How could he say that? His words crashed into me like a harsh wind blowing an umbrella inside out, unhinged and irreparable. I grasped for anything to convince me the ground wasn’t slanting. The lamppost kept my balance, but its light exposed the tears I couldn’t stop.
Riley pulled me close then and raised my chin. I grabbed his shirt, afraid to let go. He drew in a breath at my touch. His fingers moved across my cheek to the nape of my neck and fit into a place made just for them. He leaned closer, every movement consuming me. His chest rose in quick, shallow movements.
“You’re going to nail that interview tomorrow. You’ll keep your scholarship and go on to get the kind of job you’ve been fighting for, find the future your dad taught you to believe in. You deserve your dreams, Em. All of them. Promise me you won’t ever give up on your own song.”
Everything in me wanted to tell him he was my dream, beg him to stay, but the detached look in his eyes told me it was too late—he’d already left.
He leaned in to kiss my cheek, lingered a minute longer, his lips devastatingly soft. “Goodbye, Emma.”
His silhouette drifted past the streetlight’s dim glow and faded into the distance. I slid down the lamppost. My cheek found the cold concrete ground. Night closed in a claw at a time, until there was nothing left but the debris of hope strewn across a sidewalk as empty as I felt.
chapter twenty-one
Wreckage
Clear Channel Media and Entertainment. The black vinyl lettering on the glass door filled the entire waiting room with a sense of prestige to live up to. Multi-platform advertising, marketing opportunities, and world-class partnerships. Mr. Oakly would swoon over my association with the company. If I got in.
I slid the pearl along my necklace. If this weren’t my last promising lead, and Mr. Oakly’s deadline weren’t so close, I wouldn’t have come. If I got the position, I’d be reminded of Riley every day. How he went on a mission to find another internship opportunity for me. The way we rehearsed interview questions. That kiss.
My stomach clenched. Now, I wouldn’t even be able to tell him how it went. Even if he didn’t love me, how could he walk out of my life like that? The wound seared with fresh pain.
Pull it together. You can’t mess up this interview. Focus.
In one of Jaycee’s satiny blouses, a pencil skirt, and heels, I looked just like the other five girls waiting their turn to interview for the Business Analyst position. Well, almost. Jaycee’s skilled makeup work could only disguise so much of last night’s wreckage.
A girl two seats down from me swept her pin-straight blonde hair over her shoulder. The brown leather boots painted onto her calves rubbed against a matching leather briefcase. How could she be so at ease? Arm relaxed over the chair, sunglasses dangling, thumbing through a Vogue magazine like she was some executive’s daughter without a single worry.
Miss Leopard-Print Heels beside her swirled a chrome travel mug in her hand while poring over a black padfolio. One mindless swish of her wrist, and she’d add coffee-tinted polka dots to her knee-length, cream, cashmere jacket. What college student could afford cashmere?
If the girls weren’t intimidating enough, the three male Express model lookalikes topped it off. Tweed blazers, perfectly trimmed goatees, spicy cologne competing with the smug reflections they periodically examined in their smart phones. A tawny-haired guy in the corner stared at me while the words, “in the bag” rolled off his lips into the receiving end of his cell.
It was like someone had cast me into a twisted TV movie—The Devil Wears Prada meets The Hunger Games. Candidates armed with iPads and eyelash curlers.
My snicker petered into a sigh. Maybe I was out of my league. Riley’d made it easy to believe I had a chance. He’d made a lot easy to believe. Was any of it real?
The memory of him walking away last night pulsed each time Brunette Number Three drilled her fire-red fingernails over the chair arm. I clutched my manila folder across my torso and straightened in my seat. You can do this. You have to do this.
A girl with hair coiled in a sleek hold and a teal belt around her nonexistent waistline stood with her back holding open the door. “Miss Matthews,” she read from a clipboard.
No one moved. The woman tugged her rimless glasses down her nose and glared across the waiting room. “Emma Matthews,” she said again, not bothering to disguise her impatience.
