to make me into the perfect little child they longed for and then overflowed with unmasked disappointment when they realized I could not fulfill the ro
le. At least she left me alone.

She provided a roof over my head. That was all I could ask. But no longer would I have to ask anyone to do this for me. I was an adult now. Finally officially on my own! The feeling of freedom started to sink in as the cab pulled away from the dilapidated old house.

The last few years my life had seemed almost mechanical. School, work, study, sleep. Over and over this same pattern repeated itself, seemingly endless. But here it was: TheEnd. The end to having my actions dictated by others. The end to feeling like I had to pretend to be what everyone else wanted me to be. I finally belonged to myself. Not a ward of the state. Not an inconvenient houseguest. No one would ever have to sit me down for another uncomfortable conversation explaining why things weren’t working out and why it was time for me to move again. If I moved it would be my choice. Everything would be my choice. For the first time in 13 years I felt…happy?

The cab came to a stop in front of L.A.X. I took a brief moment to be impressed with the size of the immense airport. I had spent my childhood bouncing around the Los Angeles area, but I had never before seen L.A.X., I had never taken a trip, never been on an airplane. My heart fluttered in anticipation. This was the first of many firsts for me. The cabdriver cleared his throat impatiently so I quickly pulled some bills out of my pocket to pay him grabbed my small bag and jumped out onto the curb. I walked through the sliding glass doors and again was taken aback by the sheer size of the structure. I followed the crowd of arriving travelers to the check in counter and received my ticket and directions to the gate. I had to take a tram to the terminal and again was exhilarated with the new experience. When the tram came to a stop and the automatic doors slid open I had to consciously control my excitement to keep from running all the way to the gate. I had imagined this day every night for the last year. Had planned for this day and dreamt of it. And here it was, freedom at last!