“I kind of…love you, Emma,” he said. His gaze demonstrated confidence, but I could tell from the slight pause that he was nervous about how I would react. For a moment, I stared blankly at him, not saying a word. I saw him go pale. Feeling bad about torturing him any longer, I finally laughed. Still grinning, I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“I kind of love you back,” I said with assurance.
It was the best Christmas of my entire life.
Chapter Eight: Traditions and Truths
Emma
Memories
He wasn’t ready to talk about his family until mid-June. Snowfalls had given way to warm, humid air and an occasional thunderstorm. With school out, we had nothing but empty days and firefly-filled nights ahead of us.
One lazy afternoon, we decided to forego our Wednesday tradition of walking to the local ice cream stand, Bob’s Cones-n-More. Feeling adventurous, we walked to the local state park instead for a day outdoors. Nature was never my thing, but Corbin loved the prospect of open sky and desolate trails. Although I feigned enthusiasm for scampering critters, sweaty hikes, strange insects, and swimming in slimy water, it was the idea of being alone with Corbin that fed my tolerance. I begrudgingly splatted away the buzzing mosquitos and treaded carefully away from every weed that I could manage to avoid on the trail. I tried not to think about the risk of my bare legs contracting a tick or brushing against a poison ivy leaf.
Before I would agree to dip a single toe into the filthy Canoe Creek waters, I had Corbin agree to eat lunch first. We sat under the branches of a large oak tree. With my unicorn quilt, the only blanket I could scrounge up that my mother would let me out of the house with, spread beneath us, we rustled through my backpack of picnic foods. I pulled out all of the necessities—some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, two sodas, a few snack cakes, and some potato chips. It certainly wasn’t the best demonstration of female domesticity, but the Suzie-homemaker thing didn’t seem to be in the cards for me, and still wasn’t. I had inherited my cooking gene from my grandmother, who always either burnt Sunday dinners or gave the family a mild bout of food poisoning from accidental food safety violations. Corbin never complained, though, accepting the fact that homemade picnic lunches and romantic dinners from scratch wouldn’t be in his future as long as he was with me.
As we gorged on our “lunch,” I noticed that Corbin seemed a bit…off. He had been quiet since he knocked on my door an hour earlier. Silence wasn’t in his vocabulary. Whether he was talking my ear off about a new rock band or asking me a million questions about my thoughts on a news story, he was an endless chatterbox. If his lips weren’t moving a mile a minute divulging a detailed story, they were moving on mine in a stolen moment of passion. Today, they weren’t doing either of those much-preferred activities.
Putting down my half-eaten snack cake, I turned to him. “Corbin, what’s wrong?”
He kept on chewing. “Corbin! Earth to Corbin!” I announced, louder this time.
“Huh? What was that?” he inquired nonchalantly. He glanced at me with somewhat empty eyes.
“Okay, spill it. You haven’t said two words all day. What’s wrong? Did I do something?”
“No, it’s not you, Emma. Everything’s fine. I’m just tired.” As he said it, he quickly looked at the ground. I may not have been an FBI special agent, but I knew a lie when I heard it.
“Corbin, just tell me or I’m going to think the worst. What is it?”
Corbin exhaled for several seconds, imperceptibly shaking his head. He knew it was no use; I wouldn’t drop it until he told me the truth. Standing up, he slowly edged away from the blanket and stared off at the horizon with his back to me. After a moment, I rose to my feet and walked toward him. Leaning my head on his back, I wrapped my arms around his waist. I didn’t say a word. For a minute, we stood like this, the only sound our soft breaths and beating hearts. When he had gathered himself, he turned around to face me. A chill edged through my spine, fearing that this dreamlike romance could be over too quickly.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just haven’t been able to find the right words.” He spoke so gravely that my heart stopped. This couldn’t be good. I tried to suppress my tears.
“What is it?” I ventured, wanting to know the answer, yet not wanting to know at the same time.
