Breathing 02 - Barely Breathing

by Rebecca Donovan

  "I still don't understand," I uttered. "George never claimed to have money. I mean, I lived with them for years."

  "George." Charles said it as if the name itself was an enigma. "George's choices were never made clear to me. All I know is that he was provided with an inheritance similar to your father's. What he chose to do with it or to divulge to his wife, is not something I know anything about." He paused. His grave expression pierced me. "I can never express to you how sorry I am for what happened to you while you were in their house." My eyes stung with tears. I blinked heavily to ward them off. "No one should ever have to go through what you were subjected to.

  "But your father would be proud of the person you have become, Emma. You are strong and intelligent, and the fact that you are here trying to make amends with Rachel means you have a good heart. He would be very proud."

  I nodded, swallowing against my closing throat. I diverted my eyes, not wanting to cry in front of this man.

  "You will continue to receive your monthly allowances, and they will increase once you turn eighteen. You will not have full control of your funds until after you graduate from college, or when you turn twenty-one. However, if you need anything, you may contact me at anytime, and I will make the proper arrangements for you, whether it is a computer, or a car, or an emergency situation. Your father has entrusted me to use my best judgment in assisting you."

  "Thank you," I whispered, still not processing half of what he'd just said.

  "Emma," he beckoned. I looked up at the aged face that remained impassive despite the intensity flickering in his eyes. "You may call me anytime, for any reason. Please understand that. I know you do not know me now. But I hope to gain the same trust and respect that I earned from your father. In the meantime, I wouldn't advise alerting Rachel of this visit, or your inheritance."

  "He never trusted her, did he?"

  "No," Charles answered flatly. "He loved you more than anything, and wanted you to have both parents in your life. But he did not trust her with his finances, or with you."

  "What?" I questioned with raised brows. "What do you mean with me?"

  "He hired a woman to care for you when he was at work. Concerned with Rachel's impulsivity, he didn't want you left alone with her. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to secure an alternate custody agreement, in case of his death, before the accident. He was trying to find a way around the legal rights of a birth mother so that you could be raised by someone who was better suited to care for and love you.

  "In the meantime, we set up a portion of his estate to go to Rachel, along with the monthly allowances to care for you, which then became accessible to George and Carol when they took custody of you.

  "This was never supposed to be your life, Emma. He wanted so much more for you, and I believe he would be happy to know that you will finally get it."

  "But I'd trade it all, every penny, to have him back," I wanted to say. I had a hard time raising my eyes to meet his, still too vulnerable with emotion.

  We sat in silence for a moment before Charles picked up each paper and placed it in the folder. He handed it to me. I shook my head. "I think you should keep it. I don't want her to find it."

  Charles nodded in agreement and inserted the folder into his case. "Then you should program my number into your phone and not keep my card."

  I took out my phone and saved his number under the initials "CS".

  "It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Emma," Charles said, standing and pushing the kitchen chair back into the table. "Do you have any other questions before I leave?"

  "No," I answered lowly, my mind spinning with more than I could process.

  "Please call me if you do."

  I walked him to the door. He turned to me and placed his hat on his head. "Take care of yourself." He walked out the door before I could respond. I watched him as he continued down the walkway to the large shiny black car awaiting him on the street. I shouldn't have been surprised when a driver stepped out and opened the back door for him.

  I was still staring at the empty space when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and answered it.

  "We're getting out of practice early," Evan announced excitedly. The lightness in his voice was a shock to my ears. I felt as if I'd just sailed through a hurricane. "Do you want to meet me at my house in an hour?"

  I realized I hadn't even started the laundry. "An hour. Um... sure."

  I hung up the phone and mindlessly went into the basement, sorting through the clothes to make sure I washed something to wear the next day.

  Then I went to my room and sat on my bed, still in a daze. I eyed the drawing on my dresser that Leyla and Jack had sent me, and went to pick it up. As much as I missed them, I kept thoughts of them at bay so I wouldn't be tortured by my choices.

  I inspected the woman in the picture. The one with the grey hair. My grandmother.

  This family would never be mine.

  And then it hit me.

  I buckled over like I'd been hit in the stomach and slumped to the floor. I still couldn't comprehend everything that had just happened, but one truth slammed into me with such force I couldn't catch my breath.

  I was never supposed to exist.

  31. What If

  I still hadn't completely pulled myself back together by the time I arrived at Evan's. He was sitting on the front porch swing reading a textbook when I pulled in.

  "Hi," I said, sitting next to him, intoxicated by him immediately. It was obvious from his wet hair that he'd just taken a shower. "What are you reading?"

  "Nothing interesting," Evan replied, closing the book and setting it on the porch below the swing. He lifted his arm and I nuzzled in under it, resting my head on his chest, breathing him in. "I like this week."

  I knew he was talking about the weather, and the fact that we were sitting outside in short sleeves in April, but my thoughts were somewhere else when I inadvertently laughed in contradiction.

  "What, you don't?" he questioned, peering down at me.

  "Oh, sorry," I shook my head, realizing he'd heard me. "Yeah, it's nice out."

  "What were you thinking about?" Evan asked, knowing me too well.

