Without a Doubt (31 page)

Eva,

I'm assuming you know about me, who I am, because Emerson has never been one to lie or keep secrets. If everything has finally happened, Emerson is there with you, reading a letter too. I wanted to explain myself to him and to you because this is going to hit him hard.

My goal was to give Emerson space away from me. Space that gave him the chance of meeting someone like you and falling in love. He needed to know he could be happy without me because I knew I didn't have a future with him.

It hurts to say, yet it makes me so unbelievably happy to know he's in love with you. Maybe he hasn't said it yet, but I knew when he spoke of you, when he was so angry the last time I called, that he had moved on and was happy with you.

Thank you for making him happy. I almost wish I knew the story of you two, but I'm kind of glad I don't since I do still love him. He was always meant to be the person I fell in love with and loved for all of
my
life. But I wasn't who he was supposed to love for all of
his
life.

That's you.

As painful as it is for me, I wanted him to have someone else in his life for the support I know he'll need. When I was first thinking about asking for a break, I kept thinking, if he could've already moved on, then surely it would make it a little easier for him to deal with. That's all I wanted. To make this a little easier for him to handle.

This is where you come in.

He's going to need you because he's finding out that I've died. A month before I asked for the break, I learned I was sick. Sick enough that my parents, my doctors, and I knew without a doubt my future, my life, was limited and I had a countdown clock looming over me. I didn't want Emerson around for my final time. Call me selfish, but I knew I couldn't handle watching him suffering through it. His happiness is what mattered the most to me and I knew that if I let him stay with me, my last memories wouldn't be of his smile and his happiness. If I let him stay, it would take that much longer for him to find it after I was gone.

So, I asked for a break and prayed every day he would find someone to make him happy, someone who could be there for him when he learned the news, someone who could get him through this without it breaking him.

My prayers were answered in the form of you.

Please take care of him and love him as much as he loves you. Being on the receiving end of his love is a never ending high and there's nothing in this world that feels as good. Cherish it. Cherish him. He deserves it. And believe me, he'll return whatever you give him tenfold. Emerson's an amazing man, but I'm sure you already know that.

I hope I haven't caused problems between you with my calls. I just needed to know he was happy before my time here was up.

And he is.

Thank you,

Kelly

I finish reading just as Emerson falls to his knees next to me. The paper is cackling as it shakes in his hand. His shoulders are shaking and a tortured sob escapes his mouth, ripping my heart to shreds. I kneel next to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, hoping he'll accept my comfort instead of pushing it away.

He doesn't even notice me.

His letter is much longer than mine, but I avoid looking at the words. They aren't for me. His mom has returned to her seat next to her husband and they both look torn up over this.

God, she's dead?

What is this going to do to Emerson? What if he can't recover from this?

The letter falls from his hand. He doesn't pick it up, so I wonder if he dropped it on purpose.

“I'm so sorry,” I whisper.

My voice snaps him out of it. When he glances at me, my heart crumbles. He's heartbroken and I'm not sure what I can do to help. If I can help. He stands, my arms having no choice but to let him go, and he rushes through the house. I grab both of our letters and set them on the coffee table. The backdoor slams as I'm about to go after him.

“Let him have a few moments to himself,” his mother tells me.

That's the last thing I feel like I should do. Ignoring her, I follow him outside. He's hunched over on the swing, looking much like I found him after I caught the tail-end of their second phone call. His hands are in his hair, gripping tightly. He looks up when I'm about a foot away. His eyes are red, his cheeks stained with tears.

Emerson leans back and holds out a hand to me. That one action lets me know that no matter how bad it gets, things will be okay. I take it and he pulls me to sit sideways in his lap, burying his face in my neck as he wraps his arms around my waist. His hold is almost too tight, but I don't say a word. I sit still, stroking his hair at his nape while he cries.

There's too much going on in my head. I don't know what to think about first. That his ex is dead? That she didn't tell him about her illness? That she's positive he's in love with me? Ugh. I slam down all my thoughts and focus on Emerson.

We're outside for about half an hour when he lifts his head. My neck is cold from his tears and the frigid air. I wipe away the tears from his cheeks. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do either. I've never had anyone close to me die before. I'm clueless in these situations.

“I need to see her parents,” his voice cracks.

I nod. Does he want to go alone or does he want me to go with him? I wish I knew what to do as clearly as I knew I needed to follow him out here.

“Come with me?” he asks, his blue eyes plead with me to say yes.

I nod again, not trusting myself to speak. This is not the time to accidentally say something stupid. He squeezes his eyes closed and rests his forehead against mine. Once he's collected himself, his hands go to my hips and he pushes me up to stand. We walk inside, hand in hand, and Emerson tells his parents where we're going and that we'll be back.

Not a word is spoken on the short drive to Kelly's house. When we park, I realize we pass this house every time we come here. There's only one car in the driveway today. Emerson holds my hand like it's his lifeline and I worry about losing blood flow.

The door opens before he can knock. The woman looks like an older version of Kelly. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she smiles when she sees us. We step inside and she hugs Emerson.

“She didn't want anyone to know,” she whispers to him. “She loved you so much.” His grip tightens and I know he's fighting to hold his composure. She pulls away and turns to me. “You must be Eva.” I gulp, nodding. I wasn't expecting her to know my name, or know about me at all. The woman hugs me as well. “Thank you for coming.” She leads us to the kitchen, and we sit at the table. “Her service will be Wednesday afternoon.”

“We'll be here,” Emerson assures her.