“It’s about why I moved here.” After he spoke the words, he stood silent, a pregnant pause elevating the tension.
“Okay…” I said, breaking his awkward silence. “Go ahead.”
“We moved here because of my sister.”
The words didn’t register right away. I must have heard him wrong. Squinting up at him with puzzlement, I implored, “Your sister? Corbin, what are you talking about? You’re an only child.”
“No, I’m not. Not really.”
“But on the first day we met, I asked you if you had brothers and sisters. You said…”
“I said no. I know. It was wrong to lie to you. But Emma, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth, not then. Not for a long time. The truth was just too hard.”
“Okay, so what is the truth then?” I begged. Although I knew his reasons for lying must be good, I couldn’t help but feel a little angry, a little betrayed. I thought Corbin told me everything. I didn’t have any secrets. What else was he keeping from me? I quieted my inner questions, though. I knew there was much more to learn.
Corbin reached into his pocket and pulled out his tattered wallet.
“What are you doing, Corbin? You still haven’t explained anything,” I whined.
Corbin didn’t say a word. He opened his wallet, reached inside, and pulled out a photograph. When he handed it to me, I saw a little girl beaming back at me. She was about four or five years old with brunette curls, glimmering and bouncing. Her cheeks were a bit pudgy, and she had familiar eyes.
“This is Chloe,” Corbin simply stated.
“She’s cute, Corbin. Why haven’t you talked about her? Why haven’t I ever seen her?” I asked, still a bit lost.
Corbin looked past my shoulder into the distance. His eyes were getting watery, something I had never seen before. As a tear started to roll down his cheek, instantaneous enlightenment washed over me like a hurricane. My heart stopped for a second time as I paused in pure shock.
My voice shook as I managed to whisper, “I’m so sorry.”
Corbin just nodded, biting his lip and wiping away his tears. I wrapped my arms around him, careful not to bend the picture. He grabbed me, buried his head on my shoulder, and cried.
I had never seen any man cry. The men in my family were hard, sturdy. Their emotions were rarely discernible, especially not tearful ones. Although I found their rigidness in this department a bit ridiculous and saw no problem with tears streaming from male eyes, my inexperience with the event made me feel a bit uneasy. So, for several minutes I didn’t do or say anything. I just clutched onto Corbin, feeling his tears moisten my shirt. Then he slowly looked up, wiped his eyes, and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”
“Don’t apologize!” I demanded. “I just…I don’t know why you didn’t talk to me about this sooner. It must have been hard holding all of this in.”
“I’m sorry, Emma. I wanted to tell you. Please don’t think that this was about you. It’s not that I didn’t trust you or think you’d be unsupportive. It’s just…I wasn’t ready to talk about it at all.”
“I feel bad because there you were, going through hell, and I was dragging you sledding and yammering about some stupid pair of shoes. I just feel like everything must have seemed so insignificant.”
“Don’t even think that! That’s not it at all. Emma. Being with you, going places, chatting about normal stuff, that’s what got me through. You took my mind off of everything. I felt like I didn’t have to talk about it, because for the first time in months I was actually happy. You made me like life. And it’s not that Chloe’s death was the only reason I wanted t
o be with you, don’t think that either. You know that I love you for you. But a part of that love stems from the fact that being with you made everything—anything—seem like I could deal with it, you know?”
I just nodded, smiling at him. Even when he was in the midst of grief, he was thinking about my feelings. I grabbed his hand and led him back to our blanket. We sat, facing each other, clutching each other’s hands. I stared blankly past Corbin for a few minutes, trying to wrap my head around the shocking news.
Slowly, cautiously, I asked, “What happened?”
I turned my gentle gaze to him, wondering if this would be too much. Now that the gates had flailed open, however, the words gushed through.
