Love, Artifacts, and You by Sarah Ready

17

Emma

I sitin a vinyl chair next to my dad’s hospital bed. I’ve became intimately familiar with the hard cushion and creaky springs of this chair over the past four days. I’ve sat in it and slept in it for almost the entirety of my vigil. The only time I leave it are for quick trips to the bathroom or the cafeteria. My hand rests on the blanket next to my dad’s arm, which is covered in bruises from needle pokes and IVs. He’s asleep. It’s nearly eight in the evening and out the small hospital window I can see the sky has faded to a dingy grayish blue. The beeping of the monitor and the smell of antibacterial solution have been ever-present, just like me in my chair.

This afternoon, the doctor came by and gave me hope that maybe tomorrow my dad will be able to move out of the ICU to a rehab facility. Then eventually back into his own home. This stroke was worse than any before. He said if there’s another, my dad likely won’t make it.

I’ve not left him. He hasn’t regained much ability to communicate yet, and his physical mobility is even more limited than before. It’s horrible. He did an awful, horrible, unforgivable thing. I want to rage at him, tell him I don’t ever want to see him again. But I equally want to rage at him and tell him not to die. Not to leave me. I want the time to tell him how angry I am and how much he’s hurt me, and the time for him to tell me why he did it. Or that he’s sorry. I want the time to forgive him. But I know death doesn’t work on a schedule.

“Em,” my dad croaks out.

I look up from the bed at his face. He’s awake and studying me. His eyes cloud, and I realize it’s because I’m crying. I quickly swipe at the tears and give him a small smile.

“You’re awake,” I say.

He looks at my face, and I can feel where my skin is still wet. He lets out a shaky breath.

“Em,” he says again. Then, so quiet and unsure I can barely hear it, “Sorry.”

My face crumples and I turn away from him, keeping in my tears. I hold my breath and my throat tightens down. I won’t cry. I won’t.

Finally, I turn back to him. “You’ll be fine,” I say. “You’ll be fine. You’re going to be fine because you’re horrible, and awful, and you’ve hurt me so much, and I need years to tell you that. Years to tell you how awful you are.” I let out a shaky sob. “What were you thinking, Dad?”

He sighs and closes his eyes. Even speaking those two words drained him of energy.

“Anyway,” I say, I reach over and lay my hand in his. “You have a lot to make up for. It’s going to take years. I’ll be married to Andrew.”

At least I hope I’ll be married to him. He hasn’t returned my calls in days, and every time I phone his office they offer to transfer me to the legal department. I try not to think about what it means, because when I do all the logical conclusions scare me.

I continue talking to my dad. “I don’t know if Andrew will be able to forgive you. Ever. If he can’t, I’ll stand by him. You understand?”

My dad doesn’t open his eyes, and for a moment I think he’s fallen back asleep, but then he slowly squeezes my hand.

“Good,” I whisper. I gently pull my hand from his and lean back in my chair. I wrap my arms around myself and stare out the window as night falls.

Justin shakes me awake.It feels like I was only asleep for a few minutes, but when I look at my watch it’s been an hour. My heart leaps up into my throat and I quickly stand.

Justin volunteered to drive up to Romeo this morning. He’s seen how worried the silence from Andrew has made me.

Justin told me this morning, point blank, that he believed Andrew had meant to seduce me then discard me and this was the discard moment. I disagreed. Then Justin claimed that the articles had perhaps put Andrew off, or the fake engagement announcement my dad had sent to the papers had put him into a sulk. I disagreed again.

I had to believe that something happened to him. Andrew was sick, or hurt. He wouldn’t just not answer my calls or disappear on me.

Right?

“Did you find him?” I ask in a quiet voice, careful not to wake my dad.

Justin combs his fingers through his hair. He’s rumpled and looks tired from taking his Saturday to drive nearly ten hours straight. He’s gone into his office all week, but at night he’s stopped by to check in on me and my dad. His mouth forms a hard line and I know his answer before he says it.

“No.”

My stomach drops and I wrap my arms around myself.

