She takes her lower lip into her mouth and her upper teeth perch on it, much like a rabbit’s would. I’m beginning to realize it’s a trademark habit of hers when she’s deep in thought.
“I’ll admit I’m a bit conflicted on this subject. I believe in the scientific theory of evolution. But don’t tell Sister Helena,” she whispers.
Her remark makes me laugh. “I already told you I’m an excellent keeper of confidences. You know I must be if I’m an NA counselor.”
She has a puzzled look on her face. Translation: her mouth is all screwed up. That’s another habit of hers that I’ve identified. She’s not that difficult to read.
“Remember? NA stands for Narcotics Anonymous. Most people tell me tons of things they don’t tell anyone else. I don’t share those things with anyone.”
“Right. You’re kind of like Father Anthony in the confessional.”
“In a matter of speaking. But I’m not qualified to give absolution. I guess that’s what he does, right?”
“Yes, he does. He acts as God’s representative in the confessional and forgives sinners for their transgressions.”
“Yeah, I don’t do that. But what I am qualified to do is to make the drug addict understand the path to recovery. We don’t look at addiction as a sin, though Father Anthony and Sister Helena probably do. We look at it as a weakness, as a means to cope. Not the proper means, mind you. But most people are ill equipped to understand how to handle their problems, and some get caught up in drugs without understanding the consequences. Like teens for instance. Most of them haven’t a clue how addicting heroin is. They think that, oh, they’ll smoke it up a time or two and that’ll be it. It just isn’t that simple or easy to walk away from.”
What she does next is completely unexpected. She comes up to me and wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me tightly. This rarely happens, so it takes me by surprise.
“You’re a special man, Kade. The world needs more people like you.” She takes a step back and offers me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. It brightens up her usually sad face.
“You should smile more often, Emmalia.” I grin back at her.
“If Sister Helena will allow it, do you think I could volunteer at your place? I’d love to be able to pay you back somehow for the music lessons. This could be my way of doing that. I could help you with computer stuff, if you need it.”
“We have an IT person, but let me check with him. If I take you up on that, I’d be willing to pay you.”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t take your money. It would be in payment for the lessons. Not to mention what you’ve done for Ethel.”
“Then, in exchange, would you at least let me get you a cell phone? I worry about you.”
She instantly has that fearful look in her eyes again. What could she possibly be afraid of? And what does it have to do with a cell phone? I make a decision that I’m going to make a phone call the next day to my brother about her.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Come on then. Let’s check out that movie.”
“You don’t happen to have Alien do you? I’d love to watch that instead.”
“You’re an Alien fan?”
“Oh yeah! I love those movies.”
“I would never have taken you for a fan.”
“Yeah. Ever since college.”
“I have it. Come on.”
An hour later, we both scream as the baby alien busts out of the guy’s stomach and skitters away. Then we look at each other and laugh our asses off.
“Like we didn’t know that was coming,” she says.
“Yeah, but it gets me every time.”
“I know. It’s just so gross how he starts to spaz out and then, wham. Baby alien. Ew!” She shudders and we laugh again.
“This was such an ingenious creature. What an imagination.”
“I know, right?”
“My brothers and I would pause the movie … oh, wait, I’ll do it when we get to the scene.”
So we continue to watch and then at the end when Ripley is on the shuttle, making her escape, and she slips into the space suit because she realizes the alien is on the shuttle too, I start to slow-mo the movie. “Right here. When the alien starts to move. This is where we would do it.” We watch in silence. “We could never figure out exactly what the damn thing looked like until we did this. The movie was so dark and obscure and then when it opened its mouth and that second set of mandibles came out and started snapping, we would scream our bloody heads off.” We watch it unfold slowly and I turn to Emmalia and see how captivated she is by the film. Her mouth and eyes mimic each other, forming large circles.
“Holy double decker crap! I never realized this before because it all happened so quickly.”
“Holy double decker crap? What kind of nun language is that?” I tease.
“Bad nun language?” She asks sheepishly.
“Look at Ethel over there, watching you. You’ve tainted her innocent puppy ears.”
Emmalia giggles. “I suppose I have.”
The movie ends, Ripley escapes with the cat intact in the shuttle, sans alien, and we both decide Ethel needs one more turn outside. When I come back in, I remark about the snow.
“It’s as bad as I can recall in my two years here. I’m wondering if you’ll get home tomorrow.”
“If I can’t, Sister Helena will be one bad mess to deal with.”
“Let’s not worry about it now. We’ll see how things are in the morning.”
“Would you mind very much if Ethel slept with me? I know you don’t like that idea, but I’ll probably never get this opportunity again, and I would really love it.”
“Sure. It’s your bed for the night.”
She picks the fur ball up and looks at me.
“Do you have a blanket?”
“A blanket?”
“Um, so I don’t get cold.”
“There are blankets on the bed.”
“Oh, I can sleep on the couch. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother. Upstairs. Now. I have four bedrooms in this house and if you think I’ll let you sleep on the couch, you’re nuts.”
