My Beating Teenage Heart Read online

  Inside my head Aretha Franklin sings “I Say a Little Prayer.” Gold stardust sprinkles behind my eyes as I remember the serenity and love that I felt out on the bridge. And I’m not sure what I believe or how exactly I’ll get through this but I’ll welcome a little prayer in my favor any day. Thank you.

  twenty-three

  ashlyn

  Breckon Cody w201atont coalks to his front door with his friends close by his side. His father opens the door before Breckon can reach for his house key. Mr. Cody surveys the trio, his eyes steeped in a relief that mutates swiftly into unease, the wrinkle between his eyes deepening. I watch Breckon step inside the front door, Jules’s fingers intertwined tightly with his, and I know he’s in good hands. He can manage without me for a while.

  So now it’s my turn. I broke free from the chains binding me to Breckon out on the bridge when I sped to the people who currently surround him. I no longer have to shadow his every move.

  Where I go now is up to me. All it takes is one thought. Home. And I’m through the front door, no need to wipe my feet on the taupe area rug my mom bought on sale at Home Depot last summer. The house is dark but I can feel how it’s changed in the air. Because of me, my death. I’ve left a hole and I need to tell them—Dad, Mom, Celeste and Garrett—that they don’t have to worry about me. My heart stopped beating but I haven’t ceased.

  But even now something tells me I won’t be able to stay, not with my family and not with Breckon either. This is an in-between time. My journey’s not finished and leads elsewhere, maybe the place where Skylar lives now. The universe has begun to peel back its secrets. Light streams in where previously there was only darkness. In the distance unseen voices murmur. Others like me. Within reach.

  Soon I will go to them. Soon I will know whatever there is to be known, but I’m not finished here quite yet.

  Up the stairs I fly, into my parents’ bedroom where Curtis and Cythnia sleep, my mother curved onto her side and my father stretched out on his back, one of his feet poking out of the covers. Like the house itself, my parents look the same as before I left them but feel different. Grief is in the slope of my mother’s shoulders, the slackness of my father’s jaw.

  This is not what I want for them but I understand loss, from my time with Breckon, in a way I couldn’t before. It doesn’t stand still. This is only a moment, like a single link in an endless chain. In time my mother and father will move forward, not away from me but towards life. That is my biggest hope.

  I hover over their bed, marveling at the sight of my parents and bursting with love for them—every last thing they are and every piece of themselves they gave me. Hands for me to hold. Praise and encouragement sung loud. The timbre of my father’s voice when he called me “baby girl.” My mother, stroking my hair when I felt sick or had a childhood nightmare, her hand rubbing tender circles into my back. The knowledge, right at the core of me since before I could speak, that there was nothing they wouldn’t do for me. Their love will never end.

  I’m more myself than I have ever been, and from here, Curtis and Cynthia feel almost like children. My wishes for them are those a parent has for their kids—that they be safe and happy and that their future be filled with peace. I kiss their fretful foreheads with my phantom lips and pray that they can feel it in their sleep. I’m free, Mom and Dad. Don’t be sad for me.

  Live.

  Next I go to Garrett, my beautiful baby brother, just twelve years old, who will have to do the rest of his growing up without me. Baseball trophies, plaques and ribbons line the shelf next to his bed. He was always so proud of them. So smart too, and infinite pride for him wells up inside me as I slip further into his room. My brother will be whatever he wants in life, I know he will. There’s no limit to what he can do. He rolls over as I approach, burying his face in his pillow so that all I can see is a fraction of his cheek and chin until he flips onto his back again. Then I kiss him too. I’ve missed you, Garrett.

  Of all my family, only Celeste is awake, home from university for the summer, her face drawn and her body thinner than I remember. I watch her sitting hunched over in the same bed she’s had since she was thirteen, scribbling in a tiny leather notebook—the one that I kept in my purse but had never written in. I glance at the page beneath her pen, only for a few moments because it’s my sister’s face that I really want to see. It doesn’t take long to realize every word on the page is meant for me, a letter intended to reach across the divide. She wants me to know that I’ll never be forgotten, that she is always thinking of me, carrying me with her.

  My sister. She’s the first person I wanted to be like, the first and best friend I ever had.

  I remember every minute of those days at Grandma’s, Celeste. Dancing with the smell of fresh baking all around us. I remember the bedtime stories you read me, sitting next to me with your legs stretched out on top of the blankets. And years later, the way you let me creep into your bed when I’d had bad dreams about Dylan.

  You never stopped watching out for me. I haven’t forgotten. I remember everything. And I want everything for you that you would’ve wanted for yourself before I left. You can want those things and still remember. I hope you know that.

  I wrap my arms around Celeste’s shoulders, kiss her temple and radiate warmth. Feel this, I tell her. I’m here and I love you. Celeste puts down her pen and leans back against me. We sit on her bed together until she drifts off to sleep. I sing into her ear, wish I could stay with her and Garrett and my parents forever, wish I could have turned sixteen.

  But there are the secrets and the others and I long for them too.

  I reach towards the light and tug back the curtain, still singing to myself, still Ashlyn Baptiste. And this time I do not have to fall. I soar.

  acknowledgments

  Special thanks to my husband, Paddy, for reading, believing and always being there. How did I get this lucky?

  Many thanks to writers Courtney Summers and Kathleen Jeffrie Johnson for listening, understanding and offering sage advice. I appreciate it more than you know.

  Thank you, Shana Corey, for being the kind of editor I always dreamed of having.

  My gratitude goes out to all the Random House folks involved with this book and the ones that preceded it. In particular I want to thank editor Amy Black for her faith in this novel, Nicole de las Heras for her stunning cover designs, and Emily Pourciau for being such a pleasure to work with.

  Thanks to my brother, Casey, for reading my first draft of this book and for sharing his thoughts.

  Finally, thanks to my agent, Stephanie Thwaites, for accompanying me down this path and for her guidance over the years.

  about the author

  C. K. Kelly Martin is the critically acclaimed author of I Know It’s Over, One Lonely Degree, and The Lighter Side of Life and Death. She began writing her first novel in Dublin and currently lives in greater Toronto with her husband. She’s perpetually working on new novels and redesigning her website and blog. Visit them both at ckkellymartin.com.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three: Breckon

  Chapter Four: Ashlyn

  Chapter Five: Ashlyn

  Chapter Six: Breckon

  Chapter Seven: Ashlyn

  Chapter Eight: Breckon

  Chapter Nine: Ashlyn

  Chapter Ten: Breckon

  Chapter Eleven: Ashlyn

  Chapter Twelve: Breckon

  Chapter Thirteen: Ashlyn

  Chapter Fourteen: Breckon

  Chapter Fifteen: Ashlyn

  Chapter Sixteen: Breckon

  Chapter Seventeen: Ashlyn

  Chapter Eighteen: Ashlyn

  Chapter Nineteen: Breckon

  Chapter Twenty: Ashlyn

  Chapter Twenty-one: Ashlyn

  Chapter Twe
nty-two: Breckon

  Chapter Twenty-three: Ashlyn

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author