“They only wanted your happiness, honey. They didn’t expect anything but your happiness.”
“Are you sure my dad didn’t save all those science books in hopes of me becoming a physician like him one day?”
Mary laughed, and the sound was like soft bells chiming. “I mean, if you had an interest, he would gladly have helped you, but I don’t think you are interested in that.”
“I don't think I am.” I smiled. “I put his books in the trunk to donate yesterday.
“Ah, so that’s what’s been banging around back there.” Her smile made me hold my own in place just a bit longer. “What do you have there?” Mary pointed to the box.
“It looks like letters from my dad to my mom. I thought I would read them in my room.”
“I can’t believe your mother saved all of these,” Mary said, going to the box. “These are from when they were dating.” She lifted the lid and touched an envelope. “So long ago now, it seems.” She closed the lid and smiled. “I love you, Emma, and anytime you want to talk or have questions, please remember I am always here for you.”
“Thank you, Mary. Without you or Ryker, I don’t know where I would be.” I tried not to let any tears fall down my cheek as my eyes watered. Mary gave me a hug and left the room.
I pulled out the top envelope, and I sat on my bed. The paper was old and yellowed, and I couldn’t read the inscription on the front. I pulled out a small sheet of paper and read:
Darling Ara,
I have spent years in longing for home, in searching for a way back to it. You and your love make me feel as if I have found home, here, in this strange place. I am at peace because of your smile, your soul and the melody that you have within. I am touched, and I know we can make a life together as beautiful as the one we left behind. You are my world.
All my love,
Lamont
I tried to stop the tears that fell with my father’s words, but I could not. I was so affected by how much he had loved my mother, by how sad he must have been at the loss of his parents, but what peace he found in love—in love with my mother. I wiped at my tears and set the letter on my dresser with the box beside it. The pain was so acute. I felt it deep within my soul, and I wanted to scream. The snake seemed to enjoy feeding off of my sorrow. Misery welled up within me and poured out of my eyes. I sat on my bed, staring at the box; it was as if their love lived inside it, manifesting itself to me in these written words even after they were gone. I laid back on my bed, wondering, until I fell asleep, if I could ever have a love like that, if someone would ever love me like my father loved my mother—if someone would ever call me their home. But how could someone love me when I was broken, hallowed, shattered glass on the floor? When misery slithered inside of me?
I was up in the attic earlier the next morning, trying desperately to beat the heat. I found an entire box of receipts. I dug through them, taking out every single grocery store, gas station, and fast food receipt, and I smoothed them all out and read the accounting of every item that they had bought. The receipts were mostly from many years in the past. Like, there was even one in handwritten, swirly cursive that read “1932” at the bottom, and I wondered if it had been from one of my grandparents. I also noticed a few more recent ones. I gazed at the second to the last receipt in the box. It was a toy store receipt. It was for a baby doll, balloons, and wrapping paper. There was no date stamp visible, but I had a feeling that it had been a gift for me, for one of my birthdays. As I set the receipt in the finished pile, I heard a large vehicle pull up and a door slam. Curious, I walked to the small circular window. Nothing really seemed to happen in this town, and nothing really happened in our neighborhood. It was a quiet neighborhood.
The cute home across the street with a picket fence, which had been for sale, apparently had been sold. I had not noticed. The large moving van was proof that we would have new neighbors. The house was the same cookie-cutter type like most of the other middle-upper class houses in my neighborhood. It had a manicured lawn, ornate window trim, and neutral cream colored stucco, which to be honest, was weird to me. Why would you paint your house white? Still the white picket fence was my favorite. I always told myself that I'd have a home with a white picket fence one day. I shook my head, focusing on seeing who was moving in. My heart jumped as I watched a boy climb out of the moving van. I felt my heart race. I looked down at my chest, confused. I had not had anything like that happen to me before it seemed. I watched the boy; he looked my age or maybe a little older. A song floated within me, and I felt it awaken my senses. What is that about? Now, I am making up songs for everyone? His hair was midnight black, but in the sunlight, it almost looked blue because it was so dark. It was styled and perfectly in place. He looked ready for a photoshoot in his grey slacks and a blue button-down shirt that hugged him in all the right places.
