I slid my phone back in my pocket and continued to pile the cool, damp sand into Lyra’s purple plastic bin. Her eyes filled with amusement as I pulled away the bucket and the sandcastle appeared before her. My phone rang three consecutive times before I dug back into my pocket.
I assumed it was Axel again—needing to chat in his ever inebriated state—and decided to shut off my phone. To my surprise, it was Leslie's name that appeared on the screen. She’d been looking for a change after the guys left, and our relationship had become strained when I refused to talk about the baby and denied all her offers to help. She moved out when she was offered a job in Chicago.
At that point in my life, I thought I’d lose the baby; I was sure I’d miscarry because I’d been told by three separate doctors that I wouldn’t carry to term. My first gynecologist advised me to abort right away because the lining of my uterus was too thin to carry the baby. I’d never returned to his office. The second gynecologist wanted me to see a shrink and prepare myself for a miscarriage. I’d told him to fuck off. My last gynecologist agreed I wouldn’t carry to term, but she was the only one who had an action plan to get me to at least thirty-two weeks. By then the baby would be able to survive outside the womb without medical assistance.
After Leslie had moved to Chicago, her phone calls faded away and the text messages eventually stopped. Towards the end, I told her I was putting the baby up for adoption. Leslie asked me to call her when I went into labor; she wanted to be by my side. But I didn’t call. When I spoke to her after Lyra was born, I simply said that she came early and I didn't want to talk about it.
I slid my finger across the screen and brought the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Em?” Leslie's voice was strained on the other end.
“Les, what's the matter?” I rose from the sand. Jeremy looked up at me with his brows drawn. I held up a finger for him.
“Harry died.” Leslie’s sorrowful tone hit me like a kick to the gut. “He… He overdosed.” Her words bellowed through the phone. My hand clenched at my side as I walked towards the water and away from Lyra and Jeremy.
“When?” I finally spoke.
“A few days ago,” she cried into the phone. “The funeral is tomorrow. I'm getting on the red-eye. Do you need the address?”
I looked over my shoulder; Lyra's hands pushed over the sandcastle and she laughed, but Jeremy's eyebrows were furrowed together as he watched me. “Yeah,” I muttered. I needed to go. Leslie began to speak, but I couldn't hear anything; my mind was in a trance. I’d see Weston again. Was he into drugs as well? How was I going to tell Jeremy?
“Les, I gotta go. This isn't a good time.” I didn't wait for her to respond. I hung up the phone and slid it away. My face must have shown my fear and sorrow because Jeremy scooped up Lyra and ran over to me.
“Is everything okay?” He scanned my eyes, searching for answers.
“My college friend overdosed.” My voice cracked. Harry had a bright future ahead of him.
Jeremy's hand wrapped around my shoulder and he brought me close to his chest. His comfort was warming and inviting. I didn't know what to think, and I didn’t know what to feel. Harry was dead.
“When is the funeral?” Jeremy asked softly, his lips grazing my hair.
“Tomorrow.”
“We can drive up.” He was sweet for offering, but if I was going to visit my old life again, I had to do it without my new life tagging along.
“Would you mind if I went alone? I'm not ready to explain death to…” I looked at Lyra.
“No problem.” Jeremy kissed the top of my head. “We’ll pack up and head over to my sister’s to say goodbye before we hit the road. I'll stay with Lyra tomorrow while you go pay your respects.”
I wrapped my arm around his waist and lay my head on his chest. Lyra, oblivious to our conversation, took the opportunity to tie my hair in a silly ponytail.
The car ride home passed in a blur.
I stared out the window and Lyra slept in her car seat as Jeremy drove us back south. My mind drifted to all the time I had spent with Harry. Though I wasn't a fan of what he had done to Leslie, Harry was a nice guy.
This must be killing Leslie.
