The Missing Piece

by Jessica Baxter

“Thanks, Jack,” I say, flinging my arms around his neck.

  He squeezes me back tightly. “Everything is going to be okay, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  I don't know if there's any truth to Jack's words or if he's just saying this to make me feel better, and quite frankly, I don't care. I just want to curl up in my bed and talk to Ian. I push the door open, the cold night air brushes against my cheeks. I climb out of the truck, giving Jack a small wave as he drives back down the street.

  When I notice Mads car across the street I almost turn back around and run towards the truck, instead, I square my shoulders and march through the front door. She's sitting on the couch, flipping through the BBC channel, a bowl of popcorn resting on her lap.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, crossing my arms tightly to my chest.

  She pulls her legs off the couch and sits up straighter, making room for me, but I don't budge from the doorway. “Mr. Ramerz across the road called me, he said he saw an ambulance pulling into your drive and asked if I could come over and sit with Sammy . . . while the EMT’s took your mom to the hospital.”

  “What?”

  She shakes her head. “I don't know what happened. He said he tried reaching you, but he couldn't get through. I didn't get his call until I was already home and then I tried calling you as soon as I did, but you didn't answer.”

  I roll my eyes. “I think I would know if you called me.”

  “Emily, please,” Mads says, walking towards me. “Can we just move past this?”

  I throw my hands up. “You’re unbelievable. My mom could be dying and you want to do this now? You didn't even believe me when I told you about Mason . . . why should I give you another chance?”

  She flinches.

  “He never acted that way towards me . . . h-how was I supposed to know?”

  My body shakes with fury.

  “I was supposed to be your best friend. Why didn't you believe me?” I ask and then turn and run up to my room, locking the door behind me.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  My pillows are propped against the wall, my laptop rests on my lap as I lean against my pillows and video chat with Ian. His hair is messy and tousled and he looks like he's just woken up, but when the video chat connects and my video feed goes through to him his face lights up. He breaks out into a huge grin and my insides melt like chocolate.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about me.” He says, winking at me and then he runs his fingers through his hair.

  I wince. Tears brim my eyes threatening to spill and I duck away to hide this. Ian's face fills with concern all signs of his playful manner dissipating. “Em, what's wrong?”

  “Mas . . . ” my voice creaks.

  Ian's body starts to shake and his breathing deepens. “What did he do?”

  I shake my head, attempting to shake my tears away. I wish I was back in Los Angeles with Ian . . . that time could turn back to our one perfect night.

  “Mason . . .” I suck in a ragged, shaky breath. “He . . . t-tried to . . . r-rape me.”

  Ian leaps to his feet, so quickly his chair clatters to the ground. “The bloody bugger. I'm going to kill him.”

  He marches to his closet and starts pulling clothes out, throwing them on his bed. He reaches up to the top shelf and pulls down a small, black suitcase with a little Union Jack flag covering it.

  “The wanker,” he mutters, as he starts shoveling his clothes into the suitcase.

  “Ian.”

  He's so focused on what he's doing that he doesn't hear me. I clear my throat and speak a little louder this time. “Ian, what are you doing?”

  He looks at me incredulously. “I'm flying out to be with you. I don't want that prat anywhere near you.”

  My heart grows three times as big like the Grinch's at Ian's words, but it breaks a little as I tell him he can't come to Ohio, that he needs to stay in England. “Your parents would resent me if I took you away for the holidays, and didn't you say Sophie will be home this Christmas?”

  He buries his face in his hands and groans. “I just feel so helpless. How am I supposed to help when you're there and I'm here?”

  “Distract me,” I say, pushing my laptop to the foot of my bed and lying down.

  “How?” Ian's lips twist into a perfect smirk.

  I scratch under my chin like I'm contemplating the possibility of multiple universes and how each universe coincides. “Let's play a game.”

  Ian gives me a quizzical look, but I ignore him.

  “Not just any game.” I continue. “This will be a game of bravery and wit, of strength and virtue.”

  “And, what would this game be?” Ian asks, laying back on his bed. “What are the rules?”

  “Truth or dare—but the daring has to stay within reason . . . since we're not together. And, if we complete any dares we need to attach either a video or a picture to our emails or something.”

  Ian gives me a smoldering look. “Emily, if you wanted my email all you had to do was ask.”

  “Okay.” I laugh. “Ian, I want your email.”

  I grab my phone to exchange emails with Ian and guilt washes over me. My phone has been on silent this whole time and I didn't even realize it; my notifications are full of missed calls from Mr. Ramerz, Ian and . . . Mads.

  Should I apologize?

  No. I shake my head. She didn't even have the decency to believe me—when I was supposed to be her best friend, and she cut me out of her life when I was at my weakest and needed a friend the most. I don't need to carry around baggage like that or have that negativity in my life. Goodbye, Mads. I think before erasing her number from my phone.

  I'm a little self-conscious to share my email with Ian because of how nerdy and lame it is until I see how nerdy and cute his email is, too. I think Ian the Brit is going to become his new name in my phone.

  “Can I add a rule?” Ian asks, propping himself up with his arm.

  I nod.

  “Okay, if you pick a truth you have two days to answer whatever question the other person comes up with.”

