Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé)

by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  “Love you. Call me when you get there.” She nods, and I stand there watching her leave me and head home. Something is going to have to give with the way she punishes herself, pushing herself to the brink. Thanksgiving break I’ll make sure to pamper her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Emma

  School has been exhilarating. I love the case studies I’m researching, learning the ropes of adoption, the emotions both sides battle. It’s a beautiful thing each side presents. A mom or couple doing what’s right by their unborn child, knowing they can’t provide the life the child deserves. On the flip side, a couple or person so willing to open their hearts, accept and love a child, nurture them . . . become a parent without sharing DNA.

  I don’t have classes on Friday, so I’m heading home today, and I’ll get some time with Nana and my parents. Will gets in tomorrow, his last class today is late, and to leave tonight would put him home in the wee hour of the morning. It’s better for him to leave in the morning when he’s refreshed, and the day won’t be wasted. Plus I know my dad is chomping at the bit to have some time with me; he isn’t thrilled sharing time with my mom. They came up for a weekend in August, and I’ve been home once. I enjoy being by myself, growing up, but they’d keep me ten in their minds if they could.

  “I’m home!” My voice echoes down the hall. It’s like a tomb in here; too damn quiet.

  The back door opens, and footsteps sounding like a herd of elephants get closer. My dad picks me up in a bear hug, and I’m sure my lips are turning blue. “Luke, let her down.” My mom shoves at him. She gets her hug in, my lungs not in jeopardy of being crushed.

  “Glad to have you home, sweetie.” My mom is circling me, making sure nothing is wrong; my dad grabs my bag to take to my room.

  “I thought you’d be at the studio.” My mom spends most days there, so her being home is shocking.

  “Not with my baby girl coming home.”

  “Y’all realize I’m less than sixty miles from you. I’m in college not being held in an international prison.” They’ve been watching too much Locked Up Abroad. I shake my head and walk to the kitchen. I know there are some treats with my name hiding in here. I open cabinets, drawers, pantry, refrigerator . . . there is no chocolate anywhere. “What is up with the fruit and nuts? All this whole grain crap?”

  “We are eating healthier.” My mom hands me an apple. No thanks.

  “Yes, because your mom is on a nutritional kick, I am being forced to follow.”

  “Forced?” Her eyebrows raise as she studies him.

  “Held hostage, baby. I want an Italian sausage and fries, not tofu and twigs.” Her mouth drops open, his face stoic. “But I’d do anything for you.”

  “Sucker,” I tease. I think it’s wonderful. This is the type of relationship I’ve grown up with, been able to model. Nana and Pops, Mom and Dad, James and Brett . . . the love and mutual respect they all have for each other is the only thing I know. I refuse to settle for less, and with Will, I don’t have to.

  “Smart ass.” All three of us laugh, and it hits me how much I love my independence but have missed the comforts home brings me.

  “I vote for pizza and chips for dinner. With gory movies.” I bat my eyelashes at my dad and can see him salivate at the mention of processed food. My mom stares at the wall, in a daze, probably from lack of carbs, and smiles.

  “This is a special occasion, so we can cheat.” She isn’t fooling me. I guarantee she doubles the order and her ass will be up at midnight for a snack. “I’ll run and get some ice cream.” Bingo. I win this round.

  “Don’t forget the chocolate syrup.” She nods and disappears from sight. A fire under her ass to get some gooey deliciousness.

  “Bet she eats a pint in the parking lot.”

  “I can’t wager on a sure thing. No risk involved. No fun.” He pats the couch cushion.

  “Come sit and tell me how school is.”

  I sit and lean into his side. “It’s great. I love all my classes, and I’m learning to open my mind. I’m a black and white thinker; these studies are showing me there is grey area. I don’t know that I can apply it to my life, but others I’m sure I can.”

  “That’s great to hear. I miss you, but I’m happy you’re finding your place. You’ve picked a tough field. It’ll be hard to stay emotionally unattached.”

