Emily For Real (13 page)

“It won't prove anything.”

***

The papers are on my desk where Dad left them. I wish they weren't here in my room. I wish they didn't exist. I wish none of this ever happened and no one had to sign any adoption papers. I think about taking them downstairs and leaving them on the coffee table just to get them out of here.

I lie down and try to think about nothing. I hate how it gets dark so early now. All the light sucked out of the day. Mega depressing.

I close my eyes and picture summer when the sun shines in here way past dinner time, making a bright line across my bed. And being a little kid, trying to get to sleep when it's still broad daylight and somewhere not far away you can hear older kids playing baseball or street hockey. I almost can get that same peaceful little-kid feeling.

Thirteen

“There's somewhere we need to go, Emily. I've called the school to say you won't be there this morning.”

Because of how Mom looks, I know this is about something serious.

“Where're we going?”

She ignores my question and says, “Have some breakfast, then get yourself ready.”

When I come downstairs, Mom's wearing her coat and wool hat and she's putting on gloves. “It's cold, so dress warmly,” she says.

I get my long knitted scarf from the top shelf and wind it around my neck twice. Then I grab my gloves and cram them into my jacket pockets.

“What about a wool hat?”

“I can put this scarf over my head if I need to.”

On the bus, Mom sits by the window and looks out. For a while, we don't say anything.

I'm extremely curious about where we're going. She said we
need
to go to this place. Not
want
.
Need
. Why
need
? No sense even asking. I'll know real soon.

I try for a bit of conversation and point to a ginger cat curled up in a bookstore window. “Look, Mom. In the window.”

She says, “Snoozing.”

“We should get a cat.”

“And who'd look after it when you're at university?”

“I'd come home a lot.”

“You say that now, but…”

The bus goes downtown, along the harbor, up past the library, and along Spring Garden Road.

Mom reaches up and pulls the cord to ring the bell. We get off near the main gate of the Public Gardens. We can't be going there because it's closed for winter.

It's cold and gray and windy, so I put my gloves on and tuck my chin into my scarf. We walk along beside the iron fence that surrounds the Gardens. Two people are feeding ducks through the fence right beside a sign that says, “Please do not feed the ducks.”

We stop at the corner and wait for a car to make the turn, and then we cross the street. Now I'm thinking we're going to the hospital because it's only half a block away. But why would we need to go there?

Mom's a few steps ahead of me and I almost stop walking when she turns into the cemetery.

“Where're we going, Mom? At least give me a hint.”

“It's just over here,” she says.

In this cemetery, the trees are a hundred years old. Maybe more. They're huge, with gigantic trunks and long, empty branches reaching high above us. Some of the tombstones are ancient. A few are leaning sideways or backwards.

Mom turns off the main path and walks along between the rows of headstones. I feel solemn, walking behind her over these graves.

She stops beside a wide black headstone with small clumps of what used to be marigolds in front of it. Dad loves marigolds. He plants them every year by our front doorstep and along the edges of his garden.

I read the names on the headstone.
John Clifford Scott
.
Rhoda Mary Scott

“This is your mother and father,” I say.

The dates of when they died are less than a year apart, and I remember how Mom always said that after her father passed away, her mother died of a broken heart. Near the bottom of the headstone there's something written in small letters. I step closer.

Grandson. Son of Winifred and Gerald Sinclair.

“He didn't live to have a name,” Mom says quietly.

Their stillborn baby.

“He isn't buried here. We didn't even get to see him. But I wanted at least some way to mark his place in this world.” She uses a tissue to clear away splashes of dirt from the words. Then she straightens back up, still looking at the headstone. “I knew something was wrong when I couldn't feel the baby pushing. The doctors knew too.”

I just stand here. I don't know what to say.

“I always planned to tell you everything when you were old enough to understand. And here you are, a young woman already. Time got away from me.”

Young woman
. I feel like a kid.

“When we lost our baby, it was the end of everything. I hardly got out of bed. What was there to look forward to. And then Emma tells us what she'd done. So Gerry and I could have a family.”

“But she didn't even ask you if you wanted a baby.”

“She knew if she told us we wouldn't go along with such a plan.”

“So then you really didn't want a baby?” My stomach's all churned up.

“Of course we wanted a baby.” Mom's eyes are soft and immensely sad. I'm afraid of how I can see so deep into her feelings.

I get off the bus near school and give a little wave to Mom from the sidewalk. She looks out and gives me a small smile as the bus pulls away. It's like whatever we do right now has to be in tiny little motions because of how everything's so fragile.

I know I'm not actually going to school today. And I'm definitely not showing up for dinner.

After walking for about a half-hour, I'm freezing cold. So I cross the street and go into a coffee shop to warm up. Hardly anyone's in here right now, just a couple of women sitting together by the window and a guy reading the newspaper in a booth near the back.

I get a cappuccino and sit in one of the booths. The heat from the mug feels really good on my hands.

A guy opens the door and walks in. Out of nowhere I get this instant, crazy reaction. All heat and pins and needles.

I can't stop looking at him. Taking off his gloves. Walking over to the counter. Ordering. Checking his watch. Getting money out of his jacket pocket. Paying. Putting change in the paper cup by the cash register. Picking up his coffee and doughnut.

He goes to a table and puts his stuff down. His nose is very red. And his ears.

I watch his black wool jacket with the collar up and his red scarf and his jeans. I watch him sit down. I watch him not take off his jacket. I watch him have a sip of coffee. He's got black hair that's short and thick, with a couple of curls hanging down on his forehead. He's maybe twenty.

