by Foxx, Gloria
I survey my surroundings, the stacked moving boxes nearly blocking my view, reminding me of a play fortress a child might build. I never built anything quite so solid. I’d always built mine of hopes and dreams, and they were much more easily crushed by others.
“Sterling? Are you in here?”
“I’m coming.” I move around the boxes, spotting Annie as she hovers in the doorway.
“You’re moving?”
I laugh at her perplexed look, the confusion drawing her brows together. “No. I’m moving on.”
“Ahh.” Her brow evens out, her face lighting up. “You’re moving back into your bedroom.” Her response might have been a question, but she nods, recognizing the progress I’ve made.
I pull out a drawer, folding impossibly tiny tee shirts and placing them into an open box. “It’s time,” I say, smoothing the fabric, a half smile hovering around my mouth. “I thought I could ignore it, head off to college and pretend like everything is fine, but it’s not.” Freshman orientation popped into my mind. “I put on a brave face and mistook cynicism for strength.”
“You were sad. That’s why I noticed you.” Annie sat on the bed, close enough to provide comfort, but out of the way. “We were all so excited, bouncing off the walls at the possibilities, but you were so still and sad.”
“I guess I didn’t hide it as well as I thought.”
Annie clucked her tongue, shaking her head. “You only fooled yourself and those who weren’t paying attention.”
Breath huffs from my nose as my lips curl in chagrin. “I wouldn’t change it. You know I saw Boston for the first time that day.”
“I guess I’m not surprised.”
“He’s the runner we saw on the bus tour.”
“Oooh him.”
“I nearly clobbered him with my bag the first time we met,” I chuckle with the memory.
“You didn’t.” She gasped, her eyes going wide, fingers covering her mouth.
“I did. He snuck up on me, and my encounter with Brock had been too recent. I panicked and couldn’t help myself.”
Annie giggles and pretty soon snickers bubble from between my lips too. I don’t remember the last time I giggled. “I swung my bag at his head.”
“No,” she gasped. “Did you hit him?”
Shaking my head, letting sober overtake me. “No. And I’m glad I didn’t.”
“Maybe it made you memorable. You’ll have to ask him.”
I finish emptying the drawer, certain that I would never ask. “I don’t know where our relationship is going, but I’m no longer afraid he’ll be sucked into the black hole that’s been my life. He’s strong and I feel like I’m here for him. I’m always thinking about what I have to offer, how I can help.”
“You’re good for each other.” Annie turns pensive, all giggling gone.
My lips curl in a half smile as I close the last box. “That sounds nice, more like we’re in this together. We’re here for each other.”
She smiles too, a bright smile shining on me like the sun as the clouds move away. “So, you need some help hauling this stuff out?”
I’d separated and packed Emma’s toys and clothing. “Not all of it.” These are staying,” I say, resting my arm on the two small boxes stacked on the bed. “Everything else goes.”
“You’re not keeping much.” Annie’s tone is hushed and laced with concern.
‘A wise woman once told me that life isn’t like palm reading. The scars from our past don’t foretell our future.”
“Huh,” she contemplates.
“I’ve kept photos and a few special mementos. That’s all I need.” I smile to reassure her. “Memories don’t fit into boxes.” Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser, I see Emma’s smile reflected in my face. Yep. I have my memories.
Annie picks up two boxes from the dresser. “Let’s go.”
In typical Annie fashion, she wore tight, tapered jeans with tall boots and a tank under a thin button down shirt tied at the waist. A beautiful purple stone the size of my thumb weighed down a fine chain around her neck. I shook my head in disgust as I only just realize that Annie must have stopped by for another reason. She didn’t know I would be hauling boxes today.
Picking up two boxes, I follow behind. “So,” I say as we head out the door. “Did you stop by for a reason?”
“You want to load these in my car? There’s probably more room in the cargo area.”
I’d planned on making two trips. “If you have time,” I say, still wondering why she stopped by.
“I have time.” Annie kept moving until we finished hauling boxes to the car and climbed into the front seats.
I finally had her attention. “Why are you here?”
“I’m helping out a friend.”
“Seriously Annie? You didn’t know I needed help.”
“I didn’t know we’d be moving boxes, but with the trial beginning on Tuesday, I thought you might need a friend.”
Warmth radiates through me heating from my chest down my arms, all the way to my fingertips.
“Thanks.” I smile at her and reach over to squeeze her arm as she watched the road.
“Hey! Driving here!”
“You were worried about me,” I taunt. “Admit it.”
“Don’t get a big head about it. Rand asked me to make sure you were ready for Tuesday.”
My sing-song voice rang out in the car. “Don’t go blaming it on Rand. You care. I can tell.”
“Of course I care. I care about Rand.” We both dissolve into laughter as Annie turns into a coffee shop drive through. “What would you like Sterling, my treat.”
“I’ll have an iced mocha.”
She places our order and pulls ahead. “I told him you’re ready.” Her voice had sobered, turning deliberate and thoughtful.
I turn in my seat to face Annie. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Back on the road, I sip my iced mocha delighted by the almost immediate rush from the sugar and caffeine. At least that’s what I told myself.