  I sat up to face him. My head was spinning, and I wasn't sure if I could verbalize what I was still trying to grasp myself, but I thought I'd give it a try. It took me a minute to open my mouth, but he waited patiently, watching my eyes flicker in thought.

  "Not to sound too deep, but I've been considering how just one little thing can drastically affect so many different things. Cause and effect. Choices and consequences. Is there a reason behind it, or is it just chance? Randomness. Like one person bumping into another person. They date, have sex, and the next thing you know―a baby's born. Whether that baby was supposed to be or not. Whether they loved each other or not. It happened. But... what if it was never supposed to happen?"

  Evan was silent for a moment. "Where is this coming from?"

  "I found something out this afternoon, and I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it just yet."

  "Do you want to go for a walk as we contemplate the meaning of life? Or we don't have to talk at all. We can just walk. But I have to insist on holding your hand, that's not an option."

  "Okay," I answered, trying to smile so I wouldn't come across as so depressingly serious. "I'd like it if you held my hand too."

  Evan led me around the back of the house, and we followed the cut section of the field that was his backyard toward the woods. We walked in silence for a while, letting the birds and the rustling of the breeze through the evergreens be the only sound. But my mind was not quiet, and it refused to remain calm.

  "Will you do something with me?" I asked, mesmerized by our feet as they moved in unison.

  "Uh... sure," he responded hesitantly.

  "Let's consider what if. But don't read too much into it; it's just hypothetical."

  "I can do what if," Evan agreed, taking my request seriously.

  "What if... what if I
didn't exist," I presented. "As in, I was never born."

  "Em," Evan stopped me, pulling his brows together.

  "It's hypothetical, remember? I'm not suicidal or anything, I promise," I assured him in a rush.

  "Okay, fine," he conceded with a breath. "What if you never existed? I think you've already considered this, so why don't you tell me."

  "If I never existed, then my father would still be alive." I kept my eyes on the ground, because just saying that one statement out loud sent a shiver through my body and made my eyes tear up.

  "If I never existed, then Leyla and Jack would have both of their parents." I struggled to keep my voice even.

  "If I never existed, then my mother might actually be happy."

  Evan stopped. We had reached the end of the path right before it opened up into the meadow.

  "And what about me?" he asked, his eyes steady and focused, trying to read my thoughts.

  "Well, you and your father would be talking,” I answered with false playfulness, trying to return it to the hypothetical game that I’d initially presented.

  Evan chuckled. "That is probably unlikely. We'd find some reason to argue... or not talk."

  We were quiet as we walked through the meadow. It was starting to transition into the spring green that made it breathtaking. The brook was thick, brimming from the recent rain. It rushed with force over the stones.

  Evan sat down and I nestled next to him, facing the water.

  "My turn?" Evan requested. "I'd like to challenge your what ifs."

  "Go for it."

  "You don't know what would have happened to your father if he was still alive. I have a feeling he wouldn't be half as happy as he was when he was with you. I saw the way he looked in that picture you have on your dresser; his whole face was completely alive just looking at you. You made him happy, and I would hate to be the one to take that away from him, even if he couldn't have it forever." I smiled affectionately with my eyes glistening and leaned my head against Evan's shoulder as he held my hand.

  "And unfortunately for Leyla and Jack, Carol would still be the same whether you were there or not. You certainly didn't make her the way she is, and I can't talk about her more than that." I glanced up and noticed his neck was strained just thinking about her. I squeezed his hand in understanding.

  "As far as your mother's concerned, I'm not sure I understand enough about her misery to be able to rebut your what if. If you mean that your father would still be alive, and that would be what made her happy―perhaps. But she's harboring a lot more than just sadness. That was evident the night of her birthday. As I said, I don't understand what's wrong with her, but I'm very doubtful that it has anything to do with you." I didn't have the strength to convince him otherwise―but I knew I was critical to her misery.

  "And I would absolutely not be the same person if you never existed." I lifted my head and remained still with anticipation. "We can contemplate the meaning of your life all you want, but know that you're my meaning... the reason behind just about everything I do―and I would never want to change that.” A smile stretched across my face and a warm current rushed through my body. My chest swelled with love. I leaned up and kissed him gently.

  "What about your father?" I prompted when I pulled away.

  Evan produced a wry smile and said, "You don't have to worry about me and my father. My mother will never let him take Stanford, or you, away from me. He raised me to be the person I am today, so now he just has to let go and allow me be that person. This decision is mine, and he will have to learn to live with it." Evan's voice was strong but calm, not filled with the resentment or frustration I imagined he'd express when speaking of his father. I admired his maturity and constraint.

  "So," he stated with a grin, "do you feel better about existing?"

  "Yes," I emphasized with a coy roll of my eyes. "You have a way of making a girl feel... significant."

  "Good," Evan smiled and leaned over to kiss me. His words calmed me, and made the storm in my head lull to a hum. I was still troubled by everything I'd learned earlier in the day, but I knew being here with Evan was one place I belonged.

  I spread out on my back, resting my head on his leg and closing my eyes to absorb the sun. "I like it here."

  "Me too," Evan returned, playing with my hair. "The sun looks good on you."

