Won't Let Go (15 page)

Embry slips his hand from mine. “You’re going to have to hop the fence,” he says as we both stare up at a high chain-link fence. He reaches out, wraps his fingers around a link and gives it a shake. “Seems sturdy.”

I look at him, my jaw nearly to the gravelled ground. “That’s easy for you to say. You can walk
through
it.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I won’t let you fall. I promise.”

And up I go. I may have climbed a fence or two in my day. I’m glad my little size seven sneakers fit in the spaces between the links, making the climb easier. It’s getting down the other side that’s going to be difficult. And once my legs make it over to the other side—I let out a sigh.

“You’re doing great, Alex. Just a little further.”

I look down. One should
never
look down. The fence didn’t really seem that high. But now that I’m on top, I feel nauseous. The ground beneath me begins to spin. “I can’t, Embry. I think...I’m stuck.” I clutch the links for dear life.

“Sure you can. It’s not that much harder than going up.”

I shake my head. “No. I can’t. Shit.”

He takes a step forward, reaching out his arms. “Okay, then let go. I’ll catch you.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t let go. Eighty-five percent of the time you’re dust and vapor. What if I fall right through you?”

“You won’t. I’m solid.” He pounds a fist into his chest. “See. Like a rock.”

“No, I can’t.”

And then he says four words. Those important, serious words. “Don’t you trust me?” The final moments of twilight glisten off his eyes, just enough for me to see the hurt.

Hesitating, I adjust my footing. I am about to force myself down, but off in the distance the gentle hum of an engine crawls down the street. Elongated beams of light flash off the pavement.

I let go.

I’d like to say I soared through the air and hit the unforgiving ground with a bone-crunching thud. At least that way I would be right. And my hesitation would have been worth it. But I didn’t. Embry was at the ready, arms extended, and I fell right into them. He never let me fall—to the ground at least.

We break for cover just as the car passes by the building. We watch as it heads down the street and doesn’t even slow when it goes by the Mustang.

I think we both sigh with relief. But I know Embry won’t soon forget my initial hesitation.
How could he?
A small part of me thinks I failed him. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him, but when it came down to it, I only let go of the fence because of that car.

The storage facility is huge, with rows and rows of units, all separated by gravelled paths. At the front of a small darkened office, the shades are drawn tight, and a fluorescent closed sign flickers on the door. Huge football stadium lights cast shadows on the ground and illuminate the buildings.

“You don’t think they have guard dogs, do you?” I ask, my feet crunching against the rocks.

“If they did, I think we’d know it by now.”

“True.” It doesn’t ease my mind at all.

“So what number are we looking for?”

I pull out the slip of paper from my pocket. “Seventy-nine.”

He turns down a row. “This way,” he says.

The units are mostly alike. They’re all concrete, with blue doors, some regular sized, some large and sliding. They’re all clearly marked with spray painted numbers. As we walk along, the numbers go up.

I stop. “This is it.” Seventy-nine marks the blue door. It’s just a regular one. I reach for the handle and give it a tug. It’s locked.

Embry steps in front of me. “Please, allow me.”

“Did you learn how to pick locks during your TV marathon?” I say sarcastically.

“No, but I can do this,” he says and walks right
through
the door. On the other side I hear the handle jiggle, there’s a click, and then Embry emerges. “Doors tend to unlock from the other side.” He grins.

I swat at him. “Smart ass.”

I gulp in a breath of air. This is it. This could be the break in the case we need. My heart hammers in my chest as the anticipation builds. I have a good feeling about the storage unit, and I’m sure it will answer all of our questions. I whistle out the breath I’ve been holding and step through the door. Its pitch black, so of course, I say, “Is there a light?” I feel around by the door, but Embry’s the one who finds the switch. A small fluorescent tube sputters to life. “Holy shit.”

“It’s like someone unloaded their entire house in here,” Embry says as both of us stare down a mountain of boxes and furniture.

I glance at my watch. It’s just after seven. “We better hop to it. I’ve got to be back by ten at the latest.”