That night, sleep never came. I lay in bed with Jeremy next to me and stared at my popcorn ceiling. Most nights we would fall asleep together, but sometime during the night I’d wake him up and ask him to go to his house. His presence in my bed would only confuse Lyra and fill her with questions I wasn’t ready to answer. I didn't want her to ask if Jeremy was her father and then a year from now he was gone. He promised he wasn't going anywhere, that he was with us for the long haul, but I’d let my guard down once before. I refused to do it again.
My fingers coiled on the steering wheel as I arrived at the cemetery. I was here to pay my respects to Harry; I wasn't here to see Weston. At least that's what I kept telling myself.
As I stepped out of my car, Leslie pulled up beside me. I strolled over to her driver’s side door, my shoulders hunched in sorrow. She hugged me so tightly it felt as if all the air in my lungs had vanished. “God, Emilia,” she cried on my shoulder. My hands ran up her back to soothe her whimpers.
“It's okay,” I muttered. “I'm so sorry you're in pain.”
Leslie pulled away from me, her hands rested on my shoulders. “How are you, my friend?” I knew she was referring to my pregnancy; from her soft dark eyes I could see the underlying question.
“I'm okay.” It was a simple response, but it was the only response anyone would get today. I'm okay. Leslie leaned forward and hugged me once again.
Axel walked up to us, black Ray Bans covering his eyes. I released Leslie and hugged him. I’d been strong with Leslie, but with Axel I broke down. My cries were muffled by his embrace as I sobbed in his arms. He’d lost his best friend, and I knew he wouldn’t cry, so I cried for both of us. Not to mention, this was the first time I’d seen him in four years. I’d never said goodbye to him when he left. The realization brought a tsunami of tears.
“I'm so sorry.” My voice broke with every word.
Axel's hands wrapped around my back; his grip tightened as he spoke. “It's so good to see you.” We hugged for a few brief seconds until Leslie tapped my shoulder. People were headed towards the burial site. I locked my arm around Axel’s, and he led Leslie and me to where Harry's family sat in the shade of a tent.
Harry's mother sobbed at the sight of her son’s coffin. No mother should ever have to bury a child. After giving my condolences to his mother, brother, and two sisters, I stood next to Axel and Pete. My eyes remained glued on the priest as he spoke about Harry's life. Weston was nowhere in sight, at least not that I could see from where I stood.
Leslie’s head rested on my shoulder as Harry’s family stood to say their final goodbye, each laying a white rose on the lid of the coffin before it was lowered into the freshly dug pit. Leslie grasped my hand; a soft cry escaped her lungs as the coffin was laid to rest. Her sobs became uncontrollable, so I pulled her into my arms.
We said goodbye to a friend, a lover, a son.
Harry's family was the first to move. The crowd one by one began to move towards their cars, each stopping at Harry's grave one last time before turning. Sally, who I hadn’t seen earlier, said a quick goodbye before she followed the rest of the pack, and Axel and Pete followed after her. Only Leslie and I remained.
“I can't say goodbye,” she whispered.
“We can do it together.”
We moved closer to the coffin. My heels sank into the soft grass with each step. Leslie picked up a mound of dirt in one hand. “I'll love you always,” she said before she dropped the cool earth onto his casket. I knew her heart was dismantled.
We turned away and walked towards the rest of the gang who were still standing near the parked cars. Weston was the only one missing. It was under horrible circumstance that we were reunited. I hugged Sally and Pete. Pete asked if I was going back to Harry's mom’s home, but I declined
. Leslie didn't want to go, and I knew she needed me by her side.
We stayed at the cemetery until everyone left. Leslie continued to lean against her car, gazing towards Harry's grave. Pulling a flask from her purse, she took a long swig and offered it to me but I passed. She took another swig and shoved it back in her purse. I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the power to go back in time.
We stood there for almost twenty minutes before she shifted on her feet and spoke. “You know, this is all your fault.” Her voice had changed. She looked over at me, her eyes filled with hatred.
“My fault?” I drew my hand to my chest. What the hell was in that flask?
