Voice of Innocence: A Coming-Of-Age Sweet Romance

by Lindsay Detwiler

  Now it was time to face it. It was time to start preparing for goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Reality Transformed

  Emma

  Memories

  Back at home on that life-changing night, words of comfort swirled around me. “Appeal” was the term of the night. My parents thought this word would be enough to keep my head up and my heart open. To me, the word was synonymous with false hope.

  When Corbin was led out of the courtroom, he turned to glance at me. The look was not for reassurance or comfort. It was a look of pure sorrow. His almost apologetic glance seemed to hint at goodbye. This alone was enough to send me into an inescapable depression.

  That night, when I was finally able to shrug off my mother’s hovering tendencies and find some alone time, I sat on the ledge by the window glancing out at the perfectly clear sky and the countless blinking stars. My eyes leaped from constellation to constellation, craving to be drowned in the empty, infinitive expanse that is space. My mind was on overdrive, making an exhausting day even more numbing. I thought of Corbin and how he couldn’t even see this sky. I thought about how in the course of the trial, our worlds had become like different planets. No matter how much we wanted to stay connected, it was so hard with our vastly different worlds. We were drifting apart at the speed of light, unable to hold onto each other as we whirled further and further into the cold emptiness of the unknown.

  At times, a determination surfaced within me. I felt like I couldn’t give up, that I just needed to be strong and believe. The innocent were not persecuted and if they were, the truth always floated to the top of the murky waters called the justice system. I just had to be patient and know that the facts would bubble up.

  Other times, I became angry. Angry at the court system, angry at the world, angry at Corbin for taking the wrong road that night, angry at Randy for being at the gas station. I became determined to actively find the evidence to get Corbin out of jail. I would uncover every stone in the town, interview every person in the area, and search far and wide for the true killer. I would carry the torch through the town, hunting for the one piece that would set Corbin free. If life wanted to attack us, I was ready to attack back. I would do what it took to reclaim our lives.

  In the next moment, however, the futility of this project would hit me. If the professionals couldn’t find anything, how would I? What if the evidence was never found? What if the truth didn’t conquer? What if Corbin was forced to spend the rest of his life locked up? What if the man of my dreams, my foundation in life that everything was built on, was behind bars? What if our life together never got a chance to begin? How would I face a life without Corbin, with whom I had built all of my life plans, goals, and dreams?

  I didn’t sleep more than an hour that first night. My mind simply ping-ponged between various emotions, feelings, thoughts, and fears. By morning, my mind had blown a fuse and seemed incapable of processing any more information. When my mother came in at eight o’clock with a tray of food, I pushed it aside. I sat staring mindlessly, aimlessly, into the corner of the room. The corner of the room would rarely leave my sight for the next year.

  * * * *

  The sentencing quickly followed the trial. I was forced to sit in my best dress and uncomfortable nylons, acting like the perfect lady, when inside I wanted to claw the judge’s eyes out. I wanted to scream and shriek and punch. I wanted to grab Corbin and run off into the sunset. I wanted to disappear.

  If the trial was excruciating, the sentencing was even worse. Corbin could face the death penalty, although his lawyers felt it wasn’t likely due to the mitigating circumstances surrounding Randy’s death and Corbin’s clean record. After more deliberations, Corbin’s life was again decided by a third party. Either way, though, things couldn’t turn out well. I felt like both of our lives were over.

  This time, instead of screaming, I simply choked back a sob against my mother when the sentence was read.

  The sentence was life behind bars.

  Corbin would live. He just wouldn’t live the life we had imagined. I knew I should be relieved, that it could be much worse. I just couldn’t find the elation in words that stripped Corbin’s life away as much as a death sentence could have. A new reality officially slammed into our faces, not waiting for us to adjust or to question.

  * * * *

  I was able to visit Corbin the day after sentencing. I found out that when things seemed horrible, they could always get worse. Now that Corbin was sentenced, he would be transferred to the state penitentiary, which was three hours away.