He nodded, averting his eyes to the distant sky for a long moment before he began. “Chloe was the sweetest sister I could have ever asked for. When she walked into a room, she just lit everyone else up. She was always laughing or singing or dancing. She loved music. I think she would have been a dancer when she grew up. Anyway, she was so empathetic, even at five years old. I remember one week, I had gotten in trouble for coming home past my curfew. My parents stripped away my allowance privileges. Chloe was in the room when I was begging my parents to reconsider. I played football, as you know, and we were going to an away game. I needed money for dinner. Later, Chloe came up to me in my room and handed me her piggy bank. ‘Here, Corby, take this. I don’t want you to be hungry!’ It was just little moments like that, you know, that made her who she was, even at five.”
The moment of nostalgia gone, his faced turned a bit harder. I could tell he was getting to the painful parts. “Anyway, one day last March, we were having a party in our backyard. The family was there, our friends, and neighbors. Things were sort of chaotic, with music blaring and people playing games and stuff. Chloe loved being around the people. She wandered from group to group, entertaining the guests with her exuberant stories and jokes. I guess it was easy to lose track of her. Our house was by a street. It wasn’t too busy or anything, nothing my parents ever thought they had to worry about. Well, Chloe must have seen something across the street. We think it might have been the neighbor’s cat. Chloe loved animals, and we had caught her more than once playing with it in their front yard. I guess that with all of the commotion, no one noticed her slip away. There were parked cars lining the streets because of the party. We think she must have snuck between two of them to get to the other side of the street. Just when she was edging out, a car came flying down the road way too fast.”
By this time, tears had begun streaming down my cheeks. I hadn’t known Chloe, but I could feel Corbin’s pain. He started to cry again, too. Pain stabbed my chest, crushing me from the inside out. He kept going, slowly but steadily, determined to finish the story.
“The driver said he never saw her until it was too late. From our backyard, we heard screeching tires and a sickening slam. Confused, we all ran out to the road, expecting to see a collision. What I saw on the road will haunt me forever—Chloe, lifeless, bleeding. My parents and I ran to her while someone called 911, but it was too late. She was gone.”
I climbed into his lap and he wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder. We rocked back and forth for a while, taking it all in. My heart ached for him, finally understanding his true burden. I couldn’t believe I had no idea something like this had happened. Corbin was apparently good at blocking out difficult memories. His warm personality and bubbly nature were no reflection of the recent past he was forced to deal with.
He started talking again. “After her death, things were bad at home. My parents blamed themselves, as did I. We tried to get on with our lives, but it was just too hard. There were too many reminders of her and what had happened. After a few months, my dad decided we needed a change of scenery so that we could pick up our lives again. He decided to bring us here, to where he grew up. We moved here in June.”
“Your parents must still be struggling with this,” I noted, not knowing what else to say. Suddenly, Mr. Jones’ stoic, off-putting nature made more sense. A pang of guilt stirred deep inside of me for thinking such wretched things about the man who was enduring so much.
“It’s hard for all of us, but my mom’s having the hardest time. Emma, I know you must have thought something was off since you’ve never met her or been to my house. I was afraid you would think I wasn’t serious about you or something, but I just couldn’t bring you into that environment.”
“I understand. I’ll admit, I did start to wonder. But I figured you’d talk about it when you were ready.”
He kissed my hand and nuzzled against my face. “You’re always so rational, Emma. You never jump to conclusions. That’s one of the things I love about you.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I said, jokingly. “I have my moments. Is your mom getting any better?” I asked, turning things to a more serious note again.
“No. Not really, if I’m being honest. She spends most of her days and nights cooped up in her bedroom. Sometimes she’ll read or watch television. Most of the time she just sits in the dark and cries. She’s been to a psychiatrist, but it doesn’t help. She can’t get over the idea that it’s her fault, that she was a bad mother. It’s hard to watch. I’ve tried everything to pull her out of herself. So has my dad. Nothing seems to work, and we’re both scared.”
“I wish there was something I could do to help,” I offered, truly meaning it.
