by Toler, B N
When I got home that night, Mama let me rest my head in her lap and held me as I cried. I cried because Constance was gone. I cried because it hurt. I cried for Bailor and Joe. I cried because the man I loved was hurting so deeply.
Mama lay in bed with me that night and held my hand.
As the tears soaked my pillowcase, I asked her, “Mama, where did you go?”
With everything going on I hadn’t thought to ask until right then.
“There was someone I had to see.”
“Who?”
She shook her head and said, “It’s no matter right now.”
“Are you and Daddy getting a divorce?”
I felt her body shake subtly, but no sound escaped her.
“Yes,” she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.
It was the worst day of my life.
But I was glad that she told me the truth. I’d rather have all the hurt at once than have it doled out to me bit by bit.
“Why mama?”
“It’s too hard for me to talk about right now, Emalee.”
I rolled over and watched her shake as she silently cried, her pain stabbing at my heart. I realized my mama had been hurting and there had been no one to love on and comfort her.
I repositioned us so I was propped up and she rested against me then I began stroking her hair. I wasn’t a pro like her, but she looked at me and with the moonlight shining through the window I could see how grateful she was in her tear-filled eyes.
Eventually, we both fell asleep and when I woke up, she was already downstairs making breakfast. My father sat at the table, reading a newspaper as Mama sat a plate in front of him. Neither of them spoke.
Ever since the morning after Cole had spent the night, Daddy had been insistent that we leave for Texas as soon as possible, but when Mama had returned the following morning and realized Constance was at the end, she’d put a stop to it. I had been at the Kepner’s so much during Constance’s last days, I’d missed the arguments and most of the awkwardness between my parents, but I’d known it was there. My mother had been firm on not leaving before Constance passed, and ultimately my father had agreed to wait an additional week. I guess everything had already been said. Now, they were simply dancing around each other until we left.
My brothers and I spent the last few days clearing out the medical equipment while Annie arranged for all of it to be picked up. The day of the wake, all that remained to do was to bring the furniture back in. Joe was organizing the books and DVDs while I arranged the furniture when someone knocked on the door.
Assuming it was another neighbor stopping in to check on us, Joe just hollered for them to come in and continued with his task.
When Emalee’s father entered the den, I released the chair I’d been repositioning, letting it slam against the floor. “Uh, Mr. Jennings,” I managed. “Emalee and your wife aren’t here.” The two had left an hour before to get the food and groceries for the wake and hadn’t returned yet.
“I’m sorry about your loss, boys,” he said flatly, shifting his gaze between us. “I understand your mother was a tough lady.”
Neither of us said anything.
After an awkward pause, he turned his focus directly on me and said, “I was hoping to talk to you, Cole. Man to man. I understand you’re going through some difficulties, and I think I may be able to help.”
I lifted my brows, surprised he would offer to help, given his attitude toward me all summer. “Would you like to step outside?” I finally suggested.
He turned and walked out, and I cut Joe a questioning look before following him. I had no idea what he was going to say, but I knew with all certainty it had to do with Emalee. When we were on the porch, he pulled a folded white envelope from his pocket and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“Did Emalee tell you we’re leaving in a few days?”
I blinked a few times. She hadn’t. She wasn’t supposed to leave for another month.
“We were going to go sooner, but she insisted on staying until your mother passed away.”
I didn’t respond.
He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels as he smiled condescendingly. “That’s a check.” He turned his head as if inspecting the house. “I heard your family was on hard times with your farm. Caring for a sick parent couldn’t have made that any easier, God rest her soul. Now, I don’t know the specifics of your situation, but I’d wager that check is enough to put a significant dent in your debt.”
A snarl raged from deep within me, and it took all I had not to let it out. If he had been anyone other than Emalee’s father I would have unleashed the fury inside me and thrown him off our land. Steeling myself I asked, “Why would you give us this money?”
“Think of it as incentive. This town, the people here…it’s all too simple. She’s better than this place. Emalee has worked really hard for her future, and even with all that work, it’s still a long shot. She can’t take on that challenge and try to keep ties with you.”
I shook my head at the sheer arrogance of the man. I held the envelope out to him. “Mr. Jennings, Emalee and I have always known we’d go our separate ways when the summer ended.”
“You really think it’s that easy, son? She’s not going to just go off and forget her first love. I’m asking you to ensure it’s really over. Make sure she doesn’t think she should come back. Ever.”
I narrowed my gaze at him. “Emalee’s chance at success is the only thing you and I will ever agree on.” I took a step toward him, the envelope still in my outstretched hand. “So as you can see, bribing the simple farm boy wasn’t necessary.”
Ignoring the envelope, he stepped off the porch and walked toward his car. “You hold on to that, son. In this sad time, you might not be thinking clearly.”
I watched him drive off before I stormed back in the house, balling up the envelope as I went and threw it in the trash. I didn’t even look at the amount. I didn’t care. He was an asshole for meddling in his daughter’s life that way.
“You okay?” Joe asked from the doorway of the kitchen.
“No,” I answered honestly. “I’m not.” I cast a disbelieving look at my brother. “He just tried to bribe me to not only break up with his daughter, but to end it so terribly that she never wants to come back.”
