by Melody Grace
“Nothing, it’s raining pretty hard. I’ll call you back later, OK?”
“OK, Love you.”
I hang up, and then carefully pull a wide U-turn on the wet highway. I drive back the way I’ve just come, slowing and rolling my window down as I approach her.
“Hey, are you OK?” I call. “You need a ride?”
Brit turns, her kohl-rimmed eyes smudged and glaring. “Nope!” She yells back, and keeps walking.
I cruise along beside her at a snail’s pace. “Come on, you’ll catch your death out here,” I argue. “Can’t you see a storm’s about to hit?”
“Don’t care!” Brit calls back.
This is ridiculous.
“You seriously hate me so much you’re willing to get pneumonia, just to prove a point?” I demand. “Because that’s some screwed up logic you’ve got there.”
“I don’t need your help,” Brit spits back.
“Uh, look around,” I point out. “There’s nobody else for miles, so I’m what you’ve got.” I sigh. I want to turn around, and head out of this godforsaken town as fast as the Camaro will take me, but she looks so small and pale out here on the empty highway, I can’t bear to leave her. “Come on, Brit. You can glare at me in here, you know.”
A fresh gust of wind blows in from the ocean, and Brit shudders. Her pale skin looks scarily white, and she’s clearly freezing to death out there. “That’s it,” I decide, putting on the brakes so the car comes to a stop. “Enough messing around. Just get in the goddamn car!”
Finally Brit gives in. She reaches for the passenger door and yanks it open, sliding into the car and slamming it shut behind her.
Up close, I can see she’s shivering so hard her whole body shakes.
“Jesus, are you crazy?” I put the heater on full, and reach around to the backseat to find a thick college sweater. I pass it to her, worried. “What were you doing out there?”
“Having a spa day, what do you think?” Brit gives me a look as she tugs the sweater over her head.
So that’s how it’s going to be.
I sigh, and put the car back in drive—this time, heading back across the bridge into town. The clouds get darker, and the spatters of rain turn into a thundering downpour against the windscreen. The streets are all empty now, some of the windows on the stores barricaded shut with wooden planks.
“See?” I tell her, squinting to see through the wall of water. “You would have been stuck out in the middle of this.”
“Gee, thanks,” Brit drawls, still bitterly sarcastic. “Next time my jerk-off ex-boyfriend decides to throw me out, I’ll have him do it in tanning weather.”
I look over. “Are you OK?” I ask, concerned. “Did he hurt you?”
“Hurt…?” Brit snorts. “I’d like to see him try.”
“OK…” I shoot her another curious look, but despite the pale skin and last night’s makeup smudged around her eyes, she looks fine.
“Anyway, why should you care?” Brit snaps at me. “It’s not like you’re sticking around. That’s what you’re doing, right? Bailing out of town. Again.”
The twist of vulnerability in her voice sends a stab of regret right through me. So that’s why she’s so mad at me! Four years ago, I was so caught up in my heartbreak over Mom and Emerson, I didn’t stop to think how I was running out on Brit without even a word. We’d hung out a bunch that summer, and although she acted like me and Emerson were an embarrassing drag, I know she looked up to me, like a sister. The way I left wasn’t fair on her.
“I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye,” I tell her quietly, coming to a stop outside the bar.
“Whatever.” Brit shrugs again.
“No, I mean it,” I say, sincere. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Brit gapes at me. “Are you fucking kidding me? My brother!” She stares at me like I’m the devil and a total moron all rolled into one. “You broke his fucking heart, and I was the one left trying to clean up the mess.”
She grabs her bag, and climbs out of the car, slamming the door behind her. I’m left, dumbstruck in the driver’s seat.
Wait, what?
I scramble to turn off the engine and get out, flinching as the cold rain hits my skin. “Wait!” I hurry after her. “You’ve got it all wrong. That’s not how it happened!”
And it’s definitely not how it happened this time around.
“Oh yeah?” Brit whirls around, furious. “I don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, but that’s exactly what went down. He went into a total fucked up spiral after you waltzed off out of town four years ago. You didn’t see what you did to him,” she adds, bitter shadows skating across her face. “You don’t know how far he went.”
I shake my head, furious. “But he’s the one who broke up with me! He just did it, all over again!”
“And you let him!” Brit cries. She tries to walk away again, but I grab her arm, pulling her back.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand. “Explain, now.”
Brit rolls her eyes again, rubbing her arm. “Like you don’t know.”
“I don’t!” I yell over the sound of the downpour, totally confused now. “Emerson was the one who ended things! He dumped me right after my mom’s funeral, told me it was all over, and that he didn’t love me anymore!” My voice breaks on the last word of my humiliating confession, echoing in the pouring rain of the parking lot.
Brit stares at me, amazement falling over her face. “You really don’t know, do you?” she whispers.
I feel a rush of blood pounding through me. What’s she talking about? What does she know?
“Tell me,” I beg her. “Please, I don’t know anything!”
Brit stares at me a moment. “Wait here,” she orders, before suddenly turning and racing off, up the outside stairs that lead to the apartment above the bar.
