Freedom (33 page)

I’m using Dr. Wang’s tactic of talking about it in past tense, so I don’t confuse that person with who I hope I am today. God, I hope I know what I’m doing. I keep up a good front with Emma, but inside, I still question every move and thought I make.

We are not staying holed up in this place, though. I am getting Emma out for the day, away from the giant TV that looms in our room like a messenger from hell. I saw how tempted she was last night to turn it on again and surf the cable news stations, looking for reports on her father’s supposed impending arrest. Nope, I am breaking Cooper’s rules; I don’t care if they came endorsed by Carson with gold stars branded on Cooper’s ass. We are getting out, at least for the day.

I do an hour of sit-ups and push-ups then I finally wake her up from a very groggy sleep. After what she has been through, I should let her snooze all day, however I am getting antsy, and without being able to run or lift weights, I can only do so much exercising in the room while she sleeps.

It is cute watching her drool on the pillow, so I decide to wake her up gently with a few tickles. She sleep-punches me in the shoulder and scissor kicks my chest. Hell, whoever trained this girl prepared her to be ambushed.

Without letting her emasculate me further, I haul her into the bathroom while she apologizes profusely. I make her rush through a quick shower and put on the only clean clothes we have left, jeans and t-shirts, which are fine for what I have planned.

***

“Are you sure this is safe?” Emma asks as I speed Carson’s BMW through Tarrytown.

“Absolutely. You’re with me.” Hiding behind my sunglasses, I give her my best confident smile.

Her face is pale with the kind of fatigue that comes from sleeping after a long crying jag. She’s not wearing any make-up, and the way she looks is luminous to me, even on this overcast, gray day.

As we slow down and drive through an open gate, I notice there aren’t any other cars. Good—no tourists, so Emma and I have this place all to ourselves.

“Where are we?” she asks, looking up the hill at the gravestones that are shrouded in a surreal, green foliage of trees.

“Sleepy Hollow,” I reply.

When I get out of the car and walk around to open her door, she has a befuddled expression as she takes in the lush greenery.

“It’s a cemetery.” She looks at me questioningly.

“Yes, but it’s special. You’ll see.”

“Are your parents buried here?” she asks softly.

“No. I haven’t been here in a long time, but I remember it being nice even though it’s a cemetery. And it looks like there aren’t any tourists today. Come on.”

I hold out my hand and she takes it cautiously. I walk her up Sleepy Hollow Avenue and then turn onto Lincoln Avenue. From up here it is a sea of old tombstones and mausoleums under the cover of ancient trees, blanketing us with a bright green shield from the gray sky.

Emma surveys the vast, dense cemetery. “It’s breathtaking. It looks like something out of an old, English novel. You’d never guess we’re ten minutes from the interstate. Why are we here?”

I keep her moving on the small paths that weave around the graves.

“It’s quiet and peaceful. And it’s nicer than the hotel room. We needed to get out of there, and I remembered that this place is close by.”

“It’s like something out of a storybook, really. The trees are so thick and green, and with the moss on the stones… I almost expect to see werewolves, vampires or trolls.”

I laugh. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“No, it is. This is like being in a dream, I suppose, because we’re here alone. It’s nice.”

I hold her hand firmly as we walk along the paths, silently reading the tombstones.

“Here, check this one out,” I say as we stop in front of a black iron gate that surrounds a small headstone.

“Irving,” Emma reads out loud.

“Washington Irving,” I add. “As in Ichabod Crane and
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.
”

Her eyes pop in delightful surprise.

“So you really did bring me to a magical place.”

“My mom brought me here a few times. Just the two of us. It was magical to me. I’ve shared a lot of dismal things with you, and I thought for a change I could show you something good from my past.”

“Oh, Dylan. Thank you.”

As she wraps her arms around my waist and hugs me, I nestle my fingers in her hair and kiss the top of her head. I have never shared this place with anyone, not even Carson. This was my private place with my mother when she let me play hooky from school a few times and we would come here. She was sick then, but not showing signs of her cancer. She used the time to tell me about growing up and all the things I could be. My mother didn’t know I would become sick in my own way and spend years undoing everything she tried to prepare me for.