“What an asshole,” Joe breathed through clenched teeth.
I stared out the kitchen window, frustration strangling me. I’d known our time together would end, so her father showing up shouldn’t have wound me up so much, but it had. Maybe it was the reality of it finally hitting me. Emalee hadn’t said anything about leaving sooner, but with Mom’s death, maybe she hadn’t known how to tell me. Dread filled me. I knew I had to let her go, but damn, it was going to be hard.
“Everything will be okay, Cole,” Joe assured me.
I appreciated his attempt at consoling me, but I wasn’t in the right headspace to hear it. My eye caught on the stack of bills on the counter, the notice from the bank on top. Taking the papers I shoved them in a drawer. “Probably better she leaves now, anyways,” I mumble. “Last thing I want her to see is us getting foreclosed on. I gotta get out of here and cool off.”
Joe let me pass without a word. What could he say? We were both clinging to the same sinking ship.
After the wake, the Kepner brothers sat on the porch and sipped whiskey as they stared out into the starry night while my mother and I cleaned up. At one point, Cole slipped into the kitchen and took a beer from the fridge.
Glancing between us, he dipped his head. “Thank you. Both of you. We couldn’t have pulled this off without your help.” He swallowed before clearing his throat. “I know my mother would have been grateful, too.” Then he abruptly exited the kitchen.
On the outside, Cole appeared calm and in control, but I knew inside the hurt and grief were raging. I hadn’t pushed him to talk about it. I hadn’t asked if he was okay, or tried to unlock the door that would al
low all the pain he was feeling to spill out. He’d maintained his control, and I’d known better than to do anything that might unravel him. The mourners had long since left, and I moved to go after him, to offer a safe place for him to fall apart, but my mother stopped me.
“Not right now, Em.” I turned back to her and saw she’d stopped wiping the counter and had fixed a firm stare on me.
“I just want to make sure he’s okay,” I explained, confused why she couldn’t see that.
“I know, but now is not the time.” When she started wiping the counter again, I realized she was leaving me to understand why now wasn’t the time all on my own.
“Put those pies in the fridge please, dear,” she instructed me. I bit back my usual groan of defiance and did as she instructed. I may not have understood her reasons for stopping me from going to Cole, but I definitely knew now was not the time to bicker with her. It took us another ten minutes to finish cleaning up, and when we were done, my mother gathered her things and we walked out on to the porch together. The night air was cool, a slight breeze offering a sweet relief to my warmed cheeks.
Cole and Bailor stood, taking turns hugging my mother as they said their thanks. She then bent and hugged Joe. The three of them looked so heavy, like invisible weights were tied to their arms and faces. Even their eyelids. “You came from good stock, boys,” she said. “I hope you’ll understand while it seems unfair, there is a blessing here. The three of you have each other. Hold fast to that.” The guys bobbed their heads, unable to meet her gaze.
Kissing me on the cheek she whispered, “You should stay tonight. I’ll handle your father.”
As she pulled away, I stared at her, slightly wide-eyed. Had she just given me permission to spend the night with my boyfriend and his bachelor brothers? The initial shock quickly wore off and I saw her suggestion for what it was—she understood I could comfort Cole. In that moment, something shifted between us as I realized she trusted me and was treating me like the adult I finally was. I wanted to hug her and squeal with delight for giving me this, but at the same time I wanted to cry. The moment felt…big. Like another kind of letting go of sorts. I was growing up and her role in my life was changing. This realization coupled with the loss of Constance nearly made my knees buckle. One day…my mother would be gone, too. My eyes welled with tears, and I pulled her to me again before she or anyone could see. We drove each other crazy most days, but I needed her fiercely, and even my brief epiphany of imagining a world without her was too much. “I love you, Mama. Thank you for everything.”
When she was at the bottom of the porch, I called to her, “Drive safe.”
We watched her car go down the driveway and followed the glow of her headlights against the fields until it disappeared. My hands twisted in a knot as I turned back to the Kepner brothers. What should I say? I wanted terribly to comfort them but had no idea how. I tried to think about the worst moment of my life, a moment when I was desperately sad. Nothing I’d experienced thus far could even compare to them losing their mother, their last living parent, but I had to try. What made me feel better when I felt my worst?
Music.
In a flash I was in and out of the house, returning with Constance’s guitar and settled on the porch steps. I didn’t ask them what they wanted to hear; instead, I just strummed the guitar and stared out at the fields and the breath-taking starry night and sang. She hadn’t been my mother, but I cried just the same as I imagined her barefoot in the grass, arms up and face to the sky, swaying with the music. I’d only known her when she was frail, weak, and barely a shell of a woman, but that had never been her spirit. Her spirit was bold and robust; it moved with rhythm and vitality, and I knew, wherever her spirit was, she was singing, dancing, and laughing.
I sang until my throat was dry. The sound of the screen door slamming finally stopped me, and when I turned only Cole remained. He approached, his eyes dark with numb despair. He took the guitar from me, then held his hand out to help me to my feet. I followed him inside where he propped the guitar against the wall in the foyer. He took my hand again and led me to his room.