I murmured under my breath: “Turn around, turn around,” I repeated softly to myself, wishing to see what his face looked like. He was tall and broad-shouldered; the way he stood was as if he commanded an army for a full-time job, not a high school student, which he had to be, right? Or, maybe he was in college. Oh my goodness. Please turn around! Did I say that already? I felt my heart do flip-flops in my chest, freaking me out because I was sure that I didn’t have a working heart anymore. What was happening to me? He turned, facing my house, and I squinted, trying to make out his face. His chin was strong. I couldn’t see every single detail, but he seemed to look my way, and I quickly ducked my head—panting. Did he see me? What the heck! I am such a stupid stalker. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, which felt new. I tried to calm my racing heart. I never knew I could feel that way again—alive. Ryker’s warmth was amazing, but this, this feeling makes me feel like I exist, I thought. It was as if this boy jump-started my dead, frozen, hollow body as well as my heart. I was alive for the first time since the horrific night.
Dandelion
I WALKED DOWN OUR DRIVEWAY the next afternoon after spending all morning in the attic again. I still had the box of letters on my dresser, with only one opened and read. For some reason, I couldn’t read them yet. The feelings that came to me as I read were so overwhelming, and although I did want to devour the box and sink into every letter, I decided to take my time as Mary had suggested.
I held a bag of trash in my hands as I walked down the long driveway to the sidewalk where our trash cans were located. I knew it was trash day the next day, and that was why Mary had pulled the trash cans to the curb. But, in Mary’s haste that morning, she had forgotten to take out the kitchen trash. I doubted she wanted that trash sitting outside all week rotting until trash day came again, so I quickly snagged it and brought it out to the cans. I could honestly say I had never taken out the trash before. Taking out the trash had been my father’s job, so as I flipped open the lid and plopped the bag of garbage inside, I smiled, thinking about how often I had seen my father do the very same thing.
I could not help but notice for the first time in a while, the bright blue sky and glowing yellow sun beaming its warmth on my skin. I was grateful for my tank top and shorts. I noticed in our grass one small dandelion. I suddenly remembered back to a summer when Ryker and I hunted for them and made wishes as we blew the seeds into the air, and remembered waiting anxiously for them all to come true. I bent down to pluck it from the light green grass and cool dirt. As I stood back up, the top of my head hit something, and I fell forward into the grass. I heard a grunt and looked up to see a boy looking down at me, clutching his chin. My heart raced, and my head felt a little dizzy. I looked down at my chest. My heart was beating again. I could feel the hollowness in my center fill with something as I stared into a pair of golden eyes. I gasped as my heart thudded against my chest, and I wondered if I was having a heart attack.
“Um, hello,” the boy spoke, still only inches away from me. I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes that made them appear golden.
“Hey,” I said, weakly, resting my hand on my head t
hat started to throb. Had I head-butted him?
“Are you—” He didn’t get to finish because as the boy with golden eyes stood and reached his empty hand out to me, and as I took his hand, I felt a shock, a pulse, something swirling around me, a song that I kind of recognized started to ring loudly in my ears—the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. His eyes locked onto mine as if he had felt it, too. The boy pulled me up, and when he did, he kept my hand in his as he searched my face, seeming to be looking for something. And just like that, the snake of misery that had made a home within me hissed and slithered away into dust; it was gone. The hollowness, the emptiness, disappeared.
“Sorry,” I responded, standing up a little straighter. There was something so familiar about this boy, but I knew I had never seen his face before—if I had, that moment would have never been forgotten.
He let go of my hand, and I watched his lean, muscled body bend down to pick up the dandelion that I had plucked from the lawn. I watched him as if hypnotized as he twirled it in his fingers. I noticed some of the little seeds had already blown away, probably from when I dropped it when I fell. He put his hand down as a song came floating into my mind—a song so familiar and calming that I wanted to listen to it forever. I almost closed my eyes to enjoy the hypnotic sound when the boy spoke again.