* * *
“Is that wind?” I wonder as I finish stuffing socks into the last small dresser drawer. My clothes are back in the dresser, my pillows in place and my duvet spread across the bed. It took most of the day, but I’m done moving.
The room seems different without Emma’s things, like it’s the same, but not really. I suppose it’ll never be the same. It’s like the room changed in our time apart, or maybe I changed.
Boston will be here later. I might be ready to move into the bedroom, but I’m not yet ready to stay here alone. I expect we’ll create some new memories, I’ll share some of the old and eventually I’ll move forward. Just last month I would have laughed, or maybe cowered at the thought of moving back into my bedroom.
I hear the snick of the front door latch and smile. Boston’s early, but I’m ready.
Stepping out of the lighted bedroom, I can barely see through the dark. I move into the wide arch separating the kitchen and living areas and reach for the switch. I can’t see him, but I can tell he’s there. The cold scent from outside clings to him, but it doesn’t mask his identity.
Anxiety courses through me faster than the blood rushing in my veins as I freeze in mid motion. I’m locked in a rictus of terror. This can’t be happening. He’s not supposed to come near me.
Why is he here? What does he want? Agitated thoughts stampede through my mind, the frenzy in complete contrast to the stillness of my body, my arm hanging in space, the light switch out of reach. It doesn’t matter. I know he’s Brock, not Boston. I don’t need the light.
“I can see you there.” The voice floats toward me out of the darkness. He’s by the door.
“Wha … what do you want?”
“Can we talk?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you. You’re not supposed to be here. Please leave.”
“Always so polite,” he says, his voice mocking and sinister suspended i
n the darkness.
A car pulls into the parking lot. Its lights slashed by the slats on the blind expose the room while sliding through. The illumination flashes across me, chilling me with vulnerability.
“Ge ... get out.” My voice quavering and shuddering contradicts any command I try to instill.
“I’m not here to hurt you Sterling. I just need to talk, to apologize. Turn on the light.”
I look down at my arm. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. I can see that I’m lit from the side by light coming from the bedroom, making it much easier for Brock to see me than for me to see him. I can see him now too. Well, I can see the shadow of him, his outline against the door. He hasn’t moved since letting himself in.
“I locked that door.”
“I have a key, remember? I used to live here.”
“You don’t live here now. You can’t be here.”
“I know, but I need to talk to you Sterling. I need to apologize. Can we talk?” His voice is whining. I can’t see his face in the dark and I wonder if he’s contrite or if he’s peeved and needs something from me—forgiveness maybe.
No longer afraid, my hand moves forward and flips the switch, flooding the living room with soft yellow light. I’m prepared; he’s not, his hand coming up to shield his eyes. “Sit,” I direct him, pointing to the chair and taking charge of his intrusion.
Brock shuffles into the room as I marvel at how short he really is, barely taller than me. Flopping into the chair, his stocky body appears to have lost some muscle tone, I wonder what I ever found attractive about this petulant self-centered man-child.
I lower myself to the futon, sighing in disgust. “I deserve better than you, so don’t even think you’re gonna convince me to take you back.”
“No. That’s not why I’m here.” His features are pinched and pale, his eyes dull and his hair too long, as if he hasn’t taken care of himself. “I know I can never give back what I took from you,” he continues, “but I’m hoping you can forgive me and we can move on.”
I’m ready to forgive. Brock has demons guiding his actions just like the rest of us, but I’m still not sure what he wants. “Move on how?” I ask, seeking clarity.
“We need to get our lives back, return to normal.”
“I’m moving on, looking forward,” I say, choosing my words carefully, still concerned about what he really wants. “Life will never return to normal, but I’m living again and I’ve discovered a new normal. I guess you’ll have to do the same.”
“I’ve tried, but I’m in limbo here, not certain about my future.”
“I knew it!” The words flew out of my mouth, fueled by rage. I squeeze my fingers together, cutting off the blood flow. I can’t look at him. Looking down, I watch my fingertips turn red then darken to almost purple. I focus on the pain building in my fingers, relish in it as I struggle to control my anger, retake my composure. “What do you want me to do?” I whisper.
He looks eager, excited that I might support his plan. I won’t. Over the past several months, I’ve learned to nurture my self respect. With the help of Boston and Annie and Lyla, I’ve learned that unlike my mother I don’t need to lose myself. I’m not going along with his plans, but I still want to hear what they are.
“Please don’t testify Sterling.”
“Why would I do that?”
“My defense is stronger if you don’t testify.”
“Why? You drove drunk. You killed Emma. Why would I let you get away with it?”
“Because I need your help. If you testify, I’ll get ten years in prison. If you don’t, I might get less.”
“How do you figure?” I can’t believe how calm that sounds. I’m ready to spring from my seat, scratch out his eyes and tear into his hair, yet here I sit appearing calm and compliant.
“If you don’t testify, we can claim you were there. You’re responsible for …” he pauses, his voice trailing off, his final word barely audible, “Emma.”
“But I wasn’t there. I didn’t get in the car. I didn’t drink and drive. I didn’t bring Emma into the car knowing that you were drunk. I’d never do that.”
