Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé) (26 page)

“I promise. Please be careful.” He disconnects, and I hit the gas. My mind racing, my heart pounding, my eyes welling. I know she’s spiraling out of control in this moment, and I’m not there to steady her. I absently rub my chest, the pain won’t subside. I hit the town limits and call my dad back. “She’s gone. We’re at the house.” I pull over to the shoulder of the road. I need a minute. I’ve compartmentalized this whole process. Not allowing my feelings to be forefront because I needed to be there for Emma. She needed my strength more than I needed to have a breakdown.

It comes crashing down. The winks she’d shoot me, the cookies she baked me, the support she gave me. My arms fall to my sides too heavy to hold up. I need to get to Ems, but I want to be alone. I want to remember. I want to feel. The cars driving by vibrate my seat, ringing in my ears. My head threatens to explode, lights blinding me, I can’t breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She’s gone.
I let the tears escape; I don’t try to stop them. I allow them to soak my face, drip to my shirt, flow unchecked. Cleanse me.

I shove it all down and rush to Emma. She needs me. I promised her and myself that I would be here for her, and I won’t shirk that vow. I intend to honor that until the day I die.

The lights illuminate their house, beckoning me from the dark. I don’t knock, don’t greet anyone, my focus on the girl curled up in the corner of a chair, despondent as hell, eyes wild, hair a mess, face splotchy. The slamming of the door grabs her attention, and she’s up, launching herself in my arms, clasping to my neck, her face buried in my chest, her body wracked with sobs. I rub her back, trying to calm her erratic breathing, and I’m afraid she’s going to hyperventilate. She’s burrowing into me, trying to get closer, and I bring us both to the floor, bundle her in my arms holding her as close as humanly possible. That doesn’t seem to work, she’s still inconsolable, and this ache in my chest, the pressure in my sternum is too much. I search the faces of my parents, her parents, and get no answers. Everyone at a loss how to reach her, how to help her.

I coo in her ear, try every calming technique I know, and after an eternity she calms. Her words broken, tears still soaking her face, “Sh-sh–she l-le-left m-m-m-me.”

“Baby, she didn’t leave you. It was time for her to go. She’s not in pain. Her memory is back. She’s looking down, wishing she could help you.”

“She can! She can come back! She can breathe!” Her shrieking pierces my ears. Her body convulses.

“No baby girl, she can’t.” Luke is broken. He lost his mom; he’s watching his daughter fall to pieces. Phoebe clings to him, providing the strength he needs.

“The noises in the room. The beeping that machine made. It’s all I can hear. All I can see.” She’s rambling, shaking, and I’m at a loss. I pull her head down, trying not to smother her. I rock her, hum to her, rub her back, and kiss her forehead. Her eyes droop, her breathing evens, and her body goes limp.

“Fuck.” Luke bites. “We shouldn’t have let her see that.” He’s referring to the hospital room. As hard as it was for her, there wasn’t an alternative.

“You had to. There wasn’t another way.” I try to appease him. His eyes dull and swim with tears. “I’ll make sure she forgets. I’ll remind her of everything else.” I’d wipe those moments from her mind and fill them with happy times.

“You can stay with her tonight,” Luke gives me permission. “Please?” his voice begging.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The next three days are the same. Arrangements made, condolences given, food delivered . . . Emma is still the same. She goes from hysterics to screaming to sleeping. I’m getting whiplash and feel like I’m failing her. Grief is a bitch.

“Let her do this. Stop trying to fix it.” Pops comes from the side of the house.

That’s not in my nature. I’m supposed to fix it. “I can’t fix it.”

“No, you can’t. She will mourn. She will deny. She will cry. She will get pissed. She may lash out at you. You will stand there and take it. Absorb it. Comfort her. Love her.”

“I do.”

“We all know that. It’s why nobody is interfering and letting you handle her. Luke stepped back and gave you the reins. It may be the briefest of times, but she is calmest with you. Your love will help her through this.”

“It’s hard. I want to punch someone. Beat something to oblivion. It burns,” I point to my chest.

“Yep. That’s love. Want a beer?” I chuckle and shake my head. She’s been asleep for a few minutes, and I have about an hour. I need to shower, but I need to unwind, so I can give her my best.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Emma

I can’t be here. The looks of sympathy, the hugs of friends, the comforting words of strangers. They mean well, but it does nothing but remind me of the dirt covering my Nana. Sure she’s in a place of peace. Done suffering, her feeble mind is whole and if I listen to the words of wisdom thrown at me all day, she is looking down, keeping me safe.

She’ll forever hold a place in my heart.

She’s proud of the woman I became.

She’s with my Papa.

She’s home.

I’m not.

I’m lost.

I’m splintered.

I can’t see the big picture these people are trying to create.

I flee. I run. I don’t stop.

Lap after lap. The bleachers become a blur through tears. My breathing erratic from sorrow and exertion. I kicked my heels off somewhere and my nylons are shredded. The clay from the track bites into my heels, soles, and skinned knees as I’ve lost count how many times I’ve fallen. I force myself to get up. I can’t quit. Keep running.

And running.

And running.

I’m hobbling, and as I round the curve I see blood staining the track from my previous lap. That fuels me to push harder, punish myself further. I don’t know what this will rectify.

Why wasn’t I enough to make her remember?

Why couldn’t the doctors keep her mind sharp?

Why did the medicine fail?

Why did she leave me?

Another slice to my foot, another lap down, another fissure in my soul.

