In Another Life

by C. C. Hunter

  I keep seeing the Fullers in my mind. Her face at the restaurant. His face. His eyes. The man who could be my father.

  I keep wondering if I’m Emily. And if I am, what would my life have been like if I hadn’t been taken from them? In another life, would I still be me? Since they’re still married, would I have skipped out on the pain of my parents’ divorce? The pain of Mom’s cancer? Would I have gone to private school and now be planning to go to some fancy college? Who would I be if I hadn’t grown up thinking … thinking I’d been given away? That I’d done something wrong. How much better would my life have been?

  That leads me to feeling guilty again. As if wanting answers, wanting to know my real parents loved me, makes me ungrateful for the parents I have.

  Pushing that thought away, I start going over all the things I told Dad. All of it’s true, but I remember the tears in his eyes, the pain my words caused him. Even knowing he deserved it doesn’t make it feel right.

  The craziest thought hits. What if Dad had an accident on the way home? What if I lost him! I remember him saying he loved me while we sat in the car. He needed to hear me say it back, and I hadn’t. What if that was my last chance to say it?

  I know, I know, I’m crazy for thinking shit like this, but I think it anyway, and this ball of emotion—of grief, of guilt that I shouldn’t feel—sits on my chest like a big, pink elephant.

  I grab my phone to text Dad. Then I realize he’s not home, I realize his home used to be mine and now it’s Darlene’s home. I slam my phone down and draw my hands into fists.

  I think about texting Lindsey, but I’m sure she’s still out with David.

  At twelve, I grab my phone to text Cash. I want to tell him that I know it’s the right adoption agency. I want someone to tell me that I shouldn’t feel disloyal for needing answers. Or maybe I just want to talk. To him. Last night, on the phone with him, had been nice, fun. It made me forget how messed up my life is.

  It didn’t matter that he’s helping find out if I am some missing kidnapped child. Didn’t matter, because the teasing, the flirting, the wanting to know more about him. That was fun. That was normal.

  I needed more normal.

  I start to text him, but envision him asleep in bed. I even envision him without his shirt. I’ve never seen him shirtless, but I can imagine how nice it’d be.

  Right then, my phone dings with a text. Bolting up, I grab it.

  It’s him. You awake?

  Me: Yes. You want to talk?

  Him: No.

  Me: No…?

  Him: I want to see you. I’m outside your house.

  Me: My house? Right now?

  I run to the window. My heart races.

  I see his Jeep. And more than anything, I want to see Cash.

  19

  I turn to go to the door but hear the old wooden floors squeak under my bare feet. I stop and realize I’m just wearing boxer pj bottoms and a matching T-shirt.

  Am I decent?

  Yes. Other than being braless, but the top isn’t tight.

  My next thought is of Mom hearing me.

  I run back to my window. It doesn’t have a screen. I’m unlocking it when my phone dings again.

  Him: Does this mean you don’t want to see me?

  Me: I’m opening my window.

  I hear his Jeep door open and close, and I see Cash. The heaviness in my chest lifts like fog dispersing.

  He looks so good, walking toward my window. Toward me.

  “I’m afraid I’ll wake up Mom, going to the front door,” I whisper.

  He looks up. “Do you want me to come in?”

  “No, I’ll come out.” I glance down. It’s only, like, a three-foot drop. Considering I’m five-seven, it’s nothing. I put my top half through the window, straddle the ledge, then turning, I put my other leg out. I’m leaning forward, perched on the windowsill. All I need to do is push off the ledge.

  “I’ll catch you.” His words sound so sweet. I want to be caught.

  He reaches up, and I push off. His hands end up under my T-shirt on my naked waist, and his touch feels so good, so warm, so sweet. I instantly feel butterflies.

  When I land, I catch my breath, not from the jump, but from his touch. He pulls me closer, or did I move in?

  We kiss. His smooth lips glide across mine. His hands rest on my waist, and his thumbs make small circles on my bare skin, right under my rib cage. My hands move to his waist.