All of a sudden he's watching me watching him.

My face blasts red. I can't stand it.

If I look back up right now, I know I'll see him looking at me like I'm some kind of idiot.

And of course I have to look back up.

He smiles.

I try to pretend I wasn't actually staring at him and that this is just a normal day and I'm sitting here having a cappuccino in this practically deserted coffee shop and soon I'll have to leave because there's somewhere important I have to go.

He's standing up. Panic. He's coming over here.

“Hey,” he says.

I could throw up.

He sits down. “Got your Christmas shopping done?”

My brain's disconnected.

“I'm Jacob.”

I can't get myself to say anything. My throat's dry and all I can think about is trying to stop my face from being red. Which makes it even redder.

“You go to Dal?”

“Ah, no,” I say.

“That's probably why I haven't seen you in here before.”

And then I realize this coffee shop is very close to Dalhousie University, so lots of students likely come here every day. I look around at all the empty tables and booths.

“Place changes during Christmas break,” he says, maybe to explain why no students are here now. “So, what's your name?”

“Emily.” I'm all of a sudden starting to feel a bit cornered. I look over at the two women by the window. They're not noticing anything that's going on in this booth. Why should they? The guy behind the counter is busy arranging a stack of coffee cans.

“Okay. I get that you're not supposed to talk to strangers. Strangers are mean and evil villains lurking everywhere, waiting to find a beautiful girl—say, sitting in a coffee shop having a cappuccino all by herself—and then they move in for the kill!” He raises both hands toward me and makes them like bear claws while he gives this evil-villain look.

That makes me smile. “It's not that,” I say. “I just feel…well, odd.” My mind replays
a beautiful girl
a couple of times.

“Why? Because you were checking me out and then I come over here and sit down with you?” He gives a teasing grin.

I give up on trying not to have a red face.

“Will you do something for me?” he says.

“What?”

“Say: Hi, Jacob! Like you haven't seen me in a long time and you're happy that I'm here.”

“Why?”

“Come on. Try it. Just two words. It's an experiment.”

So I give in and say, “Hi, Jacob.”

“No. Not like that. Surprised and happy.”

I say, “Hi, Jacob!” like he asked and it makes me laugh.

“Hey, Emily! Long time no see! How's things?” He's grinning like we're old friends. Then he says, “There. Now doesn't that make you feel like you know me? It does, doesn't it?”

“You're crazy,” I say, but I'm still smiling.

“The experiment's a success!” He leans back and gets comfortable.

After we talk for a few minutes, I start to get comfortable too. I actually end up telling Jacob the story of my life. The whole thing. He's a very good listener. When I tell him about Brian's Xmas card, he laughs out loud. Just like Leo did. Then, when I eventually tell him about being adopted before I was even born, I start to cry.

Jacob reaches over and touches my hand. His fingers are long and soft and warm. “I think what your new aunt said is right. They all love you. It's like you have three parents. How lucky is that?”

I look at the two women by the window, and one of them is glancing over at me. She can see I'm crying.

“Come on,” Jacob says. “Let's go get some fresh air.”

When we're outside, he gives me a tissue and I blow my nose. A man and woman heading into the coffee shop both look back at me. It's embarrassing, crying out here on the sidewalk where anyone walking by can see me and wonder what's going on.

“My place is about five minutes from here if you want some place to go right now,” says Jacob.

His apartment isn't really a whole apartment. It's a very small room where there's kitchen cupboards and a fridge and a stove opposite from where his bed is. There's a sofa and a TV and a coffee table. And books everywhere because he's studying to be a doctor. “Pre-med,” he says.

He takes my jacket and scarf and puts them across a chair. I'm not crying now, but that numb kind of sad feeling won't go away.

“Want some tea? Sorry I don't have any coffee.” Then he grins and says, “But that's a good thing because running out of coffee is how I got to meet you.”

I tell him I don't want anything right now. I sit on the sofa and give a big sigh. I'm still holding the soggy crumpled-up tissue.

The sofa sinks a bit as he sits down beside me. “Feeling better?”

“Mm. A bit. I feel so stupid, crying like that. People staring at me.”

“It isn't stupid. You're upset. And who cares what people think, anyway?”

“They probably thought you were splitting up with me.” I give a half-smile so he knows I'm trying to be funny.

“No chance of that.” He leans in and kisses me.

My body has never felt so intense.

I push my hand against his chest and he stops kissing me.

“I want to wash my face,” I say. “It feels all puffy.”

I go to the bathroom and close the door. I don't really want to wash my face.

I just stand here. Thinking.

I look in the mirror and then I say out loud to myself, “Emily Sinclair, what are you doing here?”

I don't wait for an answer.

I go back out and stand by the sofa. “Jacob,” I say, “don't take this the wrong way, but I shouldn't be here. I'm obviously a basket-case today. My brain's not functioning.”

I pick up my jacket and scarf, and I leave.

Jacob follows me out of his apartment and down the hall toward the elevator. “I'm sorry I kissed you, Emily. No. I don't mean that. I loved kissing you. But I shouldn't have kissed you. Not when you're so upset.”

“It's okay. Really. I just need to go. It's not complicated.”

“Can I call you, Emily? At least give me—”

The elevator doors open and there are two elderly ladies smiling out at us. I step in with them and watch the doors slide across Jacob until he isn't there.

End of story.

There's no way in a million years I'm telling Leo about this.