“He came after me again, so I shoved my foot into his face. I got past Amber who was a statue in the doorway and went downstairs to call nine-one-one. Just as I hit the send button, Dean pushed Amber down the stairs and was already coming for me. He knocked me to the ground and towered over me. He . . .” my voice trembles at the memory.
Joe squeezes my hand firmly. “Did he . . . hurt you?” he asks, gritting his teeth.
“No,” I continue. “He tried. He was able to pin me down, but my arm broke free when he was trying to undo his belt. The second I was free I jab my finger into his eye and kicked him in the groin a second time.”
“Good,” Joe replies, not loosening his grip.
I look at Mr. and Mrs. Nelson and they stare at me in wonder, amazement and shock.
“Please, continue,” Mr. Nelson chokes down, clearly affected as well by my story.
“Brittany pointed to the closet and I remembered the baseball bat that was in there. As I rushed to get the girls out of the house, Dean was trying to come after us. I motioned for the girls to leave and I turned, planning on slamming the bat into the side of Dean’s head. When I realized that the girls didn’t leave, and not wanting them to witness what I planned to do, I shoved my foot into his face.”
“Wow,” Mrs. Nelson gasps.
“I can understand why you left,” Mr. Nelson mentions.
“How did you leave?” Joe asks. “If the police were already on the way?”
Lowering my head, I gathered the courage to continue. “Martin and his wife gave me their phone number earlier that day when they dropped the girls and me off at the house. I had Brittany call them while I decided to use Dean’s hidden liquor stash to burn the house down after I dragged Amber’s body out. When I got to the bottles, I saw a bunch of cigarette cartoons. Dean never smoked, so my curiosity got to me. I found wads of money stuffed in a full carton and a bunch of loose ones. I gave the girls a bunch and took the rest knowing I couldn’t let the state put me in another home.”
Sobs began to pour from within me. “I felt so bad . . . it hurt to leave the girls, but I knew I couldn’t take them with me.”
“You did what you had to do,” Mr. Nelson consoles.
Mrs. Nelson dishes out four bowls of the chili and joins us at the table.
“I came back here that night,” I reveal.
“What? When?” Mrs. Nelson searches.
“It was late. Early the next day,” I explain. “I used the key off the back porch and let myself in. I was surprised that the State hadn’t moved or sold anything.”
“They couldn’t,” Mr. Nelson shares. “The government takes forever to do anything, and when it came time, there was a lawyer who came from New York, saying that the State couldn’t do anything and that he had power of attorney until you returned.”
“That’s right, Benjamin,” Mrs. Nelson states. “What was his name?”
“I don’t recall, sweetheart,” Mr. Nelson answers.
“We’ve got his business card somewhere here,” Mrs. Nelson explains. “We’ll find it and give it to you when we do.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
“So, what’s going on with the house then? Since the State didn’t have the right to it?” Joe inquires.
“The lawyer hired some company to come in every week to clean and maintain the interior and exterior of the house. Nothing has moved,” Mr. Nelson offers. “He can’t do anything either without your permission. I think they looked for you for a long while. Checking in with us on occasion to see if you returned.”
“Where did you go that night after the foster family incident?” Mrs. Nelson asks.
“I took a train all the way to California, knowing I needed to get as far away as possible,” I reveal.
“That’s when you meet Jared,” Joe confirms.
“Yes,” I agree.
“Who’s Jared?” Mr. and Mrs. Nelson question.
“He’s my friend. He’s like a brother to me,” I clarify. “He became family after that.”
“I’m surprised he’s not here with you,” Mr. Nelson says with a smile. “Must have taken a lot of guts to let you come here with your boyfriend instead.”
Joe laughs.
“What’s so funny?” Mrs. Nelson searches.
“I’m not her boyfriend,” Joe discloses.
“Oh,” Mrs. Nelson answers. “I just assumed. You two look like you’re in love.”
Wanting to end the uncomfortable moment, I share, “Jared knows I’m here. I came on my own and I ran into Joe in the city. He insisted on me not being alone if . . . when I came.”
“Thank you, Joe,” Mr. Nelson commends. “You’re a good man.”
“Thank you, sir,” Joe accepts.
“I should have come alone,” I challenge.
“I told you I wasn’t going to leave you alone, Emma,” Joe reminds.
“You shouldn’t have cancelled with you family,” I point out.
“Yesterday and today aren’t about me,” he encourages.
“Well, it should be. You should be celebrating your birthday with your family rather than dealing with my baggage,” I counter, raising my voice a little. I shove my bowl away from me, unable to eat.
“Happy Birthday, Joe,” Mrs. Nelson sings.
“Thank you,” Joe replies.
“Isn’t that cute, Benjamin,” Mrs. Nelson says.
“What, sweetheart?”
“Joe’s birthday is the day after Emma’s,” Mrs. Nelson comments. “I don’t have cake, but I do have brownies. I’ll get some candles and we’ll sing after everyone is done eating.”
“My birthday isn’t today. It was yesterday,” Joe informs.
“What?!” Mr. and Mrs. Nelson gasp.
“Your birthday was yesterday?” Joe questions, looking right at me.
