Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Sunday morning, Emmalyn awoke with a knot of anxiety in her stomach. She'd barely slept, her dreams filled with fragments of memories—her mother's face, the commune, the night her aunt had taken her away. She'd woken several times, heart racing, before finally giving up on sleep around six.
By the time Hunter knocked on her door at nine forty-five, she'd been through three outfit changes and two cups of coffee. She also felt sick to her stomach.
"Morning," he said when she opened the door. "Are you ready?"
"Not really," she said, wondering why he was alone. "Where's Olivia?"
"She's with Paige and Henry. We ran into them last night, and Paige invited her to play with Henry this morning and then go to a movie with them at noon. She'll be tied up with them until about three. So, we have plenty of time."
"That will be fun for her, more fun than this farmers' market run. Are you sure you wouldn't rather take your sudden alone time for yourself?"
"I'm sure. And I can pick up some fresh fruits and vegetables for next week. Now that I'm feeding a six-year-old, I need to get on top of my grocery game."
"That's true. All right, let's go," she said as she stepped outside and locked the door behind her.
It wasn't as warm as yesterday, so she'd put on jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt. She hadn't seen anyone from the commune since she was twelve years old, and she doubted anyone would recognize her. As a child, she'd never worn anything but loose-fitting pants and shirts, and her hair, while shoulder length now, was much shorter than it had been when she hadn't had a haircut for seven years. She'd been able to sit on her long blonde braid.
As the memories ran through her, she forced herself to take a calming breath. Hunter gave her a speculative look as they walked down the stairs. "You're nervous, aren't you?" he asked. "Are you afraid there will be some kind of confrontation? Not necessarily with your mom, but others who might be there with her?"
"I hope not, but I don't know. As I mentioned, my aunt has had a few covert meetings with my mother over the years and nothing has happened, so hopefully that will be the case today," she said as they walked out to the parking lot and got in his car. She still couldn't quite believe he was going with her, that she was allowing someone to see that part of her life.
Hunter gave her a reassuring smile as she fastened her seat belt, and the warmth of his gaze sent a different kind of butterfly through her stomach. "Why are you being so nice?" she couldn't help asking. "For months, you barely acknowledged me."
His smile faded. "I regret that, Em. I was lost in a world of pain and anger. I couldn't get myself out of it. And I didn't want to bring anyone else into it."
"So, you suffered alone."
"It seemed like the best option. But the last few days have proved otherwise. Maybe if I had started talking to other people sooner, I would have gotten out of my funk faster," he said as he started the car. "But I feel better now, so that's what matters."
"I do kind of understand why you wanted to be alone to deal with your injuries and your grief. There's a part of me that still thinks I should be doing this alone, that I'm crazy to involve you."
"Too late now. And as I promised yesterday, I won't get in your way. Think of me as your driver."
"You're definitely not just my driver," she said. "You kind of seem like my friend, which is also weird since we've only been speaking to each other since Thursday, which was only a few days ago."
"Friendships can happen fast."
She nodded. It wasn't just friendships that could start fast—relationships could, too. But she couldn't let herself think of this as anything more than a friendship. Hunter had a life to get back to. He was just offering his support as a thank-you for what she'd done for him. She couldn't let herself believe it was anything more.
"There is something I'm curious about," Hunter said a few moments later.
"What's that?" she asked warily.
"You seem very close to your friends at the complex: Lexie, Kaia, Paige…everyone. Why didn't you tell anyone about your past?"
"Habit," she said with a shrug. "When I went to live with my aunt, I was ashamed of my past, the way I'd been living. I was such an awkward twelve-year-old, stunted in every way. I'd eaten so poorly that I was very thin. My emotional and mental growth was probably closer to a ten-year-old than a twelve-year-old. I started school in the seventh grade, and within a day, they dropped me down to sixth grade, which was embarrassing. My aunt got me a tutor to help me catch up, but the first few years were so difficult. I felt out of touch and out of sync with other kids. But my teachers were great, and eventually, school became my salvation. I would spend hours in the library after my classes were over, and I would read everything I could get my hands on. I was a sponge for new information. I started to catch up, but it probably took at least three to four years before I didn't feel like an alien."
"I can understand that feeling a little," he said. "Not to compare our situations. But I was a military brat, so I had to start over at new schools fairly frequently, and sometimes I felt like an alien, too, especially when we moved overseas, and I couldn't speak the language. But even when we went from the Pacific Northwest to the Deep South, I felt out of step."
"I can see that. Very different cultures."
"But not even close to what you went through. What did you tell the other kids about your past?"
"I made up a story that my mom was a nurse, and she had taken me to Africa with her while she worked. When some wars broke out there, she sent me back to the US to live with my aunt."
"You turned her into a hero. That's interesting."
"The psychologist I saw said the same thing," she remarked. "At times, I thought about killing my mother off in my story, but I never did. I guess I still hoped that one day she'd show up and we could start over. That never happened."
"Maybe it's happening now."
"I can't believe she'll leave, but I guess we'll find out."
Hunter reached across the console and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You got out, Emmalyn. That's what matters most."
His touch anchored her, pulling her back from the swirl of old fears and memories. "I know. I have made peace with what happened. Most days, I don't even think about it. I'm okay, Hunter. I don't want you to think I'm an emotional mess."
"I don't think you're a mess, but if you were, it would be understandable and okay."
"Do you ever tell yourself that?" she asked, sending him a pointed look as he moved his hand back to the wheel. "That it's all right if you're not completely together?"
He shook his head. "No. I never tell myself it's okay not to be all right because I can't do what I do if I'm not together."
"That's true. You have a high-risk, high-stakes job. How are you feeling about going back to active duty?" she asked, eager to get the conversation on a different track.
"I'm looking forward to getting back to my life, but it won't be the same without my copilot."
"Do you blame yourself for the crash?" she asked, knowing she was treading into dangerous territory, but she'd been open with him. Maybe he would want to be open with her.
After a moment, he said, "My best friend is dead, and I promised his wife I'd always have his back, so, yes, I wish I'd found a way to save him."
"What if it had gone the other way—if you had died, and he had survived? Would you blame him?"
"No, but he wasn't in charge."
She frowned. "Wasn't your helicopter hit by some kind of missile? Did it really matter who was in charge?"
His jaw tightened making his profile hard and unforgiving, but she knew that lack of forgiveness was directed at himself and not at her. "Yes, we were hit by enemy fire. According to the intel I had, there were not supposed to be combatants in the area, but that information was clearly incorrect."
"So, whoever compiled that information made a mistake. Not you. You were operating off what you believed to be true."
"Logically, I understand that the blame belongs on the enemy that shot us down."
"But emotionally…"
"I think I could have done better," he admitted.
Hunter was a guy who probably always thought he could do better. He held himself to a very high standard. It must be difficult for him to live up to his own expectations, but it was admirable he had set the bar high. Most people seemed more than willing to lower the bar, not raise it.
"So, it looks like we're about fifteen minutes away," Hunter said, clearly done with the subject.
She was happy to have gotten as much information as she had, so she was okay with that, especially since the road they were on was taking her back in time, and she needed to focus on what was ahead. She felt anxious and worried about so many things, whether they would even see her mother, if she'd be alone, if someone else from the cult would be there, even the ridiculous notion that she might somehow end up being sucked back into that world. That definitely was not going to happen, and she reminded herself that at the end of whatever conversation she would have with her mother and her aunt she was going to leave. Whether her mother would be with her or not was anyone's guess.