“No, he wouldn’t speak with you, or no you couldn’t find him?”

Justin shakes his head. “The house he was renting is dark, and his car wasn’t there. I asked around town. An old woman said she’d seen him a few days ago. But no one’s seen him around in three or four days. Not since you left.” He pauses. “Or since the article ran.”

My shoulders slump. Is that what it comes down to? Is Justin right? Andrew left because he realized I’d found out what he’d done? Or that he still wanted revenge?

I shake my head. I know any logical person looking at outside facts would believe that, but I can’t.

“I’m sorry,” says Justin. “It’s been a hard week.”

I let out a half laugh, half sob. “You can say that again.”

Justin looks over at my dad. “Any updates?”

My dad’s cheeks are hollow and he looks frail.

“They said he should be out of here tomorrow. Then onto recovery.”

Justin nods. “That’s good.” Then he clears his throat and puts his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to say something…” He trails off and I look at him closely, because I’ve never heard him sound so uncomfortable.

“What?” I tilt my head.

He takes his hands out of his pockets and then puts them back in again. What in the world?

“What is it?”

He shrugs. “I had a lot of time to think on the drive.”

“Okay.”

“You were right. We wouldn’t make a good couple. I’m sorry if that put you in an awkward position.”

I shake my head. “It didn’t. It’s okay.”

He holds up his hand. “It did. I’m sorry. That was never my intent.”

I smile, a little sadly. Then I reach out and squeeze Justin’s arm.

“You can stay in the Romeo cabin as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” I squeeze his arm again then drop my hand.

After a few more minutes Justin heads out and I drop back into my chair. I lean my head back and the feeling I was holding back slowly creeps over me. Andrew’s gone. He left Romeo. He’s not answering my calls and he left the one place where I can find him.

I should’ve gone back earlier. Not that I could have. For the first three days I thought my dad wasn’t going to make it. Today I sent Justin up. And now…I don’t know.

I hear a vibrating noise in my overnight bag. It’s my phone. Mostly I’ve been ignoring it because ever since the article and the engagement announcement came out, I’ve been bombarded with interview requests. Justin and I submitted a retraction to the announcement—it should run soon—but otherwise I’ve denied all media requests. That easiest way to do that is to ignore the calls and emails.

But since I haven’t checked it in hours, I lean down and pull it out of my purse. I was right, the phone call was another interview request.

But my breath catches, because below that missed call are two missed calls from Andrew’s cell and a text message.

Call me.

My heart skips a beat and then speeds up rapidly. I let out a sharp huff and hug my arms to myself. He’s okay. He’s okay. I didn’t realize how worried I was for him until I saw that text. He’s not sick or hurt. He’s okay.

A smile breaks over my face.

Then it falters and a hint of nerves and doubt slips in. Where has he been and why hasn’t he called? And the words call me are so terse and impersonal. What if he’s calling to tell me to stop calling him, or his office, or…

I shake my head. There’s no point in imagining things.

My finger shakes as I hit his number to redial, then I put the phone up to my ear. While it rings I walk across the room to the window, as far from my dad’s bed as possible. I look out the window over the parking lot. The night is overcast and dark, and the parking lot lights barely penetrate the gloom. I shiver. Andrew still hasn’t answered.

I’m about to give up, hang up, when the ringing stops.

“Hello?” he says, his voice is husky from sleep, I’m sure I woke him. At the sound of it I want to smile and cry at the same time.

“It’s me…Emma,” I say. Then I want to kick myself. Of course he’d know it was me.

I hear rustling then a bang and a sharp breath. Finally, “Emma?” He sounds more awake, but also more cautious.

“I got your text.” Suddenly, I feel awkward. “To call you?”

“Oh. I…” He clears his throat and I hear more rustling.

“You saw the articles,” I say. I feel as if my heart is in my throat. I wish I were there and I could see him and touch him. If I could only touch him then everything would be better.

“I did.” He voice is curt and I flinch.

I stare at the darkness out the window. “My father gave the information to the newspapers. He…” I pause and lick my suddenly dry lips. “Andrew. I know what he did to you. I know everything.”

