Breathing 02 - Barely Breathing

by Rebecca Donovan

  "Why would you ever think that?" Vivian questioned in complete bemusement.

  "I overheard him telling Evan that I wasn't his future, the night of the New Year's Eve party," I admitted softly, the words still stinging.

  Vivian was quiet. Her face was smooth but her sharp blue eyes moved in contemplation.

  "This is not about you," she said firmly. "This is between my husband and my son, and I'm so sorry that you were made to feel you had anything to do with it. Emily, I adore you, and I couldn't think of anything that would make me happier than for you to be my son's future.

  "The only reason I was telling you this was to apologize for the tension the other night. I wish you didn't have to witness my husband's silent defiance." She cupped my hands that were clasped so tightly, my knuckles were white. "Please do not worry about this matter. I am quite certain it will work itself out."

  "I want to promise you that I will never do anything to hurt Evan, and I will not come between him and his family. I love him, but I would walk away before I'd ever let anything jeopardize his happiness," I vowed passionately.

  Vivian smiled adoringly. "I know, dear. That's why I wouldn't want him with anyone else." My heart swelled with her words, and I blinked away the sentiment with a smile. She laughed lightly at our emotional state, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

  "Oh, there she is," Vivian stood to greet her other guest.

  A tall, slender woman with dark skin and big brown eyes approached us. She seemed so refined, in a light blue dress with pearls strung around her neck. I stood with Vivian to be introduced.

  "Emily Thomas, I am pleased for you to meet Dr. Michelle Vassar. She is an alum from Stanford University, and was on their women's basketball team."

  Dr. Vassar offered her hand, "Nice to meet you, Emily." I smiled and shook it firmly.

  When we sat down, Vivian beamed and proceeded to gush about my acceptance to Stanford and my scholarship to play soccer for the university. I'd never had anyone so openly proud of me before, and at that moment I wouldn't have wanted it to be anyone other than Vivian Mathews.

  After spending hours talking about Stanford, medical school and Dr. Vassar's professional experiences, I drove to the soccer field feeling lighter and more excited about my future than I had in months, replaying the entire conversation in my head.

  I emerged from the bathroom dressed in my soccer gear and spotted Evan standing along the sidelines.

  "Hi," I said, coming up behind him.

  He spun around at the sound of my voice and his face lit up, making my heart falter. "Hi. How are you feeling?" I was relieved that he was over his skepticism regarding my feigned illness.

  "Great! I had a really nice brunch with your mom."

  "Good," he returned, pulling me toward him. I wrapped my arms around his chest and held him tight. He gave me a kiss and said, "Good luck in the game."

  I grimaced. "Sorry, but I'm probably not playing today. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

  "I'll stay." His arms squeezed tighter around my waist. "Then we can do something after."

  After benching me the first half of the game, Coach started me the second half. I had a feeling it had more to do with us being down by one, and he preferred winning to upholding his policies. He announced that since I wasn't sick any longer, I could play. He conveniently didn't mention the two missed practices.

  We came back in the second half and won by two. It was a good thing Evan had stayed after all.

  "Do you want to follow me back to my house?" Evan asked. "Jared and Sara are there. They want to go bowling with us tonight."

  "Bowling?" I questioned dubiously.

  "Yeah," Evan chuckled in amusement. "You've never played before, have you?"

  I shook my head, making him smile wider. "Yes, I'll follow you," I sighed.

  "Emma," Sara laughed, "you already let go of the ball. You can't steer it down the lane like that."

  I continued to lean to the right, hoping the ball would redirect itself and not veer so far left. My body movements didn't help. I only knocked down two pins.

  "Sorry," I frowned. "I suck."

  "It's your first time," Jared consoled, trying to keep me positive. "We'll come back. Just try to keep your wrist straight so you don't spin the ball so much. Don't worry. Sara's not all that great either.” He ducked away when Sara swatted at him.

  It felt good to laugh. I hadn't done it very much of it lately.

