Without a Doubt

by Lindsay Paige

  There's too much going on in my head. I don't know what to think about first. That his ex is dead? That she didn't tell him about her illness? That she's positive he's in love with me? Ugh. I slam down all my thoughts and focus on Emerson.

  We're outside for about half an hour when he lifts his head. My neck is cold from his tears and the frigid air. I wipe away the tears from his cheeks. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do either. I've never had anyone close to me die before. I'm clueless in these situations.

  “I need to see her parents,” his voice cracks.

  I nod. Does he want to go alone or does he want me to go with him? I wish I knew what to do as clearly as I knew I needed to follow him out here.

  “Come with me?” he asks, his blue eyes plead with me to say yes.

  I nod again, not trusting myself to speak. This is not the time to accidentally say something stupid. He squeezes his eyes closed and rests his forehead against mine. Once he's collected himself, his hands go to my hips and he pushes me up to stand. We walk inside, hand in hand, and Emerson tells his parents where we're going and that we'll be back.

  Not a word is spoken on the short drive to Kelly's house. When we park, I realize we pass this house every time we come here. There's only one car in the driveway today. Emerson holds my hand like it's his lifeline and I worry about losing blood flow.

  The door opens before he can knock. The woman looks like an older version of Kelly. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she smiles when she sees us. We step inside and she hugs Emerson.

  “She didn't want anyone to know,” she whispers to him. “She loved you so much.” His grip tightens and I know he's fighting to hold his composure. She pulls away and turns to me. “You must be Eva.” I gulp, nodding. I wasn't expecting her to know my name, or know about me at all. The woman hugs me as well. “Thank you for coming.” She leads us to the kitchen, and we sit at the table. “Her service will be Wednesday afternoon.”

  “We'll be here,” Emerson assures her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” There's a desperation in his tone, like he's begging her to say yes, to put him to work.

  She shakes her head. “I feel like everything has been planned and set in motion for so long now; it's just a matter of getting it done. Thank you though.” She takes a deep breath, glancing at me before settling her gaze on Emerson. “We fought twice as much as you two did over her asking for a break. I didn't agree with how she wanted to handle it, but you knew Kelly. Once her mind was set, there wasn't much you could do to change it.” She speaks so lovingly and I can't help but hurt with every past-tense verb. I wish I could have met her. How messed up is that?

  “But she loved you more than anything and she felt sure it was for the best for you both. She couldn't stand the thought of you watching her slip away,” she chokes up, wiping away a tear. “She wanted you to be happy, Emerson, and that was her way of making it happen. She was willing to sacrifice her time with you to do so.

  “And she didn't tell anyone. She hid it because she didn't want word getting back to you. We didn't know how long it would be, but we knew it was coming. Kelly wanted things to be as normal as possible for herself and for everyone else. She died satisfied and that's all I care about.”

  Emerson's hand is squeezing the life out of mine. He's trying not to break down again and hell, even I'm holding back tears. He swallows hard multiple times as Kelly's mother pats the hand he has resting on the table. “Did she tell you she was calling me?” His voice is broken and he's never seemed more vulnerable, more childlike, and lost than he does right now.

  Her mother nods. “She wanted to make sure you were happy.”

  “Did she...” Emerson squeezes his eyes closed. “Did she say anything after our last conversation?” He can't stop the tears streaming down his face and it hits me. He went off on her; that's what he said. Guilt must be eating him alive.

  She nods again. “She was upset at first, but Emerson, she couldn't stop smiling when she realized what it meant. She kept saying, 'Mom, he called her his girl.' In the end, she was thrilled you asked her to stop. She told me she could do as you asked.” Emerson frowns with confusion and she continues, “She was able to be happy and live the rest of her life, Emerson. I wish I could say I was sorry for the way things have happened, but,” she glances at me again, “considering my daughter's dying wish was granted, I can't say it.”

  Emerson nods and stands, inadvertently dragging me with him since he hasn't let go of my hand. Mrs. Price stands as well and hugs him. Emerson hugs her tightly with one arm.

