Guardian (The Guardian Trilogy)

by Sara Mack

  “Thanks,” he says as I dump the pills in his hand. He pops them in his mouth and then takes the glass.

  “It’s the least I can do,” I say, still feeling guilty. If it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t have been jumped.

  My dad hears all the commotion from the kitchen and comes downstairs in his pajamas to see what’s going on. He didn’t expect our guest either, yet they all break into conversation which easily moves into the living room. Honestly, I’m tired, and I really would like to take Matt home or back to get his car or wherever now that he has ice on his hand.

  Matt sits at one end of the couch in order to lay his hand on the arm rest. Shel takes the other end, so I plop down in between them. My parents sit in the chairs across from us and continue talking. I don’t care to contribute to the stroll down memory lane right now, and I feel my eyes getting heavy. Damn daiquiri.

  When I open my eyes, I’m curled up on my side underneath someone’s arm. My parents are no longer sitting across from me, but Shel is, her feet tucked up into one of the chairs. She’s flipping through a magazine. I blink to clear my vision and realize my head is resting against someone’s side. I look up and see Matt, his head resting back against the couch. He’s asleep with his arm wrapped protectively around me.

  I jump up and away from him, throwing his arm off me in the process.

  He wakes, startled. “Wha…?”

  “I’m sorry!” I apologize. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just…you there…”

  He rubs his face with his good hand to clear his eyes. He smiles tiredly.

  Confused, I look at Shel. “You’re quite the partier,” she says as she tosses the magazine aside and stands. “C’mon Matt. I’ll drive you home.”

  He pushes himself off the couch and looks at me. He can tell I’m embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll see you around.” He starts to leave the room and then pauses. “Thanks for fixing my hand.”

  I give him a small wave. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

  As they leave I put my head in my hands. I feel ridiculous for falling asleep on somebody I barely know. Well, barely know anymore.

  On my way up to bed, I turn off all the lights but one; so Shel can make her way upstairs when she returns. I walk with heavy feet to my room and turn on my bedside lamp. The red numbers on my alarm clock seem to shout the time at me. It’s after one in the morning. Yawning, I lean over to grab my pajamas when I notice something lying on top of my dresser. I walk over to see what it is.

  Lying there, unfolded, is the letter from James that I found the other night. I thought I’d put it away in my drawer? I fold it up, open the top drawer, and tuck it under my socks again. Maybe my mom found it when putting laundry away. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.

  I walk back over to the bed, pick up my pajamas, and put them on. I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I turn on the light, I almost scream.

  There, on the counter, is a fuchsia orchid.

  Chapter 9

  I stare at the potted plant. Afraid it’s a hallucination, I decide not to try and touch it. If it is imaginary, my hand would pass right through it, and then I’ll know for sure I’ve lost my mind entirely. Instead I close my eyes, feel around for the light switch, and return to my room. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. If it’s still there.

  Lord, I need sleep. I crawl under my covers and close my eyes, but sleep avoids me. My muscles feel tense so I try to relax my body one part at a time, starting with my neck and working my way down. I feel better, but I’m still awake. I try the proverbial counting sheep, which morphs into another vision, and I end up counting the punches that Matt lands on that guy earlier – one, two, one, two, one, two. I grimace and roll over, trying a new position. After a while, I hear Shel return, and then the door closes to Mike’s old bedroom. I flip over again. This is unusual; my power nap on Matt must have screwed me up.

  I can’t turn my brain off. I go over the things I learned today at Bay Woods. I’ll have to remember to get my work shirts out of the car tomorrow. I’m sure they are a wrinkled mess. The car. I’m going to need to get gas before Monday. I wonder about the oil. When’s the last time that was changed? James usually kept on me about that. I’ll have to check the sticker. It’s dirty too, James will be sure to bring that up. He keeps his ride meticulous. I, on the other hand, prefer to use my time to clean other things. My dorm room, for example. His room is an absolute disaster, yet he manages to keep his car like new.