  “What happens if you refuse to answer?”

  He purses his lips. “Then you lose the game. Deal?”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, sticking my hand out for a virtual handshake, which makes Ian laugh. “Deal.”

  To: Ian Roberts

  From: Emily Stone

  Subject: Please, don't get sick of me . . .

  I know, we just ended our video chat an hour ago and you're probably asleep right now—sorry. :( But I'm so scared and worried about my mom. Any chance you're still up?

  To: Emily Stone

  From: Ian Roberts

  Subject: Re: Please, don't get sick of me . . .

  I could never get sick of you. What's going on? Do you want me to call again?

  To: Ian Roberts

  From: Emily Stone

  Subject: Re: Re: Please, don't get sick of me . . .

  Please, call. I think it would help just knowing that you're here.

  I'm curled up in a ball on my bed, my mom’s words playing over and over in my head when my phone rings. Ian's picture flashes across the screen. I click accept and Ian's face fills the screen. He's lying on his bed, covering up with a giant gray duvet with different Batman symbols and masks.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “What's wrong?”

  I take a deep breath and then start filling Ian in on everything that's happened since I came home. “Mads was here when I got home and she said Mr. Ramerz from across the street saw an ambulance pulling up to my house and tried reaching me, but when he couldn’t get a hold of me he called Mads and asked her to come to sit with Sammy.

  Mads said she didn’t know what happened exactly because the EMT’s wouldn’t tell her and it’s too la
te for me to go and visit her since visiting hours are over and when I tried calling the hospital and getting put through to her room they told me it was too late to be waking up patients for phone calls . . . ”

  A sob rips through my chest. “What if her tumor has grown and it’s everywhere now? What if there’s nothing the doctors can do?”

  “Oh, Emily,” Ian whispers into the phone. “I wish I was there with you. A-are you sure you don't want me to come? I could be there in the morning.”

  “I would love for you to be here, but I would much rather be in England with you.”

  “You will definitely love England.” Ian smiles. “There are so many spots I want to show you when you're out here this summer.”

  My stomach flops. I forgot about that: Ian and me, this summer. Alone. Granted our other friends will be there, but still. “Like what?”

  “We need to go to Alton Towers. It's one of the best theme parks I've been to. My dad used to always take me as a kid and it was always a blast. There's a restaurant there called the Roller Coaster Restaurant and they send your food down to you on little roller coasters, it's awesome!”

  He sits up. “It's not too far from Pemberley and since you enjoy Pride and Prejudice so much I think you'd enjoy that.”

  “I would love walking on the grounds of Pemberley,” I say, snuggling deeper into my blanket and closing my eyes. “What else would you take me to see?”

  “We'd walk through some of the older villages and along the river to play pooh sticks. Then we'd watch the different boats docking. Then I'd take you to see castles and old manor houses. We'd have picnics in the park and eat sausage rolls and scotch eggs.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” My eyes feel heavy and I know sleep isn't far. “Teleport me there?”

  “Oh, wow. I don’t know, I’ve only teleported grapefruit before. And, England is really far away. I’d have to really like you to get you all the way here. I mean you have to cross the Atlantic and that’s huge.”

  My heart speeds up. Is he saying he likes me?

  Ian’s face floats in my mind, us holding hands walking through the streets of London. We pass Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and Tower Bridge. He can't stop smiling at me and I can't stop smiling at him. He leans in and kisses me, heat rises to my cheeks.

  “Mm,” I sigh. “That would be nice.”

  Ian chuckles. “What would be nice?”

  “If you would kiss me again.”

  Ian's voice sounds hopeful as he asks,” Truth or dare?”

  “I'll always tell you the truth,” I say and then roll over and fall into the deepest sleep I've had in a long time.

  Chapter Forty

  My mom is sleeping when I walk back into the hospital room—Sammy nestled into her side. Jack picked us up earlier this morning—I called him first thing this morning and filled him in on everything.

  He's sitting off in the corner, dozing off in one of those hard recliner chairs found only in hospital rooms. And, I wonder for what feels like the millionth time if something more could be going on between Jack and my mom.

  I don’t think my mom’s been seeing him behind my dad’s back or anything, but rumors spread about everyone in a small town and the rumor surrounding my mom and Jack is that he’s been hung up on her since the ninth grade.

  Of course, he could just be a good friend and I could just be reading into things, but his being here, when my dad hasn’t even had the decency to show up yet, speaks volumes.

  I pull out my phone and log into my DisneyFreaks account, anxious to see if I have any messages from Ian. My eyes squeeze shut as last night’s conversation replays in my mind. I vaguely remember something about kissing and that mortifies me.

  How could I open up like that when I'm not even sure if he likes me? What if he really wants to just be friends and now I’ve ruined everything?

  I take a deep breath and with my eyes squinted almost shut look at my inbox. There's a lot of junk mail, a few emails about college scholarships I'll need to fill out soon and then I stop scrolling; there's one from Ian. My heart does a loop-dee-loop, butterflies fly from my toes all the way to my heart.

  To: Emily Stone

  From: Ian Roberts

  Subject: Truth # 1 . . .