I stumble, and before I go down again, I’m lifted off my feet and cradled in the arms I crave. The ones that used to bring me calm but can’t batter back the assault my memories are giving me.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you.” I’m placed in his truck, his hold never relenting as he maneuvers the streets to my house. He carries me through the front door and voices that sound like I’m underwater surround me. I can’t understand the words, only the noise. I’m placed in warm water; pain overwhelms me as my feet feel like they’re burning, heat singeing the flesh. I lean over and empty the contents of my stomach, paying no attention to surroundings. My face is wiped clean, my wounds tended to, whispered words in a calming tone. A glass of water is brought to my lips, a pill placed in my mouth. I swallow without caring what is entering my system.

My body is being caressed with a towel. Gentle pats soak up the water. My feet are slathered in salve, bandaged tightly, and my head hits the pillow. I’m aware of it all happening, I just don’t have the inclination to help or fight it. I close my eyes and beg the darkness to take me.

I wake to sunlight streaming across my room and Will next to me. My hand is secure in his, fingers stroking me from forehead to jaw and back again. His eyes distraught, lines marring his forehead, eyes bloodshot, mouth in a grim line. I trace his forehead and push back a lock of his dark hair and stare into the eyes that save me. “I can’t be here,” I croak. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, my throat burning from dryness.

“Okay. You want to go back to school with me this week or want me to come to your apartment?”

“Mine.” He nods and pulls his phone from his pocket. My mom and dad come through the door within minutes.

My dad looks shattered. I realize he buried his mom and dealt with my stunt after the funeral . . . he’s exhausted. “I’m sorry.”

“We know.” My mom crawls next to me, rubbing soothing circles on my back. My dad can’t speak. His eyes bore into mine, trying to erase my hurt so I don’t have to feel it. He’d bear my pain; fight the world just to save me an iota of suffering.

“William is taking me back to school.”

“No.” My dad is firm.

“Daddy, I can’t be here. I can’t see all the days I spent here with her and know she’s not coming back. I just need space.”

“Not another stunt like yesterday, Emma.”

“No sir.” William faces him. “I’ll stay by her side, and if I need anything, I’ll call you.” That seems to appease my dad some. My mom gets up and ushers him from the room.

“I keep messing up, huh?”

“No, Ems. You’re hurting and reacting. Maybe you didn’t handle it in the best way, but you’re nineteen. Death is hardest on those left being. We’re gonna help you, baby.” My mom comes back in the room and starts packing my bag.

“William, go home and pack. I should be done here in a few minutes.” My mom keeps about her task—afraid if she stops she’ll break.

“Yes, ma’am.” He kisses my forehead and leaves.

“Mom—”

“Emma Nichols, you scared the shit out of your father and me. William was frantic, we had everyone searching for you. I know you’re hurting, baby girl, and that’s why I’m not tanning your hide, but don’t ever do that again.” She swipes her cheeks, wiping the tears I’ve caused.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t. I understand that better than anyone. I understand the relief you were searching for, but I also understand the pain you leave in your wake. You aren’t the only one who lost her.”

I nod. I know that, but I wasn’t reacting to everyone else missing her. I was focused on my grief and myself. It wasn’t fair, but I didn’t want to take the time to weigh everyone else’s feelings. My dad lost his mom. My mom lost her mother-in-law and also her mother’s best friend. She’d been a second mom to her since age four. This is one of those mistakes most people refer to as stupid, but I don’t like that term. You can’t fix stupid, but you can right a wrong. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this.”

“Honey, there’s nothing to fix. It will take time for us all to heal, but don’t think you’re alone. We all hurt. She left a void that can’t be filled, Emma, and all we can do is hold fast to our memories, focus on the love she gave us, and take one day at a time. I understand why you need to leave, but your father and I don’t have that luxury. When you feel better, we need to sit down and talk, deal with everything as a family.”

“Soon. Right now I just need to call a time-out.”

“Granted.” She cups my cheeks and kisses my nose. “This will be good for all of us. Your dad is trying to be so damn strong, and I think without us underfoot he will be able to have some moments to grieve.” Another chink of my heart breaks. Imagining my dad as anything other than unflappable is hard. He’s been my rock, my hero, my first love all my life. He handles my mom with finesse; he sets boundaries and controls how far I step over them. He handled Nana with kid gloves, and I wish I was strong enough to comfort him in his mourning, but I can’t. We’re all wading into this pool of unknown without a life preserver.

The ride back to school is quiet. I place my head on Will’s lap, and he lazily runs a hand through my hair and steers with the other. No words of comfort come from either of us; just being together has to be enough. He carries me up to my apartment, my feet still too raw to bear weight, pulls the covers down, and places me on the mattress. After getting our bags, locking up, and setting a bottle of water in my reach, he strips and climbs into bed. I burrow as deep as I can into his embrace and hold tight against the storm brewing inside me. “I love you, Ems. I’ll always be behind you.”

“You’re always next to me.”

“No, behind you I can catch you when you fall. Steady you when you stumble. Guide you when you lose your way.”

“God, William. I miss her so much. It hasn’t been a week, and it’s too much. Even when she didn’t know who I was, where she was, what year it was . . . I could go to bed every night knowing we were sleeping under the same stars. The same moon. Each morning we woke to the same sun. That’s all ripped away. Every straw I grasp at, the falsehoods I built up are gone. I felt like I was losing her each day these past years, but nothing prepared me for the actual loss.”