I was Emma Walker, girl with a life to figure out, girl that was falling head over feet for her tattooed therapist, and who loved useless facts and glow-in-the-dark dragonflies.
I stayed there all the rest of that period and the next. I heard the bell ring, but stayed. I felt an odd calm in that moment and I wasn't ready to let it go yet. So it shouldn't have surprised me when the door opened and a group of girls poured in. It was the girls' bathroom after all.
"What's the matter with you?" one of them asked, making them all turn to find me, tear-streaked and sitting on the dirty floor. I could tell by her tone and their looks that they had no love for the old me.
"Just thinking," I answered softly.
She scoffed in a laugh. "Yeah…" She checked her lipstick in the mirror. She was a normal looking girl, but a little on the heavier side according to my friends. I could only imagine that I'd picked on this girl at one time or another. "Trying something new, huh?"
"I don't remember you," I told her. "Any of you. I'm sorry if I ever did anything to you, but I'm not the same girl anymore."
She scoffed again. "Miss Emma Walker is apologizing to me…while bawling her eyes out on the bathroom floor." She laughed. "Wow." She looked back at me and smiled. "Karma's a beyatch, ain't it?"
Then she led the way for all the girls to walk out. The girl who I had bumped into, Misty with the red streaks, was there, too. A sympathetic look crossed her face for just a second before it fled and she followed them out the door.
Yeah. I had to agree with her. Karma had no love for me.
I made myself get up. I washed my face and hands, looked at myself in the mirror, and knew the one thing I wanted to do more than anything else in that moment. I pulled my cell out and called the hospice hospital and asked to talk to Mrs. Betty. When I asked her where Mason lived, she hesitated. I wondered about that, but begged her for it. She caved and I stuffed the phone back into my pocket. Even though I knew I couldn't hide my puffy eyes from everyone, I left the bathroom and went right out of the school. It was time to leave anyway, apparently, as the parking lot was unloading.
Andy saw me and seemed relieved, but I turned the other way to avoid him. When I looked back to see if he was following, I saw the understanding on his face. He knew I was done. He got into his car and slammed the door.
I didn't know if Mason was home yet, but I'd wait if he wasn't. It wasn't too far away and I needed to see him like I needed to breathe.
A few minutes later, a car rolled up slowly beside me. The engine revved a bit and I felt a shudder roll over me. It was like a flashback, but…not. It was like that day when Mason's ringtone jolted through me in such a vile way. That's what this did to me. I caught myself on my hands in the grass beside the sidewalk. Andy slammed on the breaks and was there before I could think. "Are you OK? Emma?"
He took my face in his hands and that seemed to bring me back down. "I just had a…" I shook my head. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"Emma…" He released my face and sat on the sidewalk beside me with a hard thump. "Please don’t do this. I'm sorry about what I said to you."
"Andy…look at me." He did, reluctantly. "I'm not her-"
"Not listening to this." He stood. "Come on. I'll give you a ride home."
"I'm not going home."
He seethed. "Fine." He eventually gritted out. He reached into his open window and grabbed something. "Here. I got your purse for you from math."
"Thanks," I whispered.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow, Emmie, give you a little time to think. But this isn't over. I've got a lot to make up for with you and you're not going to just run away from me."
With that, he got in his car and left. I was so confused, but stood and slung the purse over my shoulder to rest across my chest. I looked in the way of Mason's street. Even if he wasn't ready to be with me, or he thought I wasn’t ready, I needed him tonight.
So my steps quickened until a couple streets over when his house came into view. With my breathing out of control, I rested my arm on his mailbox and tried to catch my breath. His mailbox said, "You're at the Wright house." I laughed at that and made my way up the driveway.
It was a small, beaten little house. And the car in the driveway was as close to a beater as I'd ever seen. Or remembered.
I stepped on his porch and it didn’t matter what his house looked like. I missed him and couldn't wait to grab him. I knocked softly at first, then a little harder when no one came.
