Picking Up the Pieces Read Online Free PDF

still outside. “I’ve got a pot of beans goin’.”
    My heart began to race. “Stop cryin’, Rose, and Momma will let you out.”
    “I’m scared, Vi.” Her voice broke and fresh tears filled her eyes.
    “I know.” I swallowed down my fear and took the cup from her. “Pretend I’m holdin’ your hand. Okay?” I grabbed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before shutting the door and scurrying to my room and landing on my bed. I heard the door bang against the frame and the floorboards creak as Momma walked to the closet door. I stuffed the cup under my pillow.
    Momma asked, “Have you learned your lesson, girl?”
    I held my breath when I didn’t hear anything, then Momma’s voice rose, “Speak up, you evil child. Have you learned your lesson? ”
    “Yes, Momma.” I could barely hear her answer.
    “Get in yer room and stay there until your father comes home,” Momma barked.
    Seconds later, Rose stood in the doorway, her cotton dress soaked with sweat. I jumped off the bed we shared and grabbed her hand, leading her to the part of the mattress that was in front of the open window. A soft breeze blew the curtains, but I could hardly feel it, so I lifted Rose’s hair off her neck and blew on her to help cool her off. She began to cry again, silent tears falling down her face, and my heart ached in sympathy.
    I hadn’t saved her from our mother’s wrath. The only thing I could do now was comfort her.
    “What did you see this time?” I whispered. It was always the things Rose saw in her head that got her into trouble.
    “Momma dropped a hamburger on the floor and then gave it to Daddy.”
    “Oh, no.” Of course, it wasn’t the seeing that was the problem. It was the fact that she always recounted what it was she’d seen. She’d told Momma about that burger falling. “You have to make it stop, Rose.”
    “I don’t know how.” Her voice quivered with her tears.
    I hated our mother and I hated Daddy for letting Momma treat Rose that way. But sometimes—usually when Momma was in a hate-filled rage—I hated Rose too, for her stupid visions that made our lives hell, even though I knew she couldn’t stop them.
    When Rose started school, it wasn’t long before the other kids figured out she was different. But Henryetta’s elementary school was small enough that I could track down each and every kindergartner who dared to be mean to my sister. Maybe I couldn’t do a thing to stop Momma, but I did my darnedest to keep anyone else from hurting her.
    “You can’t tell anyone about your visions, Rose,” I coached her one day after school, bandaging her knee in our tiny bathroom. A boy in her class had pushed her down at recess. “People will think you’re different.”
    She looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “But they already think I’m different, Violet.”
    I shook my head, dabbing the scrape with a washrag. “Maybe so, but don’t give ’em any more ammunition to use against you.”
    She flinched in pain, then her little nose scrunched with confusion. “What does that mean?”
    “It means keep to yourself and don’t let anyone hurt you.”
    I took my own advice and wore it like a shield over my heart. I was the good Gardner sister. The pretty blond-haired, blue-eyed girl who was sweet to everyone. She did her homework, helped her neighbors, and most of all, she obeyed. She was the girl who everyone loved, the one who made up for the disappointment of her younger sister. But I didn’t let anyone get close. Through Rose, I learned that people weren’t to be trusted. They hurt you and used you and the best way to get through life was to fit in as best as you possibly could.
    But even though she had every reason to do otherwise, Rose trusted and saw the good in everyone. One afternoon when I was in sixth grade and she was in fourth, she was crying on the bus when I boarded it.
    I slid in next to her, anger burning in my chest. “What happened now?”
    Her sad hazel eyes looked up