The Righteous and The Wicked

by April Emerson

  Thoughts of the house he built plague his mind. He sees it standing empty beside Emma’s. A constant reminder of his absence. Breaking her heart every day. He feels helpless. He left a skeleton for her and the decent thing to do would be to get rid of it.

  He looks out the window of his trailer at the rising sun. Dreams of returning to her fade further from him with each day that passes. Dead dreams are not new to him, but this one hurts more than the others have. The warmth from the faint light sinks into his skin. He closes his eyes, and it’s her face he sees, her eyes filled with hurt.

  Though their future is uncertain, he’s not totally helpless. He can make some of her pain go away. He paces back and forth, struggling with hesitation and indecision, and then he picks up the phone.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Emma drives home from work, approaching the street she once shared with Eric. Aaron’s friendship and company have been some comfort to her, but she’s had visions of never coming back to this place. She thinks of searching for Eric and presses her foot to the gas pedal of her old car, envisioning herself leaving with just the clothes on her back. Going from town to town until she finds him.

  Instead, she slams the brakes and turns onto her lonely street. Every day she passes his empty wooden house, now becoming overgrown with late summer grass. Every time she drives by this once precious place, she holds her breath, like she’s passing a graveyard. She closes her eyes as if that will make the pain go away.

  Today, she doesn’t hold her breath or close her eyes. She makes an abrupt turn down Eric’s old driveway. She’s going to use the damn key he gave her. She’s hoping for a sign—a clue about where he has gone. She takes her keys from the ignition and runs her thumb over the gift that Eric never got to give her. The key that has lived unused on her keychain for months.

  She steps up to the front door of the house Eric built and, as she slides the key into the lock, she hears a sound. A car. A chill of hope runs through her blood. She doesn’t want to turn around, but she hears the car get closer.

  It drives up behind her and stops.

  Emma lets her hand drop, leaving the key still lodged in the lock of the unopened door. As she turns around, her face flushes and her hands shake. She remembers the person she sees. The blond woman getting out of the white car is the woman from the carnival.

  “What do you want?” Emma demands.

  Deborah doesn’t answer, but opens her trunk, and pulls out a long stake with a sign attached to it. The sign reads “For Sale”, and it’s as if that stake sinks into Emma’s battered heart.

  “I’m here to put this house on the market. Eric decided to sell it.”

  Lead lungs. Blurry eyes. Emma shakes her head in disbelief. “What?”

  Deborah steps toward her. “This house is for sale and you are trespassing.”

  Sharp, shooting, searing pain. “He-he called you? You spoke to him? What did he say?”

  “He said things just stopped working out for him.”

  Searing anguish. Crimson rage. She cannot speak. Her body goes rigid and tears sprout in her eyes.

  “Aw, don’t look so sad, sweetie.” Her words are daggers. “I guess you just weren’t enough for him. How is your husband, by the way?”

  “How the hell do you know that I’m married?” Something inside Emma clicks. This woman is the reason that Aaron’s here.

  “You crazy bitch! You called my husband? Why? So you could have Eric for yourself? Well, newsflash, he’s fucking gone. He’s gone and you’ll never get him. You wanted to fuck him, didn’t you?”

  Deborah’s shocked such an accusation came out of this otherwise benign woman, but she knows how to play this game. “How do you know that I didn’t?”

  Emma steps even closer, so close she can smell Deborah’s skanky, cheap perfume.

  “Because anyone who gets fucked by Eric never looks the same again. I can tell just by looking at you, you never got to feel how good he is.”

  She’s so close that she can whisper. “See this smile on my face? It’s there because I know what it feels like to have him inside me. He fucks you so good.”

  Deborah’s shaking, but her arsenal isn’t empty. “Well, it couldn’t have been that good for him. He did leave you after all.”

  For some reason, all Emma can think of is Danielle. “You can wait for someone to throw you a ladder or you can climb out of the ditch yourself.”