“Yep. I started thinking about the last time I saw Harry, and I realized if you had told Weston you were pregnant, none of this would’ve happened.” Tears pooled in her eyes.
She was blaming me for his death? “Excuse me? There’s no way you're pinning Harry's overdose on me.” I shook my head at her in disbelief.
“It's the truth. If you had opened your damn mouth and told Weston the truth, he would've stayed behind and Harry wouldn't have gone. I could have stayed here with him. He would be here right now!” Her voice grew higher with rage.
“Don't you dare, Leslie,” I warned through gritted teeth. “I did what I had to do to protect the ones I loved most. If I’d told Weston, it would’ve crushed his dreams, not to mention Harry’s. And if I had gone with them, how the hell would I have raised a child?”
“Anything would’ve been better than giving it away!” she cried. “You're a terrible person for not telling him. A terrible mother!”
My fist balled at my side as my words spewed from my mouth. “I'm only going to say this once, Leslie, so listen carefully. You can judge me as a person, that's fine. I'm not perfect—I’ve never claimed to be perfect. I’m a goddamn human and I make mistakes just like everyone else. But I will not stand here and let you criticize me for the actions I’ve made. You have no right to judge me as a mother because you aren’t one, and you have no clue what it takes to have a child. You don't know half the shit I've been through. Say what you want to say about me, but don't you dare call me a bad mother.” My heels banged against the concrete walk as I strode towards my car. Slamming my door shut, I turned my car on and gazed through the rearview mirror. Leslie was standing where I left her. It was the last time I spoke to her. The last time I saw her. As I drove away from the cemetery, I said a final goodbye to both my friends.
37
EMILIA
Present.
My fear had gotten the best of me for the past four years.
I’d refused to listen to the radio; I told Jeremy the new music wasn't as great as the classics. I’d walked around with a USB drive filled with songs, and while I was in my car, I’d only listened to news radio. I’d been walking around with the ghost of Weston haunting me at every turn. My fear was that one day I would turn on the radio and his song would be playing. So, in order not to break my heart all over again, I ignored it. But now I finally decided it was time to start doing what I love. Music had been my life and I needed to put the fear of running into Weston to rest.
I pulled into the parking deck of SoCal PR with fifteen minutes to spare. I took my time locating a parking spot and checked myself in the visor mirror one last time before heading into work.
As I entered the sixteen-story glass building, I was confident I would make a stellar first impression. I slid my badge over the scanner and greeted the security guard before taking the elevator to the eleventh floor. While I waited for my new manager by the receptionist’s desk, I glanced around the office. It was wide with thick glass walls separating the front desk from the back offices. The carpet was a dark charcoal, and the accent furniture was a mixture of dark wood with white upholstery.
Brian Stone, my manager, appeared from the hallway. “Emilia.” He extended his hand and I shook it firmly as I told him good morning. “Follow me. I'll show you to your office.”
As we passed the receptionist, he introduced me to Nina, who had just walked in for another day of work. She was responsible for directing the calls as they came in. I offered a gentle wave and continued towards my office. My heels clicked against the long white marble hallway. The corridor was lined with identical offices all glass walled from the floor to the high ceilings, with dark mahogany furniture and built-in bookcases. Since I had arrived earlier than most, I was able to gaze into their offices without seeming creepy.
“This is it.”
Brian pushed my office door open. I noticed my name was already etched on the thick glass. The gray carpet was rough, and a mahogany desk sat in the center with an empty bookshelf behind it. A pair of black leather club chairs faced my desk. My office was at the far end of the hallway, so I had direct eye contact with anybody walking my way. Prime real estate.
“There’s a packet there for you.” He indicated a folder on my desk. “It has all your login information for your computer and passwords that you’ll need to change. I'll let you get settled in. If you need anything, I’m four doors down.”
I thanked Brian and busied myself, getting my login information and setting up my email. As I read over the employee package and filled out my health insurance information, a light tap on the door pulled my head away from the computer screen. Brian stood against the wooden door frame, a wide smile gracing his face.