  “I don’t think there is any way to do that. I know they preach it, but if you don’t care, if you aren’t invested, how can you do the right thing? I think you need to have a vested interest in the outcome to make the choices that need to be made for these families.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you. I’m taking an online course this summer, so I’ll be able to spend some time here and keep up with the work. I’m thinking of International Adoptions being my specialty, and this course will introduce me to the different sides and laws of it.”

  “You won’t have to leave the country?” His face pales, his voice raises in octaves, he’s practically panting at the thought.

  I stifle my laughter at his outrage that I could ever board a plane alone. “No, Dad. Calm down before you have a stroke. I may want to go visit some of the orphanages at a later date, but I’ll be doing my studies on good ole U.S. of A. soil.”

  “Thank Christ.” He sinks back into the cushions, and I’m thinking he needs a vitals check.

  “I’m going to unpack and start laundry.”

  “What you mean is you are going to throw your dirty clothes in the basket and wait for your mother to return.” I wink at him, letting him know he hit the nail on the head. “How do you survive at school?”

  “You haven’t paid close attention to the credit card bill. There is a dry cleaner that you can drop dirty clothes off and pick them up clean and folded.” He chuckles as I head to my room. He knows I’m full of shit. Nana taught me how to do laundry at eight, and I’ve always helped, done chores around the house. I just want to revel in having parents that miss me and dote on me while I’m home. No responsibilities for the next week.

  My mom gets home and puts away the groceries. We decide to head over and see Nana before settling in for the evening. Holly gets home tomorrow, and I think we are all heading over to the bonfire. It will be a mixture of all classes and most haven’t seen each other since summer, some not then. Andy and Holly will be a normal couple this week and when break is over they’ll go back to the long distance open relationship. I don’t see Andy date, and we’ve become close, he’s my study partner a lot of nights and keeps watch over me when I run. He misses her and isn’t keen on the choice she made to see other people, but she felt it wasn’t fair to him when she only comes home twice a year. I couldn’t imagine and know Will and I wouldn’t be okay in that situation. It’d be hard, but we would muddle through. As Holly likes to remind me, we know our future is each other, and everyone isn’t as lucky.

  Nana seems to be tired today, not talkative at all. The aide said she’d been like that since after lunch and may be coming down with a cold. Dad talked to the nurse and she assured us she’d check her often and inform us if anything changed.

  “I know you aren’t going to like this, Emma, but we talked to the doctor and they suggested we not bring her over to the house for Thanksgiving dinner.” I stop walking, my hand going to my chest, rubbing, trying to ease the pain searing through me. I feel the tears building; my nose is burning, throat scratchy. This is her favorite holiday, and we are just going to abandon her. I wrap my arms across my chest, my veins turn to ice in an instant. I know they aren’t doing this as punishment to her or me, but it feels that way. “It’ll be too confusing to her, and her emotions haven’t been stable.” I know all this, but it doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t make sense in my mind or my heart.

  I nod and walk around them, needing to get some fresh air before I give into the meltdown I feel coming. My mom grabs my wrist and pulls me to her. “We’ll bring her a plate and spend some time with her. She won’t know t
he difference.”

  I wince. “I will.”

  “Emma, we all will, but this isn’t about us. It’s what’s best for her, and sometimes we have to suck it up and deal.”

  “I know, Mom. I hate acting like this, but each time I think I’ve prepared myself or gotten used to a new change, something else knocks me for a loop.”

  “And it will continue to do so. You wouldn’t be Emma if it didn’t.” I let her wipe the tears and hold me close. I feel my dad wrap his arms around both of us, and I cling tighter . . . for just a minute longer.

  “I got wine flavored ice cream. I sure hope it has some actual alcohol in it.” I chuckle at her humor. My dad’s body shakes against me following suit.

  “If not, I’ll throw it in the blender with some added wine, Mom.”

  “I knew I had children for a reason.”

  “This conversation is all kinds of wrong.” My dad steps back. “You,” he says, pointing to me, “should be watching Disney movies and have a bedtime of eight o’clock. And you,” his finger moves to my mom, “should be bringing me my newspaper and slippers, cooking me a meal, and servicing my every need.”