I usher her up the staircase and direct her to her suite. There’s a gas fireplace in here, along with an en suite bathroom with everything she should need. The only people that have ever come here are my brothers and their wives. I have bathrobes and toiletries in case anyone forgets things when they visit.
“The bathroom is in here,” I say as I walk through, indicating she should follow me, but she doesn’t. “There should be everything you need in the cabinets, such as extra toothbrushes, toothpaste, shampoo, and so on. Feel free to make yourself at home. There are bathrobes, and there should even be pajamas and things in the drawers that my sister-in-law keeps in here. It’s fine if you borrow them. Or I can lend you a T-shirt. Flick the switch on the wall to turn on the gas logs, if you wish. If you need anything, just call out. I’m in the room at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you. This room is lovely, Kade.” Her voice is soft as she speaks.
“It’s Carter’s favorite.”
“Carter?”
“My sister-in-law.”
“Oh. Well, good-night then.”
I leave her standing in the middle of the room with a look of awe on her face. I suppose it’s because she’s not used to such fine things, living in that stark convent. I hope she sleeps well in there.
When I get to my room, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. Things just don’t add up. There’s such gaping mystery about her. And I still can’t stop thinking that she doesn’t fit the nun profile. Maybe I’m being too judgmental, like she’s accused me of. I know nothing about nuns. Perhaps she simply wants to dedicate her life to the church. I should just drop it. But there is a deep-seated fear of something and her reluctance toward getting a cell phone triggers even greater fears. I’m going to call my brother, Kolson, in the morning. His company, Hart Transportation Services,
has a huge security division and I’m going to see if he can run a background check on her. Maybe I can find something out about her that can help me help her. I hate to see someone in so much pain. And pain radiates from her most of the time. If there’s something I can do to wipe it away, I’ll do my best to make that happen. That’s a vow I made to myself in recovery. Never will I pass someone by without doing everything in my power to help them.
Five
Emmalia
This room saddens me. As I take in my surroundings, the familiar sense of “home” seeps into my pores. I can almost hear my little sister in her room next to mine, snickering over some inane thing. I know if I walk into her room right now, she’ll be curled up on her pink and white duvet, brown curls tangled across her pillow, her earbuds in, as she listens to her favorite pop music reading the latest romance novel. My feet are frozen on the plush cream carpet as I hug Ethel tightly to my chest, wanting the vision to dissipate. The memory is so potent, I can even smell the strawberry shampoo she used to love so much, as it would linger in her thick tresses.
I’m finally pulled out of my awful trance when Ethel starts to lick my face and whine. I must’ve been holding her too tightly. Numbly, I wander to the bed and trail my fingers over the rich fabric of the bed covering. It’s expensive, I’m sure. Deep golden brown with a mixture of various shades of oranges and red, it’s quite beautiful. Nothing like the stark white scratchy cotton that I’ve gotten used to sleeping on at the convent. Out of curiosity, I lift the duvet to see what kind of sheets are on the bed. As I suspected, they are soft and expensive. Again, not abrasive and cheap like mine. They feel like silk on my hand. The window is covered in wide-planked shutters, but it also has expensive looking window treatments over them. They are made of heavy fabric that complements the duvet. My mother would be oohing and ahhing over this room. I peek out the shutters and see them, as I always do, fading in and out of the landscape. I slam the slats shut and as I close the curtains in front of them, I notice how heavy they are. They are the black out kind that you find in hotels. Pushing the thoughts of the shadows away, I focus on my surroundings. Kade has every comfort in here. I’ve never had this type of pampering, even at home growing up. And my parents were quite comfortable financially.
As I turn back to the bed, my gaze lands on the fireplace. The switch is right next to it on the wall, so I flip it on and instantly, a blaze begins to burn, casting the room in a golden glow. How convenient and lovely. There’s also a large flat screen above it so I can watch TV if I want. It’s been so long since I’ve had a TV, I wouldn’t know what was on. Sister Helena frowns on television so we don’t watch it much at the convent. She thinks it’s the devil’s work.
The bathroom is on the other side of the room, so I head over there and catch my breath when I walk in. It’s huge. The shower alone could fit a dozen people. Then there’s a jetted tub, double sinks, and a separate room with a toilet. Gah, this is a room fit for a queen.
Kade said there were toothbrushes, so I hunt one and find it. He has a whole stockpile of stuff in here. It’s like an entire store. Toothpaste, mouthwash, face wash, lotion, body wash, there’s even make up—not that I wear it anymore, but still.
I finish getting ready for bed and when it’s time, I get a little freaked. This room is so big, I glance around and know I’ll never be able to fall asleep here. Maybe there’s an extra blanket in the closet. I look on the shelves of the enormous nearly empty space and spy a few extra blankets and pillows. I grab them and along with Ethel, make a place for us to sleep under the bed. This is nothing unusual for me. I spend most nights under the bed, even at the convent. It’s the safest place in this room—in any room. If someone comes in here, they won’t find me. Of course it’s idiotic, but for whatever reason, it eases me somewhat. In minutes, sleep takes me into dreamland.
