The Enchantment of Emma Fletcher

by L. D. Crichton

  I want to be reasonable. She’s my best friend. She should know.

  I swallow deep breaths of icy air and when the purple-haired server delivers my drink, I take a large swig.

  “So,” Marley says, “we go from not drinking to tying one on?”

  “Something like that,” I say.

  “Are you okay, Em?”

  It’s now or never. She’s given me the perfect opening.

  I shake my head no. I haven’t spoken a word yet but somehow tears appear in my eyes, moisture sticking to my lashes, and I try not to blink.

  Marley’s whole demeanor changes; her face falls. “What’s wrong?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

  “Emma,” Marley says, “you’re scaring me.”

  “I was with Mateo today,” I manage.

  Her brows furrow and her eyes narrow. She knows I’d never do anything to hurt her, but she’s confused. “Why?”

  I take another sip of my drink. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

  Oh God. I’m making this sound bad. I choose my next words with caution. “I was with Mateo today because something terrible happened to me and Tristan asked Mateo to teach me to defend myself.”

  Now she’s the one searching for the right words. Shadows from the sconces on the walls cast an eerie light across her face. “What are you talking about? What happened to you, Em?”

  “I was attacked,” I blurt out.

  She sits straighter in her seat, clasping a hand over her mouth. “What? By who?”

  “I was at a pit party with a guy named Gabe.” Poison. His name is poison; his name is a monster.

  “What?” She leans forward. “How?”

  The first tears fall and I hate him. I hate him for still having this unspoken power over me.

  I can’t look her in the face.

  “He . . .” I can’t even speak it. More tears fall.

  Marley slides out of her booth and next to me in no time. I put my head on her shoulder and whisper, “I was raped, Marley. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  And that’s the only thing I can say.

  Tristan

  I can’t sleep. All I can think about is Emma and how much I want her here beside me. I don’t like the idea of her being alone. I don’t like the idea of her not feeling safe; I don’t like the idea of some asswipe having taken what he did from her.

  My sheets are twisted on account of my tossing and turning, and I finally decide to give up on the idea of sleep altogether. It’s four a.m. The knowledge that I can’t control anything spreads through my mind like a bad weed, an infestation of reality, and it’s pissing me off.

  I get up, shower, and change, grabbing the keys to my truck. Nearly an hour has passed since I woke but it’s still balls in the morning, and I can’t exactly go knocking on Emma’s door. I get in the truck with the intention of going to the shop to get a head start on things for next week, but I soon find myself detouring to a place that I normally try to avoid. Thing is, every now and then I follow the inexplicable pull to it, simply to pay my respects.

  The cemetery at dawn is serene. The sun stretches across the horizon, and the light reflects in a dark amber hue against the gravestones, especially the marble ones.

  Katie’s gravestone is obnoxiously large. Her mother had wanted something smaller and simpler, but her dad, heartbroken, insisted on the best of everything, no matter the cost. I remember looking at him as they lowered his only daughter into the ground, wondering how it’s possible for someone to be both living and so broken at the same time.

  Her marker is black marble and an oversized angel perches on top, its wings spread wide. The attention to detail on the carving is nothing short of remarkable. The epitaph reads, “To Katie, Our Angel, Taken Too Soon.”

  “I didn’t bring you flowers, love,” I say out loud. “I’m sorry.” I sit on the ground in front of her grave, still damp from morning dew, and cross my legs. “I met someone,” I tell her. “She’s a little messed up, though.”

  I wait. As if Katie is going to respond.

  “Listen, I don’t know if you have any pull up there or if there even is an up there or whatever, but if there is and if you do, can you try and watch over Emma? I mean, I know it’s a lot to ask, but you would have liked her. You two probably would have been friends.”

  As I speak, I give the universe the power to plague me with questions I can’t seem to answer. Does heaven exist? Does God? If he does, then why is there so much suffering? Why is there so much hate? Why take away the best people? Why put them through hell?

  A deeper part of me argues that there has to be more to life than the number of years spent on the planet. I can feel Katie here. I can feel her there every time a memory strikes that makes me smile, every time I replay in my head what I could have done differently, every time I allow myself to miss her, to mourn her. If I can feel her, the logic is that she must be around.

  I spend the next hour or so with my thoughts. I used to do anything not to be alone with them, so it’s a change for the better, I guess. When I stand to leave, I rest my hand on her grave. “I miss you. Every single day.”

  I mentally promise that I’ll be back sooner rather than later and head to Emma’s place. When I get there and knock on the door, to my surprise it’s not Emma who answers. It’s Marley.

  She is in the process of making a total disaster of Emma’s mother’s kitchen. The smell of burnt toast and coffee drifts through the air and assaults me.

  “Trying to burn the place down, Scott?”

  “Emma has gone for a run.” I had expected a witty retort, but it takes only one look at her for me to determine that Marley knows. Emma has come clean.

  “She told you?”

  She nods, rooting through a corner cupboard to pull out a frying pan, which she then slams down on the stovetop and adds strips of bacon to before turning on the burner.