  “Disney sucks, and you’re delusional,” I quip back at him.

  “You,” my mom pokes his chest, “married the wrong woman if you ever expected that nonsense.”

  He grabs her and kisses her square on the lips. Grabs me and tugs me to him. “I married the only woman I could, and we have the most amazing daughter.”

  My mom meets my eyes. We both turn to him. “Suck up.” We sing in unison, and he acts shocked. He’s isn’t, but he has to portray some modicum of disbelief when we gang up on him.

  He murmurs to himself as he walks to the car and opens the door for us. The rest of the night passes in fits of laughter, a lot of teasing (my dad), and plenty of wine ice cream, which doesn’t have enough alcohol in it to inebriate a mouse. My mom improvised, and I watched in envy.

  The old barn where most of our high school crowds into is full. It’s loud and boisterous, and everyone is having a good time. Myself included. Holly is wrapped up in Andy and I in Will. The keg is tapped; the music loud, the flames high, and the energy crazy.

  His arms pull me closer and turn me to face him. The song is distant noise; I’m lost in his eyes, protected in his arms. I will the rest of the people to fade, wanting to barricade us from everyone. Nothing makes as much sense as it does when it’s just us.

  His heartbeat’s like a kick drum under my cheek, my fingers tremble as I trace his chest. His breath labored, his words husky. “Baby,” is the word he groans. His touch forces the breath from my lungs; his voice is what I hear over the noise level.

  Eyes locked.

  Skin burning.

  Fingers laced.

  No sound made but saying everything we need to.

  Breaths mingled.

  Tongues dueling.

  Each of us existing for the other.

  I pull him to his truck. “Just drive,” I demand, as I want to escape. I need to lose myself in the country roads, the hum of the radio, his body against mine.

  Clothes are torn off, hands gripping, legs pushing, flesh meeting. Coming home and losing myself all at once. That’s him. That’s what he does to me. For me. Because of me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  William

  Christmas break was rough. We ended up spending all three weeks at home because Nana’s cold progressed. After Thanksgiving, she developed bronchitis. She avoided the hospital and seemed to be recuperating. A few days after we got home for Christmas she took a turn for the worse and pneumonia set in. A hospital stay was inevitable and the hits kept coming. She had a urinary tract infection, her moods weren’t being stabilized with medication, seeing her strapped to the bed, and energy sapped from her lifeless body was a wake-up call for us all. Her otherwise healthy body was shutting down, her ability to fight lost in her mind. When they say mind over matter, there is truth to it. She insisted she was fine, didn’t want to be in the hospital, and when none of her pleas were met . . . she seemed to give up.

  Emma had to be forced to leave the hospital to rest, shower, and eat. She refused to go back to school, and by the grace of God, things turned for the better. Nana seemed to respond to the medicine and perked up. Since January, Ems has come home every weekend. She’s burning herself out, and I can hear it in her voice. She’s bone tired and running on fumes. After my last mid-term today, I’m headed home to see her, and we have Spring Break together. I’m hoping I can get her to rest and let me take over some things for her. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things who goes to visit Nana as long as one of us does. She’s at the point where she doesn’t know who is in front of her and is indifferent when we show up. Emma won’t see it like that, she’ll insist she go, fight me every step of the way, but she underestimates my need to care for her.

  I turn my cell off as I walk into statistics class for my last test, my bags in the truck, and I’m ready to hit the road after I finish. The test isn’t as hard as I expected, and I don’t struggle with it. A little over an hour has passed, and I’m back in the truck and power my phone up. It lights up and chirps in my hand. Seven missed calls from home. I call back, and it goes to voicemail. I hang up and call Brett’s cell. He answers on the first ring, whispering, “Where have you been?”

  “I had a test. I’m heading home. Everything okay?”

  “Hang on.” I hear him huffing, and I can assume he’s walking. “Nana collapsed earlier. James went to pick up Emma at school; Luke and Phoebe didn’t want her driving. It doesn’t look good.”