  I lean closer. My breasts, minus a bra, come against his solid chest. A thrill, a sweet tingling waves over me.

  “Wow.” He pulls back.

  “Yeah.” I grin. “I wanted to text you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I thought you’d be asleep.”

  “Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

  “Me neither.”

  “Bad night?” he asks.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah. But it’s better now.” He dips down and kisses me again. This time, his tongue slips between my lips; his mouth tastes minty, as if he popped a breath freshener.

  When the kiss ends, we’re both breathless.

  “You want to go somewhere?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m in my pajamas and barefoot.”

  His eyes lower to my feet. “Cute.”

  I curl my toes in the warm grass. “My feet?”

  “All of you,” he says. “You want to sit on the porch?”

  I hear a meow. Felix jumps up on my bedroom windowsill. “No,” I say, and the cat jumps back into my room. Cash closes the window.

  “Maybe in your car,” I say, not wanting anyone to see me in my pj’s, kissing a guy on my front porch.

  “Yeah.” His hand drops from my waist and slips inside my palm as we walk to his car. I lace my fingers through his.

  “What happened?” I ask, remembering his bad night comment. “They didn’t see me, did they?”

  “No. Just more of the same shit.”

  “You mean quitting your job and going to a better college?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Sorry.”

  We get to his Jeep. “You want to get in the backseat?”

  I remember Lindsey’s comment about not wanting David to think she wanted to get in the backseat.

  “Just to talk,” Cash says as if he’s reading my mind. “And kiss.” He looks embarrassed. “Not … you know.”

  “Yeah.” I smile because I believe him. He’s not here to try something that I’m not ready for.

  I lift up on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For coming here.”

  He opens the back door and follows me into his car. The console between the seats is down. I slide only halfway in so I’ll be close to him. He settles beside me and shuts the door.

  “Sheep,” he says.

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “You have sheep on your shorts and shirt.”

  I look down. “They’re pajamas.”

  “I know.” Smiling, he pushes my hair off my cheek. “Oh, here.” He pulls something out of his pocket. It’s a plastic bag.

  I grin. “Red Skittles. Thank you.” I put one in my mouth. Then put one in his.

  “What made your night bad? The restaurant thing?”

  “Part of it. I’m an egg breaker now.”

  “What?”

  “Remember I accused you of being an egg breaker while I’m a peacemaker?”

  “Yeah. What did you do?”

  “I came unglued. Told Dad what I thought of him leaving me to deal with Mom and the cancer.”

  “Good.” His caring tone sends a sweet pain right to my chest. “What did he say?”

  “I think he finally realizes what a jerk he was.”

  “Did it feel good?” Cash asks.

  “No. Not really. I hurt him.” I bite down on my lip. “He cried. Begged me to forgive him.”

  “And you forgave him,” he says almost as if it were a bad thing.
<
br />   “No. I told him it wasn’t easy. But I told him I still love him.”

  “You’re a better person than I am,” he said.

  I see something in his eyes. “Who do you need to forgive?”

  “A lot of people.”

  He kisses me again. I get lost in the feel of his mouth against mine.

  In a few minutes, we’re stretched out on the seat, facing each other. We kiss and kiss and kiss. I have my hands on his chest; his are still at my waist. He moves up under my shirt to my back, and he starts easing to my front. To my breasts.

  Then he jerks his hands out from under my shirt and buries his face in my neck. I feel his breath against my cheek. I open my eyes. The car’s windows are fogged up. He lifts his head and I see his eyes. Pupils dilated. I know he stopped to keep his promise. And I almost wish he hadn’t.

  He smiles. I smile back.

  “I needed this,” he said. “You make me … forget the bad stuff.”

  “Yeah.” I kiss him again, but I end it quickly. Deep down, I know we need to slow down. I know what comes next. And while it feels so right, I’m not really ready for next.

  I touch his lips. “You make me feel so … normal.”