  “I know you have the ability to clean!” I chastise him as I’m picking up. I hold up a glass where milk has congealed to the bottom. “This is just gross.”

  “Oh, you love it,” he teases me.

  “Stale milk?”

  “No, coming over here and taking care of me,” he winks.

  It’s the same conversation every time.

  It’s then that my brain stops, and I realize I won’t have that conversation again. It’s impossible to have that conversation again. The familiar squeeze returns to my chest, and I’m overwhelmed by sadness. Why can’t I fall asleep already?

  Unwillingly, my thoughts turn to the last time I saw James. We were fighting. I’d accused him of lying to me, lying about leaving. He had been with me at Western for nearly two years after the Patrick incident. I knew he missed being at Ferris. In the year he had been there he’d established himself as one of the top players on the team; the coaches knew him, relied on him. The same situation didn’t apply to WMU. And Ferris was calling again. His old coach was on him about transferring back but, of course, I didn’t want him to leave. The coach was persistent. James finally agreed to meet with him, promising me he was staying put and would be telling the coach just as much. But I was worried; I knew how much happier he would be there. I was so selfish. When he came back from the meeting, I’d accused him of changing his mind. I should never have done that.

  “Why would you think I’d leave?” James looked hurt.

  “Because I know you’re unhappy.”

  “What? That’s not true.”

  “You wouldn’t be happier? Your parents would be.”

  “This isn’t about them.”

  I crossed my arms. “Then what did you tell Coach?”

  “It’s not that easy. I didn’t want to let him down so…”

  “So, you’re going back,” I snapped.

  “I didn’t say that! Would you let me finish? Nothing happened that you and I didn’t discuss.”

  “What does that mean?!”

  “I’m trying to tell you nothing happened and you won’t accept it!” He’s pissed now.

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes! When have I ever lied to you?” He paused when I didn’t answer. “So now you think I lie to you?” he asked bitterly.

  Again, I didn’t answer him.

  “Fine!” He made his way to the door and then turned. “Might I remind you of all I gave up for you? For us?”

  I roll my eyes at being reminded about what he gave up yet again. “Listen, you know why you came here!”

  “Whatever.”

  That’s when he stormed out.

  A couple of hours later, James called to ask me to go out that night, to get something to eat. But I was still upset, still suspicious, and there wasn’t a hint of an apology in our conversation. Don’t ask me why I felt I was the one who was owed an apology; it should have been the other way around. I remember thinking we had bigger issues than dinner and, feeling annoyed, I told him no, I didn’t want to go out, I had studying to do. He hung up the phone with a huff.

  As I spent the rest of the night replaying our argument, the guilt started to creep in, eventually overtaking me. I called James, but he didn’t answer. I left a message. After midnight, when I hadn’t heard from him, I started to get really concerned. Could he still be upset with me? I’d really done it this time. I started to feel sick to my stomach. I decided to call again, regardless of the time.

  “Hey.” Thank God he answered.<
br />
  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Me too.”

  “Where are you? The phone sounds weird.”

  “Driving.”

  “Where?”

  “Some of the guys and I went out.” I could hear him yawn.

  “Well, about earlier…”

  “Hang on. I’m about five minutes from being outside your door.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “See you in a sec.”

  He hung up the phone. And never arrived.

  The tears are back. I cry silently, and wipe them away as fast as they come. Pretty soon my cheeks feel raw from the wiping, and I just give up. It’s like my whole body wants to torture me; my mind won’t let me sleep or think of anything else and my physical body feels so weak that I don’t have the will to stop the tears.

  I don’t know how many times I called James’ cell when he didn’t show up. 25? 50? Two hours later, sick with worry, I called that last time. Someone answered the phone.

  “Hello?” a strange male voice answered. I could hear commotion in the background.

  “Hello? Who’s this?” I asked, confused.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “James. James Davis.”

  “And who are you ma’am?”

  “Did I dial the wrong number?” I ask.

  “No ma’am. Who are you again?”