  “We need to go,” he tells her. “If there's anything you need, please let me know, okay?”

  She pats his cheek lovingly. “Thank you. I love you, you know?”

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  She moves to hug me. “Take care of him,” she says quietly.

  “I will and I'm so sorry for your loss.”

  She stands back, gives me a short nod, and then we're leaving. Emerson hands me the keys when we get close to the truck. He shakes his head, opening the driver's door and scooting over to the passenger side. I stare at him. He wants me to drive?

  “Please,” he whispers, his eyes on the house.

  This is not the time to be freaking out, but I've never driven a truck before. All I can think about is how Emerson said women can't drive them, how he didn't want me to drive his, but he would let me if I asked and now, I have to because he can't. I never wanted to drive his truck.

  With shaky hands, I manage to stick the key in the ignition. I want to ask him if he's sure about this, but I can't.

  “To your parents?” I ask instead.

  “No, let's go home.”

  I gulp and with great caution, I back out of the driveway. I'm careful and barely drive over the speed limit. Emerson doesn't say a word the entire two-hour drive to his apartment. My mind is an endless loop of worries. He's not okay. Who would be? I just don't like that I don't know how to make things better.

  The only thing I know is I hate driving his truck. It's too big. I'm too high off the ground. The hood seems to go on forever. I hate why I have to drive the truck and I feel guilty for being upset. My stomach drops as I realize I'm going to have to park this massive beast. Sorry, Sweet Irene, but you're a bitch. Somehow, I'm able to park it decently enough that I don't have to back out and try again.

  I turn the engine off. Emerson doesn't move to get out. He's staring out the window.

  “We're here,” I say, feeling stupid for pointing out the obvious. He blinks and glances around as if he's just realized we've stopped. My shoulders droop. Damn it, this isn't good. I don't know if I need to give him space now or not. I don't know if I should ask. His phone rings. He frowns and hands it to me. It's his mom. I answer, explaining that we came home instead of going back like we said we would. She tells me to take care of him and I want to scream.

  How?

  How am I supposed to take care of him?

  His ex-girlfriend, former best friend, and former love of his life, is dead. She went off and died without telling him until after it was over. How am I supposed to help him?

  I hand his phone back to him. He takes it and gets out of the truck. I follow, handing him his keys. Maybe he needs space. Time alone. Emerson turns to walk away.

  “I'll see you later,” I say to his back, feeling defeated and despising that I'm at a loss as to how to handle this.

  Emerson spins around. His expression is blank and I hate that too. “Where are you going?”

  “I...um...” Maybe leaving is a bad idea.

  “I don't want you to go, Eva,” he says softly, holding out his hand.

  I step forward and take it. When we get inside, he lets go, walking to the fridge in the kitchen. I slip off my shoes and sit on the couch. Emerson brings me a beer, already nursing one himself. My stomach is in knots. We haven't eaten at all today. He lies down, resting his head in my lap. I start playing with
his hair.

  “Do you want me to fix dinner? You should probably eat.” Now that I've realized it, I'm starving.

  “Not hungry,” he mutters.

  “Please, Emerson. Let me cook for you.”

  He huffs, sitting up so I can stand. I feel bad for annoying him, but he needs to eat. Then again, I rather have annoyance than the blank stare he had earlier. He has some pork chops in the fridge, so I grab them and get to work.

  Emerson's had four beers, including the one I abandoned, by the time I finish dinner. He goes for a fifth when I stop him.

  “No more,” I tell him quietly, not sure how he's going to react. “Get us both something else.”

  His mouth parts, to argue, but he closes it and nods. We take a seat at the bar and begin to eat. Despite what he said, he devours his meal. We eat in silence. Before, it seemed natural for us not to speak while we ate. Now? It's a weight on my shoulders. When we're putting the dishes away, I finally break the quiet, my voice sounding too loud in his kitchen.

  “I need to go to campus.” When he quickly glances at me, I hurry to add, “For clothes and my books.” He relaxes and nods. “I'll be quick,” I promise. He nods again.

