by DC Renee
“But why?” she asked. “No, wait,” she added quickly. “If and when you want to tell me, I’ll be here. But I’m not going to pry. I understand what it means to keep some things to yourself.”
“Thank you,” I told her. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to talk about it but not today.”
“Okay,” she responded. “Now on to the fun stuff.” She smiled brightly. “You and my brother. Spill.”
“Beth, you know everything there is to know. I’m a bet; he’s a means to an end.”
“Uh-huh. And where does the whole BFF's thing come into play? He’s never been friends with a girl. And you guys have been hanging out a lot.”
“Um, hello, didn’t I just mention a bet?”
“Sure, but what does that have anything to do with you guys,” she asked as she wiggled her eyebrows. I choked on my water as I chuckled.
“Aside from the fact that I’m not interested in Carter—”
“Sure,” she cut me off.
“Or any guy,” I added, “or even having any sort of relationship with anyone.” She raised her eyebrow. “You’re an exception. And it’s because you bullied your way in.”
“You’re not the type to get bullied.”
“Well, clearly I am, case in point,” I said as I pointed back and forth between us. “Anyway, aside from all that, Carter is, well …”
“Gorgeous?” she filled in for me. “What?” she asked when I gave her a pointed look. “I know he’s a good looking guy, and if I didn’t, all my friends growing up made sure I knew. ‘Is your brother dating anyone?’ ‘Do you think you can put in a good word for me?’ ‘Is your brother going to come with us?’ Ugh. I couldn’t ever tell if someone wanted to be my friend for me or to have a chance with Carter.”
“Okay, fine, he’s attractive.” Now, Beth gave me a pointed look. “What? I have eyes,” I responded defensively. “But to that point, guys like him don’t go for girls like me,” I said. Beth opened her mouth, but I spoke before she could. “And before you give me any of that ‘it’s what’s inside that counts’ bull, I don’t want to be anything more than friends with him. And even that is because you Andersons don’t take no for an answer, pushing your way into my life.”
“I’m just going to say one thing, and then I’ll drop it. He likes you, Em. And it’s not because of the way you look but because of who you are. But I’ve said my piece, so now tell me about the circus clowns.”
“The circus clowns?” I asked.
“His best friends – Dan, Lance, and Erick. They’re a bunch of clowns, those boys. But I love them, so start talking.”
I gave her my opinions of them, told her some of the funny things I had witnessed, and then answered some extra questions about Lance. I had a tiny feeling that Beth might have a crush on Lance. She could do better. I still smiled every time she tried to ask about him casually. She wasn’t getting one over on me with that.
After we had finished eating dinner and were heading back to her place so I could get my car, I realized I had a wonderful time with her. Even with Matt hanging over our heads, we still laughed and had fun. And I knew Beth would be just fine.
I fired off a quick message to Carter: Your sister is tougher than she looks. She’s going to be okay. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s over Matt by tomorrow.
I just fell off my chair, he replied. That’s the first message I’ve gotten from you that didn’t have some witty remark toward me.
I smiled, and Beth must have noticed because she asked, “Why are you smirking over there? Is that my brother?” She pointed at my phone.
“He’s just worried about you,” I responded.
“Uh-huh,” was her response and nothing more.
Thank you, Carter sent another message.
Just glad I could be there for her.
Me too, he responded. Good night, Em.
Good night, C.
When we got back to Beth’s place, she wrapped her arms around me tightly, whispered, “Thank you,” and then headed to her door. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and I’ll see you in a couple of days,” she added over her shoulder. “And I mean that,” she tacked on in a stern voice.
I chuckled and called out bye to her. Carter and Beth made it easy for the wall around my heart to crack. I just hoped the foundation was sturdy enough to withstand some holes. I needed that hope because every time I thought about Carter, I could feel tiny stones separate themselves from the wall. And with enough pieces missing, the wall would come down.
Eighteen
Carter
“So you really think you’re going to win this bet?” Dan asked a few days later when we were hanging out at one of our usual bars.
“I don’t think, Danny Boy, I know,” I responded with a grin.
“You two seem awfully chummy, though,” Lance added. “Don’t know if you’re going to be able to part ways.”
“The bet was for me to end things with her and not have her throw a fit; nothing said we couldn’t stay friends after,” I answered defensively, not liking the idea of Emerson being out of my life.
“Don’t get me wrong. She’s cool, and I like her too,” Lance responded, “but no matter how easygoing she seems, there is no way any girl will like being used, and then happily stick around after to watch you with other chicks.”
“You sound like a fucking shrink,” I fired back. “Stick to your day job.”
“Someone’s a little touchy about this subject,” Dan said. “Chill, Carter, we want her to stick around too. Despite her looks, she’s fun to be around.”
“We’re more like friends now anyway,” I felt the need to add. They didn’t know how true that statement was. “So it wouldn’t be a problem.” I hoped, but knowing Emerson, she might head for the hills when we no longer needed each other.
“Hope so,” Lance said.
“I don’t,” said Dan. “I ain’t wearing a dress.” We laughed, and the conversation shifted, but I fired off a text to Emerson, my thoughts with her.
