Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé)

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  “Let her do this. Stop trying to fix it.” Pops comes from the side of the house.

  That’s not in my nature. I’m supposed to fix it. “I can’t fix it.”

  “No, you can’t. She will mourn. She will deny. She will cry. She will get pissed. She may lash out at you. You will stand there and take it. Absorb it. Comfort her. Love her.”

  “I do.”

  “We all know that. It’s why nobody is interfering and letting you handle her. Luke stepped back and gave you the reins. It may be the briefest of times, but she is calmest with you. Your love will help her through this.”

  “It’s hard. I want to punch someone. Beat something to oblivion. It burns,” I point to my chest.

  “Yep. That’s love. Want a beer?” I chuckle and shake my head. She’s been asleep for a few minutes, and I have about an hour. I need to shower, but I need to unwind, so I can give her my best.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Emma

  I can’t be here. The looks of sympathy, the hugs of friends, the comforting words of strangers. They mean well, but it does nothing but remind me of the dirt covering my Nana. Sure she’s in a place of peace. Done suffering, her feeble mind is whole and if I listen to the words of wisdom thrown at me all day, she is looking down, keeping me safe.

  She’ll forever hold a place in my heart.

  She’s proud of the woman I became.

  She’s with my Papa.

  She’s home.

  I’m not.

  I’m lost.

  I’m splintered.

  I can’t see the big picture these people are trying to create.

  I flee. I run. I don’t stop.

  Lap after lap. The bleachers become a blur through tears. My breathing erratic from sorrow and exertion. I kicked my heels off somewhere and my nylons are shredded. The clay from the track bites into my heels, soles, and skinned knees as I’ve lost count how many times I’ve fallen. I force myself to get up. I can’t quit. Keep running.

  And running.

  And running.

  I’m hobbling, and as I round the curve I see blood staining the track from my previous lap. That fuels me to push harder, punish myself further. I don’t know what this will rectify.

  Why wasn’t I enough to make her remember?

  Why couldn’t the doctors keep her mind sharp?

  Why did the medicine fail?

  Why did she leave me?

  Another slice to my foot, another lap down, another fissure in my soul.

  I stumble, and before I go down again, I’m lifted off my feet and cradled in the arms I crave. The ones that used to bring me calm but can’t batter back the assault my memories are giving me.

  “Shh, baby. I’ve got you.” I’m placed in his truck, his hold never relenting as he maneuvers the streets to my house. He carries me through the front door and voices that sound like I’m underwater surround me. I can’t understand the words, only the noise. I’m placed in warm water; pain overwhelms me as my feet feel like they’re burning, heat singeing the flesh. I lean over and empty the contents of my stomach, paying no attention to surroundings. My face is wiped clean, my wounds tended to, whispered words in a calming tone. A glass of water is brought to my lips, a pill placed in my mouth. I swallow without caring what is entering my system.

  My body is being caressed with a towel. Gentle pats soak up the water. My feet are slathered in salve, bandaged tightly, and my head hits the pillow. I’m aware of it all happening, I just don’t have the inclination to help or fight it. I close my eyes and beg the darkness to take me.

  I wake to sunlight streaming across my room and Will next to me. My hand is secure in his, fingers stroking me from forehead to jaw and back again. His eyes distraught, lines marring his forehead, eyes bloodshot, mouth in a grim line. I trace his forehead and push back a lock of his dark hair and stare into the eyes that save me. “I can’t be here,” I croak. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, my throat burning from dryness.

  “Okay. You want to go back to school with me this week or want me to come to your apartment?”

  “Mine.” He nods and pulls his phone from his pocket. My mom and dad come through the door within minutes.

  My dad looks shattered. I realize he buried his mom and dealt with my stunt after the funeral . . . he’s exhausted. “I’m sorry.”

  “We know.” My mom crawls next to me, rubbing soothing circles on my back. My dad can’t speak. His eyes bore into mine, trying to erase my hurt so I don’t have to feel it. He’d bear my pain; fight the world just to save me an iota of suffering.

