Shattered Read online

  “A choice to deceive her mother leads to devastating consequences for Cleo as her life spirals out of control. Honest and direct, Melody Carlson infuses her words with insight and sensitivity and creates a challenging story that will have teens contemplating the crushing impact of keeping a deadly secret. Shattered is a powerful tale of tragedy, grief, and guilt as a young woman journeys through unimaginable pain in search of forgiveness and healing. Highly recommended.”

  —REL MOLLET, book reviewer, Relz Reviewz,

  www.relzreviewz.blogspot.com

  “Shattered is a powerful story that will bring you to tears. Melody captures the emotions of a girl ridden by guilt and grief after one poor decision. You’ll find a message of hope and redemption that’s riveting and life-changing.”

  —SUSAN CHOY, The Reading Mom, Five Star Reviewed Books and MORE

  “Shattered is an unflinching, realistic portrayal of grief, hope, and healing. A must-read for teens”

  —KATHLEEN FULLER, author of A Summer Secret, A Hand to Hold, and The Secrets Beneath

  NavPress is the publishing ministry of The Navigators, an international Christian organization and leader in personal spiritual development. NavPress is committed to helping people grow spiritually and enjoy lives of meaning and hope through personal and group resources that are biblically rooted, culturally relevant, and highly practical.

  For a free catalog go to www.NavPress.com

  or call 1.800.366.7788 in the United States or 1.800.839.4769 in Canada.

  © 2011 by Melody Carlson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without written permission from NavPress, P.O. Box 35001, Colorado Springs, CO 80935. www.navpress.com

  NAVPRESS and the NAVPRESS logo are registered trademarks of NavPress. Absence of ® in connection with marks of NavPress or other parties does not indicate an absence of registration of those marks.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-60006-949-9

  Cover design by Faceout Studio,

  Charles Brock Cover image by iStockphoto.com

  Published in association with the literary agency of Sara A. Fortenberry.

  Some of the anecdotal illustrations in this book are true to life and are included with the permission of the persons involved. All other illustrations are composites of real situations, and any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Carlson, Melody.

  Shattered: a daughter’s regret/Melody Carlson.

  p. cm. (Secrets; 2)

  Summary: Seventeen-year-old Cleo, feeling guilty that her choices played a role in her mother’s murder, seeks refuge in prescription medication until her Aunt Kellie helps her to tell the truth and find some perspective.

  ISBN 978-1-60006-949-9

  [1. Death--Fiction. 2. Guilt—Fiction. 3. Drug abuse--Fiction. 4. Grief--Fiction. 5. Aunts--Fiction. 6. Christian life--Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.C216637Sim 2011

  [Fic]--dc22

  2010037811

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8/15 14 13 12 11

  OTHER NOVELS BY MELODY CARLSON

  SECRETS Series

  Forgotten

  TRIJECOLORS Series

  Bitter Rose

  Blade Silver

  Bright Purple

  Burnt Orange

  Dark Blue

  Deep Green

  Faded Denim

  Fool’s Gold

  Harsh Pink

  Moon White

  Pitch Black

  Torch Red

  Table of Contents

  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

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  . . . [CHAPTER 1] . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Helicopter Mom is a phrase that must’ve been coined to describe my mom. I am convinced of this. Oh, she would never admit to hovering or overprotecting or smother-mothering me to the point of near asphyxiation. If anyone suggested such a thing, her response would be to flash an effervescent yet innocent smile and say, “It’s simply because I love Cleo so much, and I only get one chance to be a good mom.” And thanks to Mom’s sunny disposition and sweet spirit, most would excuse her bad behavior.

  Even I used to excuse her. Like the time she was the only parent to show up at the middle school assembly where ex-cons were talking to students about “stranger danger.” I was a little red-faced then, but I knew she meant well. And after she heard their sincere presentation and was assured that they weren’t actually using the assembly as an opportunity to pick out their next young victims—namely, me—she went home and made brownies. I forgave her then... and many times afterward.

  But the older I got, the less tolerant I grew. And now, as a healthy, normal seventeen-year-old girl who wants some independence, here is what I know for sure: If I look over my shoulder, my mom will most likely be there. Lurking somewhere on the sidelines or in the shadows, she will be watching (aka spying) to ensure that “nothing goes wrong in my life.”

  It’s not exactly that she doesn’t trust me. It’s just that she’s certain without her constant attention, supervision, intervention, and assistance, my life will be completely derailed by some invisible force intent on destroying me.

  “What about prayer and trusting God?” I’ve challenged her from time to time. My mom’s a churchgoing Christian who firmly believes her Bible, and I’m always hoping the faith track might gain me some ground.

  “I do pray and trust God,” she’s told me. “But I can’t expect him to do everything, Cleo. God gave me the important job of being your mother, and that means I look out for your best interests.” And so it goes.