My buddies want you to stick around after the bet is done. I wanted to add that I did too, but I didn’t.
“What’s the deal with Emerson?” Erick asked for only my ears a few minutes later.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s she hiding?”
“I still don’t know what you mean,” I told him.
“I don’t know anyone who would wear glasses if they didn’t need them. Even if it was a fashion statement, I doubt they’d pick the glasses she wears.”
“I’m not following.”
“Her glasses aren’t real. They’re not prescription glasses,” he added after obviously seeing my dumbfounded expression.
“How do you know?” I asked him.
“Dude,” was his answer. “I’m an optometrist, remember? I’d like to think I know the difference between prescription glasses and fake ones. And hers, Carter, are one-hundred percent fake. And I don’t get it. Why wear those hideous things?”
I didn’t get it either, but then again, I wasn’t expecting that. “I’ll, uh … I’ll ask her,” I stuttered as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and then frowned.
“I don’t know if you should ask her outright,” Erick told me as I stared at my phone.
“Yeah, no, I won’t. It’s not that.” I put together a string of words as I realized that I hadn’t heard from Emerson all day. “She hasn’t responded,” I told Erick.
“Yeah, man, if she’s hiding something, I don’t think she’d tell you in a text.”
“No, no, I didn’t ask her anything about the glasses yet. She hasn’t responded to any of my texts today.”
“Maybe she’s busy.” Erick shrugged.
“That’s not like her,” I said as I fired off another text. Where are you? I didn’t bother hiding my worry with a witty text. When she didn’t respond after thirty more seconds, I dialed her number. She didn’t pick up. I tried again, and then I walked away and tried a third time. Still nothing.
�
��I have to go,” I said as I walked back to the guys and tossed some money on the table.
“What happened?”
“I think something happened to Emerson,” I responded, my panic rising a bit.
“We’ll come with you,” Lance said as he started to stand up. I had good friends, I knew this, and if I needed their support or backup, they’d be there. But I didn’t need them now. I just needed to find Emerson.
“It’s okay. I’ll keep you posted,” I said as I ran out.
I kept calling Emerson as I drove to her house. I hadn’t known where to look for her, where to start, but I figured I might as well try her home. When I got there, I saw her car in the driveway and immediately sighed in relief, but then I started thinking about all the different things that could have happened to her while she was home alone. Maybe she fell and hit her head, maybe she was attacked in her own home … the thoughts just kept coming.
“Em, open up.” I pounded on her door. “Em, please, open the door. I’m worried,” I said as I continued to assault her door. When nothing happened, I started searching under her doormat and in various planters for a spare key. I didn’t find anything. I pounded again, but still nothing, so just in case, I tried the door, and it was fucking unlocked.
I moved inside, and I called out for her, but she didn’t respond. I started going through the house, and that was when I heard it, a small whimper. “Em,” I roared and ran to her room.
And that was where I found her, curled into a ball on her bed, her head in her hands, but it didn’t take a genius to know she was crying. No, not just crying. She was sobbing, her whole body practically breaking with each violent shake.
“Em, Em,” I chanted her name as I wrapped my arms around her. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Carter?” she asked like she couldn’t believe I was there.
“Yeah, baby, I’m here.” The word slipped out. “What happened?” I asked.
“I forgot,” she whispered, shame apparent in her tone.
“What did you forget?” I asked softly, trying to comfort her.
“I was so busy today that I didn’t remember,” she said between sobs. “And then I came home and was going to respond to your text, and that’s when I noticed the date.”
“What date, Em? What do you mean?”
She opened her mouth, her face twisted with pain, the tears trailing down her cheeks so rapidly, there wasn’t a dry spot. And then she said the words I was shocked to hear. “The anniversary of the day I killed my father.”
Nineteen
Emerson
The minute the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back. I had been running around like crazy all day, and the date had slipped my mind. It shouldn’t have either way, but I hadn’t been myself lately. I hadn’t been myself since Carter Anderson had walked up to me.
I could feel my phone buzzing every so often, and I knew it had to be either Carter or Beth. No one else ever texted me. My mom occasionally, but if she really needed me, she would call me. But I didn’t even have time to eat lunch, let alone find a minute to text back. I only vaguely realized that Don had probably done that on purpose, filling my day past brimming so that I wouldn’t have time to dwell on my sadness.
He was good about not talking to me about things, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. He just did it from a distance.
When I finally walked through the door and pulled out my phone to text back, my mind was already coming up with interesting things to respond even before I knew who exactly had texted me, or for that matter, what was said.
I briefly glanced at my phone’s locked display, but it was enough for me to see what date it was. It was enough for me to realize that I had completely forgotten the anniversary of my father’s death. The day that branded my entire life with a stain so dark it couldn’t be removed, not with any amount of scrubbing. And believe me, my mom had tried.
I had failed my father once again. How could I forget him? How could I forget this day?
And much as I did every year on this day, I broke down. But this time, it was worse because of the extra shame and guilt I felt for forgetting.