  Before Emma knows what has happened, her hand flies. She punches her with such force Deborah falters and lands on the hood of her car. A trickle of blood drips from her lip and leaves tiny red specks on the white hood. Deborah cowers and drops the sign on the ground. She gets in her car, slams the door, and speeds away.

  Emma feels relieved, but the feeling is fleeting. She looks down at the seven letters on the sign and they are the final nail in the coffin.

  He’s never coming back.

  Emma will not allow this truth to destroy her any longer. She picks up the “For Sale” sign from the grassy ground. She raises it above her head, and then plunges it into the soft earth herself. Then she grabs her keys from the unopened door and drops the one Eric gave her in the dirt.

  Emma is climbing out.

  Since she has resolved to no longer let her life be consumed with sadness, Emma fights to occupy her time with things she enjoys.

  Time with Abby and Danielle. Movie nights with Aaron. Music.

  She stares at her father’s record player and thinks of Eric. Reminders of him linger everywhere. The first time he kissed her . . .

  She kneels down and flips through the dusty albums. She examines each one and places her selection on the turntable. The soft notes waft through the room as the music’s vibrations ripple through her and she turns the volume knob all the way to the right. She sways to the music, alone. She plays it as loud as it will go, thinking of Eric, but she knows it will never be loud enough for him to hear.

  A hand touches her back and she startles. She jolts and spins around to find Aaron standing behind her. He speaks, but she can’t hear him over the music.

  “What?” she asks.

  His face is annoyed. “I said, turn it down!”

  Emma obeys his command. Then she stops herself. “No.”

  “What?”

  “I said no. This is my house, Aaron.” Emma places her hands on her hips, challenging him.

  “Emma, this is our house. Our life. When are you going to see that? Eric is gone. He’s not coming back.”

  “Don’t talk about him like you know him, Aaron, because you don’t!”

  “I know that he’s a coward! I may have left you, Emma, but it wasn’t out of cowardice. It was a hard decision for me to leave you and I regretted it every day.”

  “You left me, Aaron, because it was what was best for you. Eric left because he thought it was what was best for me.”

  Once again, something clicks:

  “You owe it to yourself to search for happiness, and I owe it to myself to try to get better. If that happens, then and only then will I return. I want to come back to you, but I won’t until I am certain I deserve to have your heart.”

  The words echo in her mind. Words that Aaron claimed, but Emma sees the truth now: it’s the letter Eric left. The letter she never received. Aaron stole it. He used Eric’s words as his own.

  “That letter. That was Eric’s. Aaron, how could you do that?” Emma’s disgusted.

  He begins to back away from her in shame, but then it’s replaced with arrogance. “So what if I did? That doesn’t mean I love you any less. I know what’s good for you, don’t you see that?”

  It’s like she was walking around with a veil over her eyes and now it has disappeared. It has been destroyed and she can see. Everything is clear. She’s done with this charade.

  “Aaron. I want you to leave. Right now.”

  “Baby, you’re angry.” He tries to touch her.

  “You’re fucking right I’m angry. Aaron, I don’t love you anymor
e. I don’t want to make this work. I don’t want to be your wife.”

  He scoffs. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes, I do. I was asleep, and Eric woke me up. He woke my heart up. I can’t go back to sleep. I can’t live like that again. It doesn’t matter if Eric’s here or not, I don’t love you anymore. I don’t want you. Please, just go.”

  “A part of you will always love me, Emma.”

  “You’re wrong. I feel nothing for you.” She closes her eyes and wishes he would disappear. When she opens them again, she hears him gathering his things, then the click of the door.

  Emma stands alone on the old warped floorboards of her porch, next to the never repaired crater. She takes a deep breath of sweet grass and lilac. It’s like the first breath she has ever taken. All she hears is the wind flirting with the trees, and the quiet song of a lone bird calling out.

  Emma stands on the porch of her decayed and empty house. She is alone, and it’s okay.

  “Do you feel in control?” Dr. Daryn asks.