  “William is taking me back to school.”

  “No.” My dad is firm.

  “Daddy, I can’t be here. I can’t see all the days I spent here with her and know she’s not coming back. I just need space.”

  “Not another stunt like yesterday, Emma.”

  “No sir.” William faces him. “I’ll stay by her side, and if I need anything, I’ll call you.” That seems to appease my dad some. My mom gets up and ushers him from the room.

  “I keep messing up, huh?”

  “No, Ems. You’re hurting and reacting. Maybe you didn’t handle it in the best way, but you’re nineteen. Death is hardest on those left being. We’re gonna help you, baby.” My mom comes back in the room and starts packing my bag.

  “William, go home and pack. I should be done here in a few minutes.” My mom keeps about her task—afraid if she stops she’ll break.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He kisses my forehead and leaves.

  “Mom—”

  “Emma Nichols, you scared the shit out of your father and me. William was frantic, we had everyone searching for you. I know you’re hurting, baby girl, and that’s why I’m not tanning your hide, but don’t ever do that again.” She swipes her cheeks, wiping the tears I’ve caused.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You weren’t. I understand that better than anyone. I understand the relief you were searching for, but I also understand the pain you leave in your wake. You aren’t the only one who lost her.”

  I nod. I know that, but I wasn’t reacting to everyone else missing her. I was focused on my grief and myself. It wasn’t fair, but I didn’t want to take the time to weigh everyone else’s feelings. My dad lost his mom. My mom lost her mother-in-law and also her mother’s best friend. She’d been a second mom to her since age four. This is one of those mistakes most people refer to as stupid, but I don’t like that term. You can’t fix stupid, but you can right a wrong. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this.”

  “Honey, there’s nothing to fix. It will take time for us all to heal, but don’t think you’re alone. We all hurt. She left a void that can’t be filled, Emma, and all we can do is hold fast to our memories, focus on the love she gave us, and take one day at a time. I understand why you need to leave, but your father and I don’t have that luxury. When you feel better, we need to sit down and talk, deal with everything as a family.”

  “Soon. Right now I just need to call a time-out.”

  “Granted.” She cups my cheeks and kisses my nose. “This will be good for all of us. Your dad is trying to be so damn strong, and I think without us underfoot he will be able to have some moments to grieve.” Another chink of my heart breaks. Imagining my dad as anything other than unflappable is hard. He’s been my rock, my hero, my first love all my life. He handles my mom with finesse; he sets boundaries and controls how far I step over them. He handled Nana with kid gloves, and I wish I was strong enough to comfort him in his mourning, but I can’t. We’re all wading into this pool of unknown without a life preserver.

  The ride back to school is quiet. I place my head on Will’s lap, and he lazily runs a hand through my hair and steers with the other. No words of comfort come from either of us; just being together has to be enough. He carries me up to my apartment, my feet still too raw to bear weight, pulls the covers down, and places me on the mattress. After getting our bags, locking up
, and setting a bottle of water in my reach, he strips and climbs into bed. I burrow as deep as I can into his embrace and hold tight against the storm brewing inside me. “I love you, Ems. I’ll always be behind you.”

  “You’re always next to me.”

  “No, behind you I can catch you when you fall. Steady you when you stumble. Guide you when you lose your way.”

  “God, William. I miss her so much. It hasn’t been a week, and it’s too much. Even when she didn’t know who I was, where she was, what year it was . . . I could go to bed every night knowing we were sleeping under the same stars. The same moon. Each morning we woke to the same sun. That’s all ripped away. Every straw I grasp at, the falsehoods I built up are gone. I felt like I was losing her each day these past years, but nothing prepared me for the actual loss.”

