Page 71 of Free to Believe
It’s funny what you remember. As a child who was supposed to be asleep in the quiet, I heard angry footsteps on the stairs. I heard heated whispers between people who were supposed to love each other. I heard words that made a lie of the perfect fairy tale they were supposed to be living.
None of this would have happened if you had never been born.
Flipping ahead of the drawings of my parents’ murderer—I still to this day don’t know who the killers were—I land on a recreation of the first drawing I did of Aunt Dee. It had been the third anniversary of my parents’ death. Cassidy and Phil had been out playing in the yard. I was hurling anything I could throw in my silent agony: books, magazines, pillows. If it was able to be picked up, I was trying to hurl it in my fury at the injustice of the world where my parents were gone, and I was left in this world alone.
Finally, Aunt Dee had enough. She demanded I clean up the mess I caused. Refusing to speak to her, I spit at her—the vilest thing I could think of. It landed between us, a barrier unable to be crossed by either of us. Although my horror was as great as hers, I’ll never forget the look on her face at what loving me cost her.
Pride.
Staring at the sketch now, I realize I managed to capture the pain and the agony of what loving me causes.
A slow death.
I close my eyes in pain. Opening them, I stare blankly over the vast ocean. And I have words with the spirit that holds me captive every day my heart beats.
I made you a promise the day Dee died, you feckless bastard. If you left the rest of my family alone, I wouldn’t fall in love again. Are Jake and Jenna your test to show I’m honoring my word so you don’t hurt Phil, Cassidy, Ali, Cori, or Holly? Then I won’t love them. I know love isn’t mine to have.
Hearing Mugsy whimper in his sleep, I use my bare foot to rub him before I angrily flip to the back of my journal. Picking up the charcoal, I begin a new face. A new memory. Lance off a new wound so I can survive another day.
Even as I lose myself in the drawing, the lies I feed myself about not believing in love are the only thing keeping me back from admitting to myself I’m already drowning in it. There’s no safe harbor for anyone who falls without knowing their love is returned. Only a riptide of emotion constantly dragging you away from shore.
And most of it’s deadly.
40
Emily
Mugsy and I are slowly making our way back up the stairs from a short walk on the beach when I spot Jake waiting for me on the deck. “What are you doing here during the day?”
His smirks. “I don’t catch on fire in daylight, Em.”
“I didn’t think you did.” Walking into his arms, I lay my head on his chest. “It’s just a surprise.”
“A good one I hope?” There’s a note of uncertainty in his voice I hate is there. Jake and I have been together for close to two months. We keep things extremely casual around Jenna. We don’t touch when we all hang out around town or at the beach, but just being with them centers me. I can sense his frustration. To be honest, it mirrors my own.
But how am I supposed to break a sworn vow and harm everyone in the process? I bury my head so the burn in the back of my eyes won’t lead to tears. Holding him just a little tighter, I absorb everything about this moment: the salt air, the wind in my hair, his arms tight around me. When I’m alone in my bed in Collyer, I want to be able to pull this memory from my heart and think of it.
Then lock it away as tight as I can before something happens to it.
“How about we go get a beer?” Jake says casually.
I lift my head from his shoulder, my brow furrowed. “You mean at your place?”
His shoulders shakes. “I know Sconset is the best part of the island, but why don’t I show you a part you haven’t been to yet?”
“The island’s not that big, Jake.” I roll my eyes at him.
He swats my ass playfully. “Yeah, but I know for a fact you haven’t been here. Otherwise you’d have already been shopping for members of your family. So, get one of your million pairs of shoes and let’s go.”
* * *
On 5 and7 Bartlett Road, there’s a triple threat to be had. The Triple Eight Distillery, Cisco Brewery, and Nantucket Vineyard—a locally conceptualized and run operation since the early ’80s—serves up some of the most amazing wine, whiskey, and beer I’ve ever tasted. “How have I not had this since I got here?” I moan into my pale ale. We’re sitting at one of many picnic tables on the vast property.
“I don’t know. It’s one of the best parts about being here on the island.” Jake tips his head back to finish his lager. “Best part for me is they’re open year-round too.”
“So, when you’re having a really bad day at school,” I tease.
He jumps in. “Or when I want to flip because Jenna hasn’t done her college applications.”