  “Normal?” He grins against my fingers. “For a girl who reads love stories, I think you can do better than that.”

  I laugh. “No, I mean, I’m not Chloe whose mom has cancer or is depressed. Or Chloe whose dad’s a cheater. Or Chloe who might be a kidnapped girl. I’m just a normal girl, feeling amazing things while kissing a hot guy.”

  “I like the ‘hot’ part,” he says.

  “I like the hot guy.”

  “You’re awesome.” He runs a finger over my cheek.

  I remember what I wanted to tell him. “You were right. It’s A New Hope Adoption Agency that my parents used.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked Dad.”

  “Did you tell him—?”

  “No, I said I was curious and told him not to mention it to Mom.”

  Cash nods. “We should go talk to them. Ask to see your paperwork.”

  “Would they let me see it?” I sit up.

  “You’re not eighteen, but you’ll be eighteen soon, so who knows. Maybe they’ll give you something for your parents to sign.”

  The kissing magic starts wearing off, and I remember what I’m facing. “I want to do this. I do, but…” I remember hearing Mom laugh tonight. “I can’t ask my mom to sign anything. It might make her even more depressed.”

  “I could forge her signature.”

  “That’s illegal.”

  “Not as illegal as kidnapping.”

  Yup, the magic’s gone. “My parents didn’t kidnap me. They adopted me.”

  “I don’t mean…” He hesitates. “Before we go, we should know everything we can. I’ll try to get ahold of the file. It might be Monday.”

  I nod.

  His green eyes meet mine with caution. “When I asked you if you remembered anything before the adoption, you said, ‘barely.’ What do you remember?”

  “It’s not even a whole memory. I’m sitting on a sofa. It’s light brown, and it’s stained. I’m crying, scared. I’m wearing black patent shoes. The kind that buckle. The carpet’s dirty. And I’m wearing a princess dress. I’m even holding a tiara.”

  “Was someone with you?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is I’m scared.”

  “Like you were kidnapped?”

  “I don’t know, but that feeling, that same fear, I sometimes feel it out of the blue.” My throat knots. “Or maybe it’s that my mom just dropped me off at the adoption agency. What if we’re wrong? What if this is all a coincidence? And my real parents just didn’t want me?”

  He frowns. “That’s a lot of coincidences. Your living here. Your cat’s name. The date Emily was kidnapped and you were adopted. Your doll.”

  “Yeah, but it could still be that.”

  His shoulder shifts closer to mine. “We’ll figure it out.”

  I close my eyes, and I remember almost hearing someone telling me that my mama and daddy didn’t want me anymore. Did that happen, or was that just what I felt? And the bruise…? “Do you think if the Fullers had seen me, they’d have recognized me?”

  “Yeah. You look just like that picture.”

  I lean against him. “This is so hard.”

  “I know,” he says.

  Right then, a car stops in front of Lindsey’s house. I look up as the headlights go out. “That’s Lindsey coming home from her date with David.”

  I lower myself in the seat and pull him down. He lifts back up. “Uh-oh, they’re on the porch. He’s going in for a kiss.”

  “Stop snooping.” But then I lift up and watch David kiss Lindsey.

  “That’s sweet,” I say, hoping Lindsey isn’t thinking of Jonathon.

  “This is sweeter.” Cash pulls me down and kisses me. And he’s right. It is sweeter.

  We kiss until we see David’s car leave. Then I say, “It’s late.”

  “Yeah.” He walks me back to the window and opens it.

  I measure the climb up. “Getting in is going to be harder than getting out.”

  “Pull up and I’ll give you a push.” He takes the Skittles from my hands and sticks them in his pocket.

  I put my hands on the ledge and pull up. His hands come against my butt, and he gives me a shove. I land halfway in the window. Suddenly, I find it funny. I laugh and look back. “You can get your hands off my butt now.”

  “I was just helping,” he says, and grins.

  I climb the rest of the way in, then turn and look at him. He hands me my candy, then pulls himself up on the ledge. His shoulders fill up the window space, his biceps bulging, his green eyes on mine.