  While visiting Corbin, I halfheartedly reassured him that his lawyer was working hard on the appeal. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe in it; I was just afraid to. It’s hard to reassure someone when you aren’t reassured yourself.

  “Emma, the appeal is going to take months if not longer. And if they convicted me the first time on the evidence, they’ll do it again.” Corbin looked at me seriously. There wasn’t any hint of buoyancy left. Tears jetted down my face as his words and hopelessness sank in.

  “But Corbin, we have to keep trying. We can’t give up. I can’t lose you.” By now, I was sobbing, choking on my words, desperate for him to make things better. Desperate for the words he couldn’t promise me.

  Corbin’s eyes pierced the table for an impenetrable pause. Slowly, he looked up at me, his mouth a tight line.

  “Emma, there can’t be a ‘we’ anymore. You have to let go. You can’t keep hanging on.” His words were icy, sharp. They jutted at me with precision, not even pausing to let the blood flow from the wound.

  After everything we had been through the past few months, my stomach clenched tighter than it had all along.

  “Don’t talk like that,” I spewed.

  Corbin looked at me gently this time, his mouth softening. “Emma, I love you. I always will. You have been my best friend. You are my entire world, and without you, I don’t know…I don’t know what I’ll do. But that’s something I have to face. I can’t drag you down any longer. This isn’t your fight anymore. Hell, it’s not even my fight. I lost, Emma. I lost. My life is over. But yours isn’t. You still have your freedom, you still have choices, and you still have so much ahead of you. It just can’t have me in it anymore.” Corbin was verging on tears now, too, but it was a calm wave of tears. He had made peace with this. He had let himself consider this possibility for months now. But I hadn’t. I had clung so blindly to the fact that things would be okay that I hadn’t entertained this possibility.

  I violently shook my head, rage burning in my chest. “No, I won’t let you do this. You’re not getting rid of me. I’m going to stand by you and we’re going to fight this.” The doubts that had infiltrated my mind over the last few days were vehemently stopped at the prospect of Corbin pushing me away.

  “Emma, c’mon. You have to be real. I don’t want to face this either. Do you think this is what I wanted? Hell, I wanted to be marrying you in a year or two, having children, buying a house. You think this is easy for me? But do you know what makes it harder? Seeing you, week after week, put off your life to stand by me. Putting off college, putting off fun and friends to come here. Emma, I’m a dead end now. There’s nothing here for you. You have to walk away. You have to move on. We’ve had a great run, Emma, and great memories. But I guess our future together just wasn’t meant to be. All that’s left for you to do now is walk out those doors and not look back. That’s what you can do to help me, Emma. Go out there and live your life.”

  “Corbin, I won’t do it. I won’t leave you. I love you. I love you, and I can’t do this without you. I won’t. It’s not fair.” Desperation hurried my words.

  “Emma, shhh, calm down. Look at me. This is what I want. I hate being in here, but I hate that being in here means you are practically in here, too. Learn from me. Go out and enjoy your life. Maybe you’re right. Maybe someday the truth will come out. Maybe it will work out for us. But you can’t sit around waiting for that to hap
pen. You can’t put your life on hold hoping for a miracle. So I am telling you that you need to walk out those doors and not come back.”

  “Corbin, I won’t.” My vision was blurry from the soggy tears filling my eyes. I couldn’t believe he was doing this.

  “Emma, I love you. If someday the truth comes out, I will come straight to you. I will come meet you at wherever you are in your life. Maybe there will be room for us then, maybe not. But I will not let you waste your life. You walk out that door and you don’t look back. I won’t accept your letters anymore. I won’t accept your visits. This is it, Emma. This is the last time I’m going to see you. I love you, forever. I will never love anyone else. That’s why I am doing this. That’s why, don’t ever think otherwise, okay? Now go, go live your life.”

  I shook my head aggressively, not believing what was happening. The collar of my shirt was damp from sopping up the tears that were darting down my face. I pawed away the moisture from my cheeks with a shaky hand.