  After Evan rolled a spare, Jared stood up and said, "I'll try to take it easy on you, Evan." Evan gave him a mocking smile. "Oh, are you coming to New York this weekend before you take off to Hawaii for April break?"

  "I'm not sure," Evan told him, sitting next to me and draping his arm over the back of my orange plastic seat.

  "You really can't come with me?" Evan asked me again while Jared selected the perfect ball.

  "To Hawaii?" I laughed like he'd just asked me to fly with him to the moon. "No way. I couldn't afford a trip like that. Besides I have to stay for soccer. It's the same reason I'm not going with Sara to the Keys."

  "First of all, I told you, you wouldn't be paying for it. And secondly, you already got into Stanford to play soccer. You can miss a week." He begged one more time, "Please, come with me."

  I smiled, and before I could allow myself to even consider it, I said, "Sorry, I can't."

  "I've tried, Evan," Sara interjected. "Believe me, I've tried. I think she's trying to soak in as much time in Weslyn as she can before you're off to Stanford."

  "Yeah, right," I shot back with a horrified face that made her laugh. "I can't get out of Weslyn fast enough."

  "Speaking of which," Jared chimed in after he motioned for us to admire his strike that was flashing on the screen above our heads. "When are we going to officially celebrate your admittance into Stanford? The both of you, actually."

  "Graduation?" I suggested. I wouldn’t be convinced I was going until I walked down the aisle with the diploma in my hand.

  "That's actually a great idea," Evan considered. "We can have a huge graduation party in my backyard."

  "Yes!" Sara exclaimed in excitement before rolling the ball down the lane.

  "And your dad will go for that?" I questioned skeptically, knowing he and Evan weren't exactly on speaking terms―kind of like me and my mother, but for extremely different reasons.

  "Who cares," Evan shrugged. "What's he going to do?"

  Jared laughed with enlarged eyes, like he knew exactly what their father was capable of. Evan didn't seem fazed. But I couldn't help but shrink a few inches in my chair.

  "Should I be worried about Evan and his father?" I asked Sara when I was driving her back to her house.

  "Are you looking for insider information because Evan's making it seem like it's not a big deal?"

  "Well, yeah," I answered uncomfortably. "Has Jared said anything?"

  Sara was quiet, deliberating what to say. She always got fidgety whenever she had to tell me something I didn't want to hear.

  "Just say it, Sara," I demanded flatly.

  "I promised Jared I wouldn't, so you have to swear that you won't mention it to Evan, no matter what." I just stared at her impatiently. "Fine. Mr. Mathews has threatened to cut Evan off if he goes to Stanford. He said he could freeze his accounts, take away his passport and even his car."

  "Over choosing Stanford?" I struggled to get the words out.

  "You know it has nothing to do with Stanford."

  "Yeah," I breathed. "I do. I can't let this happen."

  "It's not your decision to make, Emma," Sara warned. "It's Evan's."

  30. Unexpected Future

  My mother couldn't stay silent for long. It was against her nature. So whether she'd truly forgiven me or not, she was talking to me like she had.

  "I may be a little late tonight," she informed me, rushing around as she tended to do most mornings before work. "Do you have practice today?"

  "No, not today," I told her from my
spectator position, on the couch with a bowl of cereal.

  "Do you think you could cook dinner?" She paused and looked to me. "Or... maybe order out? I don't think I'll be out of the meeting in time."

  I smiled and said, "I may go to Evan's for dinner."

  "Great. I'll feel better knowing you're eating something that's not microwaved. But I won't be late, okay?"

  "Okay." She'd been letting me know her schedule for the past couple of days. I was pretty sure it was her indirect way of apologizing for making me worry about her last Thursday night when she passed out at Sharon's without calling.

  She rushed out the door with a lightweight jacket over her arm.

  This week had taken a pleasant rise in temperature. They were forecasting near eighty by Friday, which was unheard of in early April in Connecticut. I wasn't complaining.