  “Emma.”

  “Emma? How do you know James?”

  “He’s…he’s my boyfriend.”

  The man pauses. “Emma, does James have parents?”

  Who is this guy? I remember thinking. “Yes, of course he has parents! Why are you asking me this?”

  “This is Sergeant Earnest with the Kalamazoo Police Department. Emma, I’m going to need James’ parent’s phone number.”

  “Why?” I remember my hand starting to shake violently.

  “Emma, there’s been an accident.”

  The official police report states that James fell asleep and swerved off the road. A small embankment caused his Jeep to flip into a tree. He lay there, alone, for at least two hours before a passing motorist thought to call the police. Two hours. Alone. Dying.

  I can’t help it and horrible sobs rip through my chest. If I had gone with him when he asked, he wouldn’t have been out so late, wouldn’t have fallen asleep, wouldn’t have died.

  That is why the accident is my fault.

  Because we were supposed to be together and we weren’t.

  I will never forgive myself.

  The loud sobs continue and Shel is in my room in a matter of seconds, holding me. I can hear my parents enter the room, and Shel passes me off to my mother.

  “Shhhh,” she says as she rubs my back. “Another nightmare?” she asks.

  I shake my head no. I only wish it were a nightmare.

  “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay,” she tries to console me.

  I shake my head violently.

  “I’m right here. I won’t let you go.”

  She holds me and rocks me like a baby. Eventually the sobs subside, leaving me drained. I disentangle myself from her and lie down. She lies beside me, and Shel crawls in on my other side. I fall asleep tucked between the two of them, like an infant, my tears still tacky on my cheeks.

  Chapter 10

  Over the next few days, my parents and Shel give me plenty of space. No one brings up my sobbing episode and neither do I. I do manage to ask my mother about the plant in the bathroom, since it was still there and, thankfully, not a figment of my imagination. She said it was delivered to the house the day Shel and I were at training, but there was no card to say who it was from. She assumed it was sent by someone with condolences, and she meant to call the flower shop to ask about it. She put it in the bathroom since orchids like a humid climate, but quickly forgot about calling after Matt’s visit and then my late night disruption. I really don’t care who it’s from as long as it’s real. But aren’t there any other kinds of flowers in the area besides those that match what James used to give me?

  Our first day at Bay Woods was a little hectic, but as the week went on, Shel and I fell into a steady rhythm. The environment was friendly, our manager easy-going, and driving the beverage cart around outside in the sun was an added bonus. It was exhausting work, however, with all the stocking and lifting. I was using muscles I never knew I had. Shel’s hope was that, by the end of the summer, we will have built up some core strength and have amazing tans.

  “This routine agrees with you,” Shel comments at the end of the week.

  I add more hot dogs to the roller. “How do you mean?”

  “You look rested; your eye bags look smaller.”

  I grimace. “Thanks for noticing.”

  “You’re welcome,” she smiles.

  “I have been sleeping really hard. I’m so tired by the time we get home.”

  “Tell me about it.” She stretches her back.

  That’s when I realize I haven’t had any more memory dreams. Not one. I try to think back to the last one I had. My face falls.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Before I can stop myself, I say “I’ve stopped dreaming.”

  Shel looks confused.

  “Never mind,” I say quickly, shaking my head.

  A customer approaches the counter and needs Shel’s attention. I go back to the hot dogs. Have I thought about James every day? Yes. But my dreams have stopped and it makes me sad. I enjoyed the memories my subconscious found and shared with me again. Silently, I pray that the dreams will return; I don’t want to forget anything. Ever.

  “I hate it when you’re sad.”

  James’ voice rings loud and clear in my head. A perfect rendition, just like when I was in the shower. My head snaps up.

  “I’m right here with you.”

  Shel nudges me. “We’re out of napkins. I’ll go get some more from the back.”

  I nod at her and move to the front to take over the register.

  What was that? Hearing his voice again? Maybe my mind is compensating for the lack of dreams by recalling his voice. I smile. That’s okay with me.