“It’s my pleasure to do something for you. Not everything about my childhood was miserable. There were moments of light and good times. You have those, too, even if it seems really dark right now.”

When she sighs against my chest, I hope it is contentment or relief. Then she extricates her warm, little body from mine, still holding my hand, and continues walking, stopping at a fork in the path, contemplating which route to take. As she leads me aimlessly through the maze of curving walkways with no destination in mind, I realize I could do this all day with her, every day.

“This way,” I say when I recognize a structure. “There’s a mausoleum. We can sit on the steps.”

We round the corner of the small building. “William Rockefeller,” Emma says, reading the name engraved in concrete at the base of the mausoleum. “No wonder it’s the biggest one here.”

I sit on the top step and pull her down next to me.

“I remember sitting here with my mom. That’s when she told me she was too sick and couldn’t get better. I told her to ask the doctor for the thick, pink medicine that tastes like bubble gum because it always made Carson and me better when we were sick.”

Emma smiles at that.

“My mom laughed and said it wasn’t that easy. We didn’t talk about her dying after that. She wanted to pretend that she was a regular, healthy mom, like all the other moms at our school, and my father preferred living in denial.”

“Do you and Carson talk about your parents a lot?” She holds my arm, resting her head against my shoulder.

“No. Never. Maybe he talks to Jess about them, though. In a way, it’s easier to tell you than to relive it with Carson.” I pick up her hand and it looks so small in mine. I turn her palm over and caress it before clasping it in both of my hands. “I like talking to you. This feels good.”

She kisses my shoulder. “I like this, too. And you do have some nice memories after all.”

“Sure. So do you.”

“Some, but nothing that’s worth talking about while we’re waiting to hear about my father… or Robert. I hate to think about what will happen next.”

“You mean if your dad goes to prison?”

“Cooper made that sound like it’s a given, and I guess after thinking about this for the last ten hours, I’m not as surprised as I thought I’d be. I’m uneasy about us. Cooper was adamant about us staying put in the hotel room. It’s sweet that you wanted to get me out of there and brighten this lousy day, but—”

“Don’t you think I can handle this? I’m not afraid of your old entourage from Jersey. I can take anything or anyone that comes our way.”

“Dylan, they have guns.”

“They don’t need murder added to their long list of charges.”

“I’m pretty sure Vinnie Marchetto is already accountable for a few deaths,” she responds glumly.

“True. And Cooper is probably aware of this, and even so, he wouldn’t tell us if he did know.”

“So, you think we’re safe?”

“Yes. You and I have nothing on Marchetto, and maybe you were their bait to lead them to Robert, but we know that’s irrelevant now since Robert has turned over the evidence he has.”

“We have to hope Marchetto comes to the same conclusion.”

“Emma, Marchetto is not out hunting you down. A bunch of guys aren’t going to show up in this little cemetery looking for Carson’s marketing assistant.” I laugh because the whole idea sounds ridiculous. “I’m staying away from Hera to humor Carson and Cooper, but we’re safe. I’d never let anything happen to you, and I’m fairly certain that you’d literally kick the shit out of any guy that tried to attack me.”

“I would,” she says, proudly. “And if Cooper hadn’t confiscated my switchblade, I could—oh, never mind.”

“I seriously cannot imagine what defensive skills you have been taught. Someday you’ll have to tell me everything. Or show me.” I smile.

She shrugs innocently, which makes me chuckle again. She is more at ease and seems to be enjoying our nonsensical excursion. I drag her back off her keister and then press a quick kiss to her lips because I need it and the relief it provides.

“We’re not finished. I want to show you something else. My mom always saved the best for last.”

We go back down to Sleepy Hollow Avenue which sometimes has a few cars cruising at slow speeds, but today it is empty as we walk along the narrow Pocantico
River until we come to an old, wooden bridge.

“Well what do you think?” I ask, looking at the bridge.

“It’s a bridge. Are we going to walk across it?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Really? Think, Emma. Where are we?”

“Sleepy Hollow Cemetery… because you have a thing for old graves?”