“I—I can’t believe it.” His voice was low and almost breathless as he talked, and I took in his entire appearance, because he seemed to take all of me in—it was only fair, after all. He wore dress pants, a belt, a light blue shirt, and a black skinny tie. His hair was longer, but styled away from his face—his beautiful face. I noticed. Before I looked like an idiot, I looked at his hand that still held the dandelion.
“Believe what?” He reached out for my hand then, and I thought he was going to give me the dandelion, so I moved my hand to his. But, instead of giving me my little wishing weed, he took my hand in his and held it, smiling up at me. The electric current flowing between us was so strong that I wondered if I was actually being electrocuted, and if I would die from the shock. I concluded that it must be the case, and thought that after a while I would become numb from any pain associated with being shocked to death. A rather nice way to go, I thought, for it felt wonderful, like the most amazing thrill I had ever felt—addictive, even like a drug.
“You are—” he began but then cleared his throat, shaking his head. I watched as he walked closer to me. He touched the top of my head with his fingertips. “Are you alright?” he asked. As soon as his fingers started to make their way into my hair, I tried to hold back a gasp because the electric current was there, too, and as I looked at him, I glanced at his mouth, and all I wanted to do was to kiss him. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck; I wanted to pull him into me and kiss his lips over and over again.
“I think I am okay,” I finally answered. My body hummed to the melody of a beautiful new song inside of me, and I thought;
He’s mine.
He’s mine.
He is mine.
I jumped away from him, away from those feelings, disconnecting myself from his touch, and I felt a loss from being away from him, and it made me a little sad. Why? I don’t even know this person. What is happening to me?
“I found you—” He came closer to me as I backed up.
Oh no, does he think I am someone else? Was this really my life now, just one tragedy after another? I am not who he thinks I am.
“Excuse me—I mean, good, I am glad you are okay,” he smiled at me.
“Oh, yeah, thanks. Are you alright?” Clearly embarrassed, as I felt my cheeks grow warm, I tried to pretend I wasn’t currently fighting an inward battle not to kiss him or hug him.
He cleared his throat.
“Oh, yes, I am wonderful, just a small bump. I was just getting to know the neighborhood, going for a walk.”
“You just moved in, right across the street?” I asked, looking at my feet.
“Yes.”
“Well, welcome,” I said, finally looking at him, wishing I could touch his face. Then I noticed he was still holding my dandelion. “Are you going to make a wish?” I said, motioning toward the weed.
“Wish?” he asked, confused, looking at the plant.
“You mean, you’ve never made a dandelion wish before?” I asked, surprised. Shut up, Emma. You sound like a baby, going on about wishes. Do you have to be so weird?
“Can’t say that I have.” He smiled, and I thought, it’s more beautiful than light—than sunshine, which seems true but odd for me to think about a smile, right?
“Well, you are missing out on life,” I said returning his smile. “That is a wish-granter. You blow all those seeds off while making a wish with one breath, and your wish will come true.” I didn’t know why I was saying that, didn’t know why I was smiling. I was feeling and breathing like normal, but I felt like I was more like myself than I had been in a long time, probably more than ever in my entire life if I was truly honest about it. That boy had awakened me. The snake was gone, the coils around my heart were loosened, and as much as a relief it was, it also scared me. So many different feelings and emotions came at me all at once, directed towards him, and I didn’t even know him.
“What were you going to wish for?” He asked, his eyes becoming serious.
“No, can’t tell. It’s the rules of dandelion wishing. If I ever want it to come true, I cannot tell a single soul.”
He smiled.
Really Emma—do you have to sound like a Disney character?
“This little plant holds that much power?” He didn’t seem to believe, but he still held me with his gaze, and I noticed the curl from his lips matched mine. I wondered if it was a strange feeling for him—the act of smiling. It felt like forever since I had done that act myself without it being forced. Maybe, he smiled every single day.