  I busy myself checking the condiments to make sure they are full and notice the salt shakers are low. I crouch down and start to rummage around under the counter for the funnel to fill them.

  “Man, the service in this place sucks.”

  Seriously? I pop up from behind the counter to see Matt standing there, pulling on the fingers of his golf glove. I sigh in relief. “I was ready to let you have it!”

  He smiles at me. “How’s the job going?”

  “Pretty good. How’d the course treat you today?”

  “Not too bad,” he turns slightly and tilts his head to his left. “My old man still beat me though.”

  “Hey Matt!” Shel says as she returns with the napkins.

  He waves to her.

  “So,” I ask him, “what can I get you?”

  “Well, I owe my dad a beer for beating me, so two Miller’s please.”

  I nod and walk to the cooler.

  “What have you been up to?” I hear Shel ask him as I pull out the cans.

  “Not much. Visiting with family, mostly,” he replies. “Helping out at the clinic when Sheila calls in.”

  Shel laughs. “I can’t imagine you as a receptionist!”

  Matt pretends to be offended. “I’m pretty good at it if I do say so myself.”

  “Here you go,” I put the cans on the counter and he hands me some bills.

  “So, it’s Friday night. What are you up to?” he asks.

  “Nothing!” Shel is quick to respond. Too quick. I give her a wary look out of the corner of my eye.

  “Great!” Matt says. “We’re having a barbeque at our house tonight, to kick off Memorial Day weekend. You down?”

  No, I think. The last thing I want to do is pretend to mingle with people I don’t know.

  “Sure!” Shel responds.

  “What about you Emma?” Matt asks.

&nbs
p; “Oh, I don’t think…”

  “We’ll be there,” Shel cuts me off with an elbow to the side.

  “Invite your parents, too,” Matt tells me. “We’ll be starting around seven,” he adds as he starts to walk away.

  “Should we bring anything?” Shel asks.

  “No, just yourselves,” he smiles and walks toward his father to hand him his prize for winning today.

  I glare at Shel.

  “What?”

  “I don’t feel like...”

  She cuts me off again with a pout. “You never feel like it.”

  I huff and go back to looking for the funnel to fill the salt shakers.

  “You need to get out,” she presses.

  I find the funnel and stand. “Do you remember the last time we went out?” My question comes out harsher than I intended.

  She blinks and then narrows her eyes. “Yes. I do.”

  “And?”

  “It will be fun. We won’t stay late; we have to be back here at eight a.m. anyway.”

  All I can do is sigh.

  When Shel tells my parents about the barbeque, they are just as excited as she is to have something to do this evening. Saying “You just can’t show up empty-handed,” my mother goes about preparing a potato salad as Shel and I change out of our sweaty work clothes. We decide to drive separately to Matt’s house; my parents may not want to stay as late as Shel and I. This works for me. If Shel wants to stay later, I’ll hitch a ride back home with my mom and dad.

  When we arrive at the Randall’s, I try to remember the last time I was here. It had to be sometime in high school. When I was little, I always thought Matt had the coolest house because they had a big yard and a pool. Arriving here now, I can see his parents have done a lot of landscaping work over the last few years. When we walk around to the back of the house, the yard looks amazing. A huge tent is set up near a fancy stone fire pit with matching stone benches. The tent has been outfitted with tables and chairs and little outdoor lanterns hang underneath. The pool still stands in the center of the yard, but it is now surrounded by an elaborate deck, which has stairs that lead to an ornately designed paver patio, complete with outdoor bar. Next to the bar stands the largest grill I’ve ever seen. Their backyard looks like an outdoor kitchen. Tiki torches are lit to fend off mosquitoes, comfy patio furniture is set throughout the yard, and Mrs. Randall’s flower beds are overflowing with colorful perennials. Music fills the air, coming from speakers that are hidden in the gardens to look like rocks. Several people mill about with drinks and several more are lounging in the chairs and under the tent. The whole scene is impressive.