A Flawed Heart

by April Emerson

  I blink my eyes several times, trying to make sense of the scene in front of me. I hear Jason, Lydia, and Daniel yell surprise, but their voices are muffled. Standing right behind Daniel, with a smile on her face and happy tears in her eyes, is my mama.

  I shove my way toward her, probably injuring several innocent bystanders in my haste to get close to my only living parent. She smells just like I remember, she feels just like I remember. I sob into her shoulder as I hug her with every muscle in my body.

  “Oh my God, Mama, how are you even here?”

  She laughs at me. “Well, Jason called me, actually, and told me about the show. I had to be here, to see my baby sing in front of all those people. Honestly, I would be hurt that you didn’t tell me about it yourself, if I wasn’t so damn proud of you right now.”

  I turn to Jason. His arms are across his chest, beer in one hand. A sexy, sneaky, smile is draped across his face. I saunter up to him. His eyes are on mine as I approach. Then they’re on my chest, my waist, my feet…my eyes again. I feel my stomach flip as he looks me up and down.

  “Jason Taylor. How did you manage to do this?” I ask with my hands on my hips.

  I get no answer from him. Only more eye sex. I crane my neck to whisper in his ear, so that only he can hear. “You are perfect. Thank you.”

  * * * *

  One week later...

  I’m wearing a black dress. My hair is a waterfall over my shoulders. Jason is dressed in a black jacket, white shirt, and black pants—a suit, no tie. His top button is open and his tattoos poke out. I turn to stare out the window at the coal colored Hudson River. I’m wearing a dress and Jason’s in a suit—and we’re riding the Metro-North Train. I see passengers side eyeing us as they get on and off with backpacks and puffy coats, probably going hiking or headed off to visit family. Jason and I look as if we’re headed for a red carpet…but we’re not. We’re headed for the cemetery.

  I asked him why we weren’t driving, and he said the train would let him clear his head. Honestly, I think it’s because he’s afraid he’ll be too upset to drive later. That’s why I’m here—moral support, strength. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back, but I don’t take my eyes off of the river.

  The train operator calls out, “Glenwood, next stop.”

  Jason kisses my cheek, and jerks his head toward the doors.

  We exit the train and step down the platform, into the chilly November air. Daniel is in the parking lot, leaning up against his car. He’s also in a suit and an overcoat. I smile, waiting to see the sparkle in his eyes when he sees Jason and me, but it’s not there. There’s nothing there. And the reality of how hard this must be for him hits me like a ton of bricks.

  “Hello, son. Claire.” He greets us, and then he opens our doors for us and gets in. Lydia looks just as vacant as her father, but she manages a slight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. The ride is silent and short. We pull past an old wrought iron gate reading “Glenwood Cemetery.” Daniel’s car turns down a narrow path that meanders up a hillside. It’s peaceful, but eerie here. As we ascend, the trees become thicker. Their branches snake together and block out the clouded sky. I don’t know what it is about cemetery trees, but they always look larger than the ones that live in parks and woods. They are bigger, more imposing…more permanent.

  We park and get out. Lydia and Daniel carry lilies. Jason carries nothing. The fabric of my dress slips under my wool overcoat. The wispy noise it makes is slight, but at this moment it’s deafening. I know which headstone is hers before it’s made clear to me. It’s an angel, reaching down to brush the cheek of a cherub. Serenity…generosity…love…all of the qualities I’ve come to associate with Eileen, a woman I never got to meet, rest in the eyes of the stone angel.

  I start to feel panicked. I shouldn’t be here. It’s too intimate. This is not my place. Jason reads my mind, the way he always does, and brings my hand to his lips.

  “Thank you for coming with me.”

  Daniel and Lydia set their flowers down. They put one arm around each other. It’s obvious they have a routine when they visit. I sense that I’m not the only one who feels out of place. Jason shuffles dirt around with his feet. Lydia notices his awkward posture and extends her arm, inviting him into the harbor of her shoulder. He accepts, and presses me to his other side.

  No one says a word.

  Daniel sobs. Lydia wipes her eyes. Jason stares straight ahead. My chest is ripping open. So much pain. I want to help them, but what can I do? I clear my throat and three heads snap in my direction.

  “I don’t know what y’all usually do, I mean, I don’t want to overstep here or anything, but I usually read a poem when I go to see my dad. He used to like to listen to me read, so I recite a poem I think he would like.”

  Puzzled faces stare at me.

  “So, I don’t know if it’s okay, but I picked out something that I thought Eileen would like. Is it okay, if I read it?”

  The sparkle returns to Daniel’s eyes. Lydia smiles a bit. Jason rubs my hand.

  “Of course, Claire. Eileen would love that. Thank you,” Daniel says.

  I look at the stone angel and address Jason’s mother. “Eileen, I never had the pleasure of meeting you, but I see your heart in Daniel. I see your kindness in Lydia, and I see your love in Jason. I think you should know that those pieces of you live on in your family. I see your goodness in them. They carry you with them every day.”

  Jason sobs. He’s crying. He’s letting the grief come. What is left of Eileen’s family huddles together as I read If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking, by Emily Dickinson.