“No. Yes, but whose grave did you see up there? Who wrote that great story—the one my mother would read to me all the time? I was so freaked out; I thought the Headless Horseman was hiding in my closet. I loved that scary shit when I was a kid.”

“This is the actual Headless Horseman Bridge?” She lights up and looks across the worn, wooden slat bridge with railings made out of tree limbs.

It is maybe twenty-five feet across the small river, and it opens into a dense forest on the other side. It is a quiet, secluded spot. Emma’s right; it’s like something out of a kid’s storybook. We’re alone in this green fortress of solitude with only the sound of the babbling river water a few feet below the bridge.

“Yeah. Well, actually, I don’t think it’s the original. It looks pretty authentic, though. We’ll have to come back on Halloween when they do this place up big with spooks.”

She glances at me knowingly, understanding that I am making long term plans with her since Halloween is five months away and I am already scheduling our social events. Then she stops walking in the center of the bridge and leans over the railing to study the shallow water below which really looks more like a wide brook.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” she says. “And sharing that story about you and your mother, and for trying to distract me from my bleak thoughts.”

I press against her back, reaching an arm around her, right under her chin, kissing the side of her face.

“I wish I could make this better for you, give you back the parents you thought you had, or wanted… I wish I knew what to do for you,” I respond, taking in the amazing scent of her skin.

“You are making it better. If I wasn’t here with you, I’d be sitting with Lauren and Imogene, blubbering. Lauren would remind me how awful my life was and that I’m better off alone instead of being surrounded by criminals. This is nicer.”

She turns around in my arms and pulls my head down for a kiss. Her tongue is light at first as she traces and nips at my lips, but then she’s insistent, driving farther into my mouth, hungrily, as if she is mimicking a wild sex romp. Maybe if I’d had my usual morning run, I would have more restraint; however, since I spent the night and morning watching her sleep—my drooling, snoring, beautiful, ninja princess—yeah, I am turned on.

Nothing shows more weakness than getting turned on while the person you desire is grieving or in a state of misery, I think. Then again, I have shown more discipline with Emma than anyone else—ever—and it’s not as if we snuck off from a funeral to hook up. I want to keep her safe and make her happy. I also want her, and she has been giving me the green light since last night. I can only say no so many times before I have to say yes.

Her hand rubs the front of my jeans, cupping my groin.

“See? You totally want me.” She gives me one of those evil, Catwoman smiles again.

“There was never a question about that. It was about timing,” I quip as my hard-on grows under her hand.

I grab her thrill-seeking hand and stalk off to the other side of the bridge, going off the path until we come to a large tree with a massive trunk, something to use as leverage. I have a lot of things on my mind, and by now, I am used to not being able to shut it off, but my libido is the loudest beast in my brain at the moment.

When I push Emma’s back gently up against the tree and kiss her thoroughly, it is better than the kiss on the bridge. I am completely taking her mouth as I pin her against the tree with my hard groin. My hands roam up underneath her t-shirt, fondling her nipples that instantly peak, causing her to moan.

We are not about to discuss whether this is the appropriate time as we wordlessly undress. Emma shimmies her jeans and panties down to her ankles and I pull one of her legs up, gripping her underneath her thigh and squeezing her ass. My jeans and briefs are low enough so my cock springs free. Emma pulls a condom from my wallet, and I roll it on in record time while still holding her leg up. She’s exposed to me, out here in this mythical forest of ours. She’s like a naked nymph, begging me to take her. And I do.

I want possession of her body and heart. I want it all.

As I lift her higher so I can thrust up into her, driving harder, her tight muscles constrict around me, and I stifle my desire to shout as I keep pumping into her. Her hands grip my head and shoulders tightly so my mouth can’t escape hers. I am pummeling all of my pent up frustration, doubts and love into her. Everything I feel for her cannot be defined by one solitary event or emotion. It is a culmination of who I am, who she is, and who we are together.

Lust-driven images of Emma excite me. Then thoughts of Brian making the decision to leave his wife and son depress and infuriate me. I can’t imagine how I could leave Emma like that. My brain is a fucking blender of these conflicting emotions as I fill her with everything I have. I could never end my life, not with Emma in it.