  I wish he would stop nodding.

  EVA HASN'T BEEN gone fifteen minutes when there's a knock on the door. I don't want to answer it. I don't want to do much of anything, but I force myself to stand.

  “What are you doing here?” I gruffly ask Glen.

  He stuffs his hands into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. “Eva called and asked if I would come hang out until she could get back.”

  “I don't need a fucking babysitter,” I snap.

  He shrugs and walks past me. “I'm sorry.”

  Sorry he's here? Sorry Eva didn't think she could leave me alone for thirty minutes? Or sorry because he knows Kelly's dead?

  My stomach twists with the thought. I slam the door, the sound echoing around the room. “Did she tell you everything?” I ask as we take a seat on the couch.

  “Enough that I know the gist. I'm sorry, man.” This time, I know he's talking about Kelly. There was a softer inflection in his voice while he pinned his sad gaze on me.

  I don't say anything. We sit there in silence as my grief morphs into anger. Maybe it's because Eva's not here or because she made Glen come over, but the words spew from my mouth. “I hate her.” I'm so full of anger, I don't know what to do. I've never been this furious. “All this time, she was dying. Dying without me there with her. I should have been there, Glen. She had no right to choose this for me.” There's too much energy buzzing in me, so I stand and start pacing.

  “What the hell was she thinking? I loved her!” I shout. “She was my best friend and she wouldn't even let me be there for her. All this time I was upset over her, dating other girls and then falling in love with Eva, I should have been with Kelly! This is fucked up! The only reason I'm with Eva is because Kelly was dying. How in the hell am I supposed to accept that?” My chest heaves with my hard breathing, my fists clenched by my side.

  “By remembering why she did it,” a soft voice interrupts.

  I spin around to see Eva standing in the doorway. Her face is pale and guilt is already coming at me full force. I'm tired of feeling. It's all I've done today and now, I've upset Eva, the very last person I want to upset. I want to scream or punch something, but all my anger drains away when Eva closes the door and walks down the hallway.

  Shit.

  “Are you sure you want her staying the night?” Glen asks, bringing my attention back to him.

  A heavy sigh deflates my chest. “Yeah. I need her,” I answer quietly, my eyes looking down the empty hallway.

  “Do you really love her?” When I nod, he says, “Then keep that in mind while you're going through this.” He stands. “I'm going to go.” He pats me on the shoulder before he leaves.

  I lock the door behind him. Eva is already in bed, her eyes closed when I enter. It's still a bit early, maybe half past eight. Regardless, I change and get ready for bed as well. I crawl in next to her, wanting to pull her against me, but I hold back. All I can smell is her perfume. If I were standing, it would knock me to my knees.

  Staring at the ceiling, I listen to the pattern of her breathing to see if she's really asleep or not. Usually, it's slow and measured. Right now, it's a bit too slow and measured as if she's trying to control it.

  “I'm sorry,” I say.

  Five pounding heartbeats later, “It's okay.”

  “No, it's not,” I begin.

  “Emerson, it's okay,” she repeats with more force before gentling her tone. “You don't need to take care of me right now. I'm fine.”

  “Are you sure?” What I said had to affect her. I know Eva well enough to know it did. I'm not sure how much she heard, but I know she definitely heard my last two sentences.

  She closes the distance between us, cuddling into my side. “I'm sure.”

  “Good because I'm not fine,” I admit.

  “I know.”

  “I'm glad you're here, Eva.” I wasn't lying to Glen. I need her. Without her, I would be utterly lost. As it is, I'm clinging on to threads, threads Eva's holding.

  “Don't forget it.”

  I still can't believe what Kelly did. Emotions all across the board are roaring within me, battling for dominance. Any time I feel rage, I do like Eva said and try to remember why she did it. She wanted me to be happy.

  “Would you have done the same thing?” I ask.

