Picturing Perfect Read online

  Copyright © 2013 by Melissa Brown

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For my parents, Bob and Deb Bresloff,

  for giving me such an incredible example of true and unconditional love.

  I am proud to be your daughter.

  Every single day.

  I had a plan.

  I knew exactly how my future would be. I wanted to marry my boyfriend Tucker, to have a nice long engagement as we planned the perfect wedding ceremony. My father would walk me down the aisle as my white dress dragged gently against the tile of our church floor, knocking the pews like a silent bell as I strolled down the aisle. I wanted to work as a teacher until I achieved tenure. Then, after all of those things had taken place, we would make the decision to start a family. We'd have two little girls who each had my blond hair and blue eyes. They'd be two years apart and the best of friends. And as for me…I would be prepared, stable, focused and ready. And happy...I would be happy.

  I would not be twenty-two years old, terribly unhappy, unsettled, unmarried. And I certainly would not be standing in the bathroom of my employer, (which, by the way, was not even a school) peeing on a stick in front of my co-worker.

  "It's going to be okay, Hadley," Ellie said as we stood near the sink waiting for the three minutes to go by. Three minutes of watching my plans bounce around the walls, threatening to leap out the window. Three minutes of feeling my heart pound furiously in my chest, dreading the outcome of the test.

  "What if it's not?" I asked her, my eyes red and puffy. Ellie scrunched up her lips. That's what she did when she was hesitant. She had no idea what to say to me.

  I've always been really observant and perceptive when it comes to people's body language. They barely needed to say anything for me to know exactly what they were thinking. I was dreading Tucker's reaction to learning he'd be a father in nine short months, rather than the five to eight years we had discussed. He wasn't ready for this. I wasn't either. And we…well, we were barely hanging on as it was.

  "It's been three minutes," Ellie said, with hesitation in her voice. "Do you want me to look?"

  I didn't answer her right away. My pulse raced. Sweat poured out and my hands shook as I gripped the sides of the pedestal sink.

  "Hadley," Ellie whispered as she stroked my shoulder with her fingertips.

  "Yes, please," I said, taking a deep breath in and out. "I can't look."

  I closed my eyes, waiting to hear the news. I heard Ellie pick up the small plastic stick from the ledge below the mirror. She sighed loudly before speaking, and just with that sigh, I knew my world had changed. Completely.

  Six months earlier…

  Auden and I were floating in a gondola, soaking in the last few moments of our vacation. Auden was flirting with the gondola driver as he toured us through the channels. Champagne tickled my taste buds before gliding down my throat. The smell of linen drifted in the air as we passed in between the buildings lined with hanging laundry. A woman with long brown curls peeked out from behind a brittle gray shutter. For some reason, I knew I'd seen her before. She winked at me and butterflies stirred in my stomach. Something felt off about that wink; it was eerie, creepy and ominous. I looked to Auden for reassurance, but she was gone. And suddenly, I knew this was not my first time in the fragile boat.

  "Hadley," a distant voice said to me. I turned to see the gondola driver looking down, peering into my eyes. "Wake up," he said.

  The room eventually came into focus as I was pulled from my dream. No longer sitting in a gondola, my still body was on a bed in a beige, sterile room. Tubes were attached to my right hand and my other hand was squeezed tightly by the grip of another person. My head was elevated, and thick plastic tubing rested inside my nose. I blinked my eyes again and again as I attempted to get a clearer view of my surroundings.

  "Why is she so hazy?" Despite my fuzzy brain, I knew that voice. At least, I thought I did. It wasn't the voice of a stranger. It was Tucker. My Tucker.

  "It's the medication," the doctor responded. "She's going to be in and out of consciousness for the next few hours."

  "She's going to be okay, though," Tucker said and I felt him squeeze my hand again with his own.

  "Well, as I told her mother earlier, her pneumonia is severe. She should have gone to a hospital in Europe-"

  "She's too stubborn," Tucker interrupted, the irritation in his voice hovering above me.

  Tucker constantly reminded me of my stubborn streak, my determination to follow my plans through to the very end. And if that meant ignoring the harsh pain in my chest so I could finish my once-in-a-lifetime trip with my best friend, then so be it.

  "The nurses will be administering the antibiotic every few hours and the breathing treatments will help her. But, she's going to be here for several more days until I'm comfortable that the infection is under control."

  "Tuck," I managed to whisper. The pain in my chest stopped me from saying anything more. It felt like someone was reaching into my lungs and squeezing them with all their might. A grimace escaped me and Tuck squeezed my hand harder in response.