  “I don’t think we can ever be prepared. I can’t ever imagine a life without you, my parents, and your family. It slices my chest open thinking about it, so if it became a reality I could imagine it would be a million times worse. All we can do is start each day hoping it will be easier than the last. No guarantees you won’t have setbacks, days you don’t feel like getting out of bed. I can’t tell you what you will deal with, what stages you will go through, and some you may experience multiple times. We all heal in our own way, each unique in what we can handle. All I can tell you is you’re not alone. Ever.”

  I pull his arms tighter, scoot back into him until no space remains. I cling, using his warmth, his love, and his strength to get me through. I feel his lips against my neck, his breath tickling my skin, and I drift, hoping when I wake up this is all a nightmare, or I have the fortitude to get through it.

  He stayed with me for Spring Break, leaving at the last minute to make it back to school in time for his class. I’ve talked to my parents, grateful they let me deal with things how I needed to. My dad will handle the estate and everything else that has to be done. I’ve signed the paperwork, allowing him to invest the money for me. The bulk of her estate was left to me, and I don’t have a clue as to how to file the paperwork, set up accounts. We’re donating all her clothes to the church shelter. My mom assures me dad is ‘handling things.’

  I’ve got a long passage in front of me, tackling one step at a time, and I know I’ll reach the end of the tunnel. One day. I’m in no rush, and it still feels like opening my eyes takes all my strength. I have family and Will to help me through it. I had finished my midterms when I got the call, so I just have to make it through the last months. I’m sure I’ll spend more time here than home this summer, the reverse of what I’d planned, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

  Summer is here, and I’m thankful I passed my courses. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind, but I managed to pull off a solid 3.4 GPA, making everyone happy. Will just left my apartment for camp; we opted to hide here for a week. I promised my parents I’d come home for a few days, and Will and I will spend a week or two with them. I’ve reminded them they are welcome to come see me.

  I enrolled in the International Social Work course this summer, and it excites me. I’m hoping to lose myself in laws and case studies. Rejuvenate my passion.

  “I’m home!” The house is spotless, smells of cleaner, and my parents both greet me looking refreshed. Time is healing our wounds.

  “Hey, baby girl.” My dad’s voice is gruff. I notice some lines creasing his face that weren’t there months ago. Not haggard looking but definitely aged. Death takes its toll on the living, that’s for sure.

  “Hi, Daddy.” I let him hold me as long as he wants. My mom joins in the action, and a piece of our hearts blends as one.

  “How long are you home?” He’s trying to hide his eagerness.

  “I’m going to stay a week, but I’ll be home when camp is over for four weeks, and I can finish my course here.”

  I see his shoulders sag but my mom grabs his hand. She’s saving me and reassuring him. This is what I need . . . distance and time. “You could come see me, stay for a few weeks?” I suggest that compromise.

  “That sounds good.” His smile bright and it makes my heart lighten.

  I’ve almost completed my class, and it’s been tough. The rigorous paperwork, the different laws each country has. Some crazy and unjust. Will should be home in a few hours, and I need to finish this last assignment so I’m free the rest of summer. I’m reading the laws regarding same-sex couples adopting because international laws are tougher. I zoom in and reread the passage I just read. This can’t be right. “Mom!”

  She rushes to me, short of breath. “What? You okay?”

  I wave my hand at her. “I’m fine. Brett and James adopted Will from Honduras?” My nose crinkles, concentrating on this conundrum.

  “Yes.” She reassures me I wasn’t losing my mind.

  I click another link, going back years to see if laws were different. “That’s odd. It says here that same-sex couples can’t adopt in Honduras. They find it unconstitutional.” She is silent, so I look up to see if she’s left. Her face is ashen, her eyes dart to the window overlooking their house. She’s wringing her hands. “Mom?”

  “Leave it be, Emma. Don’t open this can of worms.”

  “Is he not from Honduras?”

  “He is.”

  “Wait.” I pause, letting her words sink in. “He is. But it’s illegal for James and Brett to adopt there. Did they kidnap him?” The fucking mess this will be.

  “No.” Her voice quivers. “It’s not my story, and you need to drop it. A lot of people can be hurt.”