“First day on the job and you already have a client. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” He motioned with his head for me to follow him.
I locked my computer, fixed my blouse and followed Brian towards a conference room. The room had a round glass table surrounded by black leather chairs. A pitcher of water and a few crystal tumblers stood on a tray in the center. I sat on the chair Brian pulled out for me.
“Your job entails you be the point person—all media packets and press releases will go through your hands. You’ll do crisis management, and any questions that they might have, or their manager might have, will go through you. In a sense, you will do damage control for Pointless Statement.”
I nodded and agreed with everything Brian had to say. I tried to remember if I had ever heard of the group. Nope. This was what I got for ignoring the radio. I didn't know if Pointless Statement was a girl group, a solo artist or country band, but I figured since I was a new associate I would be given the newbie clients who were just starting out.
“Great,” I responded. “Anything they need, that’s what I'm here for. I’m ready to be the best publicist in the business.”
Brian massaged his smooth jawline. “Actually, you’re their first publicist since they are fairly new to this industry.” My eyes widened. The thought had me grateful, as though we were at least on an even playing field. That was until Brian’s lips curved into a knowing grin. “And funny enough, you were requested personally by them to be their point person.”
“Personally? Me?” I touched a shaky finger to my pounding chest. Could Weston…?
Brian’s throat cleared and caught my wandering attention. “Here they are.”
He stood, and I swiveled my chair around to follow his gaze. Walking towards the conference room were four men I never thought I’d see again: Axel, Paulie, Pete, and a face I’d dreamed about for the past four years. Weston.
Please be a dream. Please be a dream.
My stomach hit the floor, and my heart accelerated at a dangerously high speed. A seam of sweat began to build on the back of my neck. Every ounce of me wanted to sprint from the conference room and hide. My hands began to tremble at my sides; I wanted to hide them behind my back, but I didn’t move even an inch. My body was shell shocked.
Four years.
Four years avoiding him, us, anything that reminded me of what we had, and it all came down to this. After everything I’d done to remove myself from his life, he was now my first client.
My past, the love of my life, the father to my sweet, precious daughter…
Pelo ou amor de Deus. For the love of G
od.
“Emilia, this is Pointless Statement.” Brian extended his hand towards the guys as if this were just another client meeting, as if this were just another day to me. Not as though my past had just collided with my future. Not as though my world was spinning and all I wanted to do was drop to the floor.
Axel opened his arms for an embrace, a kind smile on his face. His rotund arms squeezed the rest of the air I had to breathe. “I tried calling you this morning to give you a heads up,” he whispered in my ear.
Air. I need air.
Rendered speechless, I pulled away from his hold and gave him my best fake smile, or at least I hoped. My body was so numb I didn’t know whether my lips actually tugged up.
Pull it together.
Pete came around and hugged me, too. His face was filled with excitement. He still looked like the same Pete I’d met when I was twenty years old, with the scruffy blond hair, the unshaven beard, and the bright, piercing blue eyes. Pete turned around and introduced me to Travis. I assumed he had taken Harry's position in the band. Travis was taller than the rest of the guys, towering close to six-five, with a mocha complexion and hair twisted into small dreads.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Travis greeted me. My hand shook as I extended it to him.
Paulie looked at me and smiled, then looked down at his phone. Still the same asshole I remembered.
My eyes drifted away from Paulie and were greeted by Weston’s stormy gray gaze. The air felt as if it was all sucked out of the room the moment our eyes met. He was four years older, four years hotter. I couldn’t stop staring. And I didn’t want to. He had scruffy cheeks that had not been shaved for a few days, and a black T-shirt hugged his muscular chest. He was bigger than I remembered; more defined. His shoulders were broader and a colorful tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve. The boy I knew then was now a man. He was different, but somehow he was still Weston. My Weston.
Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition Page 20