  "Shh," Tucker said, placing his finger to his mouth before turning his attention back to the tall, balding doctor with deep-set wrinkles in his face. "But, she'll be okay, right?"

  "Young man, she's going to be fine with the proper treatment and care. Let's just get through the next few days before you demand any promises from me, all right?" The doctor shook his head before placing my chart at the foot of my bed and walking out of the room.

  Tucker was micro-managing him. Even in my haze, I could see that. Tucker was a lot to take sometimes. His strong personality could be overpowering and was, many times, resented by those older
than us. When he left, the quiet of the room was deafening. The tension was palpable. And I was terrified to make eye contact with my boyfriend.

  Tucker was seething. Even in my partially conscious state I could feel the pressure coming from his hand. I could hear his long, drawn-out breaths as he inhaled and exhaled in a steady, but harsh rhythm.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered. A lone tear ran down my cheek. I stared at the beige walls, hoping they would somehow comfort me. But, they couldn't offer me anything but silence.

  "Don't, Had. Don't do it. I'm too pissed right now, especially at Auden. She should have taken you to the hospital weeks ago." He huffed, pushing himself up from his chair and walking to the other side of the room. He was right and I knew it.

  Backpacking through Europe had been Auden's and my very last adventure before starting our new lives. We graduated from the University of Illinois in May and by the end of June, we were on a plane headed to London. For one entire month, we bounced from country to country, city to city—dancing to accordion music in Munich, touring the Louvre in Paris and riding in gondolas through the channels of Venice. It was one of the most exciting times of my life.

  Two weeks into the trip, though, my chest started to feel tight, and walking long distances became difficult. Something was wrong. My twenty-two-year-old body wasn't cooperating, and our adventures became more and more difficult by the day. Auden suggested stopping in to see a doctor, and so we'd visited a small public health clinic in Switzerland. A very kind clinician gave me a prescription for a weak antibiotic. Every morning, I washed that small red pill down with water, and every evening I was in more pain than the day before. I was getting worse instead of getting better.

  Finally, our trip came to a halt when Auden's nerves got the better of her one morning when I struggled to wake up, take a shower and get dressed. In tears, she begged me to go home, and I found myself on an eight-hour flight back to Chicago, only to be taken directly to the nearest hospital. I couldn't breathe and started to panic as we stood at baggage claim.

  Auden looked me in the eye and said, "That's it, Had. It's time."

  Tears streamed down my face as I nodded and followed her to the nearest waiting taxi. My mother met us at the hospital. After waiting hours in the emergency room, I was given a chest x-ray that determined I had a severe case of pneumonia as well as pleurisy, which was causing the intense, shooting pains in my chest as the swollen membranes around my lungs began to rub together awkwardly inside my body. My oxygen levels were dangerously low and I was admitted right away.

  Throughout the evening, they administered antibiotics through my IV, as well as nebulizer breathing treatments every hour on the hour. But still the pain in my chest was as strong as it had been, as I struggled to walk down the cobblestone streets of Venice. I was scared of what I had done to myself by putting this off for such a long time.

  "Hadley," Tucker's harsh tone snapped me out of my daydream, "the doctor said the amoxicillin they gave you in Lucerne made your infection worse. It wasn't strong enough to get the job done, so it aggravated it instead of helping. You're on the most intense antibiotics they have now, so you'll be okay. But, you're going to be here for a while." His voice was softer than just moments before, but I could still sense his anger and disappointment.

  I nodded and felt the plastic tubing brush against the inside of my nostril. It was terribly uncomfortable and I wanted nothing more than to yank it out. But, I couldn't. I needed it. The cold oxygen forced its way into my resistant body. My arms, my legs, everything was sore, as if I'd just run a marathon.

  I wanted to go home. I wanted to escape the prison that was my hospital bed. I wished it were all just a terrible dream. I drifted back to sleep, wishing I could change things. As my eyelids grew heavy, I was already dreading what the next few days, weeks, months would bring…knowing that nothing would go as originally planned.

  "I still don't understand why you applied for this job," Tucker said as we sat in a crowded Italian restaurant. His chocolate brown hair had just been cut. His cologne was heavy as he glowered at me with his hazel eyes. Tucker only had an hour for lunch before he needed to get back. I would've been happy to meet anywhere, but he insisted on fancy places like this…even when we were just getting a quick bite. It was just part of his upbringing.

  I wasn't exactly from the "wrong side of the tracks." I was raised, just like Tucker, in Wilmette, one of the wealthiest suburbs in Illinois. I grew up in a very comfortable household. My father was an orthopedic surgeon and made a great living, allowing my mother to stay home with me. As an only child, I didn't want for anything. But, Tucker…Tucker was from the wealthiest area of our city. His family was part of what people called "old money." They had a private chef, housekeepers and gardeners for the grounds of their estate.