I watch her go, helpless. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I know it has to be something big. Something about Emerson.
My heart races. Was there a reason he ended things that I don’t know about? What possible excuse could he have for breaking my heart? Even though I know it’s stupid, I feel a ray of hope. If he was hurt after the breakup, then I must have meant something to him after all—enough to mourn for, if not enough to love.
I wait anxiously for Brit to come back down. I have so many more questions for her, I don’t even know where to start, but as the seconds tick past, and water soaks me completely, I feel more and more on edge. She told me to wait, but should I go up there after her? What if it was just a cruel prank, to get back at me as some kind of revenge?
My nerves tie themselves in knots, until finally, the apartment door opens, and Brit hurries back down the stairs.
“You need to talk to me!” I hurry forward to meet her, words slipping desperately out of my mouth in a babble. “I need to know what happened, please!”
“Here.” Brit holds something out to me. It’s a crumpled envelope, with something written on the front. “This explains everything.”
I take it, still confused. There’s a letter folded up inside, and Emerson’s name is written in cursive on the front. I stuff it quickly under my sweater before the rain can get to it. “What is this?”
“Read it,” Brit tells me. “I don’t know why the stupid jackass didn’t tell you himself, but…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late for that.”
I stare dumbly at her. “I don’t understand, why are you helping me? I thought you hate me.”
Brit gives me a sharp look. “I love my brother more,” she says fiercely. “And for some reason, he chose you, no matter what he tries to tell himself.”
She turns and stalks away.
I hurry back into the safe dryness of the car, still confused. I pull the letter back out, turning it over in my hands, and that’s when I see it: the lettering ma
king up Emerson’s name. I recognize the handwriting, better than anything.
It’s my mother’s.
Chapter Fourteen
I drive on through Beachwood, out to the cliffs that curve around the far side of the bay. Rain lashes at my windscreen, wind howling outside, but every five seconds, I can’t help glancing over to the passenger seat, where the envelope sits beside me. The white square of paper is yellowed and crumpled in places, and looks way too innocent for whatever long-buried secrets it contains.
I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, driving through the rain until I reach the bluffs. I park at the lookout point, safely back from the drop to the ocean, and sit, watching the sea churn and froth in the storm while I huddle here inside.
This is where we scattered my mom’s ashes.
It was a day like this one: cloudy and cold, but I didn’t feel the bite of the wind as we stood there.
I couldn’t feel anything at all.
Mom had said in her will she didn’t want to be buried. She liked the idea of going back into the earth, in a way: becoming a part of the ocean, and the trees, and the beach again. I thought it would be healing somehow, to see the cycle of life revolve. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But when Dad emptied out the urn, it didn’t seem real to me: that my flesh-and-blood mother could be reduced to a couple of handfuls of dirt. I watched the ashes dance and skip in the wind for a moment, and then she was gone.
Just, gone.
Except, now I have something of her again. This mysterious letter to Emerson.
I reach for it, tracing my fingertips over the edge of the paper. By the end of that summer, we were fighting all the time. I was so head-over-heels in love with Emerson, I didn’t care about anything, as long as I would be with him. I was ready to tear up all my old plans. It seemed so romantic: just the two of us, together, building a life on our own. We would figure it out, to hell with what my parents said. I remember Mom, begging and pleading with me not to gamble everything on him. It tore her apart when I told her everything was going to change. We spent so much of her final days yelling at each other, my heart aches to think of it now.
All that time wasted that I’ll never get back.
When she died, I felt the guilt cut through me like a thousand sharp blades, but I was determined I’d made the right decision. Emerson was all that mattered now, the only one I had left in the world—at least, that’s what I thought.
Until the terrible afternoon he walked away and left me there, broken in the rain, and proved her right after all.
It takes a moment to gather all my courage before I finally ease the envelope open and pull out the folded page inside.
The paper crackles as I unfold it, and I inhale in a sharp rush of air. My heart contracts with a deep ache seeing her familiar cursive loop, slanted across the page.
Mommy…
I feel the tears pool in my eyes, and I have to wipe them away with the sleeve of my hoodie before I can focus enough to read.
Dear Emerson,
I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye this summer. You have to understand, I love my daughter more than anything, and I only want the best for her. It breaks my heart to watch her talk about delaying college, and staying here in Beachwood Bay with you. This isn’t down to you—I’ve come to see that you love her deeply, in your way, which is why I’m begging you to stop her from making this mistake. She is on the verge of becoming a woman, with a bright future ahead of her. She can have anything she wants: make a career for herself, be independent, and see the world. She can make a happy, stable life far beyond anything I can hope for her. But if she stays here with you, then all of that will be wasted.
She loves you, we both know that. But you and I also both know that staying here with you would ruin her. She may think this is what she wants now, but there’s nothing for her in this town, you have to see. Ask yourself, is this the life you’d choose for her? Is it really everything she deserves? I chose to give up everything for her father over twenty years ago, and there’s not a day that passes when I wish I hadn’t chosen differently.