My chair agreed to release me, but my nerves weren’t as obliging. Following one tentative step forward, I made it across the small room in Jaycee’s heels without spraining an ankle. “Yes, ma’am.”
Both salon-manicured eyebrows peaked with disapproval at my choice of salutation. She lowered her clipboard to her side. “Come with me.”
Trotting behind her, I pried the manila folder from my hand and rubbed my sweaty palm against my skirt. The farther we walked down the glass-walled hallway, the more see-through I felt.
The afternoon sun filtered through the offices along the left-hand side of us. I breathed a little lighter until the tips of my shoes bumped into the assistant’s designer slingbacks.
She waited a moment before facing me, probably forcing down an expletive. “Do you have your resume?”
I tapped my folder. “Yes, ma—”
Her sharp scowl cut off my now-confirmed-avoid-at-all-costs title. “Have that ready. Ms. Steele is accustomed to keeping a tight schedule.”
Ms. Steele? Seriously? That’s her name?
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m sorry, I thought I was meeting with” —I fished through my folder for the paper Riley had given me with the contact info on it— “Mrs. Weberly.”
Somehow, Mrs. Weberly sounded far more approachable than Ms. Steele.
The assistant fanned her lashes while she gripped the top of the clipboard and pinned the opposite end to her hip. “Ms. Steele’s opinion is the only one that matters.”
Her gaze marched up and down my silhouette. Something shifted in her expression. Pity? I must have looked worse off than I thought. I fluffed my hair out from behind my ears.
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Shoulders back. Always. She needs to see that you’re confident. No stuttering. If a question catches you off guard, you have exactly five seconds to recover. Understand?” With a quick near-smile, she grabbed the chrome door handle. “And Miss Matthews? Leave off the ma’am reference. ‘Ms. Steele’ will do.”
A burst of cool air from inside the office rushed over my flushed cheeks.
“Your two-fifteen, Ms. Steele.” The assistant jutted her head toward the empty seat in a silent motion for me to get a move on it.
I eased my clenched fingers from my folder as I approached the oversized, L-shaped desk.
Ms. Steele held out a collection of envelopes without prying her focus away from her computer screen. “Alyssa, these need to make it to the mailroom by two-thirty. Reschedule my four o’clock with Mr. Pruett to tomorrow. Tell Stan he had better have those briefings on my desk by the time these interviews are over. I have real work to do today. And cancel my dinner date. Appears I’ll be eating in again.”
She faced me then. Her straight edge bangs blended into the thick liner accentuating the expectations in her eyes. “That’ll be all, Alyssa,” she said without releasing me from her silent assessment.
“Yes, Ms. Steele.” Alyssa flittered away while scribbling ferociously on her clipboard.
The door closed, sucking all the air out with it. Though the pristine office looked nothing like Mr. Oakly’s, it held the same wall-closing feeling I got anytime I sat opposite one of his scrutinizing glares.
Ms. Steele rubbed her pointer finger underneath her chin and tapped her shoe into her desk’s clear paneling, probably counting the minutes I was wasting.
I smoothed out my skirt and took my seat. Keeping my shoulders back as instructed, I presented my resume before she requested it.
She reclined in her sleek black chair. Her waistband was as high as her button up dress shirt
was low. “Business major at Reed,” she read aloud.
“Yes, ma—” I cleared my throat in a quick recovery. “Ms. Steele.”
Two seconds later, she set my resume on her desk and arched her laced fingers above it. “Why are you interested in working at Clear Channel?”
I crossed one leg over the other, clasped my knee, and tried to recall the answers I’d rehearsed. My throat felt more parched than the artificial plant on her desk.
“I believe Clear Channel would provide an excellent opportunity to turn my academic preparation into practical experience. I’ve always admired media and the arts and can’t think of a better scenario than getting to incorporate my business training with the entertainment industry.”
Ms. Steele tugged open her front drawer, pulled out a swatch of blue fabric, and proceeded to clean her glasses while I delivered my prepared answers to each of her questions. She pressed her forearms on her desk over the single piece of parchment she’d used to size me up before I ever started rambling.