  The grief comes in a flood now. Jason lets go of my hand, and embraces his sister as he cries. They are both sheltered by their father’s arms. And my tears fall as I watch them break apart, and mend, and hold each other up.

  Jason is quiet at the station. He refused a ride home from his father and Lydia. A breeze blows and sends a chill up my back. I shiver a little under my coat.

  He finally speaks. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

  His voice is grave and his eyes are bloodshot. I follow the love of my life down the platform stairs, across the parking lot, and into the woods. I’m in heels and definitely not dressed for a hike, but I’m not distracting with Jason. Not today.

  Lucky for me, it’s a short trip along a downhill path. We step out onto a small, old, fishing dock. The black water of the river laps against the warped wood. Across the river are sloping mountains, studded with what’s left of the fall foliage.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “This is where I usually come on my mother’s birthday,” he answers.

  “Wait. What? Here? This place?”

  “Yeah. I’ve tried, more times than I can count, to go to the cemetery to see her, but I just couldn’t do it. I take the train to Glenwood, and sit in the station with my cell phone in my hand, my finger resting on the send button to call my dad and tell him I was here. But I never do it. One year, I found this place. So I come up on the train, sit in the station for an hour…and then wander over here. It became my way of spending time with her. I just sit there…” He points to the end of the dock, “And talk to her.”

  “And you’ve done that every year?”

  He turns to me, and his eyes are struggling to blink away the ghosts. “Yes. And I’ve never told a single person about it, except you.”

  He hugs me and we stand there, holding each other. I hear a gull calling. The waves crash against the rocks, and then retreat back just as suddenly as they came. The sound is soothing, and Jason holds me as if he never wants to let me go. He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. He slides his hands down to my hips.

  “I wanted to bring you here, Claire, because I wanted you to see it before I said goodbye.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have to come here anymore. I don’t have to live underneath my pain…hiding from it, alone in the dark, walking with ghosts. I can
let it go now. I don’t want to live in the past, and I don’t have to. I have you now, Claire—you’re my light. You make me strong—”

  I stop his words with my lips, and kiss him with every ounce of everything I have in my heart and soul. I kiss him until my toes tingle and my breath leaves me. Until I feel faint and my heart gets so full, I feel as if it will burst from all of the love it holds. And he kisses me back. He gives it all back to me.

  “We make each other strong,” I tell him.

  And it’s true.

  Epilogue

  I’m an old woman now. I’ve watched the gray slowly stake its claim over my once shiny, brown hair. I have watched my eyes cloud over, and my face has a wrinkle for every year I have lived. I’m sitting on the porch gazing out at the lush green woods that surround my home, and I’m remembering…

  I remember Jason.

  I remember him, so nervous on the day he proposed to me. We walked over the Brooklyn Bridge, and I didn’t understand why he was so quiet. I remember being afraid he had something terrible to tell me—and then he pulled a ring from his pocket with shaking hands…

  I remember our wedding day, seeing him waiting for me at the end of the aisle. The room blurred, and his smile was all that mattered. I remember the promises we made and the speech Lydia gave. I remember dancing with my husband for the first time.

  I remember every song he ever wrote for me, and the sweet devotion that always wove its way through his words.

  I remember the day our daughter was born. I remember the way his face changed the first time he saw her. I’d never thought our hearts could hold more love than they already did. I remember wondering how it would feel to have another person become a part of our life together. Our duo became a trio, our marriage became a family.

  I remember the day she left for college, and how empty our house sounded without her. I caught Jason more than once sitting in her room, on her little bed, looking at her baby book.

  I remember how our lives became even fuller as the years went on. I never got tired of seeing Jason’s face every day…of feeling him touch me.

  I remember all of the places we traveled together.

  I remember the first day I met him, standing at the top of the stairs in that little apartment building in Williamsburg. We went back there, years later. Some college kids were sitting out on our fire escape and he held my hand as we sat in the car together, and remembered.

  I could not have asked for a more full, complete, and happy life. I look at Jason now, where he’s seated next to me, and I remember. He takes my wrinkled hand in his, and I feel the same thrill, though muted with the passage of time. He smiles at me, and I still see the man I fell in love with so long ago.

  When people talk about love, they talk about patience and kindness, about being unselfish and unconditional. They talk about soul mates and bliss. And love can be all of these things. The storybooks we grew up reading tell us so.

  But there are many things these fairy tales never told us about love. That it can be hard to find. That it can hurt you but it can also heal you. It’s not always easy to give someone the love they need, or to take the love they want to give to you. The one truth we can take from the fairy tales, is that there can be a happily ever after. You may stumble through dark woods, you may eat life’s poison apple and sleep for a hundred years, but you will find your way out of those woods. You will wake from that sleep. And if you’re lucky, there will be someone there to hold your hand through it all.

  *The End*

  About the Author

  April Emerson moved to New York City after graduating from college with a degree in literature. As a nature lover, living in the city was a culture shock, but she soon began to enjoy being surrounded by so much energy. Submerged in perpetual crowds, April developed a fondness for people watching, which inspired her to start writing. Drawn to both the light and dark of humanity, she strives to tell sexy and romantic stories with exquisitely complex characters. When she isn’t writing, she loves listening to music or reading a good book while enjoying a glass of wine.

  You can find her at aprilemerson.com.

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com