  Here we go.

  “She’s okay now,” I say, even though I have no right to try and calm Marley down. I understand how mad she is.

  “I want to kill him,” she says.

  That makes two of us. Only difference is I might actually do it if I ever get the chance. “Listen,” I reason, “the best thing we can do for Emma is support her, be there to listen when she needs to talk, and empower her.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay.”

  “She told you first,” Marley says. “Why’d she tell you first?”

  “It was a matter of circumstance, Marley, and she didn’t want to hurt you.”

  Marley settles her hands on her hips. “You know something, the fact that that happened to her is deplorable, but so is knowing that she’d rather tell you, who, no offense, she hardly knows, than me.”

  “I think Emma was willing to go through life without ever telling anyone. Like I said, it was circumstance. You love Em. Think about making her feel how you’re feeling now,” I say. “That’s probably why she didn’t want to tell you.”

  Marley flips the bacon, despite the fact that it’s still raw, sighs, and says, “I still wish I could have done something.”

  I sit myself at the table. “You are doing something. You’re here, aren’t you?”

  She nods.

  “Besides,” I say, “Mateo has it under control.”

  “So I hear,” Marley says.

  I stand and head to the frying pan. “Listen. Sit down. Have a coffee. I’ll do this.”

  She swipes the back of her hand across her forehead. “You know something? You’re not so bad.”

  I’m about to say thank you when Emma comes through the door. Her body is glistening with sweat, her hair sticking to her face, her legs looking exceptionally toned, and the sight of her is glorious. The smile that crosses her face when she looks from me to Marley i
s enough to take my breath away. It is the first smile on Emma’s face I’ve seen that gives me a glimpse of who she used to be before everything happened.

  There’s something about it that is free, unhindered, and not at all keeping a secret locked inside.

  “Morning, Peaches.”

  “Good morning, Tristan Banks.” She walks to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, downing the whole thing in one go.

  “Marley was making you breakfast.”

  Emma smiles. “You were?”

  “Until your boyfriend took over.”

  “He’s good at taking over,” Emma says, grinning. “Usually works out for the best.”

  Emma

  I’m right. It did work out for the best. Marley and I talk about Hollywood gossip and summer clothing sales while Tristan finishes cooking. He serves Marley and me bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast, and orange juice. When we’re finished, he tries to clean up, but I tell him to sit down and then go to work on the dishes myself.

  Marley leaves immediately after eating. There’s a fund-raiser for the Children’s Wish Foundation that she needs to attend. It’s a cause very close to her heart, but she makes me swear to call her if I need her. I assure her I’ll be fine. So now it’s just Tristan and me, and we have to leave soon. He has to get to the garage, and I need to go to the gym for another session with Mateo.

  I have no intention of wearing the men’s sweats Mateo generously gave me last time, so I pack a duffel bag with my stuff while Tristan supervises.

  “Feel better after telling Marley?”

  “I don’t know if I feel better or worse,” I say. “Part of me feels lighter, but I feel bad for upsetting her.”

  “The only reason she’s upset is because she loves you.”

  “I know that. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “It’s not supposed to be easy, Em, but it’s your time now. Everyone has monsters in their closet, and some are bigger than others. You just need to dig deep to find the power to slay the dragon. No more secrets.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip and finish shoving yoga pants into the duffel. “Ready to go?”

  He scoops up my bag, slings it over his shoulder, and gestures for me to lead the way.

  When Tristan delivers me to the gym, he kisses me on the forehead. “I was hoping you’d let me take you to a Caribbean festival in Calico tonight. Maybe we can put a lot more of those map tacks on your wall. A whole group of islands.”

  I smile. “That sounds amazing.”

  “Perfect,” he says. “Until then.”

  Mateo is scribbling something on a clipboard, but looks up when I come in. Instead of the carefree expression he usually has, he’s deadly serious. “Morning, Emma.”

  “Good morning. I’ll go change.” I head to the ladies’ changing rooms and quickly switch my street clothes for workout gear.

  Mateo is now standing in the middle of the boxing ring. I squeeze myself through the ropes and walk toward him. “Tristan was right. This is great. I feel so empowered.”

  “That’s good, chica, but last time, we only touched on some very basic things. Are you comfortable with things getting a little more intense today?”

  I have no idea what he means by that, but I nod. Mateo is as safe as Tristan is. He won’t hurt me.

  “Sure. I’m ready to slay the dragon.”

  “Good,” he says. “Listen, Tristan didn’t tell me anything, but I’m a pretty smart guy, and the fact that he specifically asked me to teach you to take a man down leads me to believe that we need to do some groundwork.”

  “Groundwork?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Okay?” It comes out as a question. I still have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Just like I told you yesterday, if you need to stop at any time, you say the word and we’re done.”

  “Okay.”

  “All right.” He gestures to the floor. “Lie down on your back.”

  Fire fills my veins. “Wait. What?”

  “Lie on your back. If a man hurts a woman, this is most likely the position she’s going to be in, yes?”