My mind went numb from the pain I was feeling, and it wasn’t just emotional pain. Somehow, when the circumstance was right, the body managed to turn your internal struggles into a full body experience. You felt your nerves on end, tingling in your fingers, and soreness all over. Everything hurt, especially my heart.
I didn’t even comprehend the world around me until I felt Carter’s arms around me—his voice soothing and his words comforting. And then I told him the one thing that would send him running for the hills.
“I … I don’t … I don’t understand.” He was flustered and rightfully so. “Talk to me, Em. What happened? What’s all this about?”
“I killed my father,” I told him through sobs.
“I …” He trailed off but kept his arm around me, offering me consolation even through his obvious confusion. He’s a good guy, I thought briefly. “Tell me what happened,” he urged.
“My father is dead, and it’s all my fault.” My words were broken, my tears coming fast. “I was twelve,” I started, my voice hoarse. He hadn’t released me through all this. I should have pushed him off a long time ago, but I was selfish. I wanted his arms surrounding me, making me feel safe. “I was going through my rebellious stage. I didn’t want to listen to my parents, let alone hang out with them. I wanted to spend all my time with my friends. But my dad had guilt-tripped me into hanging out with him. We had fought the entire time we were walking to his car.”
“That’s normal,” Carter interjected. “Everyone goes through that.”
“But not everyone kills their parents as a result,” I fired back. I felt him tense around me, but he didn’t budge.
“Tell me the rest,” he encouraged.
“We were fighting about my name. Aside from Sunshine, he used to call me Emmie, but I hated it. I thought it made me sound so young. So when he called me that, I blew up at him. We argued, and I fell backward into the street.” Carter’s face had gone ashen, obviously understanding where I was heading with this. I couldn’t blame his reaction. I felt that way on a daily basis. “I didn’t see the car coming, but my father did. He pushed me out of the way. He saved me,” I said, my voice dropping. “He died saving me because I was too busy arguing with him to think about anything else. That stupid name. That stupid fucking name,” I said, finding it necessary to cuss in a moment like this.
“Oh Em,” he said as he wrapped me in a hug. I swear I could feel his relief that I hadn’t physically harmed my father in that hug. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“How could you say that?” I asked against his chest as I tried to pull away, but he just wrapped his arms around me tighter.
“Because it’s true,” he answered.
“It’s not!” I yelled into his chest, still fighting to pull away. I didn’t deserve this solace. I didn’t deserve him telling me it wasn’t my fault. It was. “Don’t you get it, Carter?” I cried. “If I hadn’t cared about being popular and hanging out with my friends, I wouldn’t have been arguing with him. I wouldn’t have given a damn about that stupid nickname. I wouldn’t have put us in the situation where he had to give up his life for mine.”
“That’s not true.” He tried to cut me off, but I wasn’t going to let him. He needed to know what kind of horrible person I was.
I spoke over him. “All I cared about then was having fun and looking good, but no matter how good you look on the outside, if what’s inside is ugly, it doesn’t matter. And I’m ugly, Carter,” I cried against his chest as I held onto his shirt as my anchor, no longer trying to escape his grasp. “My father is dead because of me,” I said through broken moans. “My father is gone, and my mother lost me that day too,” I whispered, admitting out loud what I refused to admit even to myself for years. “I hurt the people I love. I hurt the people I love,” I repeated. “I’m a terrible person. I�
�m an ugly person. I’m so ugly on the inside. You shouldn’t want to be around me, Carter,” I said as I realized just how selfish I was being by clinging to him. I pushed off him again, and this time, I managed to break free, but he grabbed my arms to keep me from running away.
“Listen to me, Em,” he said, but I was trying to wriggle out of his grasp.
“No, no, no,” I kept chanting.
“Em, you’re not a terrible person,” he said, but I shook my head.
“I am,” I cried, my face soaked. My shirt was drenched, and his wasn’t faring too well either.
“Em, you’re not. You’re far from it,” he said and then grabbed my face in his hands and held it so that I was forced to look into his eyes. “Listen to what I’m telling you.” He spoke slowly, his eyes not straying from mine. “What happened sucks. You watched your father die; you watched him save your life in exchange for his, and you feel an immense amount of grief about that. I get it. I swear to God, I do. But you didn’t fall into the street on purpose, you didn’t ask your father to save you, and I bet if you would have known what could have happened, you wouldn’t have argued with him. Life is messy and complicated, and bad things happen to good people. But that’s just it; it’s part of life. Not your fault.”
“But I did do all those things. I did all that, and the world lost a beautiful soul that day. I lost a beautiful soul that day, but the difference is that I am the reason he’s gone.” I tried to explain to Carter, but he shook his head and kept his grip on my face just tight enough that I couldn’t break away.
“No, Em. You argued because that was what twelve-year-old girls do, and your father saved you because he loved you more than he loved himself. That’s what parents are supposed to do,” he said vehemently. “Tell me, do you love your dad?” he asked.
“Of course!” I practically shouted.
“And he loved you.” He said it as a statement, but I still felt the need to say, “Yes.”