~~~~~
Red. It’s everywhere. The walls, the floors, my hands, jeans, and even my shoes. When I wipe my hands on my jeans, it doesn’t go away, it only gets worse. More red, until it gushes off of me, runs down my arms and pours off my fingers like rain during a summer thunderstorm. Soon it floods the room I’m in, filling it up like a swimming pool, getting deeper and deeper, and I’m afraid I’ll drown in it if it doesn’t stop. But there’s nowhere to go. I can’t run; I can’t even move. The white walls mock me as I try to escape but I’m stuck, mired down in the swirling madness of red. And it’s then I hear a deep voice. It fills me with terror because I know it’s the end. I’m going to die. Just like my family did. My throat will be torn out, just like theirs were, left open for my blood to fill the pool of red that jeopardizes my life. My arms or legs won’t respond to the signal my brain sends to them. MOVE! They’re useless appendages, lifeless, like I will soon be. The only thing left for me to do is to scream. But try as I might, only a hoarse whimper scrapes out of my throat. I fill my burning lungs with as much air as they’ll hold and keep trying, but the same gruff, grating noise emerges from my now raw trachea.
Far off, someone calls out my name. Is it my dad? It’s difficult for me to tell because it’s so faint. I scream again in the hopes he can find me.
“Emmalia!”
Someone is calling me Emmalia, but that’s not my name. It’s Juliette. I yell out, “Daddy, I’m here. It’s me, Jules. Come find me. I’m drowning. Hurry, Daddy.”
“Emmalia, wake up! You’re dreaming.”
Strong hands grip my shoulders and shake me. I sit up and bang my head.
“Ow!”
Arms grab mine and pull me.
“What in the hell are you doing under the bed?”
Confusion muddles my brain as I massage my forehead. The nightmare! I must’ve been dreaming again.
“Did I wake you?” I ask.
“Hell yeah, you woke me. You probably woke the whole neighborhood. You were screaming bloody murder. I thought someone was beating the hell out of you in here.”
Shit!
“I’m sorry,” I say, dropping my head into my palms.
“Are you going to explain to me why you were sleeping under a perfectly good bed?”
What the heck am I going to tell him?
“Okay, then I’ll take a stab at this. Clearly you were frightened. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
I lift my head and our eyes meet. I feel as though he’s extracting every single secret I own out of my head.
“Don’t do that,” I plead.
“Do what?” he asks.
“Assess me like that.”
“I apologize. I’m only trying to help.”
“It makes me uneasy.”
“Emmalia, that is not my intent. I want you to feel safe here.”
“I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel safe anywhere.”
His head slants and those icy blue eyes of his narrow. “Did someone hurt you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Who’s Jules?”
I can’t stop myself from sucking in my breath. How did he know that name?
“You yelled it out in your sleep,” he says, as if reading my mind. “You yelled out, ‘Daddy, I’m here. It’s me, Jules. Come find me. I’m drowning. Hurry Daddy.’ Wanna tell me what that’s all about?”
“It’s nothing, really.”
“I thought you didn’t remember your parents, Emmalia. Or is it Jules? And don’t lie.”
An image of my butchered family flashes before me. My arms band around my belly as razorblades slash my insides. This is what I fear the most—getting close to someone and having them get hurt because of it. I’m torn and don’t know what to do.
“Kade, please don’t ask me anything. I didn’t lie to you. My name … Emmalia is a derivation of it. But if I tell you anything else, I could—well it’s too complicated.”
“What do you mean, complicated? I can do complicated.”
“Please. Can we just drop it?”
He glances around the r
oom, weighing his options. Then his hands tear through his hair. Crystal clear eyes pin mine and he asks, “Are you frightened of me?”
“No! How can you think that?”
“Then what…”
“It has nothing to do with you. It’s my past.”
“Tell me so I can help.”
“You can’t!” My chest heaves with anxiety. I’m so frightened for him and I can’t tell him why. I don’t even know why. How can I convey this without sounding like I’m psychotic?
His mouth forms a thin line as he reaches for my hand. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“You’re not staying in here, where you feel compelled to sleep under the fucking bed.”
He practically drags me behind him he moves so fast.
“Slow down. And what about Ethel?”
“Shit.”
He stops and I careen into his back, then promptly fall on my butt.
“Jesus.”
“Can you please stop saying that so often?”
“What?”
“Jesus.”
He looks at me in confusion.
“It’s sacrilegious. I don’t mind if you swear, but don’t say it with such vehemence. It’s not right.”
He gives his head a firm shake. “Right. I’ll try my best but I can’t give you a blood oath or anything. Old habits are hard to break. But so you know, if I ever do use them, I never mean it literally. It’s just a phrase.” A hand reaches out to me and helps me back to my feet. “I’ll get Ethel. You stay right here.”
He’s back in a minute with the fur ball. She’s sleepy eyed and has no clue of the conflict going on around her.
“I hate to bring this up, but now that she’s awake …” I say.
“I know. I’ll be right back after I freeze my ass off for a minute.”
He disappears downstairs and about five minutes later he’s back. Admittedly, he looks stunning with his mussed hair, wearing nothing but boxers and a T-shirt.
The Fall and Rise of Kade Hart: A Hart Brothers Novel Page 7