  With the increase in temperature and only eight weeks to go until permanent freedom, the seniors were having a hard time concentrating. Class was more chatty and the halls were bouncing with energy.

  "Want to skip last class?" Sara proposed during lunch.

  "I can't," I moped, "I have a paper due."

  "What are you doing after school? You should come over."

  "I don't think I'll have time. I have to get some laundry done before I have nothing to wear, and then I'm going to Evan's for dinner."

  "This weekend then. I'm not leaving for Florida until Monday, so you can spend the weekend with me. Do you have a game?"

  "On Saturday," I told her. "Yeah, I think we need some girl time."

  Sara smiled. "Yes we do! I'm feeling a little disconnected from you lately, so we have some catching up to do."

  "Agreed."

  I'd decided even before this conversation that I needed to fill Sara in on everything that was happening with my mother. I didn't have Jonathan to talk to any longer, and Sara was my best friend. She was supposed to know these things. Now that we had actual time set aside for us, I somehow felt... better. Sara would know what I should do. Or at least have a very candid opinion of the situation.

  With a promise of seeing Evan at his house after baseball practice, I drove home with my windows down. Spring was starting to stretch its arms, and I welcomed it after a frigid and snowy winter. The early spring flowers were in bloom, and the trees were in varied stages of budding or flowering, which meant in a few weeks they'd be filled with green leaves.

  I knew this warm and sunny weather was a fluke in early April―they were already predicting cooler temperatures and rain by the end of the weekend. But today the heat from the sun felt good blowing against my face as I drove home.

  There was a man standing on my doorstep when I pulled into the driveway. First impression, his dark suit and brief case―he was a salesman. He even wore a fedora on his head. But when I stepped out of the car, I realized his tailored suit was much too nice to belong to a door-to-door salesman. Besides, I didn't think anyone did that anymore.

  "Can I help you?" I questioned as I approached him.

  "Are you Emily Thomas?" the tall older man confirmed, removing his hat to reveal thick white hair, brushed back to expose a receding hairline.

  "Yes," I answered cautiously, still standing on the walkway, hesitant to get closer.

  "My name is Charles Stanley," he explained. He stood erect on the porch, his perfect posture making him appear to tower a mile above me. "I'm the lawyer for the Thomas family. I am your father's executor."

  "My father?" I questioned, unable to move.

  "Yes, Derek Thomas," he answered patiently. "Is there somewhere private we can talk? Do you expect Rachel home any time soon?"

  "No, she's working late today," I told him, ungluing my feet and tentatively walking towards the door. "Do you have a card or something?"

  "Of course," he replied, pulling out a silver card holder from his pocket. He opened it and extended a card to me, confirming who he was. I didn't have any real reason to doubt him.

  I unlocked the door and held the screen open for him. "We can sit in the kitchen."

  "Wonderful." He followed me into the kitchen and set his hat on the table. I kept my eyes on him, fearing that if I blinked he was going to disappear.

  "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "No, I'm fine. Thank you," he replied, sitting in the chair and unbuckling his briefcase to remove a file. I lowered in the chair across from him, my hands shaking slightly. "I'm sure you're wondering who I am and what I'm doing here, so let's begin. As I said, my name is Charles Stanley. I have represented the Thomas family most of my career, focusing mainly on estate matters and preparing their trusts and other financial concerns."

  "I'm sorry," I interrupted, already confused. "You keep saying the family. I don't understand. Who does that include?"

  Charles nodded and began again. "Your father gave me permission for full disclosure, so I may reveal to you everything I know that pertains to him. Derek Anders Thomas was born to Laura and Nicolas Thomas. They lived in Lincoln, Massachusetts most of his life. His brother George Samuel Thomas was born three years later.

  "Derek attended private schools through high school and went on to Cornell where he studied Architectural Engineering and eventually graduated with a master’s."

  "Cornell?" I questioned in surprise, wondering why I'd never known this.