  “I feel like it’s not a need as much as it is a want.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “You know what I want. I want her. But this demon that chases me, that chased me, it ruined my life. It ruined everything.”

  “No, Eric. You ruined everything. There is no demon. It is you, Eric. Your choices. You have to own it, own those choices.”

  He shakes his head and clenches his fist. He feels like a broken record. “I just want to be good for her. I love her so much.”

  “Love is not what’s lacking here, Eric. I think we both know that. The question you need to ask yourself now is: Are you ready to give and receive love without guilt? Are you ready to let yourself feel?”

  He contemplates Dr. Daryn’s words. Is he ready? Can he be true? Can he accept that what he has to give is good enough? It’s been so long since he touched her. His longing for her crawls over his skin. It lives in his soul. His need, his want is for her alone. Living without her is not living at all.

  He goes back to his trailer and gets in the shower. The steam swirls around him. The water slides over his skin and drips from his thick hair. He thinks of Emma but he doesn’t just think about her body, he thinks of her smile. Her keen way of seeing the world. Her honesty, her faith. She’s beautiful, but she’s also smart and kind. She’s everything he could have ever sought in a woman.

  Eric stands with his towel hanging around the damp skin of his hips, staring at a suitcase. He picks up an old T-shirt and holds it to his nose. It smells like her. He folds it with care, and places it inside.

  A moving car. A family. Laughter. Children. Emma watches them from her kitchen window.

  Eric’s house has been sold.

  She turns her attention back to the dirty dishes. Her eyes flutter closed with memories. It would be so easy to fall back into bitter, numb sadness, but she doesn’t. She goes outside, picks flowers from her garden, and walks down the thick, green path to meet her new neighbors.

  It’s a family. A married couple with two children. They invite her in. They gush that this is their dream house. They’re so happy, they can’t believe the home is theirs. Emma smiles. She watches the children scamper about the house. Emma is not hurt by the sights around her. She smiles, happy to be witnessing such love, even though she’s now resigned to the reality that having it for herself is something that will never be. Emma goes home. Her sleep is sound and peaceful.

  Night changes over to day. The sky knows the sun is near before it can be seen. Deep blue fades and relents to lighter shades. The birds sing the dawn’s chorus. They feel what is coming and they cannot contain their joy. The horizon simmers and gives way to orange, pink, and yellow as the first rays break free and shake off their slumber, bringing with them promises and hope.

  A fresh beginning. A brand new day.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Emma wakes to banging. On a Saturday. Her day off. Her day to sleep. There’s a knock at the door but she won’t allow herself to indulge in the sweet chills which that sound used to send through her. It’s gotta be Abby. Or one of the Driscoll kids, she thinks, and throws the sheet off. She yawns and stops at the top of her stairs. That sweet chill is fighting to make its way through her blood. The shadow she sees on her porch is familiar.

  She takes each step with caution, getting closer and closer to the source of the banging that woke her. She hears a sweet melodic tingle and she knows that sound can only come from one thing: her wind chime. With a trembling hand, she turns the doorknob and opens the door.

  She gasps and blinks, testing her eyes, not believing what she sees. His back is to her, hammer in hand. He thumps it against the nail again and again. He has saved the chime from its exile behind the lilac bush, and he’s hanging it back up where it belongs.

  She wants to hold him, and kill him, and stab him, and kiss him, all at the same time. But all she can manage is one whispered word.

  “Eric.”

  The pull Emma felt since the moment she saw him rises within her. She longs to touch him, to breathe in his scent, to feel his hands. She longs to see his haunting blue eyes.

  He hears her voice and the hammer drops to his side. He smiles with his back to her, his eyes on the chime. He wants to look at her, but he’s afraid of what he’ll see. The silver chime rings out again like a clock tolling the final hour.

  He turns toward her and the look on his face makes Emma’s heart overflow, but she fights to conceal it. Underneath her love and longing is hurt. He hurt her.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  His lips won’t let the smile that wants to creep across his face take over. “The, um . . . the wind chime . . . it must have fallen. I was just . . . fixing it.”