And then there he was. I smiled wide and it took me a second to notice the look on his face didn't match mine. He quickly came outside and shut the door behind him. "What are you doing here, Emma?"
I was stunned for just a second at his reaction before I could speak. "I wanted to see you. Needed…to see you."
"You can't just come by like this. How did you even get my address?"
"I called Mrs. Betty," I blurted before I realized that maybe I shouldn't have told him who told me. "I begged her."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Why? You could have just texted me."
I tried once more. Maybe he was just surprised to see me. Maybe he didn't want me to see his house. "Can I come in for a minute? I want to talk."
"No," he said quickly and looked at the door before back to me. "No, I'm…busy."
Oh, no… I looked at the door and the puzzle pieces got closer together. "Is someone here?"
He licked his lips. "Emma."
"Is someone here with you?" I said a little louder. It was then that I heard the noise from inside. I looked at him pleadingly, once more, to tell me that he was alone. That I hadn't placed all my faith into this man and had been so, so wrong.
"Emma…" He looked away guiltily and I turned to go. "Emma!"
I didn't stop. Though I was dead tired, and my head practically dragged behind me, I walked all the way home. When I reached my house, I didn't go inside. I sat on the bench under the archway to the garden and somehow cried even more after the day I'd had. I thought my tears were empty, but they came powerfully. I sat on that bench, and even when the darkness came, I stayed.
I guess I was putting too much pressure on Mason, right? We weren't a couple. I was just a stupid kid and he was a man with a house and…needs. Gah, that was so stupid. He was the one who said he'd wait! He was the one who said he wanted me and was willing to let me figure things out. I didn't realize that meant that he was going to be dating or whatever he was doing in the meantime.
I heard the engine, but I assumed it was Rhett when it pulled in. It wasn't. I looked up to find the beater sitting there and Mason stepping out. He looked up at my house much like I had a few days ago when I arrived. Like it was a monster that real people didn't live in. Like it was over the top and gaudy. Like it was…unreal.
He finally saw me and stopped. His face carried a range of emotions. Regret…longing, resolve. I stayed still as he shoved his hands into his pockets and came my way. The street lamps were the only thing that lit his path, but I could still the small movements his lips made as they twitched.
He sunk to his knees at my feet and put his hands on my knees. "Emma…I didn't want you to find out this way."
I pushed his hands off and stood, but he grabbed my hands to stop me. "Wait. Just hear me out. It's not what you think."
"What else could it be?" I looked back at him. "Besides, you're not mine, right? I can't tell you not to be with someone else." I was proud of myself that I managed to say it without bursting into tears.
"Come with me. Please?"
"Where?"
"I want to show you something," he confessed, but it didn't sound like he really wanted to.
I steeled myself. "I'm not sure that I want to see it."
"Please," he begged, still on his knees.
I couldn't say no to him this way. "OK," I whispered.
He kept my hand as he stood and towed me to his car. He held the door open for me and it squeaked with the motion. "Sorry, it's not a Lexus," he sneered as he looked at
the house.
"I'm not a Lexus kinda girl," I answered and climbed inside.
He came around and put the car in drive. The drive was so much shorter than it was walking it. He opened my door for me again and held my hand all the way to the door. I wish I could have enjoyed it.
He stopped at the front door and waited, as if preparing himself. I softened at the look of agony on his face. "I don't know what you have to tell me, but I can see that you don’t want to." I looked at the floor of the porch. "I know that I don't have any claim to you, but I thought-"
He cut me off as he lifted my chin and kissed the corner of my mouth. I no longer breathed as he said, "Stop it. This isn't about you and me. That's a given." I felt my heart skid. "This is about…facing demons." His breath shuddered. "And it's time that you met mine."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet. He blew a big breath before opening the door and closing it behind us. He took his jacket off and hung it on the wall tree, doing the same to mine. Then he looked at me as he called out, "Mamma?"
