Freedom (37 page)

“It’s very generous. I never expected you to spend this kind of money, though. It wasn’t necessary.”

“I don’t want you living in a dump. And, Emma, I don’t think you’re aware that I have equity in the company. Not as much as Carson, of course, but I have a percentage as an investor, so I do make a nice living. I’m not rich, but I’m not broke, either. I can afford the furniture, and I plan on buying the house from Leo. He and I already discussed it… unless you’d rather find a different house.”

“Oh. No, I like this house,” she says with an uncharacteristic shyness.

I can tell she’s fairly surprised by this news and is most likely thinking that there is now a shift in the income paradigm, and that we will be owners instead of renters. She liked thinking we were on equal footing, financially, therefore I’ll have to figure out how to convince her that what’s mine is hers.

When I go back into the kitchen to take my meds with a glass of water, for a split second, I have a bad sense that she is not really here. That I’ve imagined falling in love with this remarkable girl that turned my world upside down. I put the water glass down on the counter and walk back into the dining room. She is very real. She’s standing behind her chair, patiently waiting for me.

“I forgot to tell you something. It’s something you should have heard from me a while ago,
out loud
,” she says.

“Uh, huh.” As I walk slowly towards her, her ramrod posture makes me a little suspicious. I don’t have the energy if she’s going to surprise me with one of her Bruce Lee moves.

“I love you, Dylan Blackard. Very much.”

That stops me. I guess I didn’t expect to hear it any time soon. I thought it would be a long, drawn out work-in-progress, like therapy with Dr. Wang.

“Well?” She tilts her head and smiles at what must be my odd, confused expression.

“Yes,” I respond. “I agree completely.”

She laughs. “You should see your face. You’re so cute.”

“You surprised me,” I reply, closing in on her in one long stride and eagerly putting my hands on her waist.

“Oh, I’m not done. There’s more.”

“Is it as good as the first part?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to propose?” I laugh.

“Not yet. We just got new furniture. Let’s start with that.” She strokes my cheek.

“Tell me.” My confidence is bolstered enough that I don’t care what she says next. It could be an admission to having five ex-husbands, and I wouldn’t care.

“When I broke up with Robert, I thought he loved himself more than me because we couldn’t seem to get away from his family. I knew I could never accept his situation, and I blamed him,
unfairly
. It turns out that I come from the same crappy kind of family. I want to put all of that behind me, though. I want a guy who loves me more than anyone or anything. I may sound selfish, but I know I want someone who is devoted to me and can’t see his life any other way.”

“That’s me, baby. All the way.”

“Good, because I can get kind of ornery and rough when things don’t go my way.”

“I like that about you, but we’re also going to have to agree on some issues.”

“I’m listening.”

“You can’t avoid your family and pretend they don’t exist. When you’re ready, we’re going to see your dad in prison—you need to talk to him. And we’re making a trip to Florida at some point so you can spend time with your mom and grandmother. I’ll be with you, babe, through it all.”

“Oh,” she groans skeptically. “Okay. And that means you’re going to call Brian’s wife, Katy, and you’re going to talk to her because you need it, and it would be nice for her to hear from someone that cared about her husband.”

“You’re right. I’m going to do that.”

I maneuver her rear end against the edge of the table and keep her in a snug embrace.

“And I want you to be sure you understand what you’re getting into with me.” As I kiss her cheek, her big, brown eyes are filled with acceptance.

“The pills and the doctors are forever. I will never be cured. I’ll be better, but don’t assume this all goes away sometime. It never does. I have to live with my illness and manage it for the rest of my life. You make it easier to do that, in every way. I love you beyond belief, and that helps me, but there may be a time when I need more help. I hope not, but you should be aware that it’s a possibility. If this is too much of a burden for you and you don’t want to be a part of this, I understand.”

“Okay, well, it’s official. Dylan Blackard, you are crazy. If you think I can’t handle being with you because of your illness, you’ve sorely underestimated me.”

My breath escapes me in a rushed sigh of relief.