  “What does that mean?” My heart kicks into overdrive, my palms sweating, and I can barely grip the steering wheel.

  “She’s being kept alive by machines. That’s against her wishes, but they’re doing it until Emma can get here.”

  “Fuck.” I’m helpless. I have four hours until I can get to her; I know I won’t be saying my goodbyes to a woman who treated me like her own. Emma can’t handle it. “Dad, promise me you won’t leave her side. I don’t care what she says or does don’t leave her until I get there.”

  “I promise. Please be careful.” He disconnects, and I hit the gas. My mind racing, my heart pounding, my eyes welling. I know she’s spiraling out of control in this moment, and I’m not there to steady her. I absently rub my chest, the pain won’t subside. I hit the town limits and call my dad back. “She’s gone. We’re at the house.” I pull over to the shoulder of the road. I need a minute. I’ve compartmentalized this whole process. Not allowing my feelings to be forefront because I needed to be there for Emma. She needed my strength more than I needed to have a breakdown.

  It comes crashing down. The winks she’d shoot me, the cookies she baked me, the support she gave me. My arms fall to my sides too heavy to hold up. I need to get to Ems, but I want to be alone. I want to remember. I want to feel. The cars driving by vibrate my seat, ringing in my ears. My head threatens to explode, lights blinding me, I can’t breathe.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  She’s gone. I let the tears escape; I don’t try to stop them. I allow them to soak my face, drip to my shirt, flow unchecked. Cleanse me.

  I shove it all down and rush to Emma. She needs me. I promised her and myself that I would be here for her, and I won’t shirk that vow. I intend to honor that until the day I die.

  The lights illuminate their house, beckoning me from the dark. I don’t knock, don’t greet anyone, my focus on the girl curled up in the corner of a chair, despondent as hell, eyes wild, hair a mess, face splotchy. The slamming of the door grabs her attention, and she’s up, launching herself in my arms, clasping to my neck, her face buried in my chest, her body wracked with sobs. I rub her back, trying to calm her erratic breathing, and I’m afraid she’s going to hyperventilate. She’s burrowing into me, trying to get closer, and I bring us both to the floor, bundle her in my arms holding her as cl
ose as humanly possible. That doesn’t seem to work, she’s still inconsolable, and this ache in my chest, the pressure in my sternum is too much. I search the faces of my parents, her parents, and get no answers. Everyone at a loss how to reach her, how to help her.

  I coo in her ear, try every calming technique I know, and after an eternity she calms. Her words broken, tears still soaking her face, “Sh-sh–she l-le-left m-m-m-me.”

  “Baby, she didn’t leave you. It was time for her to go. She’s not in pain. Her memory is back. She’s looking down, wishing she could help you.”

  “She can! She can come back! She can breathe!” Her shrieking pierces my ears. Her body convulses.

  “No baby girl, she can’t.” Luke is broken. He lost his mom; he’s watching his daughter fall to pieces. Phoebe clings to him, providing the strength he needs.

  “The noises in the room. The beeping that machine made. It’s all I can hear. All I can see.” She’s rambling, shaking, and I’m at a loss. I pull her head down, trying not to smother her. I rock her, hum to her, rub her back, and kiss her forehead. Her eyes droop, her breathing evens, and her body goes limp.

  “Fuck.” Luke bites. “We shouldn’t have let her see that.” He’s referring to the hospital room. As hard as it was for her, there wasn’t an alternative.

  “You had to. There wasn’t another way.” I try to appease him. His eyes dull and swim with tears. “I’ll make sure she forgets. I’ll remind her of everything else.” I’d wipe those moments from her mind and fill them with happy times.

  “You can stay with her tonight,” Luke gives me permission. “Please?” his voice begging.

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

  The next three days are the same. Arrangements made, condolences given, food delivered . . . Emma is still the same. She goes from hysterics to screaming to sleeping. I’m getting whiplash and feel like I’m failing her. Grief is a bitch.