Useless Fact Number Eleven
In an average lifespan, the human heart circulates
55 million gallons of blood.
Mamma? As in his mother who had died in an accident?
"Mamma, I'm home," he called again and went around the corner, taking me with him. In the back of the den was a woman, very thin and pale, who sat in a wheelchair. She looked up and held a frightened look on her face. Then she looked closer at Mason and sighed in relief before saying, "Mason, what happened to you, son. Your hair…"
He rubbed it self-consciously before squatting down in front of her. "I know, Mamma. Look," he looked back at me, "I brought someone I want you to meet."
She smiled at me. "Are you a senior, too?"
I squinted in confusion, but answered. "Yes, ma'am."
"This is Emma," he said softly and gave me a shy smile that had me melting at its honesty. "I wanted her to meet you, Mamma."
"She must be a special one," she said and eyed me. "You never bring girls home."
I felt a weight lift from that statement.
"My Mason is Salutation this year. Did you know that?" she said proudly. Mason looked at her sadly with a look I hadn't processed yet.
"No, ma'am."
"Well, come have a seat. Mason, get her a drink or something. I taught you better manners than that."
He chuckled and stood, calling over his shoulder as he went to the kitchen, "Yes, ma'am."
I sat next to her on the couch beside her wheelchair. The place was clean and clutter free, but small. There was a table near the fireplace that was lined with medical supplies and the place smelled like bleach and other things. It reminded me of my room at the hospital. I looked back to her. "I love the fireplace. I'm always so cold," I said. "It would be nice to have one."
"It's not much, but it's home. And my other son, Milo, will be here soon, too."
Mason has a brother, too?
"Mamma," Mason said, handing her a cup with a lid and me a glass of tea. "Milo's not coming home, remember?"
"What do you mean?" she asked haughtily.
He looked at me, as if this meant something, and then back to her. "Mamma, there was an accident, remember? You were injured and were in a coma for a month? You lost your memory. Milo moved out."
"I was…" She looked around the room and back at Mason. "I was in accident," she said, tears already pooling. "What happened?"
"It's OK, Mamma. It was a long time ago. I'm going to take Emma for a walk, OK?"
"OK," she said carefully and looked around confused. He handed her the remote.
"Here. The Price is Right is on."
"Oh, how I love that show." He flicked it on for her and put the remote on the chair arm. He grabbed my hand and towed my stricken self out of the room. An older woman came in from the other room. She wore scrubs and Mason said we'd be outside for a while.
I heard his mamma yell, "What happened to Bob Barker?" as we shut the door.
He slipped my coat back on me and took us across the backyard to a picnic table. He shifted down to lay lengthwise on it and beckoned me to him. I lay next to him and wrapped the coat around myself tighter. I waited. I knew I was about to learn something epic and life changing from Mason Wright.
After a long while, he began. "When I was in high school, I was a little bit of a troublemaker. Nothing bad. I did well in school, but we partied on the weekends a lot. One weekend, I left my phone at home. Usually, when I got too wasted to drive, I'd get a ride or I'd call Mamma, she'd come get me and yell at me." He laughed sadly. "But that night, I was really drunk and stayed out later than I usually did. My friend offered me a ride, but I declined because he was just as drunk I was. I tried to get him to stop, but he got mad and pushed me down before speeding away. So I decided to walk. On the way home, I heard the sirens. I knew something bad had happened." He stopped, his body jolted a little at his memory. I turned to him a little and took his hand in mine. I laid it across my ribs and cradled it with my other one. He continued on. "When I came up on the scene, I saw my friend's car. I knew he was drunk and should have tried to stop him harder. I ran to his car and he there, on the ground where they laid him out. He was dead."
"Oh, Mason," I whispered.
"But the worst part?" He said and sneered at himself. "I didn't even realize for a few minutes that the other car involved, the other car that my friend had hit? It was my mom."
