Underneath the Sycamore Tree

by Celeste, B.

  I’m going to wreck Mama.

  But not as Emery …

  Because Emery doesn’t exist.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I skip breakfast and escape to the one place I can find peace. Grandma tries to stop me and tell me to at least take a granola bar, but my appetite is diminished by the truth embedded in the walls that surround me.

  It isn’t like the concept of pain is foreign to me, pain is a constant in my life—the one thing my body is used to. But the feeling in my chest is deeper than anything my disease can cause, despite it being the very reason for the ache in the first place. Nobody wants to break their Mama’s heart…

  When I see Lo’s grave, my heart gives into the hurt. The stone is clean, not a speck of grass, dirt, or bird poop on it like last time. The area around it is kept up unlike the lawn surrounding the house. Someone has been here, maybe even Mama.

  Dropping on the uneven ground, I run my fingertips over the edge of the smooth marble before tracing the letters of her name. They’re rougher, the indentations causing my skin discomfort, but I pay it no attention.

  Logan Olivia Matterson.

  Beloved daughter, sister, and friend.

  I drop my hands into my lap and just stare at the stone like something will happen. Maybe if I believe hard enough, I’ll see Logan. It can be like one of the books I’ve read where the loved ones get a second chance with the deceased.

  “This isn’t a book,” I whisper to myself.

  The breeze picks up and causes me to wrap my coat tighter around me. There hasn’t been any snowfall yet, which seems odd for early November. At least here. Dad told me that they don’t get nearly as much snow in Exeter.

  I settle on my butt, crossing my legs under me and stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for a while. I decided to live with Dad for the rest of junior and senior year.”

  Shifting on the ground, I chip at a stain on my jeans. “I know you’re probably wondering why I’d want to do that after what he did, but…” I shake my head. “Actually, you’re probably not. You’ve always been forgiving of people. I guess it doesn’t really matter, huh?”

  I’m not sure why I pause like she can respond. Sighing, I glance at my ragged nails from my constant picking and biting. “Dad tries, so I can’t really fault him for anything. You would have told me it isn’t worth holding a grudge over. Anyway, he’s got a new wife and stepson and they’re … nice.”

  The wind blows a little harder, then dies down completely until nothing but bitter air remains as usual. I wonder if that’s Lo telling me to keep talking.

  Licking my lips, I say, “Our stepmom’s name is Cameron, but she goes by Cam. Dad really seems to love her. I don’t think I ever saw him look at Mama the same way. She cares, Lo. She knows about us, about you, and she wants to help however she can. She even took me to get my hair cut.”

  I drag in a deep breath. The air hurts my lungs, but I suck it up. “Sometimes I wish that Mama would come visit me there, or call more, or…just be there like Cam is. She misses you so much, Logan. She’s hurting and I can’t fix her. It takes one little reminder that I’m sick for her to spiral, and I know that means being here won’t do her any good.

  “Kaiden, Cam’s son, made me wonder if I was being selfish by going away, but I realize now I’m not. Hopefully you can forgive me. I know I promised I wouldn’t leave you, but you would have too if you saw Mama.”

  There’s no wind.

  No subtle breeze.

  I hold my breath.

  Selfish people don’t put anybody first.

  Selfish people don’t sacrifice everything.

  They never come second.

  They never feel torment.

  My torment is in a five-foot-five form with blonde hair streaked with silver and mossy green eyes filled with sadness in every crevice. I want to believe facing the torment means building my strength, when really it tears me down a little more each day.

  Because Mama is selfish.

  “Mama is selfish, Logan.”

  Once the words are uttered, my body reacts. It’s like an anvil is about to crush me before someone saves me in the last second. It’s a weight I don’t need burying me under everything else that’s already trying to put me in a grave next to Lo.

  I stare at the ground.

  At the grass.

  At the dirt.

  “I don’t want to die,” I whisper.