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything we can do?” There's a desperation in his tone, like he's begging her to say yes, to put him to work.

She shakes her head. “I feel like everything has been planned and set in motion for so long now; it's just a matter of getting it done. Thank you though.” She takes a deep breath, glancing at me before settling her gaze on Emerson. “We fought twice as much as you two did over her asking for a break. I didn't agree with how she wanted to handle it, but you knew Kelly. Once her mind was set, there wasn't much you could do to change it.” She speaks so lovingly and I can't help but hurt with every past-tense verb. I wish I could have met her. How messed up is that?

“But she loved you more than anything and she felt sure it was for the best for you both. She couldn't stand the thought of you watching her slip away,” she chokes up, wiping away a tear. “She wanted you to be happy, Emerson, and that was her way of making it happen. She was willing to sacrifice her time with you to do so.

“And she didn't tell anyone. She hid it because she didn't want word getting back to you. We didn't know how long it would be, but we knew it was coming. Kelly wanted things to be as normal as possible for herself and for everyone else. She died satisfied and that's all I care about.”

Emerson's hand is squeezing the life out of mine. He's trying not to break down again and hell, even I'm holding back tears. He swallows hard multiple times as Kelly's mother pats the hand he has resting on the table. “Did she tell you she was calling me?” His voice is broken and he's never seemed more vulnerable, more childlike, and lost than he does right now.

Her mother nods. “She wanted to make sure you were happy.”

“Did she...” Emerson squeezes his eyes closed. “Did she say anything after our last conversation?” He can't stop the tears streaming down his face and it hits me. He went off on her; that's what he said. Guilt must be eating him alive.

She nods again. “She was upset at first, but Emerson, she couldn't stop smiling when she realized what it meant. She kept saying, 'Mom, he called her his girl.' In the end, she was thrilled you asked her to stop. She told me she could do as you asked.” Emerson frowns with confusion and she continues, “She was able to be happy and live the rest of her life, Emerson. I wish I could say I was sorry for the way things have happened, but,” she glances at me again, “considering my daughter's dying wish was granted, I can't say it.”

Emerson nods and stands, inadvertently dragging me with him since he hasn't let go of my hand. Mrs. Price stands as well and hugs him. Emerson hugs her tightly with one arm.

“We need to go,” he tells her. “If there's anything you need, please let me know, okay?”

She pats his cheek lovingly. “Thank you. I love you, you know?”

“I know. I love you, too.”

She moves to hug me. “Take care of him,” she says quietly.

“I will and I'm so sorry for your loss.”

She stands back, gives me a short nod, and then we're leaving. Emerson hands me the keys when we get close to the truck. He shakes his head, opening the driver's door and scooting over to the passenger side. I stare at him. He wants me to drive?

“Please,” he whispers, his eyes on the house.

This is not the time to be freaking out, but I've never driven a truck before. All I can think about is how Emerson said women can't drive them, how he didn't want me to drive his, but he would let me if I asked and now, I have to because he can't. I never wanted to drive his truck.

With shaky hands, I manage to stick the key in the ignition. I want to ask him if he's sure about this, but I can't.

“To your parents?” I ask instead.

“No, let's go home.”

I gulp and with great caution, I back out of the driveway. I'm careful and barely drive over the speed limit. Emerson doesn't say a word the entire two-hour drive to his apartment. My mind is an endless loop of worries. He's not okay. Who would be? I just don't like that I don't know how to make things better.

The only thing I know is I hate driving his truck. It's too big. I'm too high off the ground. The hood seems to go on forever. I hate why I have to drive the truck and I feel guilty for being upset. My stomach drops as I realize I'm going to have to park this massive beast. Sorry, Sweet Irene, but you're a bitch. Somehow, I'm able to park it decently enough that I don't have to back out and try again.

I turn the engine off. Emerson doesn't move to get out. He's staring out the window.

“We're here,” I say, feeling stupid for pointing out the obvious. He blinks and glances around as if he's just realized we've stopped. My shoulders droop. Damn it, this isn't good. I don't know if I need to give him space now or not. I don't know if I should ask. His phone rings. He frowns and hands it to me. It's his mom. I answer, explaining that we came home instead of going back like we said we would. She tells me to take care of him and I want to scream.

How?

How am I supposed to take care of him?

His ex-girlfriend, former best friend, and former love of his life, is
dead
. She went off and died without telling him until after it was over. How am I supposed to help him?

I hand his phone back to him. He takes it and gets out of the truck. I follow, handing him his keys. Maybe he needs space. Time alone. Emerson turns to walk away.

“I'll see you later,” I say to his back, feeling defeated and despising that I'm at a loss as to how to handle this.

Emerson spins around. His expression is blank and I hate that too. “Where are you going?”

“I...um...” Maybe leaving is a bad idea.

“I don't want you to go, Eva,” he says softly, holding out his hand.

I step forward and take it. When we get inside, he lets go, walking to the fridge in the kitchen. I slip off my shoes and sit on the couch. Emerson brings me a beer, already nursing one himself. My stomach is in knots. We haven't eaten at all today. He lies down, resting his head in my lap. I start playing with his hair.

“Do you want me to fix dinner? You should probably eat.” Now that I've realized it, I'm starving.

“Not hungry,” he mutters.

“Please, Emerson. Let me cook for you.”

He huffs, sitting up so I can stand. I feel bad for annoying him, but he needs to eat. Then again, I rather have annoyance than the blank stare he had earlier. He has some pork chops in the fridge, so I grab them and get to work.