“I have to make sure you understand me, Emma. Do not offer me sympathy. Do not pity me or my past in any way. Love me. That is all I want—it’s all I need.”

There’s a heavy silence.

“I love you.” Her stare is unflinching.

“Good.” I lean in to give her a long, slow kiss and then she pulls back.

“And you forgot about my burden that you’ll inherit. I’ll forever be associated with mobsters. As long as there is easy access to the information on the Internet, my name will come up, linked to the Marchetto family and Daniel Keller. Eventually more people will know, and I’m not talking about the nice people in Hera. It will probably haunt me forever, and people will want to ask a lot of questions.”

“You can change your name.”

“You mean, do away with Emma Keller all together? Or I suppose I could go by one name, just Emma. Like Beyoncè or Cher.” She laughs.

“Or you could be Emma Blackard.” I smile when she gapes.

“It’s too soon for that, Dylan.” Her voice is soft like she’s singing to me. “But I love you, and I want that to be part of our future. I do.”

“Me, too.” I can barely speak as my heart swells and pounds against my chest. I didn’t think I’d turn into a sap over this, but I am. “Why me, Emma? Why do you love me?”

“You’re easy to love. I feel amazing when I’m with you. You know what it’s like to walk outside into the warm spring sunshine after a long, bleak, cold winter? That feeling of the sun new and hot on your skin as it warms your cold bones, and suddenly the darkness is gone. You feel really good… It’s pure happiness… You’re my sun, Dylan.”

“I love you, too,” I say more assertively. “But I’m not a poet. I can’t match your words unless you want me to sing something from Bon Jovi, maybe ‘Shot Through the Heart’?”

Emma laughs and shakes her head.

“No, that’s probably not the best choice. Maybe ‘Living On A Prayer’?”

“No, no singing.” She grins.

“Really? I could recite the lyrics to one of those Katy Perry tunes you like. I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire,” I deadpan.

Emma laughs. “Please, no.”

I kiss her neck.

“I like the kissing,” she adds.

“I think we should christen the table,” I say, trailing kisses down her neck.

I lift her onto the table and slowly lay her down on her back with part of my weight on top of her. As she’s about to speak, I catch her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. She moans and tugs at my clothing. While I pull off my shirt, she wriggles out of her jeans and unbuttons her shirt.

Suddenly, I am slightly nervous. It hasn’t occurred to me that this would happen so soon with Emma. I didn’t really believe that I could tell her I love her and that I come with a lifetime of an unpredictable illness, and that she would then agree to this so easily. I assumed she would be encouraging and willing to give it a try, which wouldn’t be difficult since we are already living together. From my perspective, I counted on it being a long-term relationship that could end badly if I blew it by getting in another fight, a bout of never-ending despair, or worse, she would realize she could never really love me.

I have underestimated her and us. I’ve definitely hit the mother lode with her. She loves me and she considers marriage as part of our future. And I have her naked, spread eagle on our new table.
Hell, yes.

Epilogue

Dylan

This year has gone by too fast. I’ve tried to savor every moment and memory with Emma, but it seems we’re always making new ones.

We made several trips to the prison in New Jersey to see her father. They spent a good portion of their time staring at each other, saying nothing. It wasn’t hostility that separated them—it was disappointment. Eventually, Emma’s father made a request for some books he wanted to read, and that little mission of assembling his reading list gave her something relevant to do for him. Over several months, they began to talk about her job, living in Hera, the books she was reading, and working with her growing list of wholesale customers. They were very careful, however, never to discuss anything related to the Marchetto family to spoil their father-daughter time together, which seemed like something new and precious to them.

I also booked two separate weeks in Boca and went with Emma to visit her mother and grandmother in Florida. Grandmothers love me, and true to form, I discovered I could do no wrong in her eyes. Emma’s mother was kind to me, but much more closed off. I fixed things around her mother’s new condo, cooked some nice meals, carried their umbrellas and gear to the beach, and drove them to the mall. I was the all-around handyman and chauffer. On top of that, Grandma Rose kept pinching my ass, saying I was so handsome that Emma better snatch me up and marry me now. I gave Emma pointed, little amused looks over that.