  My family has never been religious, never even gone to church. Mama said when she was little she’d been dragged every Sunday and hated it. Dad never went a day in his life. They told us we could decide when we were older if it’s something we wanted to do, but it seems pointless.

  What good comes out of praying to someone nobody truly knows exists? Faith shouldn’t be blind if it’s meant to be followed. Where’s reason? Where’s proof that believing in God actually makes death any less terrifying?

  Maybe you’ll see Lo.

  Maybe…

  It’s not enough though.

  Doubt creeps into the cracks that one day may allow me to see Lo. Doubt is Fear’s best friend—the little demon I’m well acquainted with that rests on my shoulder and whispers everything I have to be afraid of in my ear.

  What if death is death?

  What if I never see Lo?

  What if Mama loses it completely?

  What if.

  What if.

  What if.

  I’m fed every insecurity and internal dread that can beat me down. One day, I may not get up. I may not survive it. It could end me.

  Exhaustion swipes over me as I stare blurry-eyed at Lo’s headstone. I want to reach out and touch her name like I’m touching her hand, her hair, her face. I want to hug her just one more time.

  Just one more.

  I curl up on my side on the ground, right over her grave, and pretend she’s right here with me like I’ve done in the summertime.

  Sometime later…I fall asleep.

  There’s cursing. Cursing and shivering.

  Why am I so cold?

  Suddenly I’m being cradled in warmth, floating in air. Everything hurts. My limbs. My face. My muscles. I think my teeth are chattering but I’m too numb to know for sure.

  Forcing my gaze over the muscular shoulder of the person holding me, I see Lo’s headstone fading away. I squirm, cry out, and plead for the person to set me down.

  “Lo!” My voice is hoarse as I reach out behind me.

  “Stop, Emery,” a familiar voice demands. The grip on me tightens, keeping me in place against him. “Dammit, Mouse. What the hell were you doing sleeping out here? It’s fucking forty degrees.”

  Mouse.

  Slowly, my gaze lifts up to meet his face. He isn’t looking at me though. He’s facing forward with a locked jaw that’s popping in anger. If he looks down, I bet his eyes will be dark, hard—full of judgment.

  “W-wanted…L-Lo.”

  He scoffs, walking the path in front of him like he’s done it thousands of times. When my shaking becomes too much, he swears again and holds me closer, his breath warming the tip of my nose as he picks up the pace.

  “You would have been with her for good if you stayed out here any longer,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

  I want to laugh. If he’d known what I’d been thinking of before I fell asleep, he would see the dry humor in that too. Or maybe he would tell me I’m an idiot.

  Burying my face in the crook of his neck, I feel him tense. I want to ask him if he believes in the afterlife or heaven or hell. Does he think he’s going to one or the other? Does he not believe at all?

  I bet Cam took him to church.

  Instead of asking him anything, I absorb the heat his body offers me. We’re silent, though I’m sure he has lots to say to me. I’m grateful he doesn’t say any of the things he’s probably dying to toss at me—to yell, to call me out on.

  When he makes it to the front door, a loud gasp sounds. Grandma. She ushers him i
n and tells him to put me in my room. He stumbles and stops and glances around until Grandma points him in the right direction. Momentarily, I wonder if the hair is still on the pillow. I didn’t move it. I couldn’t.

  Before he rests me on the mattress, I notice there’s nothing on the case. Releasing a silent breath of relief, I flutter my chilly eyelids until I’m watching his grim features.

  He isn’t looking around the room.

  He isn’t snooping through my stuff.

  He’s staring at me. Watching.

  He’s…worried.

  “W-What are y-you doing here?”

  Grandma comes in before he can answer, ushering him out. “I need to get her out of these cold clothes. I’ll let you back in when she’s changed.”

  She closes the door on him just as he steps over the threshold into the hall. Grandma scolds me under her breath as she peels off my coat and shoes, then carefully helps me slide out of my jeans and socks, and slipping off my shirt. Beside her on the nightstand is a wet washcloth, and my body eases into the warmth of it when she starts carefully pressing it against my skin.

