Beautifully Broken

I’m too devastated to say a word, and my eyes beg Uncle Tom to tell me it’s not true. I keep looking to the door expecting Dad and Mom to come rushing in at any moment.

They’ll make it all better. They’ll take the emptiness away.

“The nursing staff will take care of you. Once you can walk, you should leave the country.” My eyes widen on my uncle, not understanding what he’s saying.

Why would I leave South Africa? This is my home.

He lifts the mattress right under my butt, and the movement jars my body, sending a wave of pain through my back. I watch as he shoves a thick envelope under the mattress before dropping it down again.

“Keep that envelope safe. It has a new passport and some money in it for you. I’ve arranged a visa for you to go to America, but it’s only valid for three months. You can’t stay here. Once you’re in America, stick to the small towns and never use your name again. Forget where you come from, or they will find you.”

They? Who are they?

Why would people come after me?

I don’t understand any of this.

I want to scream as a helpless feeling overwhelms me.

Uncle Tom gently caresses my cheek, a sad expression giving his face a worn appearance. “Leave South Africa, Cara. As soon as you can.” He leans over me and presses a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Run, Cara. Run far away and never stop.”

I watch him leave, and then I’m alone in the hospital room with only the envelope and a heart filled with sharp pieces of emptiness, stabbing at my insides with every panicked breath I take.

For a moment, I can only blink and breathe before reality starts to squeeze at my insides again.

My parents are dead.

I’m alone?

I start to weep, grief-stricken and distressed by all that’s happened to me, not able to process any of it.

I’m only eighteen. I don’t know what to do. I want my parents.

A nurse comes into the room and smiles sympathetically at me, but I feel none of the warmth. She gives me something, and soon it soothes the pain that’s clawing at my heart.

I know the relief is only temporary, but I welcome the blissful sleep with open arms.

Chapter 1

CARA

7 Years Later. Present Day.

“Time to close up,” Mr. Johnson says with an eerily quiet tone.

In the beginning, it used to freak me out, but you get used to things like that if you need money. Since coming to America, I’ve done many different jobs, but selling dead stuffed animals must be my least favorite and weirdest.

Mr. Johnson offered to teach me the tricks of the trade, but there’s no way I want to learn how to be a taxidermist. I just need another hundred dollars, and then I’m out of here.

I’ve already stayed here for too long.

I live a lonely life, but I’ve grown used to it. It’s just the way it is. It doesn’t help to question something you can’t change. It’s better to just accept that it’s the way my life is going to be.

I now go by the name of Cassy Smith, my mother’s name. Cassy is short for Cassandra, and Smith was her maiden name. It was nice of Uncle Tom to arrange that when he had the fake documents made. I feel closer to her that way.

I still don’t understand any of the things that happened to me when I was eighteen. No, I’m lying. I understand the pain because it’s the only thing that was real and constant.

I don’t understand what happened on the boat or to my parents. I don’t know why I had to leave or why Uncle Tom left me.

I’ve come to the conclusion life is not meant to be understood – trying will only drive you insane. Life is just meant to be lived, every day a new day with its own problems.

I’ve been in the US for seven years. Lucky number seven … right? I can’t use my passport anymore. It was only valid for three months, but it’s all I needed to find my first job, which was cleaning restrooms at a truck stop. It was a shitty job, but that’s why they let me work there in the first place. Cheap labor.

I keep moving from town to town, just like Uncle Tom said. I don’t stay longer than two months in one spot. I’ve been here six weeks, and already I’m feeling the familiar itch to run.

I don’t make friends, and I sure as hell don’t grow attached to anyone. When you’re on the run, getting attached to another person is like carrying a dead weight around your neck.

I only hooked up with Steven for one night, seeing as he was traveling through Scappoose, and I wouldn’t see him again. He came to hunt some deer, then he’d head back home.