  Eva seems to take too long to think about it. “No,” she finally says. “I'm too selfish and needy. I would want you there and I don't think I could do it without you. But that doesn't mean she was completely wrong. Her intentions were good.” Before I can speak, she does again. “I'm sorry she took that time from you. I'm sorry I'm selfish enough to be happy she made that decision. I'm sorry the only reason you're falling in love with me is because of that decision.” Eva groans. “I'm sorry I never know when to shut up. I don't know how to help, and I want to help you, Emerson.”

  I hold her tighter to me. My energy is running out by the second and I only have enough strength to do so. Exhaustion is holding my body down. My head feels so full and heavy, I don't know how I'm still awake. Various emotions are still rolling over me. I'm feeling too much all at once, but I definitely know guilt is prominent.

  “Don't go anywhere,” I tell her softly. Things would be three times as bad if she wasn't here with me. I would be drowning instead of wading in water, occasionally getting so tired I go under before pulling myself back above the surface.

  “I won't,” she promises.

  For the first time since this morning, I relax. Eva lips are warm as she presses them against my chest. Part of me wants a real kiss with the instant calm and the reassurance of her desire for me that comes with it. I want something normal to happen today.

  “Eva.” When I don't add anything else, she lifts her head. I cup her cheek, lean forward, and meet her mouth. Eva hesitates before kissing me back. My muscles begin to lose their tension, but all it does is make me realize how utterly exhausted I am. I kiss her once more before pulling away. Eva's watching me and I hate that she's analyzing possible motives behind the kiss. “Thank you for being here.”

  She nods and rests her head on my chest. I lean my head onto my pillow, immediately falling asleep.

  Eva's been with me all the time, unless I'm at work or in class. Life is dull, numb, and I'm dreading the funeral. The only glimpse of brightness, of any positive emotions, is when I look at Eva. She's been quiet though. We both have. For her to be with me so much, I sure do miss her. I burn with a bit of guilt over it, but I try not to. This is what Kelly wanted, right? For me to be happy?

  I need Eva to be Eva for me to be happy. Not this quiet, tip-toe-around-Emerson shit. But then, if I'm not acting myself either, it's no wonder she's reacting as she is. I sigh, the long, loud exhale adding to the tension in my truck. My hand tightens on the steering wheel, the leather now warm u
nderneath my palm.

  Eva scoots over, rests a hand on my knee, and squeezes. I automatically switch hands to hold hers. “Are you going to hold my hand the entire time?” she asks.

  “Probably,” I answer, unsure of where she's going with this.

  “Try not to break it then.”

  I glance over in confusion as she lifts our hands. Her fingertips are already turning red. “Damn it. I'm sorry.” I didn't realize I was holding on so hard. My grip forcefully lessens.

  “It's okay. You've been doing it since we found out and my hand was starting to hurt more.”

  “I'm sorry,” I repeat, trying not to sigh again. I keep hurting her, either with my silence or my words, and now apparently physically.

  Eva shrugs. “You can massage them for me later.” The corners of my mouth tip upward. And then fall as she continues, “Are you going to be okay today?”

  No. Yes. Somewhat. “Yeah. As long as you stay close by.”

  She smiles, holding up our hands. “I don't think you're going to let me get very far.”

  I can't help it. I laugh. It feels odd, kind of like when you find a picture of yourself you didn't know existed. You study it for a moment before the memories come and you realize where you where, how you felt, and who could have taken the picture. The oddness gives way to familiarity.

  We're close, about twenty minutes out, and with each mile, there's a growing pressure on my chest. Selfishly, I wish I didn't have to come. I wish I didn't want to, so I wouldn't have to deal with it. Not dealing with issues never solves anything though. I need to be here today. For Kelly, for her parents, for myself.

  We don't speak again until we arrive at the funeral home. I get out and turn to help Eva out. Her black dress rides up from where I grabbed her hips. She's wearing black heels, black stockings, and her black dress that falls to her knees and sleeves to her elbows. All of the black makes her blue eyes stand out that much more. Even for a funeral, she looks beautiful.

  I smooth it down for her, muttering, “I hate these places.”