One of Emma’s friends pointed to the oversized industrial clock on the wall, and Emma lifted her arm and showed Coach her watch. From a distance, Brad and his friends worked to keep their laughter down as Garrison shook his head. “Ten minutes early is late around here. You know that.”
Gradually, between stifled bouts of laughter and outrage, the girls lowered themselves to the floor and did twenty push-ups. Emma finished first, and as she stood, Garrison grinned and gave her a note. “You passed the first test. Report to Coach Black’s history class.” He pointed to the door. “Hurry. You have five minutes.”
The girls looked at each other, not sure if he was serious. Emma started in with a question about whether this was a joke or some new physical fitness test.
Garrison only shrugged. “Four minutes.”
The guys found a hiding place at the back of Black’s classroom, where the girls were instructed to stand at the front of the room and sing the first verse and chorus of “Achy Breaky Heart,” and when they passed that station, they had to dance the Mac-arena for Coach Wilson’s math class.
A trip to the gym for twenty free throws, and finally Coach Baker pulled three Wilmington High jerseys from a box. He handed one to each of the girls. Emma’s had Brad’s number, and in a rush the girls understood what was happening. At that exact moment, Brad and his friends walked through a side door each carrying a single long-stemmed rose.
Brad remembered how his eyes found Emma’s instantly, how there was a knowing that they would hold onto this day forever, and how neither of them looked away as he walked to her. Joy and laughter shone in her pretty eyes as she took the flower and moved into his arms.
“You big dork,” she whispered. “I can’t make free throws.”
“I know.” He pressed his cheek against hers, loving the way the smell of her shampoo mixed with a hint of her perfume. They both laughed, and he leaned back so he could see her eyes again. He asked her to the prom, and slowly his laughter gave way to the dizziness he felt being near her, the intoxicating way she made him feel back then.
The memory led to others and the flight passed in a blur. His dad met him at the airport, dressed to the nines as usual. “Bradley. You doing okay?”
“Not really.” He hesitated. “Scared, I guess.” Now that he was being honest, he wanted to tell the truth about everything. Especially to the people he loved. “After all this time … she must hate me.”
“No.” His dad shook his head. “I used to watch that girl when she was around you. She could never hate you.” He gave Brad a strong hug. “You’ll get through this. I know you will.” He stopped and punctuated the air with his finger. “By the way, I rented you a Jeep. Thought it might be more comfortable than the truck.”
As long as he lived, Brad would never completely understand his father, the kindness of the man and the unique ways he had of expressing his love. “Dad … you didn’t have to do that. Your truck would’ve been fine.”
“That’s alright. I won a rebate in a sweepstake. Only had to pay the tax for the weekend rental.”
“Okay, then.”
“It’s a nice Jeep. Good color. Deep sort of a blue.”
So there it was. Brad would return to Holden Beach in a rented deep blue Jeep, compliments of his father’s sweepstakes habit. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot. You thinking of me and all.”
“Besides, I want to load up the old truck for some metal hunting this weekend. People leave all sorts of things over the holiday.”
“True.” Brad smiled to himself. The subject of Emma didn’t come up again on the drive home or the rest of the night. His mom cooked chicken and zucchini on the Finley grill, and while Brad was setting the table he noticed a package of Kotton Kids pajamas and blankets on the china hutch. “Dad?”
“Now, Bradley.” His father’s conviction was unwavering. “I believe in your future. I have to support your work.”
Brad normally would’ve laughed, teased his dad about collecting more items he would never use in the foreseeable future. But instead he went to the small stack and touched the soft cotton. All he could hear was Laura’s question.
Are you a father?
He grabbed a fistful of the blanket and gripped it, trying to find strength in the fibers of the material.
God … I have so much to be sorry for. Prepare Emma’s heart, Father. Please. And let Laura know I still love her.
Old Carl came up beside him. Like other pivotal times in Brad’s life, his dad didn’t say anything or offer a lecture on past mistakes. He merely put his hand on Brad’s shoulder. “I’m here, Son.” His voice was quiet, so that from the kitchen, Brad’s mom wouldn’t notice anything unusual. His dad gave him a couple of firm pats. “If you need me this weekend, I’m here.”
