Chase Dawson picked up a two-inch jagged piece of mirror and gazed at her fragmented reflection.  She gingerly touched the fading bruise on her left cheek, then turned away and pressed the glass into a layer of tile glue spread out over a two-foot square of plywood. 

Her sister, Shelly, sitting in a whicker lounger, sipped a glass of tea and watched over Chase’s shoulder with a curious wrinkle in her brow.  “Where did that piece come from?” she asked.

Chase glanced back at her sister.  “It came from the mirror he shattered with the whiskey bottle.”  She touched the pinkish scar on her arm.  “That’s where this came from.”

Shelly mumbled under her breath and settled back in her chair.  Chase watched her, admiring the way her older sister always seemed in control of things.  Even her sun dress, under constant duress from the summer sun overhead and the humidity, was bright and clean.  Her hair had a ‘just left the salon’ look.   Chase never looked like that.  She rarely had it together.  But Richard was gone, hopefully to serve the entire ten-year sentence.  Just maybe, she thought, the day will come when she doesn’t startle at the least noise, and constantly see his face in a crowd.

She picked up a small rose patterned piece of china with a fractured edge of tan and ivory.  With a slight tremble in her fingers, she placed it into the glue next to the broken mirror.

“Is that a piece of mothers’ old china,” Shelly growled? 

Chase gave her a comforting smile.  “He shattered it on the refrigerator because his supper was cold.”  She glanced toward the setting sun, inhaled the sweet scent of honeysuckle, and closed her eyes to the warmth.  “The other one hit me in the face,” she said.  Her voice was distant, small.

Shelly leaned forward, looped her arms around her and squeezed. 

“The ribs are still pretty sore, sis,” she said.  Her sister started to cry and gently kissed her on the back of her head.

“Look at these pretty pink ones,” Chase said, her face cheerful now.  “It’s from Adam’s piggy bank that Richard busted for beer money.”  She poked several pieces into the collage of their past.

Shelly pointed to a grouping of cracked blue pottery.  “What are those from?”

Chase giggled.

“Those are from the flowerpot I hit him with.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~