Consequences

pearl charm flew as the broken chain slid from around Claire’s neck. The next impact put her back on the floor. This time she tasted blood.
    She didn’t know if it was her nose or her lip, she started to reach to find the source. His voice continued, “And I believe some time away from people, some time alone will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”
    She tried to turn and to twist herself. She pleaded for him to stop. He continued to hurt her and she was sorry, tried to yell, but couldn’t get away. She tried to protect her face, her body. Time wasn’t moving. She wondered how long this was happening. It could have been only seconds, maybe hours, Claire didn’t know.
    Suddenly thrown backward by a forceful blow, his voice seemed to drift far away. Her body cried out in agony from the abuse, yet there was a sudden onset of intense pain. She tried to get up, to speak, but she couldn’t. Then the stillness grew and everything—Tony, the room, tears, fear, and pain—all faded to darkness.

 
Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.
—Author anonymous
     Chapter 20
    She couldn’t remember why she was afraid, only she was terribly afraid and alone. Then with time, the dark and cold that enveloped her began to disintegrate. She could hear music and feel warmth. Keeping her eyes shut, the dark continued, but the familiar music grew louder and more comforting. Bette Midler sang “Wind beneath My Wings.” Her mom loved that song. She would turn up the radio and sing every word. Mom used to say, “It isn’t about the sound of your voice, but the happiness that makes you sing.”
    “Shirley, do you know where my wallet is?” Jordan called from down the hall.
    “Mom, Claire, took my Pop-Tart.” Emily’s voice sounded different, so young. Claire opened her eyes. She could see a scene, like a movie, except she was there and not there. She also saw her mom, dad, and sister. Claire watched herself, but the Claire she saw was young, maybe five or six years old. Their small house was chaotic and full of affection.
    She watched as her mom made Emily another Pop-Tart, scolded Claire, and gave her a loving kiss on top of her head. Dad walked into the kitchen dressed in his police uniform. She couldn’t believe how young they looked, how warm and full of love she felt watching this scene from her childhood. Dad walked behind Mom and put his arms tenderly around her. She noticed that Emily and Claire played with each other and their breakfast. They didn’t spot the devotion and adoration that Claire now saw between her parents. Mom giggled as Dad kissed her neck, and she handed him his wallet from the kitchen counter. He whispered in her ear, Claire strained to hear, “What would I ever do without you?”
    “Well, you aren’t going to get the chance. I plan on sticking around forever.” They looked at one another, the two little girls at the table started to distract them with their giggling, bickering, and suddenly the glass of orange juice spilled over the table. Little Emily and little Claire both became silent, neither one would tell on the other.
    Claire heard her dad’s voice, “Girls, see what happens when you mess around.” His voice wasn’t angry. He cleaned the juice with a paper towel and Mom helped with a wet cloth. “Try to be careful, you sillies.” He kissed their foreheads as he turned to leave, taking the time to hug their mom.
    The scene began to fade. Claire didn’t want to leave the warm feeling as she took one last look at the sisters eating their cereal and laughing. The spilled juice is forgotten. Then darkness . . . coolness . . .
    “Ms. Claire, Ms. Claire, can you hear me?” The familiar voice teemed with concern. The warmth she felt from her childhood was gone. She didn’t want to go to the voice. She wanted to go back. Claire wanted more sleep, more tranquility . . .
    “Come on, Claire, the movie starts in half an hour,” Grandma’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs. Claire opened her eyes. She wondered where she was. Her grandparent’s house. She must be staying over. Now she wondered if Emily was there too.
    She could see herself no longer a child but an awkward teenager. Grandma called up the stairs again, “Claire, your sister said she’d pick you and your friend up, hurry down.” Grandma’s expression reflected concern for Claire’s movie. The real Claire wondered if the