  He fidgets with the hammer then slips the tool into the back pocket of his jeans. He takes a step and Emma puts her hand up to stop him from moving further. “Wait.”

  He freezes. Emma sees that it’s killing him to stay away. She knows he wants to touch her, because she feels the same. But right now, she needs answers. He owes her an answer.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Toronto.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  He looks so vulnerable Emma feels her heart ache for him. Her body moves toward him in spite of her pride telling her not to.

  He gazes at the paint-chipped, rotten wood beneath his feet. “I was trying to get better.”

  She steps closer and he looks up. If she reached her arm out, she could touch him, but she doesn’t.

  “Are you?”

  He looks at her body from head to toe. He makes her feel naked even though she’s clothed.

  “Am I what?”

  “Are you . . . better?”

  “I believe that I am.” He moves closer to her, and now her eyes are on the floorboards. If she looks at him, she will drown. She has spent so long getting over him, she just can’t let him back into her life. Stubborn, she folds her arms across her chest, fighting the urge to touch him and to forgive him.

  She lets her resentment and her grief flow. “I hope it was worth it, Eric. Do you know how it hurt me to be here without you? After you promised me that you would never leave? Then to see that bitch sell the house you worked so hard on? It killed me.”

  His hand reaches for her and makes contact. He just brushes her hip with his fingertips. “I’m sorry. More than you can ever know.”

  He slides his fingertips over the satin of her nightgown. He can feel the heat of her skin. He can see that she’s trembling, yet she won’t look him in the eye. Another step and his hips press against hers. He reaches for her soft cheek and tilts her head up. He sees the blush of her skin and her sweet lips. Her dark eyes are moist with the tears she’s holding back.

  “Emma . . .” He leans in. He wants to savor this kiss, to drink her, to taste her.

  “No.” She pushes him back, shaking her head. “You should have called me. You should have stayed. You
should’ve never left!” The flood of feelings she’s been trying to subdue bubbles over.

  “Emma, I had to.”

  She reaches for him, but it’s with aggression, not affection. She pounds her fists against his chest. “No, you didn’t! You should’ve stayed. You should’ve stayed here and stood beside me, and fought whatever it is you needed to fight against. You should have fought for me, Eric! For this love. You should have stayed and fought, instead of leaving me here alone!”

  She’s crying and shaking with anger, but Eric’s angry, too. She has no idea how hard it was for him to leave and stay away.

  “You don’t think I wanted to? I did fight Emma. I fought every day. Don’t you see that I had to do this? If I didn’t, I would have just kept fucking things up for us. I didn’t want it to be like that. I wanted it to be right. Fuck! Please, Emma.”

  He leans toward her, but she backs away from him across the porch. Eric does not relent. His advance meets her retreat. He won’t let her do this. He won’t let her push him away.

  She backs up against the house and stops. He places his hands on each side of her head, trapping her against the wall. She moves from side to side, but she can’t escape him now. Her breasts rise and fall with her quick breaths. She keeps her hands pressed against his chest so he can’t come any closer to her. They are locked in battle.

  “What do you think is going to happen? Do you think I’m just going to take you back? Like nothing happened?” Tears flow down her face.

  His face is an inch from hers and he meets her furious fire with his own. “What do you want me to do? Just give up? Are you giving up? Because I can’t do that, Emma.” If she refuses him now, his trials will have been in vain. Nothing matters to him without her.

  Eric removes his hands from the wall and steps back. “I did fight for you. You couldn’t see me, but every moment I was fighting for this.” He touches her chest, where her pulse pounds beneath her flesh. “Now I want you to open your heart and welcome me home.”

  Her animosity melts away at his words, and love surges in her heart. She cradles his face, pulling his mouth to hers. Her lips are hungry, angry, and loving, all at once. He kisses her back, touching her face, her hair, her neck. It’s a kiss that demands everything and surrenders everything. It’s the end of something and the beginning of something else. It is honest and it is beautiful, all-consuming in its depth.