  “Corbin, I’m not giving up on us, I’m not. I won’t.”

  Corbin cried softly for a few minutes. Ignoring the guard’s scowl, he reached across the table and grabbed my hand. He kissed it quickly, softly. “I am, Emma. I am. I love you.” With that, he stoically rose from his chair and called for the guard. He didn’t glance back at me as he walked through the gate and out of my life. I crumpled into the dirty prison chair for several minutes, sobbing inconsolably, tears and snot soaking my face and the cold, steel table. When I refused to leave, the guard pulled me to my feet and led me back to the entrance. I managed to find my car and crawl in. I sat for an hour in the warm car, weeping for my sorrows, my lost life, and for Corbin. I had never felt so low in my life and didn’t think things would ever look any better.

  Chapter Thirty: Broken

  Corbin

  “Emma, I love you. If someday the truth comes out, I will come straight to you. I will come meet you at wherever you are in your life. Maybe there will be room for us then, maybe not.”

  At the time, if had overwhelmed any possibility of when. When I uttered those words to Emma as a sense of reassurance, I hadn’t believed them to be true at all. I had hoped to simply set her free steadily, not giving her too much space to take off, just enough to liberate her from this hell we were living. I wanted her to walk out into the world without looking back, without worrying about a prospect that might never come. So I promised her that if things worked out, we would work out. In the pit of my stomach that day, though, I felt that those words would never come to fruition.

  Here I sit, a patio chair ramming its cold, weathered metal into my spine, a night sky welcoming with its promises of tomorrow. Here I sit, in exactly the position I never thought I would be granted. And yet, now another question remains. Should I keep my promise? Should I set out on the mission to meet her, wherever her life may be? And will there be room for us?

  Dizzied by the questions, I feel a subtle hint of doubt creeping through my blood. Emma has done what I asked, she has moved on with her life. In a small town, keeping up with someone’s life is as easy as spotting a red rose in a sea of snow. Dad had heard whispers, first of a new man in Emma’s life, then of a torrid romance, and finally of the wedding. She is married to a great man, has a career, and has a beautiful house, a symbol of success. Do I want to risk rocking the waters on the serene lake that was now her life? Why stir up the ragged feelings and regrets? Certainly my presence would incite nothing but raw hurt. Maybe some promises were better broken.

  The selfless part of me wants to give in to this way of thinking, to steer clear of Emma and her new life, to drop off into a world of oblivion where the past doesn’t exist, where we don’t exist. I want to blot my freedom out of the town, out of her awareness, out of her life. It is foolish to think a romance sparked almost three decades ago could still have any sense of warmth left. Our fire isn’t even embers anymore and, in fact, we are lucky if there’s even a pile of ashes to commemorate our loss.

  But another part of me smolders deep inside, threatening to ignite my secret desires. For if I am being honest, selfless isn’t the word I would use to describe the way I am feeling. For me, the inferno is still ignited. Certainly there had been rains that threatened to suffocate the flames, yet somehow they still glower. Now, with new potential a real possibility, the fire leaps out of the depths, rising to meet a new day. I want, no, I need, to see her. I don’t care that she is married, that she has moved on. I am glad she is happy, but I won’t be able to fully appreciate this happiness until I can see it, judge it for myself. This side of me isn’t about being the noble man or doing the right thing. This side is about heeding to my passion, heeding to my undying thirst for her. I had been an honorable man when I left her go, not knowing what the future held. Yet, now I do know what the future holds, to an extent. And I want to hold a part of her in that future, no matter how small it has to be. I want her back in my life, no matter what that looks like.