  Do you have a crush on anyone?

  This one question sends my heart thumping like a horse happily galloping through a field after a long winter. I slam my laptop shut as warmth rises to my cheeks.

  “Emily?” My mom asks, and it feels like I’m a little girl again and my mom has just caught me sneaking my vegetables under the table to our dog Blue.

  “Mom,” I say, way too enthusiastically and rush over to her side. “How are you feeling is there anything I can do?”

  “My right arm is numb.” She laughs. “Can you move Sammy?”

  “Yeah, of course,” I say, walking over to Sammy and scooping him up in my arms. My mom scoots back in the bed, pulling her feet up to her chest. She pats the spot on the bed next to her; I lay Sammy at the foot of the bed and climb up next to her.

  “You look exhausted, honey.” She says, wrapping her arm around me. “I know the past few weeks have been stressful, but it's going to get better, you'll see.”

  My mind swarms with everything that's happened since my father called and told me Mom's cancer came back. I think of the days I spent locked away in my room; the fear that overtook me and made me push everyone away. It was so hard to breathe, to function, to want to be around other people. I shake my head, trying to focus on my breathing and be present at this moment with my mom, but the anxiety bubbles up inside of me, slowly, but surely, preparing to break through the surface.

  I close my eyes and beginning chanting Disney princesses in my head, but this time it doesn't work. I can't calm myself down, I feel like I'm trapped and even though I know I'm perfectly safe in this hospital room with my mom I can't shake the feeling that Mason or my father will show up and something is going to go terribly wrong.

  My body tenses and my mind goes blank. A dark, empty screen and then all at once it's filled with the buzzing of a thousand little wings. Buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. I curl my legs into my chest and bury my face into my hands. My mom says something, stroking my arm, but I can't hear her over the persistent buzzing.

  I feel numb. Empty. Broken.

  Tears run down my face. Why am I crying? What am I anxious about?

  The doctors said mom passing out had nothing to do with her cancer, that her scans still look good. So, why can't I be happy? A sob rips through my chest. My mom pulls me into her arms, wrapping me into a fierce bear hug. She presses her lips to my ear. “Emily, it's okay. I'm here we're going to get through this together.”

  A few hours later, I'm sitting on my mom's hospital bed watching The Sound of Music with her and eating double-chocolate brownie batter ice cream. My mom keeps glancing at me, her eyes full of worry and concern. After I calmed down from my meltdown, she asked me to get her a cup of coffee . . . she didn't say it, but I knew it was so she could talk to Jack, alone.

  When I came back, Jack was getting Sammy ready to leave. He said Sammy was going to spend the day running the diner with him and could even learn how to make his trademark secret strawberry shake, so my mom and I could have a chance to catch up and gossip.

  “You know, you can tell me anything.” My mom says, scooping another bite of ice cream into her mouth.

  “I know.” I take a deep breath, before forcing the words out. “Mason and I broke up . . . and at first, I was really sad because I thought he was my everything and that our relationship was the stuff of legends, but as time went on I slowly realized I didn’t feel like myself when we were together. I felt trapped and uncertain; it was like I was always walking on eggshells or something.

  After a while, I felt relieved that he finally ended things . . . it felt like I could breathe again, but then dad called and told me that your cancer had come back and it felt like th
e waves were slamming me down over and over again and no matter how hard I’d try I couldn’t stand up again . . .

  I-I thought it would get better once I made new friends and got used to Los Angeles—and they help, but I can't get over the dread growing inside me. I'm always worried something horrible is going to happen.”

  My mom runs her fingers through my hair. “Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry! You've had a lot on your plate—more than anyone your age should have to deal with. It's normal to feel down or anxious at times, but things will get better.”

  I shake my head, sucking in a deep breath.

  “No, mom, this is more serious than that. When dad called and told me your cancer was back I was physically drained. I couldn't get out of bed or leave my room. I didn't want to talk to anyone or do anything.”

  A sob rips through me. I squeeze my eyes shut trying to keep the tears from falling. My mom pulls me against her and begins stroking my hair, which doesn't help me not to cry. She starts singing the Angel Lullaby by Lex de Azevedo—the lullaby she used to sing to me as a child, whenever I would have a bad dream or get scared from watching a movie.

  “You came from a world where all is light . . . to a world half day and a world half night.” I close my eyes, resting my head on her shoulder.

  “I-I don't want to feel like this, mom. I want to be happy. I want to live my life and enjoy everything to the fullest. I-I think I need help, mom.”

  She grabs my hand, squeezing it. “I would do anything for you, Emily. We'll get you the help you need.”

  The following night, I'm sitting on my bed staring at the email from Ian hoping I'll gain the courage to say I like you when I receive a call from Danielle. She's sitting crossed-legged on her bed. I didn't think it was possible, but Danielle's bedroom makes her dorm room look like a minuscule closet a 5-year-old tried to decorate.

  Her walls are painted a light gray with a giant coral flower stenciled around the window. Colorful pom-pom garland hangs from corner to corner running across the ceiling. A built-in desk with bookshelves sits in the corner. The shelves are full of miniature Eiffel Towers, pictures of Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe and books about visiting Paris.