Chapter 19 Ember
EMBER
"You don't have to do this," Nate said for the third time in twenty minutes. "I can handle the interview alone. Tell them you're feeling under the weather and go home."
When the local public broadcasting studio called to set up an impromptu segment for Nate to discuss the Lightkeeper's role with the Christmas toy drive and a few other aspects of his title, I knew he would love it.
I also knew I would hate it, because it would mean I had to stand beside him while television cameras were pointed at me, but it was a good thing and would definitely put some light on the entire situation.
"I'm not backing out." I shoved the antacids back into my purse.
I'd been eating them like candy to keep the nausea away, but Nate thought, once again, that it was nerves. "The station specifically requested both of us. I'm not giving them ammunition to say I'm unreliable."
"No one would think that," he said gently, but I refrained from letting him take my hand in such a public place.
Everything about this place was logged by cameras, including the tiny green room where we were waiting for our turn to go to the stage for taping.
"Everyone would think that." I leaned back against the threadbare sofa and closed my eyes. "They already think I'm trying to sleep my way to the top. If I bail on a scheduled interview, it just confirms their assumptions that I'm not serious about this."
Nate was quiet for a while, fiddling with his cufflinks but not saying much more.
There wasn't really anything left to say.
I was doing what I thought was the right thing even though it was challenging me to my core, and I was hoping it turned out for the best.
Besides, this was a homegrown, wholesome news spotlight, not a gossip blog.
It wasn't like they were going to ask directly whether we were having an affair.
A production assistant appeared in the doorway and gestured for us to follow.
He led us down another hallway to a small studio with two chairs positioned in front of a backdrop featuring the station's logo.
Bright lights lit up the space, making everything feel too bright and harsh.
I blinked against the glare and took my seat beside Nate, grateful when someone clipped a microphone to my collar and gave me a distraction from my roiling stomach.
The interviewer was a woman in her forties with perfectly styled dark hair and a warm smile that seemed genuine.
She introduced herself and walked us through the format while crew members adjusted cameras and checked audio levels.
The whole process felt surreal, as though I were watching myself from outside my body.
Six months ago, I'd never have agreed to something like this, but recent events forced me to dig deep to actually want to defend myself.
Attending this interview was my brave step toward defying the gossip and having my own back rather than deserting myself like I had in the past.
"We'll start with some general questions about the Lightkeeper tradition," she explained.
"Then we'll move into specifics about the toy drive and other charity initiatives.
The whole segment should run about twelve minutes.
Of course, when it airs, it will last around twenty, because they'll add in the commercial breaks. Just relax and be yourselves."
Relax—like that was possible when my body felt ready to betray me at any moment.
The interview began smoothly enough.
Nate answered questions about the history of the ceremony and his responsibilities as Lightkeeper.
I chimed in when asked about the Hearthkeeper role, giving what little history I'd heard from my neighbor and the bit I'd researched.
It was enough to appease her and she moved on, asking about the toy drive, and Nate's face lit up as he described the overwhelming response from donors.
"We've collected over three thousand toys so far," he said. "Along with winter clothing, books, and games. The community has been incredibly generous."
"And Ember, you've been instrumental in helping to organize the collection events," the interviewer said, turning to me. "How has it felt to be part of such a meaningful tradition?"
No matter how far they steered from the gossip headlines I'd been reading, nothing seemed to quell my anxiety.
It was like my fight or flight response was permanently flicked on.
"It's been an honor. Seeing families come together to support their neighbors reminds me why these traditions matter."
The words sounded hollow in my ears, like I had just rehearsed something a committee member told me to say.
But the interviewer nodded approvingly and moved on to her next question.
We made it through the segment without incident.
When the cameras finally stopped rolling and the crew began breaking down equipment, I felt a rush of relief so intense it left me lightheaded.
They came to remove our mics and I stood carefully, willing my legs to remain steady.
When they dismissed us, I followed Nate toward the back of the studio where we'd left our coats.
"That went well," he said quietly. "You did great."
"Thanks." I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, navigating around cables and equipment cases.
I felt dizzy.
I knew my blood pressure was high but I felt proud of myself. I was battling my own fears and winning, and it felt good.
We were nearly to the exit when I heard voices and looked up to see two church elders speaking with a production assistant near the green room door.
I recognized them immediately from various community events.
Both were in their seventies, dressed in formal clothing, and one wore a clerical collar.
They spotted us at the same moment and their expressions shifted from pleasant to disapproving.
"Dr. Bradley," one of them said, nodding stiffly. "We're here to record a segment about the church's involvement in holiday traditions."
"That's wonderful," Nate replied. "The church's contributions to the community are invaluable."
He moved toward the coat rack, leaving me standing a few feet away but outside of earshot.
The second elder took the opportunity to step closer to me, and I didn’t care for her expression at all.
Not when she eyed me and definitely not when she leaned in closer to speak to me.
"Young lady, I feel compelled to speak plainly," she said low enough that Nate couldn't hear.
"What you're doing is shameful. We've all seen the photographs of you kissing Dr. Bradley in that alley.
Displaying such behavior in public, with a man old enough to be your father, while claiming to represent family values—"
Heat flooded my face. "I don't think this is an appropriate conversation."
"Appropriate?" The first elder joined us and didn’t even bother hushing his tone. "What's inappropriate is your conduct. You need to pray for salvation, child. Ask for forgiveness before it's too late. The path you're on leads only to destruction."