“You two share the same birthday?” Mrs. Nelson questions.
The four of us look back and forth to each other as I desperately avoid making eye contact with Joe.
“No candles for me, Mrs. N,” I instruct. “I don’t celebrate it anymore.”
“I know the accident happened on you birthday, Emma, but you parents would still want you to celebrate,” Mrs. Nelson remarks.
“No,” I reply. “I don’t celebrate it. It’s my fault that they’re dead.”
How do you explain to someone, anyone, that you no longer celebrate your birthday because all you associate with it is death? How can I celebrate my birthday when that’s the same day my parents died? It was a happy sweet sixteen birthday until I woke up in the hospital. Even with all the soul searching, I still blame myself for them not being alive right now.
“Emma,” Mr. Nelson calls.
“You didn’t kill them, Emma,” Mrs. Nelson tries to soothe.
“Yes, I did,” I retaliate. “If we didn’t go out, they would still be alive.”
“Emma,” Joe says in a low voice.
“No!” I repeat, standing up. “Thank you for having us Mr. and Mrs. N, but I need to go.” I head to the door with Sadie and them on my heels as I put on my jacket.
“Emma,” the three of them repeatedly call, chasing after me.
My brain shuts off and I climb into the limo quickly as Hunter holds the door open. Sadie is quick to follow me and it takes Joe a few moments to enter the car. Once Hunter gets behind the wheel, the car carries us off. Joe inches closer, testing how far he can move until he’s on top of me. Tired, scared and upset, I turn into him, crying uncontrollably into his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I say after a long while.
“It’s okay,” he soothes. “Mr. and Mrs. Nelson understand and so do I.”
“It wasn’t fair to them,” I begin.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, holding me tighter. “They understand. Trust me. They said to come back or call when you’re ready.”
“Good,” I sob into his sweater.
“They gave me the house key to give to you for when you’re ready to return,” he shares
.
I nod.
Joe lifts my chin and stares into my swollen, red eyes. His lips meet mine and I eagerly accept them aside from the fact that I feel and look like a fool. We kiss for I don’t know how long as the car carries us along.
After some time passes, Joe asks, “So, where do you want to go?”
“What do you mean? Aren’t we back in New York?” I look out the window and can tell by the houses and streets that we’re still in New Jersey.
“I told Hunter to just drive around and to stay close by, just in case,” he shares. “Thought there might be a small chance you’d want to go back to see Mr. and Mrs. Nelson.”
“Thank you,” I say, smiling at his kindness.
We return to Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, giving them a proper farewell this time. I give them my cell number and email address and they reassure me that we’ll take this in baby steps, especially when it comes to handling things with my parents’ house.
As the limo pulls away from my childhood home, Joe comments, “I now understand your opposition celebrating your birthday.”
“Yeah,” I reply, lowering my head.
“It wasn’t your fault, Emma,” Joe assures.
I don’t say anything.
“What time were you born?” he searches.
“What? Why?” I inquire.
“Just curious to know which one of us is older,” he mentions.
“Would it be a challenge if I’m older?” I muse.
“Not at all,” he says with a grin, kissing the back of my hand.
Ninety Three
The next morning, I wake to Sadie and Joe surrounding me. The nightmare occurred again last night, but the emotional drain from the previous day made it easier to cope. Joe insists on me staying in bed, offering to take care of Sadie for the morning. When he comes back to the room, Joe joins me back in bed, allowing me to snuggle for as long as I need before facing the day.
Once we’re dressed and fed, it just takes me a little longer to get the gumption to leave for my last, planned destination before returning home. This part of my journey probably should have been first on the list, considering that it feels easier to do than where we went yesterday.
As we take the Holland Tunnel into New Jersey, I’m content with this location being the last. I probably would never have gone to my parents’ house if I had done the easier trek first. There’s no one to really see, other than perhaps in passing.
The limo pulls up to the shop a few doors down and I confidently step out. The restaurant sign is still the same as if nothing has changed. Smells rush my nostrils, reminding me of the good memories formed with Martin, Celia, Brittany and Leslie. I lower my head in prayer, hoping that life has been good to Martin and Celia because of the kindness and generosity they had given me and the girls.
“Emma?” a girls voice calls. “Emma? Is that you?”
My head snaps up, expecting a slew of people and cameras rushing toward me. Instead, I’m meet with the prettiest green eyes I’ve only ever seen on an old friend. Shock and disbelief consume me as I seriously consider that I’m hallucinating.
“It is!” she shouts, running toward me. “Oh my God. It is you. Mom, Dad and Leslie will be so happy to see you!” Her arms stretch upward as she hugs me.
My body remains stiff as it tries to catch up to my brain.
“They didn’t believe me when I told them that was you on the tv,” she announces into my ear. “Come on, come on. You have to come inside. It’s too cold out her and everyone will want to see you.” She yanks on my hand and my feet follow with weighted steps.
“Brit . . . Brittany?” my voice mumbles.
“Of course, silly!” she confirms.
I see that Sadie and Joe are close on my heels with Hunter and Taylor not far behind when I look back.