“And tell me, Miss Matthews, what do you have to offer this company that no one else in that waiting room has? What makes you unique?”
The words struck my eyes before bottoming out in my stomach. I folded my arms over my blouse and clutched my sides. The image of Riley walking out of my life blurred into the memory of Dad slipping away. The remaining emptiness closed in with the resounding answer I’d wasted the last five years trying to change.
What made me unique? Nothing.
My five-second recovery time lapsed. And even though my interview had probably ended the moment I’d walked through the door, I found Ms. Steele’s gaze once again and offered all I had left to give. “I can’t tell you if the other candidates’ resumes are more impressive than mine, but I can assure you that I’m a hard worker, a quick learner. I’m determined to prove you wouldn’t be making a mistake by hiring me. I—”
“That’ll be all.” She fluttered her hand toward the door as she had done with her assistant earlier.
It took me a moment to stand, to blink, to feel anything at all. The executive door shut behind me, severing my chance of securing the only internship lead I had. In that narrow hallway, I waited for the cement to dry around the crumbled cinderblock I had no choice but to piece back together around my heart.
chapter twenty-two
Numb
The concept of time lost its meaning, as if someone had shoved a blunt object into the spoke of a wheel to prevent it from turning. But maybe that’s what it’s supposed to feel like when you lose everything.
Jaycee knocked on the bathroom door. “Em, there’s this little thing called water conservation. Ever heard of it?”
I turned the knobs off but didn’t move. Water dripped from my hair down my skin to the bottom of the tub.
She tapped the door again. “You all right in there? You’ve been showering for almost an hour.”
“I’m fine.” I braced the shower wall with my palms. I’d sanitized the kitchen, vacuumed every room, dusted every baseboard. I’d been to the gym, prepped for my classes. No distraction moved time, just like no distraction stopped the pain.
In my robe at the sink, I dragged my towel across the fog-coated mirror. A sliver of my reflection peeked through the condensation. Streaked. Blurred. Fragments of the person I’d tried to be bled into the image of the person I’d feared becoming. The reflection from when Mom first lost everything stared back at me.
I wiped the mirror again. And again. And again. I couldn’t erase the image, the emptiness. Shrieking, I dropped to my knees. My strength caved into a pile on the floor with my wet towel.
A container of Clorox wipes rolled out from under the sink into my legs. Without a thought, I tore one out. Then another and another. I didn’t stop scrubbing every inch of the bathroom until my fingernails turned raw and the disinfectant fumes finally drove me into the hallway.
Hunched against the wall, I folded my arms over my knees. Pick yourself up. Forward. Keep pushing forward. Don’t be weak. Don’t give in to despair like Mom did.
Someone touched my arm. The back of my head hit the wall.
“Easy, Em.” Jaycee stood above me with her hand outstretched.
“I can get up on my own.” I forced myself off the floor and escaped to the bedroom. The door swung behind me and flew right back open. “I’m not in the mood, Jae.” I yanked shirt after shirt out of my dresser drawer in search of my favorite long-sleeved tee.
“Too bad.” She advanced. “You may not want to talk, but you can at least listen. Look, I know you’re upset about Riley and the internship. I get it.”
I slammed the drawer and glared at her. “No you don’t.” I’d always admired Jaycee. Maybe even bordered on envying the way everything came together so easily for her. But I’d never been spitefully jealous of her. Until right then. “Please don’t tell me you understand. I don’t need to hear any platitudes right now, especially from you.”
The fiery words smoldered with regret the second they left my mouth. The expression on Jaycee’s face didn’t help.
I tugged my shirt over my head. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . .” What excuse could I give?
“No, I’m glad you’re angry. It’s good to be angry. You can’t keep your emotions locked up inside you, pretending they’ll disappear if you ignore them. If you want to yell, we’ll crank up the music so you can scream and nobody will hear you. If you want to cry, I’ll buy you a pallet of Kleenex from Sam’s Club. But I swear, if you keep moping around here or go on any more cleaning binges, I’m gonna have to take a step of intervention. Don’t make me hide the Clorox wipes from you, because I’ll do it.”