I would marry her in a second, but I think Grandma Rose really likes me because she knows I’m not going anywhere. Emma is it for me.

Emma gave me a few surprises of her own. One day I came home to find that a commercial range and fridge had been installed. She had Carson take her out to shop and negotiate a price on the restaurant quality equipment, and she used her new bonus to pay them off. She said she wanted to make sure I would stick around because she really liked having a personal chef. All I know is, I was cooking non-stop for that woman, whatever she wanted. Sometimes, I had eight gas burners going and the commercial-grade fridge with glass doors was fully stocked and organized the way I wanted. So I started taking Dr. Wang’s advice, and we began entertaining people at our home. We had the furniture, the kitchen equipment, and the annoying, adoring hosts who can’t keep their hands off each other.

It didn’t end there, either. Each day, week and month got better and better. I fell more in love with Emma. On Halloween, I took her to the evening festivities at Sleepy Hollow where we did the scary night tour through the cemetery. Then we went to the nearby Philipsburg Manor for the Horseman’s Hollow event with the creepy, dark creatures that shifted in and out of the nighttime special effects landscape. Emma let out a blood-curdling scream when the Headless Horseman rode through, and I laughed as I held her. I knew she was mine, I had no uncertainties anymore. That evening was when I began to think of us in terms of being married.

That piece of paper won’t change much considering we’re already spending twenty-four hours a day together, yet it is important to me to let the world validate what I have with Emma. I am stubborn or maybe old-fashioned that way.

***

And now, it’s late spring again and our one-year anniversary of living together is tomorrow. Lois is holding one of her big garden parties, a casual event where half the town comes out to gush over her elaborate architectural masterpiece of a garden. It is like a mini version of the gardens at Versailles except hers are next to a cottage instead of a castle. Only Lois and Archie know what Emma and I have planned for the party.

After everyone enjoys getting lost in the garden mazes and eating plates of barbeque ribs and chicken, drinking under the white lights Lois has strung across the trees, she asks everyone to shut up. Most are laughing at Lois’s direct approach, but that stops when they see Emma and I walking hand in hand up to the porch where Archie’s friend, a judge from a nearby town, is waiting on the top step. Lois comes forward with a bouquet of flowers for Emma to hold. It’s in that moment that we hear gasps from the guests.

I am dressed like every other guy here—in jeans—but I have at least worn a white button-down shirt instead of my usual t-shirt. Emma is wearing a white, cotton dress that falls below her knees along with sandals.

We walk to the base of the stairs and the judge stands just a few steps above us with Lois and Archie behind him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carson stand up from his table. He reaches for Jess’s hand and they walk over to stand behind us. Everyone else follows their lead until we have about two hundred people standing up to witness our wedding.

There is no introduction, everyone knows what is happening. The judge gives the standard vows because Emma has insisted she doesn’t want flowery words, especially since I struggle with attempts at being poetic. She only wants simple gold bands and
“I do.”

When I bend down for our kiss to seal the deal, the crowd begins cheering and applauding. I am caught up in the fervor, and instead of a simple kiss, I pull Emma into a bear hug and give her a proper kiss that shows how I really feel. After she’s released, she launches her bouquet somewhere and stands on tiptoe to wrap her arms around my neck. Camera flashes begin going off and surround us with blinding light before we finally part and face our admirers.

“Let’s toast the couple!” Archie exclaims, raising a champagne flute.

“To the sexy couple!” Imogene screams drunkenly, waving the bridal bouquet and a bottle of champagne with joy.

Emma smiles at me, and I am lost in a liberating rapture. I believe this is what it feels like to walk towards freedom. It won’t always be like this—I expect some dark with the light—but I am going to try like hell to breathe life into every single day I get to share with Emma.

Acknowledgments

Much love and gratitude goes to my family for supporting my writing endeavors, even when I become unbearable.

A big thank you to my early readers: Jooge, Trisha Hudson, and author, Nikki Young. I appreciate the time they put into my book and their enthusiastic encouragement.