“Okay, I’ll take over here.” Embry points with his long slender finger. “And you take over there.”

Nodding, I step in front of the first box and open it. “It’s just plates and bowls.”

“Keep looking. There must be something here.”

And there is something here, as Embry said—an entire house full of stuff.

Embry walks over to where I’m looking through a box piled high with clothes—boy clothes. “Take a look at this.” He passes me a picture frame.

I brush off the layer of dust that has settled on the glass and then bring my hand over my mouth. “Oh Embry!”

Streaked with a grimy film is a family picture, Embry and Elliot in the foreground, and I assume, his parents in the back. His mother is beautiful. Her hair is set in perfect curls, a nice blue blazer, and skin like porcelain. She’s swept a lovely shade of red across her cheeks, brightening up her face, making her blue eyes pop. Her hand is resting on Elliot’s shoulder, and rested on her shoulder, is Embry’s father’s hand. He’s captivating, the same features as Embry and Elliot. It’s almost uncanny how alike the three of them look. He’s wearing a crisp white button down shirt, a blue and red paisley tie, and his graying hair is slicked back. And I’ll be dammed if he doesn’t have those stunning blue eyes, too.

“They just—left everything.” Embry pulls a trembling hand through his blond hair. He takes the picture from my hands, sets it down and I take him into my arms. We hold each other for what feels like an eternity, pressing our bodies together as if we are one. “How could they? They just dropped everything and left,” Embry says into my shoulder.

I squeeze tighter. “I don’t know.” But I do, kind of. I think I can piece it together. One son comatose in the hospital and the other in jail—they gave up. They walked away from their children. Maybe it was too hard to bear. Maybe they felt responsible. Or burdened by what became of their children.

Any way you look at it, it’s not right.

It’s horrible and selfish.

As much as I’d become a burden on my parents, getting into trouble and treating them more like over-paid babysitters, I know they wouldn’t have given up on me. And I’m thankful for that. My parents are my rock, and I feel terrible about the last three or four years. I wish I could blame it on the hustle and bustle of L.A. but that wouldn’t be fair. I also realize I could never give up on them, either. No matter how angry or upset they make me. We are a family, a unit, and without one of us in the mix, we’d be hard pressed to survive. It makes me hope I remember that. Because Embry’s lost so much, and I haven’t lost anything. I should be more grateful.

“There must be more here, maybe a journal,” I say, though Embry doesn’t seem like the type. “Or a yearbook. Something we can use.”

Shortly after finding the picture, we find boxes of albums. Years and years of memories captured in time. I watch as Embry mechanically flips through the pages, eyes desolate, expression flat. It doesn’t help him. If anything, I think the pictures make it worse. He still doesn’t remember, but now he has proof he had a loving family—once—and his life didn’t just start when he found himself in that house. He had years and years before that, but it all means nothing to him. Life means nothing if you can’t look back and remember the memories you are supposed to have. I should know, I still have them, even if they are clouded over, and I have to wipe the film from them just like the picture. They are still stuck in my mind, swirling around.

We do end up finding yearbooks, Embry’s family kept them all. Kindergarten all the way up until his last year. Elliot’s too. For someone who was so quick to run away, I’m amazed she didn’t just heap everything into a pile, pour gasoline on it and set it ablaze. Then again, maybe this was left on purpose. They wanted it to be found.

Embry takes the whole thing pretty hard. He decides we’ve found enough. I grab a few yearbooks and slip them into my messenger bag, leaving the rest behind.

Outside, I climb the fence again, and damn, I can climb that fence like nobody’s business. Getting down though, I still need Embry. At least this time I don’t hesitate when he tells me to trust him. I take the bag from around my neck, drop it into his open arms and then take a deep breath, let go of the links and fall safely into his arms. Embry does his knight in shining armor catching the damsel routine flawlessly, causing my heart to tug a little. He didn’t let me fall to the ground this time either.