"Oh, Mason," I pleaded harder, begging him in a whisper to tell me it wasn't true. "Mason, no."
"He died driving drunk, and she was in a coma for a month because she saw my cell phone on the mantel. She was worried I couldn't call her to come get me and that I might try to drive home drunk. So she was coming to get me from that party."
I let the tears come then, unable to dam them back any longer. He turned to look at me and moved his unoccupied hand to wipe under my eye. "When she woke up after that month, she could remember things from her life, but could retain no new memories. Every day since then, over four years ago, when she wakes up in the morning, she believes I'm still nineteen. She doesn't know that she can't remember. She doesn't remember that my little brother Milo left after that, and moved in with a friend because he hates me and blames me for what happened." I bit my lip to stop the sob. "And when we go back inside to say goodbye, she won't remember that she met you, and she won't remember that I told her about the accident."
I lifted one hand to his cheek and just stared at him. Finally, I said, "So you basically have to tell her what happened, every single day. You have to remind her about the accident."
"And she notices that I look older. But what will happen when I look really older? What about when she does? What about her freaking out because she can't figure out why, for her, I'm nineteen one minute and then thirty-five the next?"
"I had no idea," I whispered. "Is that why you started working in physical therapy?"
He nodded. "It was my fault. She was coming so I wouldn’t drive drunk and was almost killed by a drunk driver instead. I had to make amends as much as I could. So I took local classes. Didn't go away to college like I had planned, and I have no life. She is my life," he said with a smile.
I ached for the man. I would have given anything to take that all away from him. "It wasn't your fault."
"Don’t," he recoiled. "Don’t try to make me feel better. That's not why I told you. I brought you out here so you'd see what my life was like. This was another reason that I wanted you to figure things out for yourself before getting too attached to me."
"You think I'd want nothing to do with you because of your mom?"
He swallowed, his eyes full of hope. "Do you? This is my life, Em. I want to make sure you understand that. I work so that I can hire a nurse and pay the bills, but that's it. I'm broke. I'll always be here with her because I can't leave her."
"That makes you honorable and amazing, not someone I'd want nothing to do with," I countered.
&nb
sp; "No, it doesn't, Em," he shouted and stood from the table. He paced in the grass and gripped his hair. "I didn't tell you all of that so you'd kiss me and make it all better, OK?"
"I know. I'm not trying to do that. I just-"
"Can't do this," he growled. "I cannot sit here and listen to you make out like what I did was perfectly fine."
"I'm not-"
"Come on," he ordered and gripped my hand. He gently pulled me up, despite his obvious anger, and he towed me to the back door.
"I don't want to go home yet," I protested.
"I need you to," he said and softened at my obvious look of distress. "Emma, I've got so many things going on in my head right now. Please."
"Fine," I whispered and pushed the door open. I waved to his mom, who looked confused. "Bye, Mrs. Wright."
"Bye, Mariah."
I looked at Mason. Mariah? He squinted at her in confusion. "Who's Mariah, Mom?"
"She is, silly. Now, shh. Price is Right is on."
We left, with me more confused and upset than I was when I got there. He drove me home and I didn't wait for him to say anything. I just got out slowly and walked up the path. He didn't say anything, and he didn't leave. I finally heard him pull away when I shut the front door. Isabella was there, and she wasn't happy. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"Sorry. I'm going to bed."
"That's a good idea," she bit out. "Next time, text me or something. You always texted me when you were going to be late."
"That's great," I mumbled. "An order of guilt with a side of disappointment, please."
"What?" she hissed.
"Nothing. Goodnight."
I threw myself into my bed and texted the contact that said Andy in my phone that I wasn't going to school the next day, so don't bother coming in the morning. But he did come. I told Isabella I wasn't going to school. I needed a break. Instead, I thought about all the things Mason had revealed last night. I looked up the accident on the internet and read the newspaper article.
After sitting there all day, wondering what I'd said to Mason to make him so upset, I'd had enough of stewing there.