  Life, as I’ve learned, fails to be a concrete, concise package that can easily be wrapped up and contained. Life is full of messy, unpredictable circumstances that test not only our characters, but the people around us as well. Our choices are not always about choosing between right and wrong, good or bad. They are sometimes about following the path that you simply have to follow, for one reason or another. Our choices are not always a matter of the present, either. Sometimes they are

  dictated by irrevocable forces from the past and untrainable longings for the future. In a word, our choices are not always rational. So I make the decision that I have to see her. Just like that, I slide the chair’s legs across the deck, plant my feet on a fortress of determination, and head inside to take a shower.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Aftermath

  Emma

  In the midst of the memories, I have mindlessly flicked off the television, mercifully relieving myself from the torturous images and words. Not that I can escape them even if I try. These memories are engrained in my core, and as a primary source to the tragedy, I cannot emotionally detach myself from them no matter how much I want to.

  I drag my body from the depths of the couch, leaning back to crack my back that is sore from being hunched in the hollows of the cushion. Sighing with frustration, anxiety, confusion, and guilt, I drag my feet across the plush carpet and onto the cold ceramic tile of the kitchen. As I am pouring some water, the doorbell rings. I look at the clock. It’s not too late, but late enough to cause a wary sensation in my blood. Could be an ax murderer. Although I don’t think they are in the particular habit of ringing the doorbell to announce their presence. What’s the worst that could happen? I think. Suddenly, though, a thought crosses my mind and my blood runs cold with anticipation. My heart leaps and adrenaline courses through my veins, more adrenaline than any psychopath serial killer could stir. Stop it, I tell myself. It isn’t.

  Nonetheless, I run my fingers through the ratty ends of my ponytail, tug at my wrinkled shirt, and head to the door. This is not the reunion I was hoping for, I think, looking down at my man-pants. I guess Mom was right that you should always look your best because you never know who you might run into. Scratching at an unidentifiable stain on the thigh of my sweatpants, I decide maybe I’ll just throw them out. A new start.

  As I approach the door and Hank lazily rolls off the couch to greet his company—some guard dog—the doorbell rings again. And again. Someone is quite impatient. As my heart leaps, I realize that deep down, this is what I have been waiting for all day. This is what has kept me suspended in time, waiting for the unthinkable to reach out and pull me simultaneously into the past and the future.

  Here goes nothing, I think, wailing open the door. When it flies open on its hinge, it reveals a sight I couldn’t have anticipated. I gasp in shock before muttering a simple, “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Well, hello to you, too, darling. God, you are the worst hostess ever. Didn’t I teach you anything?” My “guest” barges through the door, sunglasses plaster
ed on top of her head, even though it’s night, and a bottle of wine in her hand. She hasn’t even bothered concealing it in any type of bag. She makes her way past me and straight toward the kitchen to grab some glasses.

  “Mom, it’s late, what are you doing?” I ask, shutting the door as a few pesky moths make their grand entrance through the door. Hank has dutifully followed his grandmother in, knowing that at least five dog treats are in his near future from the doting woman.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Going on a wine binge.”

  “Oh, lighten up. I could tell from the phone call earlier that you needed something to cheer you up. No wonder though, judging by your outfit. God, even I would feel depressed wearing that outfit. Why don’t you go put something better on? Huh?”

  I roll my eyes, as is usual during a visit from my mother…nonetheless an impromptu one. “Mom, I’m home alone. Who cares what I’m wearing?”

  Mom shrivels up her face into the typical are you crazy look. “Well, let’s just put it this way. Thank God it was just your mother at the door and not someone else. How does John deal with you? Trust me, baby, you’re a wonderful catch. But no man wants to come home to a unisex-looking wife. Do something with that hair, please!”

  She has poured two gigantic glasses of wine. Not in wine glasses though…those would be too small. She has scavenged through our cupboards to find the perfect vessel for her ounces and ounces of fun—a beer mug.

  “Wow, so glad you came to make me feel better, Mom. Trust me, you shouldn’t have.” Despite my sarcasm, I am glad to at least have some friendly banter. All of this silence on a night like tonight was quite possibly driving me toward insanity. Although a visit from my mother was almost guaranteed to do the same, at least I wouldn’t be heading toward the white padded room in solitude.