  But on a Friday morning in mid-April, I am ready to draw a line in the sand with my mom. After all, I’m nearly eighteen, I’m a senior, and next year I will be going away to college. So I inform her that my best friend, Lola, and I plan to attend a concert this evening.

  “What kind of concert?” she asks with a look of alarm.

  “A Christian concert.” I hope the emphasis on Christian will reassure her.

  “Oh...” She nods like she’s processing this. “So is it at church then?”

  “No... it’s at the Coliseum.”

  Her brown eyes get bigger. “In the city?”

  “Yes, Mom, as far as I know, the Coliseum is still in the city.”

  “How are you getting there?” Her brow creases. “I hoped maybe you’d let me drive Dad’s car.”

  She laughs like this is really funny. “Oh, Cleo, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m totally serious.”

  “You honestly think I’d let you drive Dad’s car, or any car for that matter, into the city at night?”

  With clenched teeth, I shove my notebook into my bag. I was determined not to lose my temper when I brought up the concert. I wanted to show Mom just how mature I am, how I can be trusted to do something like this. But the truth is, I want to scream right now.

  “I suppose I could go with you to the concert,” she says in a sweet tone, like this generous offer is going to make my day.

  “Right, Mom.” I scowl at her. “Seriously, you need to get a life.”

  “Well, ex
cuse me for trying to help you. I just thought that—”

  “I wanted to do this with Lola. She thought she could drive, but her mom needs the car and—”

  “Now there is a blessing in disguise! Young girls should not be driving into the city at night. And like I said, I’m perfectly happy to accompany you—”

  “This was going to be a special thing for Lola and me,” I say firmly. “Lola won the tickets on the radio, and it seemed like a God-thing—”

  “Are you saying God wants you and Lola to drive into the city at night, all by yourselves?” She looks at me like I’m still seven, like she’s imagining a little girl behind the wheel of a car, driving off to what will be certain death.

  “I’m not a child, Mom.”

  “Yes... I know, Cleo. But you’re not an experienced driver, either.”

  “I’m a good driver!”

  “Maybe so, but you’ve never driven in the city, dear.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  She shrugs. “Look, sweetie, I said I would go with you. Isn’t that good enough? And if it makes you feel better, I don’t even have to sit with you girls.”

  “We don’t need a chaperone, Mom.” Still standing, I pick up a glass of already poured orange juice. “But if you want to drop us off and pick us up, maybe that would be okay.”

  “Fine.” She nods in a way that convinces me she still plans on actually attending the concert with us. “So the concert’s Saturday night, right?”

  “No, Mom.” I take several gulps of juice, then reach for a piece of raisin-bread toast. As usual, despite that Dad’s on a business trip and it’s just Mom and me, she’s made enough breakfast to feed a family of six. “I told you the concert’s tonight. Lola just won the tickets yesterday and—”

  “Is that all you’re eating?”

  Ignoring this, I point at today’s date on the calendar on the fridge. “And you know as well as I do that it’s your friend’s bach-elorette party tonight.”

  Mom frowns. “I thought you might want to come with me.”

  “I don’t even know her.”

  “But she’d love to meet you, Cleo.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah right, Mom. I’m sure on the eve of her wedding, she is dying to meet your teenage daughter.”

  “But she was one of my best friends in college.”

  “Which is exactly why you don’t want to miss her party and why you should let me use Dad’s car. In fact, if you’re that worried about me driving in the city, maybe Lola could drive.”

  Mom’s look is all the answer I need. No way is she going to let Lola drive Dad’s beamer into the city.

  I take a bite of toast, then nod to the clock. “I gotta go, Mom.”

  “Take this too.” Before I can leave, she grabs a carton of yogurt from the fridge and pushes it at me.

  “No, I’m fine with juice and toast.”

  “Oh, Cleo.” She frowns, as if I might expire from hunger before lunch.

  “Later, Mom.” I hook the strap of my bag over one shoulder, blow her a kiss, and zip out the door.

  Feeling slightly defeated, I hurry toward Lola’s house. I hadn’t expected Mom to roll over on this, but I had hoped for some sort of compromise. Maybe after school I can talk her into dropping us off before the party and picking us up afterward. I’ll play the sympathy card, reminding her that this is the last night for me to be with my best friend.

  As I get closer to Lola’s house, just six houses down from mine, I feel excruciatingly sad. I can’t believe this is Lola’s last day at school. We’ve been best friends since eighth grade, and in less than three months we would’ve been graduating together. But Lola’s world got turned upside down last summer when her parents divorced. And then Lola’s mom, Vera, lost her job shortly before Christmas. She got herself a headhunter and was finally offered a position in San Diego a few weeks ago—and they are moving tomorrow.

  Now I realize Vera desperately needs this job, but I still don’t get why she wouldn’t let Lola stay behind and live with me until graduation. Well, aside from the fact that Lola helps to babysit her twin brothers after school, which in my opinion is totally unfair. In fact, I was so upset when Vera put her foot down, saying there was no way Lola would get to stay with me, that I told her so.