  “Don’t ever do that again, Emmy.” Her voice cracks and for the first time, I realize just how much she’s gone through.

  I’ve always worried about Mama.

  But so has she.

  Only she’s had the burden to worry about me too, and that was never fair to her. She shouldn’t have to concern herself over two generations of broken women.

  I swallow. “I miss Logan.”

  She pauses what she’s doing, setting the washcloth down and blotting me with a dry cotton towel. “I know. We all do.”

  “I miss Mama, too.”

  She grabs my pajama pants and helps me put them on. The fuzzy material feels perfect against my skin. The long sleeve top she chose matches the floral bottoms, and she makes quick to put the blanket over me once I’m fully dressed, tucking the edges under my body.

  “I think your mother misses herself too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I wake up in a haze. Something feels off. Blinking my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, I attempt to move only to find something holding me down.

  Pressing my lips together, I slowly gaze downward at the toned arm draped around my midsection. Eyes widening, I try remembering what happened before I fell asleep. Grandma had brought me grilled cheese and tomato soup, Kaiden told me tomato soup was gross, and—

  Kaiden.

  Just as I’m about to wiggle my way out of his grip, he tightens it. “It’s too fucking early,” he mumbles, voice muffled by sleepiness.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to get out of bed.

  He won’t let me. “I’m trying to sleep, but you’re being annoying.”

  Scoffing, I try prying his arm off me again. “I can’t believe you’re in my bed. You do know there’s one right over there if you wanted to sleep!”

  He grumbles and pulls me against his body. Being pressed against him is like having my own personal heater, which I normally wouldn’t complain about. My back is against his solid front, and I wonder how much time he puts into working out. When his lips brush my ear, I freeze in his hold. “Do you really want me on that bed, Mouse?”

  I’m about to tell him off when I realize he probably doesn’t mean it in the way I think. His voice isn’t cocky or slimy, it’s knowing. Closing my mouth, I glance at Lo’s made bed. It isn’t even the same one she slept on. The one she passed away in was taken away a few days after the funeral. I’m surprised they even put a new mattress in the room. It’s not like anyone would need it.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says, letting out a tiny breath that tickles my cheek. “You were shivering, so I thought this might help warm you up. Now stop talking.”

  He makes himself comfortable, his nose nuzzling in the crook of my neck and causing my arms to pimple with goosebumps. I wish I were uncomfortable, but there’s not even a lick of pain I could use to get him away. As if he knows that, his arm hugs me to him, molding my body to his.

  Oh my God.

  Is this spooning?

  My heart is going haywire in my chest. I’ve never cuddled with a boy before, much less slept next to one. The fact he’s so content only makes my anxiety worse.

  “Kaiden?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  I jerk when I feel his teeth nip the top of my shoulder. “I thought we established that. I’m—”

  I wiggle away from him only to press my butt against something hard. “In my hometown, Kaiden.”

  He groans and holds my hips still. “I need you to stop moving around unless you’re willing to help me out.”

  Brows pinched, I consider his words in silence while his breathing evens out. When I put two and two together, my throat thickens and I carefully scoot away until I’m on the edge of the already tiny bed. Gripping the mattress, I stare at the carpet and wait for him to answer.

  “I was bored.”

  “Most people watch television or, I don’t know, hang out with friends.” Trying to get comfortable leaves me struggling for balance, and I almost fall on the floor until Kaiden hooks his arm around me and yanks me over to him.

  Body heating when he moves to hover over me, I try looking at anything but him. His large frame takes over my senses though as he cages me in. All I see is how his red cotton shirt drapes from the collar just enough to see the sculpted body underneath. His natural woodsy scent reminds me of the trees I climbed once upon a time. But it’s his eyes, dark and penetrating, that get me the most. Once I lock my gaze on them I’m stuck there.