Brad nodded and gave his dad a side hug. Dinner was served, and after a little conversation with his parents, he went to his old room and turned in. Tomorrow he would see Emma Landon for the first time in nine years. Would she take one look at him and turn away, or would she listen? He had the feeling she would listen. Because maybe she needed this closure as much as he did. Brad stared at the ceiling of his room, remembering. He had blocked much of the memory of that terrible Saturday from his mind, the time in the clinic, the hurt in her eyes when she came back to the waiting room. But he remembered her asking only one thing of him on the way home.
“Please, Brad … don’t stop loving me. Please don’t stop.”
Her cry haunted him often through the years, but he’d never found the courage to act on it. Now, though, his buddy’s words came back to him. Emma Landon, living alone. A quiet type. The picture made him wonder if she wasn’t still somehow in the passenger seat of that car, silently crying on the way home from the clinic that day.
Begging him to never ever stop loving her.
The memory of his cowardly actions stayed with him through the night and sadness woke him up the next morning. Emma deserved so much more than he’d given her. So much more. The day was warm, eighty with at least as much humidity, warmer than usual for the end of May. Brad dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt and spent the day poring over his yearbooks and childhood photographs.
Emma was there for every stage, every milestone.
He was sorting through a box of pictures when he found one that stopped him cold. He was in fourth grade, his chest puffed out, skinny arms and legs sticking out from an Ellis Elementary School shirt and PE shorts. Next to him was Emma, her dark hair hanging in two long ponytails on either side of her face. Between them they held either end of a three-foot section of thick, braided rope.
The memory of that day wrapped its arms around Brad and made him smile. Until that point, he and Emma had constantly fought, bickering and name-calling, chasing each other around the playground the way kids did when they had no other way to express the fact that deep down they liked each other. Monday of that week, Emma ran to the playground supervisor and complained one too many times about Brad chasing her or Brad pulling her ponytail. Some such thing.
“Fine,” the supervisor had said. “I’ll teach you to get along.”
The rope was a trick the staff rarely used, but the supervisor must’ve been tired of mediating. She brought the piece of rope out from the equipment shed and called Emma and Brad to her side. “Here,” she held it out. “You’ll each hold one end of the rope all recess long for the entire week. Whatever you do, you can’t let go of the rope.”
Brad had been humiliated by the punishment. His friends snickered at him and teased him, and Emma’s did the same to her. Still they had no choice but to obey. At first Brad was sure the week was going to be the longest in his life. But by Friday, two things had happened. First, he and Emma were friends.
And second, he was convinced that as long as he lived he would never let go of that rope.
The playground supervisor had taken the photo, vindication that her punishment had worked, and proof of the beginning of a friendship neither of them thought would ever end. Brad stared at the photo, brushing his fingers lightly over the piece of rope that hung between them. He thought he remembered one of the staff members giving them the rope to keep. But he wasn’t sure what had happened to it.
Like everything else about him and Emma.
At one thirty he left home and drove to Holden Beach, south on Seventeen toward the Intracoastal Waterway down Seashore Road. Along the way his sadness became uneasiness and then borderline panic. What was he thinking, reaching out to her now after all these years? She would probably laugh in his face. He doubled his determination and prayed the last few miles.
One more bend in the road, and there it was. The red brick of Jefferson Elementary.
You can do this … You have to do this.
He pulled into the parking lot and something caught his eye, something that made him hit the brakes and stare, disbelieving. There among the other cars was an older model red Cabriolet. The very same one … Emma’s car. He had planned to start at the front office and ask for a visitor’s pass. Walk to her classroom, and maybe wait for her outside in the hallway.
But now that he’d found her car, his plan changed. He parked as close as he could and waited. For the first time he wondered what she’d look like, whether she still had the long, skinny, tanned legs and enormous eyes or whether time had changed that. When she saw him, would she recognize him? He hadn’t changed much, not physically, anyway. Brad settled back into his seat and pictured her, a thousand times with her. Was he really doing this, really about to see Emma Landon? He felt his heart going back, getting ready, bracing itself for whatever was ahead. School was set to let out in twenty minutes.