I closed the door as Cole sat on his bed and tugged his shoes off, letting them drop to the floor at his feet. I pulled my dress over my head, dropping it where I stood, then my bra and panties. Cole watched me, his expression blank. I went to him and helped him get his shirt off, then I bent down and unbuckled his belt helping him shimmy out of his pants. When I stood again, he put his hands on my hips and rested his head between my breasts. I cradled his head in my arms until he lifted his face to mine then I bent and kissed his forehead.
I pulled the blankets back and crawled in bed with him. His skin felt like silk and fire against mine. I rested my forehead against his and gently stroked his face.
His body shook as he silently cried, all the while I comforted him, kissing him softly everywhere my lips could reach. All I wanted, more than anything, was to take some of his pain away. To make him feel better. I didn’t have a lifetime of experience in my arsenal for combatting grief, but I had love. And dear God, did I love him. I couldn’t replace what he’d lost, but I could give him something. A part of me that would always be his and only his. A part of me that would never leave him.
“Put your weight on me, Cole,” I whispered. “Let me carry it for a bit.”
His tear-soaked lips found mine and he kissed me gently, each brush of our mouths becoming more fevered, harder. Rolling me on my back, he climbed on top of me, breaking our kiss for a moment to look at me. I wiped his face with my hands and brushed his hair back, my body pulsing as I felt his desire press against me.
He didn’t break eye contact with me as he pushed inside of me. I tried not to tense against the intrusion. My fingers dug into his shoulders as he carefully moved until he was fully seated, stilling for a moment when I let out a quiet moan. Cole trembled, a ragged breath on a quiet groan escaping him. I pulled him to me, insisting he rest his weight on me. He finally lowered his head to rest beside mine and nuzzled his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, almost as if he were breathing me in. He pressed his cheek to mine and drew in a breath, unable to speak, but silently asking if I was okay. In response, I wrapped my legs around him, drawing him deeper into me. He began to move, thrusting slowly in and out of me as I whispered, I love you, over and over.
The hurt seemed endless. It was a sharp pinpoint needle weaving through me like the fabric in one of my mother’s quilts, and this seamstress had steady hands.
I should have told Emalee to go, but I had no strength to push her away.
“Put your weight on me Cole,” she’d whispered. “Let me carry it for a bit.”
I hadn’t been thinking clearly. It was wrong to take her innocence when my mind was in such a terrible place, but everything had been taken from me and there she was. This treasure. She was like any of my other dreams, just out of my reach, but this part of her would always be mine.
So I took it.
And I wouldn’t apologize for it.
I would never be sorry for loving her, for making my mark on her the only way I ever could.
I only hoped she wouldn’t regret giving it to me.
We shared three more days together, riding the fleeting summer love to its inevitable demise.
We knew what was coming, and I’d reminded her countless times, but even as I said it to her, I was also reminding myself, and in the midst of the dreaded goodbye, we’d had our rally days.
Rally day was a term often used by the terminally ill—the last good day before the end. Only no one realizes in the moment that particular good day would turn out to be the last good day.
My mother’s rally day had been just before the ALS took her last arm. She hadn’t been able to stand or walk for months, but she’d been able to raise her arm and touch our faces one last time. In hindsight, I think maybe that was her goodbye to us. She’d rested her hand against my cheek, her eyes shining with untold love and gratefulness.
; “I love you, my sweet boy,” she’d said, using her ever-weakening voice one last time. When her hand dropped, she’d closed her eyes and whispered thank you over and over again, and I knew she was praying, thanking God for her children and praying that he would protect and bless us.
Emalee and I weren’t dying, but we were nearing a very different ending. The end of Emalee and Cole. The end of an infamous summer love. The end of first love. Though I hated knowing what was to come, I tried to think like my mother.
I was grateful for what I was given in that moment, and I’d thanked God for giving me these few last days with the girl I was in love with, but now—now I prayed for the strength to not only let Emalee go, but to make her go for good.
“Be serious, Em,” Bailor said pulling me out of my thoughts. “Who will you miss more? Me or Cole?”
Emalee laughed, her eyes shining with tears as they hugged.
“It’s okay,” Bailor whispered obnoxiously. “I know it’s me. I won’t tell Cole.”
Emalee laughed again and I smiled sadly. Bailor-the-jokester generally got on my nerves, but there were times when he really knew how to soften a tough moment. This was one of them.
“Will you keep Pinky for me? I know I won’t get her back, but…just keep her. Please. I don’t want anyone else to have her.”
“Yeah, we’ll take good care of her,” Bailor promised.
When they pulled away, she looked up at him. “Thank you for always being so good to me, Bailor. You’re an amazing friend.”
He kissed her forehead and stepped back, bowing slightly with his hands together. “Thank you for everything this summer. You helped make Mom’s last days brighter, and I will always be grateful.”
Emalee wiped at her face. “She made my days brighter, too.”
Bailor turned to me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Stay strong, brother.” With that, he walked inside the house.
“Oh, I’ll get Joe,” I said and moved to spin around.