  "Yes," Charles replied calmly, his smooth deep voice devoid of emotion. Then he continued, "He decided to return to Massachusetts to be near his family, and took a position with the top engineering firm in Boston. This is where he met Rachel Walace." He paused. I swore I saw sympathy flash across his dark blue eyes for a moment before he returned to his emotionless report.

  "She was a temporary replacement for their receptionist who was out on leave for a short time. From this point forward, the facts that can easily be researched are combined with your father's firsthand account and his own opinions. So unfortunately, I cannot substantiate much of what I'm about to tell you.

  "Derek was under the impression that Rachel was older than she was when they first met. She indicated that she was twenty-six, and he at that time was thirty-two. They went out on several occasions, and he really enjoyed her company. She was different than most of the women in his social circle, and he described her as a 'breath of fresh air.'"

  My insides were already chilled, because I knew how old my mother was when I was born.

  "In time, he discovered her true age of twenty and broke off the relationship immediately. Your father believed in integrity and trust above all else, and she’d lied to him. She was distraught over the break-up, and made multiple attempts to regain his favor. Just when he thought she'd given up, she appeared by his car after work with the news that she was pregnant."

  I exhaled and closed my eyes, my stomach turning to ice. I wasn't planned. They weren't married. They weren't even technically dating.

  "Are you okay, Emma?" Charles asked. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

  "I'll get it," I said in a rush, pushing myself out of the seat. I needed a break from the story, from the truth of how I came into this world. It was so different than I'd ever imagined. I returned with a glass of water, and after taking a small sip, I encouraged, "Go ahead. I'm ready."

  "Derek agreed to restart their relationship, and to be there for you when you were born. Months later, he bought a house in Lincoln where you were raised for seven years. Rachel chose not to live there after Derek's death, but the house was not rightfully hers and became a part of his estate. Which brings me to why I am here today."

  "Wait," I intercepted frantically. "Did they ever get married? Did he love her? What about his parents? Are they still in Lincoln?"

  "I'm sorry. I am certain you have more questions than I am capable of answering. No, Rachel and Derek never married. He did care for her, and he was convinced that she loved him. But he admitted to me that he did not trust her. She was young and irresponsible, tending to be a bit excessive in her social habits."

  I smirked with a dis
gruntled shake of my head, knowing he was politely saying that she was a drunk even back then. This was who she always was. It wasn't a symptom of grief, a way for her to cope. It was as much a part of her as the lies she'd led me to believe all of these years. The lies that included a fairly tale romance, a marriage that didn't exist and a love destroyed by a senseless accident. And where did I fit into her delusions?

  My throat was tight. My insides were hollow. I thought my head might explode from all the conflicting emotions coursing through me.

  "Your grandparents moved to Florida before you were born. They, your grandmother in particular, did not approve of having a child out of wedlock, so they disconnected themselves from Derek and Rachel, and therefore, from you. Apparently your grandfather did not feel as strongly, and when he passed fifteen years ago, he left a sizable inheritance to each of his sons―despite Laura's wishes.

  "That inheritance is the foundation for your father's estate." He opened the folder and began displaying sheets with numbers and charts in front of me. I was too overwhelmed to understand them. They became a blur of ink before my eyes.

  "What is this?" I choked, my hands trembling in my lap.

  "This, Emma, is your future," he explained smoothly. "Your father invested wisely, and with his earnings at the firm, the sale of the house in Lincoln, and his life insurance policy, on top of what he had inherited from your grandfather, his estate is quite impressive. All of these assets become your legal right when you turn eighteen in June.

  "I decided not to wait until then to speak to you since you have financial obligations with Stanford that need to be addressed more immediately. Congratulations you on your acceptance."

  "Uh, thank you," I replied automatically, staring at the figure at the bottom of the page―several commas floating before my eyes. "So this is mine? I can afford to go to college?"

  "My dear girl, you can afford college, medical school and still be able to open a clinic in Africa if you wanted." I looked up at his wrinkled face and for the first time his lips motioned a smile.