  Tucker was jaded because of his indulgent upbringing. But it didn't intimidate me. I didn't care about his money. Huge estates with mile-long driveways were never my thing. I'd always been fine with the idea of earning a teacher's salary and living in a modest home. Tucker…well, I wasn't so sure we shared the same vision of the future. He was an investment banker and a brilliant one at that.

  The job I applied for doesn't pay well. I made the mistake of telling Tucker what I would be earning if I was offered the position. I swear I could see the disapproval in his eyes then, just as I do now.

  "I've told you this already, Tuck. I had to cancel my teaching contract because I won't be able to start the school year. I'm still in bed most of the morning, and school begins in two days." I said, twirling the pasta on my plate.

  "But, you're doing a lot better. I'm sure the school would've worked it out with you. They hired you back in May for God's sake." He wiped his chin with a napkin, before tossing it carelessly onto the table. Pushing his plate away, he shook his head while taking two large gulps of water. His elbows crashed down onto the tabletop as he perched his chin on his hands, waiting for an explanation.

  I loved Tucker, but I would never have described him as even-keeled. He wore his emotions on his sleeves and wasn't afraid to let people know when he was pissed off. Entitled? Yes. Spoiled? Probably.

  Me? I was naturally a more reserved person when it came to my emotions, but I'd adjusted to talking things through with Tuck since that was what he insisted upon. I'd gotten better at it and could hold my own during conversations like this one. Six years ago, watching him toss that napkin would've bothered me, but now it didn't even faze me. It was just Tuck being…well, Tuck.

  "I spoke with the principal and we both agreed that it was in the best interest of the students for me to re-apply in the spring," I said calmly. Tucker nodded, but he didn't look at all convinced. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he paused and narrowed his eyes before speaking.

  "That's fine. But, why developmentally disabled adults? It just seems like a total 180 degree shift."

  "It's not, though," I attempted to explain. "I'll be teaching them life skills. I'll be teaching, just in a different way. In a non-traditional way."

  "You said this was a work facility…for adults." He still looked puzzled.

  "It is, but many of these adults are still learning their basic skills. I get to help them learn how to cook, how to tell time and count money. I'll still be a teacher."

  "I guess so," he said, pushing the chicken breast around his plate.

  "Why is this bothering you so much?"

  "I just know how much money your parents spent on your education. You worked to earn your teacher's certificate. I'd like to see you use it. And eventually get your Master's." He shrugged as he glared into my eyes.

  "I know, and I will…eventually. But, right now I need to earn a paycheck and this seems interesting. Plus, they don't need me for four more weeks. I have time to get better."

  Getting over pneumonia had been challenging. I was in the hospital for an entire week as it took a long time for my medication to break up the infection. It was mid-August and I still took an albuterol p
uffer wherever I went. Most days, just going to the grocery store was enough to knock me down for a few hours. My body had been through a lot and I needed to listen to what it was telling me. I wasn't ready to work. Turning down that job made my heart ache, but it was the right thing to do.

  Auden was the one who found the job listing for Sunnyside Association. She knew I wouldn't be ready for the school year and searched job websites for me whenever she had spare time, which was often. Auden was a free spirit who hadn't quite committed to a career path. She loved people and travel and she hated the idea of a mundane desk job, so she was putting it off for as long as possible. She had dual degrees in chemistry and business, and had been leaning towards pharmaceutical sales. But, somehow, I didn't see her sticking with that in the long term.

  "What time is your interview?" Tucker asked as he stabbed a piece of his chicken with his fork.

  "Two o'clock," I replied.

  "Well, good luck," Tucker gave me a half-smile. I knew he was doing his best to be supportive. I just wished I knew what it would take for him to actually feel happy for me.

  After lunch, Auden called my cell.

  "Hey, there," she said. "Are you ready for your interview?"

  "I think so," I replied, biting the side of my lip.

  "You'll impress them, don't worry," she reassured me. "What does Tucker think? Is he excited for you?"

  My silence answered her question.

  "Please tell me Tucker's not being a royal pain in the ass about this."

  "He just thinks I gave up too quickly with the high school position."

  "You're not ready to be on your feet for seven hours a day. And I know you, you would push yourself too hard and end up back in the hospital."

  "I know," I said.

  "What does your mom think?" Auden asked. I could hear the slight hesitation in her voice.

  "You know my mom. Whatever makes me happy makes her happy. It's impossible to get her to have an opinion about anything," I replied. And it was the truth.