“Yes, you would be surprised. I tell you it’s worked for me before.” I ran a hand through my hair, twisting a curl between my fingers, trying to distract myself from the pull he had on me. It was silent for a time, and I figured that the conversation was over. “Well, anyways, I better go inside,” I said as I started to walk past him.
“What’s your name?” He asked as he stepped in front of me, and I was proud of myself for not pulling his body into mine for a hug. Emma, get a grip. You’re going to look like a crazy girl.
“Oh, it’s Emma,” I answered as his closeness did strange things to my insides. I bit my lip.
“I am Shad.” Then he turned his head, lifted up the dandelion and blew. All the seeds fell from the plant and drifted into the air with one breath.
“Ah, your first wish. Hope you made it a good one.”
“I demanded a lot from that dandelion. It was very nice to meet you, Emma. I will see you again soon, I hope.” He smiled, nodded at me, then tucked the stem of the dandelion into his pants’ pocket and walked across the street and up the porch into his new home. As I turned around and walked up to the porch of my house, I noticed that the smile he gave me never left my face.
Flower Shop
THE NEXT DAY WAS MY shift at the flower shop. I usually worked the register, which meant that I greeted people and helped them find the right flowers for whatever special event or occasion. At first, it was difficult to talk to the people who came in because I still felt so incredibly broken on the inside. Slowly, I was able to find a balance, and I did fine at the flower shop that I had always adored. At least there, things had not changed.
The bell chimed on the door around three in the afternoon as I was helping Mr. Lukas with his monthly order of flowers. This time, he chose twelve lilies for his wife. I was always a sucker for Mr. Lukas; he was pushing eighty years old and always came in with a beaming smile, a straw hat, and suspenders. Without fail, every month, on the dot, he bought flowers for his wife. We had many “recurring” clients as Mary liked to call them. Some of them were not so honorable and as endearing as Mr. Lukas. There was a man in his thirties who never left his name, alway
s paid in cash, but who purchased lots and lots of flowers with notes attached saying he was sorry. I didn’t really know what to make of him, but I left it up to my imagination each time, and it wasn’t good. But, I loved Mr. Lukas, and it was the best to get to help him myself.
“Thank you, Emma. Dottie will love these,” he said with a smile.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Lukas—only the best for Dottie!” I waved as he walked out the front door, lilies in hand. What would it feel like to be loved like that? I sighed and leaned my arm on the counter, thinking about how incredible their lives must have been together and wondering if I would ever experience a love like that. Happiness flowed through me then, and I embraced the feeling.
“Excuse me, Emma,” I glanced up at the voice.
“Oh, I am sorry, sir—“I started to say—then, once registering who was in front of me, my mouth dropped open. It was him, Shad, my new across-the-street neighbor. I felt my body jolt a little at seeing him, being near him. My heart had not stopped beating since I had seen him the day before when I bumped into him, literally. His presence sent my heart racing. Then a song, a melody, floated to me, the one I had made up just for him. The melody was so beautiful that I had to fight the urge to hum each note.
His black and styled hair framed his face well. It was long, but not too long, it was that perfect in-between long and short style that I had seen on a few guys in school, and I was convinced no one could pull it off like Shad. His jaw was defined, and his eyes looked into my own. He held himself with ease. Confidence radiated from his entire being. My heart started to beat even quicker, like it was about to explode from my chest.
“Hello again, Emma. I need to buy a flower. I was hoping you would not mind assisting me?” His voice was like hot chocolate: rich and warm. He put his hands behind his back in a stance that seemed to demand attention. He wore black dress pants, which fit him and his body like they were tailored to his specific dimensions; he wore, tucked into those pants, a grey button-down, collared shirt, with a black, skinny tie. I rarely had ever seen a boy my age dress that way, other than for a formal dance. Maybe he isn’t my age, I thought. He looks absolutely perfect. Did he just step out of a magazine ad?
The Heir Page 4