  A lump lodges itself somewhere deep inside my throat and I fight to get the word out. “Yes.”

  “So lie down.”

  When I hesitate, Mateo’s face softens. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

  Slay the dragon. Slay the dragon. Slay the dragon. Tristan’s words ricochet like a pinball in my head.

  I lie down and Mateo drops to his knees beside me. My owns knees lock together like a vise and before I can comprehend what he’s doing, he grabs one in each hand and pulls them apart, positioning himself between them, and moves his arms to flank both sides of my head.

  My entire body freezes.

  Mateo is now directly above me, his legs between mine, a fierce expression on his face.

  “Remember,” he says, “say the word and we’re done.”

  I don’t want to say the word; I want to scream it. I don’t. Memories hurl me into a silent void of helplessness.

  Mateo gives my knees a good yank, enough to raise me slightly off the ground. The backs of my thighs are resting directly on top of the front of his and he leans down.

  “If I were to attack you, chances are, it wouldn’t be from a distance. An attacker is going to be all up close and in your face.”

  He’s right. Gabe was.

  Mateo bolts upright again and shuffles slightly to the left. “The first thing I want you to learn is to pick a foot, right or left—it doesn’t matter which it is—and pick the shoulder opposite your foot. On my go, you roll onto the shoulder, keeping the opposite foot stationary on the ground, and turn your body away.”

  He pushes on my foot, turning my shoulder and my body with his hand to demonstrate.

  “Think you can do that part?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Good. Do it.”

  I do as Mateo instructs and he makes me repeat the movement, just as he had last time, over and over again.

  “Good,” he says after what feels like the twentieth time of me repeating the process.

  He resumes the position that he had when I first lay down. His breath is so close to me, I can feel it on the side of my neck and I want to scream. To cry.

  “A man—no, a coward,” he corrects, “who intends to overpower a woman is going to do it this way,” he says. “Trick is, you’re not going to let me get here, okay? I’m going to straighten up and come at you again. But this time, I want you to stop me.”

  I nod.

  He straightens the top half of his body and leaves his legs under mine. When he leans to come down, instinctively I cross my forearms together, cringe, and cover my head.

  “It’s not your pretty face that you need to protect,” Mateo says.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Keep your arms straight and stiff as a board and place them, thumbs out, on my shoulders. Bend your arms even slightly and I’m getting in. Straight, understand?”

  I nod.

  He sits up straight again and this time when he comes down, I do as he says and to my surprise, Mateo, all two hundred–plus pounds of him, is suspended above me.

  “You’re stuck,” I say, surprised.

  “Sí.” He takes my hands and moves them to his chest. “Never go for the chest—I can still get to you this way.” He rolls one shoulder inward followed by the other before he’s all in my space again. “Always, always the shoulders, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, remember the first move, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Roll yourself, and hook the foot you have off the ground on my hip.”

  I do as he instructs. “Now hook your other foot on my other hip.”

  I do.

  Mateo pulls
back. “My automatic reaction as your attacker is to pull away. Hang on to my arms and slide your hands down to my elbows. Then you bring your feet up and kick the shit out of my face.” He grins. “But don’t do that part for real, mamacita.”

  I laugh.

  “Once I’m on the ground, begging for mercy, then you run as fast as those long legs can carry you. Got all that?”

  “I got it,” I say.

  Mateo’s eyes shine with mischief. “Good,” he says. “Show me.”

  We practice this scenario hundreds of times and when we are finished, I am confident I can get away. Regret grips me, wishing I’d known this stuff before . . . but if it were to ever happen again, I’d like to think I’d be ready.

  Mateo tells me we are done for the day before offering me a ride home. I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before and it’s exhilarating. My arms are wrapped around Mat’s waist and as he turns, the bike hugs curves so tightly, I feel like we’re going to scrape along the ground. When he pulls up to my house and cuts the engine, I get off the back, removing the helmet he gave me.

  “That thing is a lot of fun.”

  He steps off and removes his helmet. “Yeah,” he says. “It is. Especially for a girl who likes to run fast.”

  I kick some of the gravel with my toe before swinging my gaze back up to him. “Thanks for today.”

  “I know it wasn’t fun,” he says, “but it was important.”

  I nod.

  “Pretty soon, you’ll be a beast.”

  I chuckle nervously. I have a tremendous desire to . . . what? Hug him? I do, wrapping my arms around his waist, and he hugs me back. He rubs small circles on my back and says into my ear, “I know Tristan is never going to let anything happen to you again but if for some reason he can’t help you, and you can’t help yourself, I got your back.”

  I believe every word. “Thank you.”

  “A break tomorrow?” he asks.

  “A break would be nice.”

  “Enjoy your date with Tristan,” he says.

  I hand him my helmet. “You should go. You have a beautiful blonde waiting for you.”

  “Sí. I do, and Lord knows I can’t keep my beauty waiting for long.” He straddles the bike and pauses before securing his helmet again. “Hey, Emma?”