Page 1 of Dreaming Without Heartache

Chapter One

The trail is surrounded with bright colorful trees that provide ample shade. The cool morning air fills my lungs as I breathe in and out heavily while trying to keep up my pace. Other runners start to slow as I pass them on the left. My heart’s thumping hard. Sweat’s gathering across my forehead and down my back. The burn in my legs is a welcome distraction.

Today is exactly one month since my sister and her husband were killed in a car accident. One month since my world was shattered by that dreaded phone call telling me that I’ve lost my only sibling, best friend, and confidant. At any time, day or night, I could pick up the phone and call her for advice, comfort, or just to have her make me smile. Only then would I know that everything would be okay. But everything’s not okay. Not anymore.

“Left,” I huff out to the runners blocking my way on the path. I don’t want to slow down. I need the pain in my body’s extremities to take over so that the pain in my heart doesn’t hurt so much. At the end of the trail, I slump over, putting my hands on my knees as I gasp for much-needed oxygen.

“You okay?” some guy wearing blue-and-white Nikes asks as he jogs in place. I give him a thumbs-up while keeping my head lowered. I have no desire to chat with anyone. This is my alone time to clear my head. Something I don’t have much of anymore.

After Blue-and-White Nikes jog off, I straighten upright to take in the view of the large two-story house across the street. It’s where I live now. The same house that belonged to my sister and her husband. I begin my slow walk over, letting my body adjust to the most vigorous run I’ve pushed myself through since the day of the funeral. My sister, Annie, and her husband, Bill, bought this place specifically to raise their kids. Now I’m raising their kids with the money they left behind, in a house they bought. And so far, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time.

I walk through the front door and into the bright cheery room, much different than the way I left it this morning. The sunshine is everywhere now as it makes its way through the big windows. The kitchen has to be the brightest room of them all with the wall of windows allowing the rising sun to flow in.

I head straight for the shower to get ready for work before getting Maisie up for school. She’s only seven years old and depends on me the most. Kara’s fourteen and since my sister’s death, seems to hate me. Once upon a time we were friends. Once upon a time she used to think I was the coolest person on the planet. Now she’s angry all the time. I seem to be the main target for her aggression.

When I moved in, I took the guest room on the bottom floor. My sister’s bedroom upstairs has been left untouched. The door stays closed. I haven’t even begun to get her things together. I can’t bring myself to go in there.

An hour later, I’m dressed for work. My slacks are pressed, heels on, with a light-blue button-down that makes me look more put together than I feel. I have a meeting first thing. As I head to Maisie’s room, I decide to check on Kara to make sure she’s awake. I’m greeted with an evil stare.

“Can you knock?” Kara shouts. Her eyes cut right through me.

“Sorry. Just checking in.” I close the door quickly before any other nasty comments escape her lips. I’m trying my best to let her attitude slide right now. I know she’s hurting. I’m hoping that with time she can learn to accept my new role and we can get back to where we used to be. This is hard for us all.

Maisie’s room is decorated in shades of pink. Even her curtains. She’s tucked safely underneath the blankets with only the tip of her head peeking out. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull back the covers from her face. “Hey, sweetheart.” I gently rub her back. “Time to get up.” I run my hands through her hair until she opens her eyes.

“Can I stay home today?” Maisie asks, turning over to look at me.

“No, honey. You stayed home yesterday.”

Maisie sighs as she sits up in bed. “Can I have a Pop-Tart?”

“Sure. Want it toasted?”

“Yes, please.” She nods, rubbing her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

“I’ll get it ready.” I walk to the door and stop. “Think Kara would want one?”

“Nah,” Maisie says. “She won’t eat it.”

Every morning, I try to get Kara to eat, and every morning she refuses. This has been going on since I moved in. “Okay,” I say, cracking the door so Maisie can get dressed.

The bedroom light is on in Kara’s room, and I hear the water running in her bathroom. Each bedroom in this house has its own bathroom. I owned a two-bedroom loft in the city. There’s so much space in this big house that it’s taken some getting used to. But the girls need their home. I couldn’t uproot them, especially after all they’ve been through. So, I sold my place and moved to the suburbs. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice here. A quaint neighborhood where everyone keeps their yards nice and trim, kids ride their bikes in the streets, with jogging trails and sidewalks for the runners and walkers. It’s like a picture from a fairy-tale book. Only there isn’t a happily ever after because those pages have been ripped out.

The Keurig is my first stop in the kitchen. I sip the warm, flavored coffee as I drop down two frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts into the toaster. Maisie comes bouncing down the stairs dressed in the clothes we laid out last night. She climbs onto the high barstool ready for her breakfast. I’m sure I should be giving her healthier food in the morning but, damn it, why can’t she have a sugary breakfast. She’s been through a lot.

I place the Pop-Tarts on a plate and push them in front of her. I pour her a glass of orange juice for some sort of healthy option. My sister used to squeeze the fresh stuff. I watch as Maisie takes a big gulp. Her hair is a wild mess. I’ll have to do something about that before we leave.

“I’m riding with Olivia this morning,” Kara announces as she enters. She walks straight to the fridge and pulls out an iced coffee.

“Do you want some breakfast? I can make some—”

“No thanks,” Kara says dryly, turning on her heels. “I’ve got to go. They’re on their way.”

“Hold up a minute.” I follow her down the hall as she keeps walking toward the door. As she pushes through and onto the porch, I grab her by the arm so that she stops. “Kara!”

She looks down at my hand holding on to her. A Toyota Highlander pulls around the cul-de-sac and stops next to the sidewalk in front of the house. I release my grip.

“You need to be home by five thirty. You have an appointment at six this evening with the therapist.”