Chapter 46 – Emerson
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
EMERSON
“I met a guy—well, not really met , but more like saw him again—and I think you’d approve of him, but while you would, he’s really screwing with my head. I don’t know what to do.”
My voice carries on the breeze as it whips through my hair. I tilt my face to the sun, close my eyes, and try to feel her presence beside me. One hand rests on her marker and the other twirls one of the wild daisies between my fingers that cover the top of her grave.
“It’s Grant Malone.” I smile at his name. “Yeah, I know. You always had a soft spot for him even though I wouldn’t acknowledge him or the Malone family when you brought them up. But I ran into him again, Mom, and I’m really struggling like never before.”
I watch a hawk soar through the blue sky over where I sit on the hill that overlooks my mom’s hometown of Miltonville. She picked her resting place because, according to her, if she were on the top of a hill, she’d be able to watch over me no matter which direction I decided to wander.
“Things I don’t remember, I’m remembering. Good stuff. Bad stuff. You were always so proud of how strong I was, but I don’t feel so strong anymore, Mom. I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality. One day, all I’m trying to do is keep Blue Skies, get the loan, and keep on top of Travis’s to-do lists, and the next day, Grant Malone comes barreling into my life, and it’s as if none of that matters anymore.”
“Why is that a bad thing ?” I can hear her asking, just like she always used to, and the common refrain makes my heart twist in my chest because I miss her so damn much.
“It’s bad because I need rules and structure and control, but all of that goes out the window when it comes to him, and I can’t have that. Without the rules, my mind wanders, and it can’t wander, Mom. I can’t remember any more than I already do. I just . . . I can’t . . .”
I can close my eyes and see her smile as she asks me, “ But why ?” while looking at me above the rim of her beloved cup of tea. If I hold the image long enough, I can even see the way the steam twirls up around her and her hazel eyes squint just a bit, as if she is trying to will the right answer into my mind.
“Because I can’t need anyone. I can’t trust anyone. You know that. It was you and Desi, and now it’s just Desi.” I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then admit, “I’m scared. I’m so scared because I don’t know how long I can keep up the facade that I’m normal and strong when lately I feel like the little girl I used to be. The one who fell apart any time a stranger looked at her for too long and who just wanted to take a knife to her arms to prove that pain was all she ever knew . . . and is all she’ll ever know.”
I look down and play with a daisy as I struggle with the lie I just told her. How I pretended that taking a knife to my arm was more of an urge instead of a recent reality . . . and then I realize she already knows. Her wings were out that morning. That was why I was able to stop myself from cutting the second time.
Dropping the daisy, I trace the engraved letters of her name and know if my mom were still alive, she would tell me that I didn’t mean any of what I said. That I was strong and resilient and beautiful, which was something he saw even if I didn’t. She would tell me that was why I was really scared, and that it didn’t matter if I remembered some of my past because we always knew it was a possibility.
She would set that tea cup down, reach out, and grab my hand before telling me that maybe I was starting to remember because I finally had someone strong enough to stand beside me and help me through it.
The words I imagine her saying hit my ears but don’t grow roots. They’re scary and unwanted and against everything I ever thought I’d allow of myself.
To let somebody in.
To share that part of my past.
One of the last things she said to me resonates with me in the moment.
Would she tell me that letting him in doesn’t mean I have to stop being resilient and strong?
I smile because she totally would .
“I miss you, Mom. I miss you more than you could ever imagine,” I whisper, tears falling as I lie down on my back atop of her grave and think of nights snuggling up in our van while we were between towns. The Reeve girls making an adventure for ourselves.
I stay there for a long while with the blue sky above me, the comfort of my mom around me, a map of possible jump sites circled in purple Sharpie beside me, and my mind fixated on the past and the two men who were such an integral part of it.