I expect him to take my hand and walk back to the car with me, only he doesn’t. He stands awkwardly, a world of emotion I can’t quite comprehend filling his face. Then simply he leans in giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek and one last tight embrace. Before I have a chance to open my mouth and spill out some sort of useless fact or words of sympathy, he disappears. His body dissolves into a million colored grains of dust, falling to the graveled ground. He didn’t utter a word. He didn’t even say goodbye.

Now, as I drive back home, my curfew creeping up on me, a few tears roll down my cheek. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. I swear, I usually am not so emotional, but with each passing hour with Embry, my heart breaks a little more. A few shards breaking off each time I kiss him, each time he leaves, and now because he truly does seem to be all alone in this world.

When I get home, my parents are already in bed. I climb the stairs with the books pressed tightly against my chest and make my way to my room. I’m not surprised Embry’s not here when I open my door.

If I were him, I’d need some space, too.

His parents just abandoned him.

It’s a lot to take in.

I change into comfy PJ’s and curl up in bed. Betty Boop casts just enough light so I can start flipping through the pages of the yearbooks until my eyes can no longer stay open. I don’t even bother moving the books or shutting off the light.

It’s the next day. An entire night and morning has passed and still no Embry. I’m disappointed. In the few days I’ve known him, Embry’s become like a permanent fixture in my life. It almost hurts to breathe, knowing I might not be able to help him, or he might no longer want my help. But I’m determined, either way. Embry deserves to know the truth, even if that’s all I can give him.

I ignore his suggestion that Elliot can’t help us. Instead I endure the drive, the intense security, and now wait in my tiny vestibule, perched on the stool with two years of Embry and Elliot’s yearbooks laid out before me.

Something I didn’t notice last night, but do today, is what sets the yearbooks apart. Sure, they’re for different people, but that’s not the only thing. Elliot’s front and back covers are littered with signatures, comments, and smiley faces. Inked in blue, black, and even fancy glittered pen are the words of kindness, sarcasm and jokes. They all say one thing, Elliot was well liked. They pay homage to his football status, his seat on the student council, and about a dozen other efforts he must have thrown himself into.

On the other hand, Embry’s yearbook shows a stark contrast. Only a few signatures are on the front cover, all from girls, and all slightly derogatory. They are the words you would expect to read on a yearbook of a womanizer. Each flirty bimbo promises in less than proper grammar what a great summer he could have, if he chooses her. I’m disgusted. I know the type. We had them back in California. Every school has them, and I just can’t understand how this is who Embry really was.
Not my Embry,
I scream inside my head. He could never be this kind of person, never. But the words and the glossy, stained print of lips kissed right onto the page don’t lie. The undertone of each comment is what might really be the truth. The real Embry Winston was a man-whore.

“It looks like someone just kicked your puppy.” Elliot’s voice, the jingle of his chains and the bright orange of his jumpsuit pulls me out of my thoughts.

I ignore his response. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest and hold my chin steady, stuck out with so much priss I hope it gives him something to think about.
I’m not going away until I get answers.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Two days in a row. To what do I owe the honor?”

“Yesterday you played a game. I went along with it, but I won’t do it again,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady, calm but authoritative.

“So what is it you want, girly?”

I look straight into his eyes, desperate to see what’s beneath the oceany blue. “I want to know who
really
tried to kill your brother.”

Elliot licks his lips. “I thought we covered that yesterday. You’re looking at him.” He chuckles, but as I bore into those blue orbs, the laugh, the grin, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I simply state the truth. “No. You didn’t.”

The grin on Elliot’s face falters, the daring look in his eyes lightens, and he stops laughing. “Well, I’d say you’d be wrong because an entire town seems to think otherwise.”

“So that’s it, you’ve decided to give up? What about your brother? He needs you, and you’re stuck here.” I wave my hands in the air.

“Don’t tell me what my brother needs! If he needs anyone it’s not me, it’s his parents,” he seethes.

“No. They gave up on him like they gave up on you.” My body temperature rises a few degrees. “You’re all he has left.”

“It doesn’t matter. It never mattered. The second they said he might never wake up, my responsibility for him went out the window. That was the same moment they locked me in here.” He gestures his arms in a wide circle.