“So do I,” Corbin said. “But for now, I guess all we can do is give her space and hope that time helps.” He turned my face to look at him.
“I want her to meet you someday, Emma. I know she’ll love you.”
“I want to meet her, too. But I understand why that can’t happen right now. I’m patient.”
“Yet another thing I love about you. Do you have any flaws, Miss Groves? I’m starting to wonder.”
“Ha! Are you kidding? You just ate my horrid excuse for a picnic lunch.”
“Okay, you’re right, I forgot about your lack of cooking skills. But that’s not so bad…I love takeout food anyway. I can settle for a woman who can’t cook, I suppose,” he grinned.
“Settle? You’re ‘settling’ for me? Corbin Jones, you know how to woo a girl, don’t you?” I poked at his ribs, tickling him into submission. He started to cry, this time from laughter. He managed, as usual, to use his strength and pin me down.
“No fair,” I screamed as he tickled me back.
“Life’s not fair, is it?” he said jokingly, easing up on his poking. But it hit me that his words rung true in so many ways.
* * * *
I would never get to meet Mrs. Jones. Life truly wasn’t fair, as we would learn all too well.
Chapter Nine: The Universal Truth
Corbin
Head bobbing on the thinly veiled excuse for a pillow, I glance up at the bowing bunk above me. I have spent countless nights worrying I would die here, suffocated by Frank’s mammoth body. Frank, though, has mercifully roused himself from his nap to hobble outside into the courtyard. Now I lie here alone, silence floating through the room like a familiar and comforting friend.
It is not the bend in the top bunk, nor the various profanities written there that catch my attention now. It is the picture, a different picture from before. A picture I stare at every night before bed—a picture that awakens a sense of remorse in my soul every morning, even in this clinical cell.
It is that same picture I shared with Emma during that picnic lunch that day so many years ago. The same warm smile, the same bouncing curls, the same gapped teeth that are imprinted in my mind. The same adoring cheeks that I only got to see for five short years.
I wonder what she would be like today. Would she have been that dancer I thought she was destined for, or would she have selected a more traditional path? Would she have stood by my side in that courtroom? Would she visit me here, offering me her piggy bank money to buy supplies at the commissary? Would she want nothing to do with her brother whose life was was
ted in orange?
It is her face that reminds me I have a gift. It is not easy to remember that in these surroundings of profanities and security checks, of murderers and stale food. But her face forces me to remain hopeful and to remain thankful that I am at least breathing. Chloe does not have that opportunity. Chloe’s possibilities ended at five. I should at least be thankful for the years I have and, especially now, the chances that await me. I hope that in some capacity, Chloe has some wonderful chances that await her as well amidst the angels.
They say that everyone’s life is riddled with both joys and sorrows. My first sorrow dashed into my life when Chloe died. My second sorrow stabbed even deeper into my soul when my mother chose to abandon this world. I know that she cannot be blamed. I know I cannot begrudge her the wish to dance with my sister and the angels instead of enduring the empty shell of a home that was left behind. At the time, though, I could not comprehend how Mom could be so selfish, how she could slap more pain onto the family. It was during that first set of evocatively morose days that I found the single, glowing star that would keep me focused and still. That same star would try to keep the faith glowing for me when even tougher times knocked at my door. That star, unwavering and true, would keep burning even when I thought it shouldn’t. And now, when I lie here looking at this picture, remembering what a precious gift life truly is, I wish I had clung to that star with every ounce of strength in the universe.
Chapter Ten: The Light’s Still Shining
Corbin
Memories
The doorbell groggily pulled my refusing body to alertness, yet my limbs failed to move. Alertness brought remembrance, and remembrance only brought more despair. Loss had already become a constant in my life, depression an insurmountable fixture within those four walls where I kept myself contained.
It had been a few hours since my world had yet again come crashing down around me, meteors setting fire to the only sense of stability I had known, even if that stability was shaky at best.
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