When it did he’d be waiting.
L
AURA WAS IN THE DINING ROOM
with her mother, and all she could think about was Brad and his trip to North Carolina. She wasn’t sure how long she could keep the truth from her parents. Brad was gone now and she hadn’t talked to him since he left. Which meant what? Was he thinking that maybe she was right? That there was at least a possibility he might fall in love with … with her again? Laura’s mom was at the far end of the dining room table, sorting through wedding invitation responses.
“Not a lot of regrets,” she smiled at Laura.
That depends, she thought.
“I’ll say this,” her mom didn’t seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm. Yours is a wedding no one wants to miss.”
Including me
. She couldn’t keep her heart in one place, couldn’t settle on staying mad at him or missing him so badly she wanted to call him and beg him to come home. Let the past be the past and get back to thinking about the honeymoon. Before it was too late.
From the other side of the house they heard the sound of the garage door. Laura’s mother frowned. “Strange. Your father planned to work late today.”
Laura looked in that direction. If anyone might notice Brad acting out of the ordinary, it was her dad. The two were as close as any father and son, and with Brad taking time off work, Laura had to wonder.
She moved casually toward the garage door, looking over her shoulder at her mother. “Iced tea?”
“Oh,” her mom’s eyes lit up. “I’d love some. You sure you don’t want to help me open these responses?”
“That’s okay.” She smiled. The same worn out smile she’d been wielding since Monday. “You’ve got a system.”
“True.” Her mom looked at the neat stacks in front of her, satisfied with her efforts. “You go say hello to your father and then bring the tea here. Keep me company. I’ve got that PDF of the flower layout. The wedding planner says the florist wants a faxed approval by five.”
Laura was pretty sure she’d scream if her mother brought up one more detail about the wedding. There was no point in all this. The wedding was almost certainly not going to happen. Not with Brad off to spend Memorial Day weekend with his ex-girlfriend.
Her dad walked inside, his briefcase in one hand and a few file folders tucked under his other arm. His steps were slower than usual, and as he saw Laura he lowered his things onto an end table and froze. His lips were slightly parted, his expression dazed, like he’d just witnessed an accident. The kind you remember forever.
“Dad?” At first she thought that’s what must’ve happened. Someone from the firm had been killed or a fire had ripped through the building. His face was etched with that type of shock. But as she came to him, she saw something in his eyes, a compassion aimed straight at her, and suddenly she understood.
He held his hands out to her. His familiar hands — older now, but still strong — her father’s hands. The hands that had lifted her and swung her around when she was a little girl and tucked her gently into bed so many nights. She took hold of them and spoke in a voice that was barely audible. “You know?”
“Yes.” The kindness in his expression grew. “Brad came in early this morning. Before his flight.” For a long moment he searched her eyes. “He told me everything.”
Laura felt her chin quiver. She looked down for a long moment and wondered if maybe she’d faint or fall over dead from the humiliation and pain. But a truth became gradually clear as she stood there. Her father wasn’t falling apart. He wasn’t launching into a tirade about Brad or making sweeping statements about firing him or canceling the wedding. He was simply holding her hands and standing.
Finally, she lifted her eyes to his. She couldn’t count on her shaky voice, but she tried anyway. “What now?”
Her dad ran his thumbs along the tops of her hands. “You tell me.” His voice was calm, marked by a quiet strength. “Do you still love him?”
The first tear rolled down her cheek, and then another. This was the question she’d asked herself a hundred times since the talk in Central Park. And always the answer was the same. She blinked a few times, struggling. “I do.”
A weary smile lifted the corners of his lips. “That’s what I thought.” He sighed, a sigh that told her how much he hurt for her. He eased her into his arms and hugged her the way he’d done since she was little. “Baby, I’m sorry. I wish … I wish he didn’t have a past beyond you.” Her father’s voice was still understanding and resolute. “I wish you didn’t have to learn about it now.”