“The jury doesn’t know that. Hell,” he rakes his fingers through his hair, his face becoming florid. “You looked like you were in a car wreck. They thought you were driving. It’s a good defense.”
A sense of calm came over me. The more Brock unraveled, the more tranquil I became, the stronger I got.
“So let me get this straight. You don’t want me to testify so you can blame me?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Is this your lawyer’s idea or yours?” He looks down, guilt hanging about him like a mantle.
“So you think if I don’t testify, you don’t have to take responsibility for your actions?” He nods and I sigh, slumping over, resting my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands. “It doesn’t matter because I’m going to testify.”
Brock slid down in his chair, defeated.
“Have you let yourself in here before, moved Emma’s stuff around?” I ask, pinning him with a hard stare.
His head bobs up and down, admitting guilt, his eyes slipping past mine as his gaze focuses somewhere behind my shoulder. “I thought if I could upset you, you wouldn’t testify, but it didn’t work.”
“It’s the curse of strength you know.”
Brock’s eyes meet mine. “What?” I can see his confusion in the set of his shoulders, his gaze with head tilted, mouth hanging open.
“Telling the truth makes you stronger. Hiding behind lies makes you weak.”
“It’s bullshit.” He jerks himself into a more solid posture, shoulders squared, fists planted on his thighs.
“It’s true,” I say shaking my head in disappointment. “As hard as it is, telling the truth and taking responsibility is liberating, but you have to be honest with yourself first.”
“So you’re going to testify?”
“Yes I’m going to testify. You need to help yourself Brock.”
“Aww fuck. I really need your help now. I can worry about the rest later.”
“It took balls to come here tonight Brock.” He listens intently; hope that I’ll fall in with his plans banked in his eyes. He’ll be disappointed, but he isn’t honest enough with himself to realize it yet. Or maybe he knew the old me too well to accept the new me. I’d like to think the old me would never agree with his plans, but I can’t be sure. All I know now is the new me won’t put up with it. Emma deserves better. I deserve better.
“I watch the hope fade from his eyes at my phrasing. “I know you have the guts to be honest with yourself, tell the truth and accept the consequences. It’ll make you stronger.”
“Fuck this!” His arm swipes the table beside his chair sending my alarm clock and lamp crashing to the floor. The alarm clock bounces in slow motion, the lamp shade tilting at an odd angle as it slides across the floor.
“Sterling!” I hear Boston’s voice muffled through the door.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I snarl. I stand, grit in my posture, challenge in my eyes.
“You should be.” He advances slowly as if contemplating his options, his hands knotted into fists. “This isn’t over.”
I ignore Boston’s pounding. “Sterling. Open the door.”
“It’s over for me,” I say, feeling brave and maybe a little foolish bolstered by the knowledge that Boston waits on the other side of the door. “Get out!” I gesture to the door, flinging my arm out, barely missing Brock’s nose
He grunts as he covers the two steps in only one, hurling open the door to find Boston leaning casually against the doorframe.
“Watch out for this one.” He thrusts his thumb over his shoulder pointing at me. “She’s crazy.”
“You think she’s the crazy one?” says Boston, laughter in his voice, a smirk hovering around his mouth.
Brock storms off and Boston watches him go before stepping through the door and closing it behind him. “Are you okay?”
<
br /> “I’m fine. He cleared the table, but he never touched me.”
“His lawyer probably warned him to stay away from you. It wouldn’t look good for the trial.”
I cringe, imagining having to take the stand looking something like I did about six months ago.
Boston bent to pick up the lamp, attempting to straighten the shade and failing miserably. “What did he want?”
“He doesn’t want me to testify.”
“Ahh. So he is the one who tried to harass and intimidate you.”
“It might have worked in the past, but I’m not putting up with that now.” Someone has to speak up for Emma and I’m righteous with anger.
“Good for you.”
Chapter 24
I’m relieved to have my evening to myself, finally. Okay, myself and Boston. He pushed me to file a police report and the police are going to rush a copy to Rand in case it will help with the trial.
“Why so pensive?” Boston whips eggs and pours them into a pan sizzling with onions and green peppers. He’s making a breakfast scramble for dinner.
I lean my shoulder against the wall staying well out of his way. “I don’t know.” My eyes dart sideways and I can’t meet his.
“When we lose someone, It’s natural to question why, to question whether we did all that we could do, whether we’re in some part responsible.”
“I know,” I sigh, “But if I’d only answered the phone, she’d still be alive. I could have saved her, but I didn’t.”
“You didn’t know she needed saving,” said Boston. “If you knew Emma would die that night, you’d have made different choices, but we can’t make decisions based on information we don’t have. Besides, making different choices may have been worse.”
“But you don’t understand.” I hug my arms around my middle as if that might help manage the pain building in my gut. I don’t know what to do about the cold sweat collecting under my arms, between my breasts, around my neckline.
“What don’t I understand Sterling?”
“I…. I didn’t … want her.” I couldn’t look his way. It’s my greatest sin. I need him to know. I need him to love me in spite of the terrible thoughts I’d had, the horrible person I’d been. If he can’t get past my sins, I need to know now before this goes any further.