  “I don’t understand how you can be so selfish,” I told Vera after she’d shot down my idea.

  Okay, I wasn’t exactly being respectful, but I was too exasperated to care. Plus, Vera is the kind of person who speaks her mind and usually encourages others to do so too. And I was fed up. I’d witnessed Vera taking unfair advantage of Lola for years. Like when the twins were born seven years ago, Lola automatically turned into a live-in nanny. And after Lola’s dad left, things only got worse.

  “That’s just because you’re an only child,” Vera told me after I’d calmed down from having a small hissy fit. “And because you’re spoiled.”

  “I am not spoiled.”

  She just laughed at me. “Your mother does everything for you, Cleo. I’ll bet she even makes your bed.”

  “She does not!” Okay, the truth is she does sometimes, but I was not going to let that cat out of the bag.

  “And she chauffeurs you to ballet like you’re a prima donna. And she probably still cuts the crusts off your bread—”

  “You’re nuts!”

  She sighed. “I know you love Lola and you want her to be a spoiled prima donna just like you, but that’s just not going to happen.”

  I tried other tactics, but Vera was not backing down. And then I realized Lola seemed to be resigned to her fate... or else she was actually looking forward to relocating to San Diego. Come to think of it, it doesn’t sound half bad, considering our so-called spring weather has been nothing but gray clouds and rain. Not that I’m admitting this.

  Now Lola opens her front door. “Hey, there you are.”

  “What a mess.” I stare at the stacks of boxes and piles of junk and what looks like total chaos behind her.

  “The moving van is supposed to be here any minute.” She jingles her keys. “I have to get the car out of the driveway.”

  “Ready when you are.”

  “And we don’t want to be late.”

  “That shouldn’t matter to you since it’s your last day anyway,” I say glumly, following her out to the Subaru wagon.

  Vera has been letting Lola use her car to drive us to school. That might seem generous at first glance, but it’s only to ensure that Lola gets home in time to watch the twins after school. Why Vera can’t watch her own kids is a mystery. But Lola is too nice to complain. Oh, that’s right; she’s not spoiled... like me.

  “This is so sad.” Lola starts the car. “The only thing that’ll get me through this day is the concert tonight.” She turns and grins. “This is going to be an awesome night, Cleo!”

  I don’t have the heart to admit that my mom is balking at letting me use Dad’s car. Yesterday I assured Lola I could pull this off. But after this morning’s conversation, I’m not so sure.

  “You still want to go, don’t you?” she asks after I don’t respond.

  “Of course.”

  “And your mom’s letting you use the car?”

  I take in a deep breath. “Well... we’re still discussing it.”

  “Oh...” Her smile fades.

  “You know how she is,” I say lightly. “She’s all freaked about me driving in the city at night.”

  “Right...”

  “But I plan to work on her more after school.” “Uh-huh.”

  “If all else fails, I’m going to guilt her into it,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

  “That should totally work.” Lola’s tone is sarcastic now. She knows my mom too well to believe me.

  “Somehow we’re going to that concert.”

  “I offered to drop Mom and the boys off at their gig tonight, but she said no way was she going to be stuck at a kiddie birthday party at Fun Town until the concert ends.” She sighs
. “I kinda see her point.”

  “Yeah, that does seem a little torturous.”

  “And if they don’t get to go, the boys will throw a fit. And really, it’s only fair since this is their last night with their friends, too.”

  “I’ll just have to get my mom to drop us off and pick us up,” I tell her.

  “She won’t mind?”

  “I don’t think so. Like I said, if necessary, I’ll guilt her into it.”

  “Don’t make her feel too bad,” Lola says. “I mean, it’s not like we have to go. We can always just hang at home for our last night. If I hadn’t won those tickets, we wouldn’t be doing much anyway.”

  I turn and study my friend. How is it that she’s both nice and pretty? I can’t even imagine how much I’m going to miss this girl! And no way am I going to be the reason her last night here is a washout.

  Somehow I have to make my mom understand how important tonight is because more than ever I am determined—Lola and I are going to that concert!

  . . . [CHAPTER 2 ] . . . . . . . . . . . .

  Lola and I have never been part of the “it” clique, as they like to call themselves. Our rationalization is that we wouldn’t want to be as shallow and selfish and mean as those girls anyway. Mostly we keep to ourselves. But we do have a small circle of acquaintances—a combination of some youth group kids, a girl who takes ballet with me, a few “academics,” and a couple of Lola’s jazz band friends. We’re not exactly geeks, but I’m sure the “it” clique likes to think we are. It probably makes them feel more important about themselves. Like they need that.

  But one cool thing about our group of friends is they all seem to love Lola nearly as much as I do. And realizing that she won’t be around much longer, they’re all surprisingly sweet today. At lunchtime we all make a big deal about saying goodbye to her. And Leo Simmons, who I’m sure has been crushing on her for years, buys everyone ice cream in Lola’s honor. I think she is touched.