  He gives me a brief goodbye kiss. “Sweet dreams.”

  “You, too.”

  I watch him walk back to his car. I run my tongue over my lips to savor his taste. Even with all the shit I have going on, for the first time, I’m beginning to feel the joy in Joyful, Texas.

  20

  After breakfast Sunday morning, Cash texts and says he’ll be here at eleven to pick me up. I hurry and get ready, and at a little after ten, I run over to Lindsey’s. I say hello to Lola and her mom as Lindsey escorts me into her bedroom. As soon as the door closes, she says, “He kissed me twice while we were at the game room playing pool.”

  “And once when he walked you to the door,” I drop down on her bed.

  She looks shocked. “You were spying on me?”

  “No. I was in Cash’s car when he brought you home.”

  “Cash? I thought you went out with your dad.”

  “I did, but at midnight, he texted me and said he was sitting in his Jeep outside my house.”

  “And…?” she asks.

  “It was sooo good.” I’m smiling, thinking of every tingle and thrill. How his hand felt on my bare back, but I don’t want to share those things. It’s almost as though if I share them, they won’t be so special. They are my secret. “But tell me about your date.”

  She went through the entire date, about how she beat David at pool, and how they laughed about it, then added, “Oh, guess who came here last night?”

  “Jonathon,” I say. “I was waiting on the porch for Dad when he pulled up.” I told her about her mom shutting the door in Jonathon’s face. Then I tell her about him coming on to me.

  “Jerk. He came to see me and then asked you out.”

  “He didn’t say a date, but—”

  “But he meant it. Ugh! That asshole!”

  “Yeah. He is.”

  She smiles. “Are you still going out with Cash today?”

  “At eleven.”

  “Do you want me to help you pick out something to wear?”

  I make a face. “I was planning on wearing this.”

  “Stand up.”

  I do. She studies me, and I suddenly feel incredibly insecure. I remember Cara and Sandy always giving me fas
hion advice.

  “Jeans look great. But go with your red blouse and black boots. And more lip gloss and mascara.”

  “Okay.” It makes me feel a little better that I wore that outfit to school, and I’m not totally fashion impaired. I pull my phone out to make sure I keep track of time.

  “Did you ask your dad about the adoption agency?”

  “Yeah.” I tell her the whole Dad story. The Fullers at the restaurant story. She’s glued to my every word, whispering “Shit!” and “Crap!” every few minutes.

  Then I tell her about Cash wanting to photograph all the paperwork that the Fullers had on Emily. “He says we should go talk to the agency.”

  “What are you going to do if you learn you really are Emily?”

  The question is simple, but suddenly it doesn’t feel that way. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to go live with them? Don’t you think they’ll expect you to? I mean, you are about to go to college, and they haven’t seen you in … fifteen years?”

  The question hits me like a soccer ball to the chest that I didn’t see coming—it knocks the breath out of me. Live with them?

  Lindsey keeps talking, something about not wanting me to move, but I’m barely listening.

  I hadn’t thought about what the Fullers would expect from me. Not physically. Not emotionally. Am I supposed to immediately love them like I love Mom and Dad? What if they blame me for not remembering them? For not finding my way home earlier? What if they do expect me to move in with them?

  * * *

  When Cash came down the stairs Sunday to head over to Chloe’s, Mr. Fuller walked out of the kitchen. “Hey, you want to go for a jog with me?”

  “Can’t. I’m meeting the study group again. I told Mrs. Fuller.”

  Mr. Fuller nodded. “What’s her name?”

  “What?”

  Mr. Fuller laughed. “No guy showers and smells like toothpaste before going to study. And you smiled all the way through breakfast. What’s her name?”

  Cash wanted to deny it, but then gave in. “Chloe.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  Shit. Why had he told him? “Don’t … don’t tell Mrs. Fuller.”

  “Why? She’d be thrilled.”

  “She’d want to meet her and—”