We both cracked a smile.
She tilted her head, voice softening. “What happened to strong, driven Emma?”
“Maybe she was a lie too. A cloak for the scared, insecure Emma.” The one I’d been pretending didn’t exist.
“Em.” She crossed the room. “Just because it hurts doesn’t mean it was a lie. I know the last thing you need is some flippant cliché about how time will heal. But I want you to promise me you won’t give up.”
She tucked an arm around me and rested her head against mine. “I’m here to lean on, but you gotta keep standing.”
“It’s hard to stand when your legs are numb.”
“You girls filming a soap opera in there? It’s time to roll,” Trevor yelled from down the hall.
“Hold your horses, will ya?” Jaycee shook her head. “See what fun you could be having? Come out with us tonight.”
I gathered my wet hair in a band and fell on my bed. “No, thanks. You guys go.”
She jutted her chin but relented. “Tomorrow, then,” she said before rounding the corner.
I hugged my legs to my chest and stared at the flat white panels running down the bedroom door. The brokenness I’d stifled after Dad died reclaimed its hold, like a darkness that deepened after a momentary glimpse of light. My arms constricted around my knees, drawing them closer. Another barricade. But the room’s barrenness felt too raw, too near. I had to get out of there.
Outside, nothing came into focus until the pebbles along the gravel trail shuffled under my sneakers. The creek flowed down stream. Moving. Always moving. Same as I was supposed to be doing. I’d never stopped running for a reason. When you stop, you feel.
Windows in classroom buildings darkened the longer I walked. Benches lost their occupants. The chill in the air intensified. I wandered onto the deserted football field.
Under the blackened planetarium of stars, I dropped to the grass and gripped the tops of my thighs. My chest rose and fell, begging for a way to release the pain, torn by the hope of wanting there to be more to life than there seemed.
“Dad,” I whispered to the heavens. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down.”
My heart wept in place of the tears locked inside me. A child terrified by the unknown—longing for the protection and assurance of her daddy’s embrace, desperate not to be left abando
ned and alone.
On dew-soaked knees, in the middle of an empty field, I searched the array of stars again. “God, please help me.”
A damp breeze clung to my face with the only response I expected to receive. Silence.
I sat back and tucked my arms in the bend behind my legs. Shimmers of lamplight flickered over the sheet of liquid glass covering the creek. A delicate ring of water expanded around a single raindrop. And then another. And another. Until they danced to the sporadic rhythm of a light rainfall.
Each drop disappeared into the water—lost, as though it had never existed on its own. Just like glimpses of hope. Except unlike the raindrops, hope always left behind a trace of its existence.
Pain.
I started back to my apartment. It must’ve been late. The entire campus had fallen still. Everything was poised for dawn to unleash the animation of a new day. Everything but me. How was I supposed to move forward when I couldn’t prove Dad right? When I couldn’t keep Riley’s friendship? When I had nothing left to give?
Someone stepped onto the gravel from the shadows. A tight gasp pushed me two steps backward. “Trevor, what are you doing here?”
The understanding pouring from his eyes eliminated the need for words. I could’ve been looking at my brother.
My throat tightened, my voice frail. “Please, go and have a good time with Jae tonight. Don’t worry about me.”
I tried to pass him, but he wouldn’t let me run away. Not from him, not from the pain. He caught my hand and held me close. “Em, it’s okay.”
I wrestled to break free and pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about. Pretend his words weren’t ripping through the caution tape holding my heart together.
He wrapped his strong arms around me, cradled my head between his shoulder and chest, and rested his hand over my hair. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered again.
One by one, the tears I’d harbored leaked through their barrier. I clung to fistfuls of my friend’s coat and to the strength I needed to keep from drowning.
Eyes Unveiled Page 16