  Licking my dry lips, I murmur, “It isn’t like you don’t have a following of minions you could force to hang out with you. If you were that bored, you could have asked Rachel. I doubt it would take much.”

  His lips curve. “That sounds oddly like jealousy, Mouse. For the record, I’m still pissed at Rachel for pulling what she did. I didn’t know she took your key at school or grabbed the one outside.”

  We stare for a moment.

  Then I shrug.

  I vaguely remember Rachel bumping into me at school. I dropped my things and watched as she picked a few of them up. Silly me for thinking she was being nice.

  He flicks my chin. “Rach and I used to be close when we were younger. Honestly, she annoys the shit out of me now.”

  I hesitate to reply. “So why do you hang out with her?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Kaiden.”

  His smirk is wide. “Have to say, Em, I like my name on that mouth of yours.”

  I suck in a breath when he dips down, thinking he’s about to kiss me. I don’t want my first kiss to be on my old bed in the room my sister died in. And I shouldn’t want it to be with Kaiden.

  Instead, his lips brush the right side of my mouth, then trail to my ear. “Nostalgia.”

  I blink.

  He pushes himself back up. “Rachel reminds me of what it was like before I let everything get to me. Before your dad came into the picture, Mom was always on my ass about my feelings and shit. It was…” He paused. “Rachel helped me forget about it all.”

  Frowning over his response, I soak in the way his features softened. He likes Rachel, respects her maybe. Yet, it seems like whatever they have going on is on two different levels of understanding.

  “I don’t like your father,” he continues, brushing his knuckles across my jaw. “But I don’t hate him either. He distracts my mom.”

  Swallowing is hard with my heart lodged in my throat. “You talk to her more. That must mean you want something from her. She loves you so much.”

  His touches stop, his knuckles lingering against the edge of my chin. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but his gaze drifts across every piece of my face like he’s looking for something, searching.

  “I do it for you,” he hums under his breath.

  Without another word, he settles on his side and draws me into him. My sho
ulder presses against his chest, and I don’t bother fighting him when he repositions us so we’re both laying on our sides. This time we’re facing each other, but I can’t look at his expression.

  I focus on his shirt, the way his chests rises and falls, and I exhale slowly. “Why did you bother coming here? Be honest.”

  His hand finds mine between us. He guides my palms to his chest and leaves them there, curling one of his arms around me until our bodies have no room left between us. Without mobility of my hands, I can’t push him away.

  Do I want to?

  We spend a while listening to each other’s breathing. After enough time passes, I settle into the bed, letting one hand drape around his side and the other fall onto the mattress.

  “You didn’t say goodbye,” he whispers.

  I close my eyes and breathe in his scent.

  “I was coming back.”

  His silence tells me what I already know.

  He doesn’t do well with goodbyes either.

  The longer we lay in silence, the more my body settles back into comfort until my lids get heavy. I’m half asleep when I feel his hand go to my hair and brush some behind my ear. I’m too tired to worry about what his touch will do to the fragile strands.

  He leans toward me. “I was worried about you, Em. That’s why.”

  His voice fades.

  The room fades.

  But his warmth lulls me to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I wake up alone by the time the sun is finally up. It takes me a while to get my stiff limbs to cooperate enough to stretch and climb out of bed. After changing into leggings and a sweatshirt, I head to the kitchen where I smell bacon.

  To my surprise, Kaiden is at the table with a plate of pancakes in front of him. Grandma smiles at me when I walk in and transfers a few of the fluffy cakes on a plate for me, along with some fruit on the side. Glancing at the empty seat next to Kaiden and the one at the opposite end that Mama usually sits in, I weigh my options.

  I sit in Mama’s seat.

  “How did you sleep, Emmy?” Grandma finishes cooking before turning off the burners and joining us at the table. She sits between Kaiden and I, poking at the eggs on her plate.