  I continued to lie on his lap, listening to the rush of the water beside us. The sun's warmth brushing against my face and his gentle touch made my skin hum with a delicate shiver. I wish I could've captured that moment and kept it safe in my pocket to experience whenever I wanted.

  "I was told once that a girl needs time to prepare. So, Emma Thomas, would you like to go to prom with me?"

  I sat up and gawked at him, my mouth open in a shocked smile. "It's... omigod, it's next month, isn't it?" He nodded. "Yes, Evan Mathews. I would love to go to prom with you." Then I muttered in dread, "Oh, no. That means I have to get a dress, doesn't it?"

  "Or you could go nude. I hear that's the new pink," Evan smirked. I laughed.

  "You would love that, wouldn't you?" I teased. "Oh, wait. Promise we won't have sex on prom night." Evan's eyes widened. "We can't be the couple who has sex on prom night." The thought of it made me cringe. That was absolutely not how I wanted to remember our first time. It was a bad movie in the making.

  "We won't have sex on prom night," Evan promised, pursing his lips to keep from smiling. "How about the night before?"

  "What? Really?" I studied his face, and he raised his eyebrows to indicate he was actually proposing the idea. "Are you serious about planning it?"

  "Why not? The spontaneous thing isn't working out too well for us. We might as well set a date."

  "Then, yes, I will have sex with you the night before prom," I vowed, sounding comically serious, "It's a sex date."

  Evan laughed. "Can't wait." He leaned in and captured my breath with the touch of his lips.

  When I arrived home, Rachel was just getting out of her car. It felt strange to call her that, Rachel. I let the word repeat in my head. That's what she'd wanted me to call her all along. And that's how Charles had referred to her. When he spoke of my parents, he said your father and Rachel. He never once called her my mother. I don't think that was an accident.

  "How was dinner?" she asked, waiting for me before entering the house.

  "It was nice," I replied. "Exactly what I needed."

  "Good," she responded, looking a little confused by my answer.

  "Did you eat?" We flipped on the lights in the foyer and the living room.

  "We ordered take-out at the office."

  She kicked off her heels and pulled her blouse out of her dress pants. I watched to see if she'd get a glass of wine from the kitchen like she usually did, but she didn't. Instead, she sat next to me on the couch and flipped on the television.

  The whirlwind of thoughts in my head overtook me, and the next thing I knew I was asking, "Where are you from?” I kept my eyes on the channels as they flashed before me.

  "What?" she asked, still continuing through the programs, obviously not expecting my question.

  I had the opportunity to take it back, to not pry any further. But I decided I wanted to know. "Where did you grow up?"

  She stopped, landing on a fishing program. I knew she didn't mean to do that, so she must have heard me this time. I turned toward her and she was looking at me like she didn't know me. I was prepared for her not to respond.

  "Um, in a small farm town in Pennsylvania," she said slowly. "Why'd you want to know?"

  "I guess because I never did," I explained bluntly. "Do your parents still live there?"

  She was quiet. She looked from me to the television and back again – like she was trying to decide if she wanted to have this conversation. She obviously wasn't prepared for the questions, and maybe the shock of them was why she did answer. "My mother may, but I don't really know. I moved away with some friends when I was seventeen and never looked back. Neve
r knew my father. He was a drunk and took off before I could remember him."

  "How come I don't know any of this?" I questioned curiously. I wasn't completely surprised by the knowledge of her broken home life. It couldn't have been that happy if she never wanted to talk about it, or visit.

  "I don't like living in the past. What's the point?" She redirected her gaze and began changing the channels again.

  I found her words ironic, especially since she hadn't figured out how to move past my father's death. Or maybe she had, and his death was an excuse to be miserable. She didn't seem to be making any effort to be happy, except maybe with Jonathan―but even then, she had sabotaged it with her drunken tantrums. Perhaps she preferred wallowing in eternal sadness. I didn't understand why she'd want to live like that.

  "Why don't you ever try to talk to me about what happened when I was with Carol and George?"

  Rachel's shoulders pulled back, struck hard by my question. I realized I'd reached my limit, but I didn't hold back.

  "Why was I there to begin with? Why did you leave me with them?" For years, this question had destroyed me, always thinking it was me―that I was too much for her to handle. It's what had motivated me to be perfect, to never be a burden again. Perfection still left scars.

  So now, I just wanted to know the truth.

  "I didn't leave you," she whispered. Her answer left me speechless. Before I could utter a sound, she stood up and walked out of the room. I watched as she went into the kitchen and gripped the refrigerator handle. She stayed like that for a moment, battling with the decision to open it or not.

  I waited. She let the handle go with a shake of her head, appearing distraught and frazzled.

  "I don't know why you want to talk about this," she said from the doorway, her voice shaky. "Why would you want to bring up things that already happened? We can't change them, so let's just let them go, okay?"

  I inspected her light blue eyes as they darted around the room nervously, and I nodded.

  "I'm going to take a bath." She disappeared up the stairs.

  I had always been too afraid to question her. I wasn't sure where I roused the courage from, but I was pretty certain Charles Stanley's visit had a lot to do with it.