“Mom! Dad! Leslie!” Brittany shouts as she pushes the door open.
“What?” Leslie groans, popping up from behind the counter. “Oh my God!” She bolts around the corner and runs straight for me. “Emma! It’s you!”
“What’s all the fuss, girls?” Celia questions, coming from behind the kitchen door. She stops in her tracks when she sees me. “Marty! Get out here!”
“What is it?” Martin inquires, walking up behind Celia.
“Emma’s back!” Brittany shouts.
Martin and Celia rush across the restaurant. They both put their hands on my cheeks as if they don’t believe that I’m really there. Before I know it, they all surround me with their arms.
“What’s going on?” I mumble, confused.
“Mom and Dad adopted us after the . . .” Leslie begins before Brittany jabs her in her side.
“Ow, that hurt,” Leslie whines.
“I can’t believe that it’s been nine years,” Martin remarks.
“Has it been that long?” Celia questions.
“Yes,” my voice shakes.
“Who’s this?” Leslie asks, squatting and petting Sadie.
“That’s Sadie,” I comment, taking a step back from the group in amazement.
“And, who is he?” Leslie continues.
“Huh?” I return.
“Hello. I’m Joe,” he offers, stepping forward to shake their hands.
“He’s cute. Cuter than Chris,” Leslie remarks.
“Are you her boyfriend?” Brittany explores.
“Girls, that’s not polite and none of your business,” Celia corrects.
“No,” Joe answers with a chuckle. “Emma and I are friends.”
“Please, come in. Take off your coats and sit. I’ll have the cooks prepare us some food and we can sit and chat,” Celia offers, moving as if everyone has agreed. She never waits for anyone to object.
“Who are they?” Brittany asks, gesturing to the men behind Joe and me.
“That’s Taylor and Hunter,” I explain.
“Is one of them your boyfriend?” Leslie peruses.
Laughing, I answer, “No. They’re our bodyguards.”
“Why do you need bodyguards?” Leslie continues.
“For safety,” Joe offers.
The girls nod their acceptance even though their eyes give away that they don’t understand and want to know more.
We sit down in one of the large back booths while Taylor and Hunter stay toward the front of the restaurant. Leslie helps Celia with drinks while Brittany gets place settings and utensils.
“Where did you go?” Brittany breeches. “You know . . . after the last night we saw you.”
I explain enough, including when I met Jared, and the girls seem content when I don’t expand further. Our conversations turn toward how we all ended up in the foster home with Dean and Amber. I share first, wanting to get it out like ripping off a bandaid.
“We were bounced around foster homes since I was three,” Brittany explains. “We don’t remember anything. All we know is that our mom couldn’t take care of us anymore and there was never any mention of our dad.”
I stare at the two girls, perplexed at how different they look. Martin and Celia don’t look like they’ve aged.
“Are you moving back?” Leslie asks.
“No,” I admit. “Just visiting.”
“What was it like?” Brittany starts.
“What?” I reply.
“The dress. The movie premier?” She expands.
“Fun and interesting,” I offer with a smile.
“Why did you break up with him?” Leslie searches.
“Who?”
“Chris, silly.”
“Chris and I never dated,” I explain.
Brittany and Leslie don’t seem to understand. I explain how there are politics even in the entertainment industry and how Chris and I are just friends.
“So, Joe is your boyfriend,” Brittany states.
With a giggle, I answer, “No.”
“Just friends,” Joe adds with a wink meant for me, but the girls catch him and snicker.
Our conversation bounces between a wide variety of t
opics as we become reacquainted with each other. Brittany, who is now sixteen, is a cheerleader and loves to play the violin — she’s hoping to go to Juilliard next semester. Leslie is a little tomboy, playing a sport every season and ends up outside playing with the boys each day. Both girls are doing well in school and Martin and Celia seem to really love them.
During my visit, Brittany finds a moment to speak to me alone. “Emma?”
“Yes, Brittany?”
She nervously twists her shirt in her hands while monitoring the proximity of the others in the restaurant. “Can I ask you something?” she whispers.
“Of course,” I reply with curiosity.
“Do you really know gay people?” she hesitantly inquires.
“Yes,” I verify. “Many men and women. Why?”
“I think I’m gay,” she confesses, darting her eyes around the room to make sure no one heard her.
My arms stretch out, wrapping around her lovingly. I kiss the top of her head and then release her. “That won’t change their love for you,” I encourage.
“How do you know?” she asks tentatively.
“When you’ve been around enough people who aren’t,” I begin. “You can kind of sense it after a while . . . who is accepting and who isn’t.”
Brittany’s eyes beam more, full of confidence.
“And, I’ve got better gay-dar than Jared,” I share with a smile.
“Really?” she questions.
“Yep,” I laugh. “He thought Joe might have been gay when we first met him.”
Brittany looks over my shoulder and giggles. “Definitely not gay.”
“Nope,” I confirm.
“It’s obvious he into you,” she announces, covering her mouth quickly. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make things weird between you two since you’re friends.”
“Don’t worry,” I soothe with a smile. “That won’t happen.”
Just Breathe Series (Trilogy Box Set) Page 88