"I appreciate your concern, but my personal life is my own business." I tried to step around them, but they moved to block my path.
"It becomes our business when you're paraded as a symbol of community virtue while living in sin," the woman continued. "You're young. You can still change course before you destroy yourself completely."
Nate appeared beside me, our coats draped over his arm. "Is there a problem here?"
"No problem," I said quickly. "We were just leaving."
He looked between me and the elders, clearly sensing the tension but not understanding its source. "Let's go."
I followed him out of the building and into the parking lot, grateful for the cool evening air against my flushed face.
But the nausea that had been building throughout the interview finally overwhelmed me.
I made it three steps from his car before doubling over and vomiting onto the pavement.
Nate was beside me instantly, one hand supporting my back while I emptied my stomach, the other pulling my loose hair back so I didn't soil it.
When the retching finally stopped, he produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me.
"What's really going on?" Nate sounded concerned and I felt tears welling up. "And please don't tell me you're fine. We're past that."
I was sick of hiding things, sick of the constant pressure and anxiety.
I just wanted to unburden myself before I exploded, and running away to another city wasn't an option this time.
I wiped my mouth and straightened slowly, my legs shaking. "Can we get in the car? I don't want to do this in a parking lot."
He unlocked the doors and helped me into the passenger seat, then circled to the driver's side.
Once we were both settled, he turned to face me with an expression of such concern, it made my chest ache.
"Talk to me," he said.
I stared at my hands folded in my lap, trying to find words for the truth I'd been carrying alone for nearly a month.
It felt suffocating and terrifying in balanced proportions.
But Nate deserved to know, if for no other reason than he would have time to prepare himself for when everyone in this community found out and turned on us like a pack of ravenous wolves.
"I'm pregnant." I didn't look at him, couldn't bear to see his reaction.
All I could do was just keep talking, letting everything spill out in a rush of confession.
"I found out almost a month ago. I took the test at work in the staff bathroom because I couldn't stand not knowing anymore.
And when it came back positive, I panicked.
I didn't know how to tell you. Everything is already so complicated with the scandal and your father and the committee, and I thought if you knew about the baby, it would just make everything worse and—"
"Ember—"
"I know I should have told you immediately. I know keeping it secret was wrong. But I was terrified." My voice broke.
"I kept thinking about what happened in San Diego, about having my life exposed and judged, and I couldn't face going through that again. Especially not while pregnant. The thought of photographers following me around, watching my stomach grow, it was unbearable."
"I would never abandon you," he said, grabbing my shoulders. "I could never."
"I know that now. But a month ago, when I first found out, I wasn't sure of anything."
I finally looked at him, seeing the mix of shock and concern on his face.
"Your father keeps telling me I'm destroying your life.
The committee wants me gone. The reporters call me your flame and joke about the age gap.
And now I'm pregnant, which is going to make all of that a thousand times worse. "
"Ember," he said, stopping me.
He took my hand and squeezed it, then brought it to his lips and kissed it. "God, you make me so happy."
I stared at him, trying to process the words. "Happy?"
"Terrified," he amended. "But also happy.
I'm forty-eight years old, Ember. I thought the chance to be a father had passed me by.
And now you're telling me I'm going to have a baby with the woman I love, and yes, the timing is terrible and the circumstances are complicated, but I wouldn't change it. "
Tears spilled down my cheeks and I didn't know how to respond.
He loves me?
I felt overwhelmed and almost panicked by his response, and I knew I had overstayed my welcome in public.
When I didn't respond, he kissed my hand again and grabbed a few takeout napkins from his glove box and pushed them into my hands.
"Let me take you home." He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward my apartment.
We drove in silence for several blocks before he spoke again. "Can I walk you up? Make sure you're settled?"
"We'd better not. If there are reporters outside, it'll just create more problems." I wiped at my face with the back of my hand. "I'll be fine once I'm inside."
He pulled up in front of my building and put the car in park.
The street was thankfully empty of reporters, though I knew that was temporary.
They'd be back tomorrow or the next day, and I'd have to deal with the landlord's grumpy stares from his ground floor apartment window.
"Ember, look at me."
I turned to face him, finally having stopped sobbing, but the resolve in his expression didn't faze me.
I still felt the same panic about the press finding out and what the tabloids would say next.
"I love you," he said. "I love you, and I want you and this baby. Nothing's going to stop me from having both of you in my life. Not my father, not the committee, not the reporters or the gossips or anyone else who thinks they have a say in how we live."
"Nate—"
"I mean it. Whatever happens, we face it together. You're not alone anymore." He leaned across the console and kissed me gently. "Get some rest. We'll figure everything out tomorrow."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and climbed out of the car.
He waited until I'd unlocked the building entrance before driving away, his taillights disappearing around the corner.
I rode the elevator to my floor and let myself into my apartment, dropping my purse on the sofa and sinking down beside it.
The conversation replayed in my head, over and over, but it was like my heart refused to be comforted by it.
Nate seemed certain of me, and while that should've been comforting, I found myself only conflicted more.
I hadn't stopped to think about every complication out there, just the drama with the press and the tabloids, and there were other things that were just as crucial.
Like would I really be happy with a man twice my age?
Or would his father's words turn out to be prophecy and all of this would end badly anyway?