  The door hitting the wall startles us both, and seeing Will storm across the yard to his house freezes me in my spot. I don’t know what I stumbled upon, but I know it isn’t good.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  William

  I don’t know what conversation I just overheard, but I’m reeling. Looking at Phoebe’s face, hearing Emma’s questions . . . I’m fuming and don’t know the reason. I know where I can get answers, and I’m heading there.

  “WILL!” I don’t want to stop, but I can’t resist her voice. She runs to me and is in front of me before I can process what’s happening. “I don’t know what you heard—”

  “All of it. There is no way they adopted me legally from Honduras, so either I’m a black market baby, a kidnapping victim, or they’ve lied about where I came from.” Uttering those words, those conclusions I’ve formed scares the hell out of me. I search the tree line for some divine intervention, seeking answers that I don’t know the questions to. My body feels like it’s engulfed in flames, and as much as I want to confront this, I want to hop in my truck and flee.

  “We don’t know anything yet.”

  “Go back inside, Ems. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

  “I’ll go with you.” The thought of her hearing the torrid explanations waiting sends ice through my veins.

  “No.” I’ve let her down too many times. I was getting to the place where I felt I deserved her, and it’s all crumbling in my front yard. I step past her and keep walking. This time, I ignore her shouts, pleas, and tears.

  Slamming the door into the drywall announces my arrival. James has the phone to his ear, Brett is pacing, and I know from their looks they are rocked to the core. “I’m home,” I sneer.

  The phone hits the floor, their asses hit the couch, and I stalk into the room. “Calm down, William. This isn’t something we thought would come up.”

  “Which scenario is it? Did you kidnap me? Pay some poor woman to carry me and rip me from her, or am I from some other country, and you’ve lied my entire life.”

  “No, none of those things happened. You were born in Honduras. We did adopt you . . .” Brett runs his hands through his hair, drops his chin to his chest and goes silent.

  “That’s funny because I just heard that there was no way to adopt me from Honduras. Same-sex adoptions are banned.”

  “That’s true, the system forbids it, but the system is also crooked. We paid off the
government.”

  “Un-fucking-believable.” I can’t believe this. I must have misunderstood the fact they bought me. “You bought me like a piece of meat?”

  “Listen to us. We’ll tell you what you want to know.” James stands to approach me. I recoil from his touch and storm out. I can’t hear another word.

  I find myself on the dock, searching for what, I’m not sure. I want to wake up, rewind time. This . . . this is something I don’t know how to accept, how to contemplate.

  Sold.

  Bought.

  Paid for.

  I was a commodity to them, not a person. Not a baby they wanted. I wasn’t sought out, I was discarded, easy to pawn off. Money was traded like a business deal.

  “Will,” her voice soft, pulling my heart.

  “Go Ems. I can’t talk now.”

  “I know.”

  “How fucking nice. Who else knows?” Too much anger is flowing inside me.

  “My parents knew, that’s who told me. Your parents are upset, they didn’t want you to get hurt by the truth.”

  “The truth shall set you free.”

  “That’s not fair. Did you let them explain, or did you lose your temper?”

  “Don’t stand here and lecture me, your world didn’t just implode. I let you grieve how you wanted, maybe you could give me the same courtesy.”

  She steps back. “You don’t have to grieve. Your parents are at home, waiting to explain, they aren’t gone.”

  “Yes, they are. The parents who instilled morals in me have none. They paid money for me. I’m no better than a cheap whore on the street.” She gasps, but I keep going. “You couldn’t have just kept your nose out of it. You pry and pry, righting wrongs, seeking the truth. You got it, are you proud? You’ve ruined everything.” I won’t look at her, but I hear her sniffling, and I feel like shit.

  “I’m going to let some of this slide because you’re angry, and I’m the easiest target. But William Jacobs get your head out of your ass. Did you ask why they did it? Did you question how unjust the laws are? Discrimination because of who you love? There’s more to the story, and you need to hear it.” I ignore her.