Juliet is stubborn, she wouldn’t listen to me. I can’t stay to make her understand: once I’m gone, that falls to you. I beg you again, if you love her, don’t let her throw her life away. She will resent you for it soon enough, trust me on that.
I’m putting my faith in you to do what’s right. Please. If you love her the way you claim to do, give her the life she deserves.
Yours,
Jeanette.
I lower the letter, my hands shaking.
I can’t believe it.
This is the reason for my heartbreak and pain? I’m stunned and dazed, realization washing over me in a wave of clarity. All this time, I believed what Emerson told me that day: that love wasn’t enough. But in a twisted way, he broke things off that summer because he loved me. Because it was my mom’s dying wish. And all this time, he never told me.
He never told me!
I’m reeling. It still doesn’t make sense to me, but looking back now at that final, terrible fight, I can see. How agonized he looked, pulling away from me. How my insults about him being just like his parents must have struck, so harsh and close to home.
He was hurting me to protect me. He was trying to do the right thing.
And now he’s doing the exact same thing, all over again.
My heart splits in two for him. What must it have cost him, to do this for my mom? He must have known I could never have walked away from him, not even if he’d begged. That’s why he acted so cold and harsh to me—not because I wasn’t enough for him, but because he believed I was too good, that I deserved a life without him.
He loved me so much he let me go.
I feel tears come again, but this time, they’re happy ones: hot with relief, and joy, and the faint edge of bittersweet regret. I think of my mom, even at the end, trying to make a better life for me.
I can’t blame her for this, I understand completely. She gave up everything for Dad, after all. She was planning on going to nursing school when she met him: a dashing foreign exchange student. But he had dreams of being a writer, and so she delayed all her own plans to get a steady job and support them both. Somehow, “next year” never came. She got pregnant with Carina, and then me, and Dad’s debts started piling up, and by then she was too busy desperately trying to hold our family together to pay attention to the plans she’d made for herself.
She built her whole life around him, hanging on to every word. She loved him so much, even when the drinking started, even when she knew it was destroying her.
He was everything to her, and it was her downfall. She thought Emerson would be the same for me, but it’s not true: in letting me go, he proved how different he is. He made the sacrifices for my sake that my Dad never even considered: putting my happiness above everything, even his own heartbreak.
I sob with joy. He loved me!
And maybe he still does now.
I cling to that precious hope like it’s a firefly in the dark night of my soul. I knew he couldn’t mean it, all the things he said today. Not when his body told me a different story last night. He was just trying to get me to leave town again, the same as four years ago. He thinks I’m still better off without him, as if a life without his love is worth anything at all.
I let him push me away once. I can’t make the same mistake again.
I take a shaky breath and put the car in drive, circling carefully back around the lookout point and down the cliff road into town. The storm is howling around me, winds blowing so hard I can feel the car rock. I feel a tremor of panic seeing the rain gush down the steep hill, but I force myself to stay calm, and slowly inch my way back to town.
I drive the empty streets, eyes peeled for Emerson’s truck, but when I get to Jimmy’s Tavern, the parking lot is empty. Damn! I get out of the car, racing up the stairs to the apartment, and hammering on the door, but there’s no answer. Even Brit must be somewhere, she
ltering from the storm. I go back down to the car, slamming the door quickly against the pouring rain.
The wind is blowing flat out now, sending rain in horizontal slashes across the street, and bending the trees almost double. A newspaper stand suddenly flies down the sidewalk, bouncing past the car and slamming hard into the wall with a crash. I jerk back in my seat, my heart skipping a beat. It’s crazy out there now: going into full-on hurricane territory, but I still don’t quit. I drive every street in town, desperate to find him.
I don’t care about the storm, or my wet clothes, or anything except looking Emerson straight in the eye and telling him I love him—and that I’m not giving up this time.
My determination grows, but there’s still no sign of him, until eventually, I take the turn-off to head back to the beach house. Maybe he didn’t even stick around in town; maybe he got the hell out, away from the storm, like any sane person would.
It’s too late to even think about taking that exposed coastal highway, so I drive back to the house at a snail’s pace, flinching every time I hear the trees crack and sway above the road. The street here is already messy with broken branches and debris blow in from the beach, but I make it to the turning OK. Then I find a downed tree: the long truck splayed right across the road. There’s no driving over it; my Camaro won’t make the obstacle.
I pull over at the side of the road and quickly grab my purse from the backseat. I get out, and clamber over the tree, scraping my hands on the bark, but making it over OK. The beach house is just a little ways further, and I fight my way through the rain, struggling to stay upright against the powerful gusts of wind. Grandpa built a storm cellar in the basement, and I know I just have to make it a little further to shelter, safe from the winds.
And then I see it: the distant flash of blue. Emerson’s truck, in the driveway.
My heart leaps.
I fly down the rest of the road, skidding in the mud as I race up the drive. “Emerson!” I scream, my voice lost in the wind. “Where are you?!”
I try the front door, but the house is still locked tight like I left it. I circle the house, wondering where he could possibly be. Then I see the door to my photography shed flung wide open. I race over, just as Emerson emerges.