“You do?” he sounds surprised.

“Yes. He told me. I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.” I look at my blurry reflection and ache to reach out and touch him. Instead, I press my hand to the cold glass.

“If you knew why didn’t you come?” he asks. His voice sounds distant, like it’s breaking.

“My dad had a stroke. I couldn’t leave him.” But for some reason this answer makes me scared. Like it was the wrong thing to say. “Andrew?”

“Even after what he did?”

I look back at my dad, deathly still in the bed. “No. I mean, what he did was horrible. But I thought he was going to die. I didn’t want him to be alone.”

There’s a noise on the other end, a harsh sound. I can’t tell what it is, but it scares me. Then I realize that it’s Andrew laughing. But it’s a not a happy laugh, it’s like his heart is breaking and he’s laughing while it’s happening.

“Andrew?” I whisper. Then, “I’m sorry.”

“Right,” he says. “Of course.”

I continue on, ignoring the distance in his voice. “And I don’t know if what the articles are saying is true or not. Or if my dad was right and you did purposefully destroy me. None of that matters to me. It doesn’t matter. Do you understand?”

He quiets, and for a long moment there’s silence. Then, “I understand. I hope you’re happy, Emma.”

A lump forms in my throat. Why did that sound like a goodbye?

“I am. I will be. If you just—”

“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be registering the find tomorrow. But I won’t be staying in Romeo. I doubt you’ll see me again.”

“What?” I cry. “Why?”

“You knew,” he says. “You knew, Emma. And you didn’t come.”

My head spins and I press my forehead to the glass.

“Please.”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

He hangs up. I stay standing, the phone pressed to my ear, looking out at the dark.

I didn’t sleeplast night. I tossed and turned. Every few hours a nurse came in to take my dad’s vitals. I watched, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Finally, morning light came, another gray, damp day. The sky is the color of unbleached soggy toilet paper.

I blink as the doctor strides in and informs me that my dad will be transferred this afternoon to the rehab facility we discussed. Everything is settled. I thank him and watch as my dad’s breakfast tray is wheeled in. The smell of watery oatmeal and decaf coffee fills the room. I look over at my dad when he lets out a grunt.

“Morning,” I say. I’m surprised that my voice comes out steady. It shouldn’t. But oftentimes, as I know, the outside doesn’t match what’s happening within. I use the remote to help my dad raise his bed into a reclining position.

“I spoke to Andrew last night,” I say.

My dad stills and I can tell that he’s listening. I sniff and look away from his gaze. “He doesn’t want to see me again.” I turn back to my dad and give a small smile. “You may be happy to hear it.”

My dad’s bushy white eyebrows lower. He licks his lips and I can tell he wants to speak.

“Don’t celebrate too much, Dad. I’m going to drive up to Romeo today. I’ll convince him otherwise. I’m very convincing.”

Over the last four days I’ve told my dad about Andrew, how much good he’s done, his charitable heart, his keen business mind. I think my dad understands that Andrew isn’t the enemy. My dad has been his own enemy all along.

“I…” my dad begins, then stops. I lean forward and nod. “Hired…” He pauses and closes his eyes. There’s a long pause and then he opens his eyes again. He looks frustrated.

“It’s okay. I know.”

He sighs. “Explo…bomb.”

I stop. This is new. “You hired an explosion?”

“I…exploded…the…cavern.”

“What? In Romeo?” My body floods with alarm. “My runic inscription in Romeo?”

I look down and see that my dad is clenching his right hand. He shakes with the effort of speaking.

“Why?” I ask.

“Car…Michael…inside.”

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

I stare at my dad in horror. That’s what he meant when he asked why I hadn’t come if I knew what my dad had done. Was he trapped all those days he didn’t answer my call?

I stand up. My dad looks at me with regret-filled eyes.

“I’m going, Dad.”

He coughs. “Go,” he says. He looks meaningfully at the door.

I grab my purse and rush out of the hospital.

I stareat the document on the desk at town hall. It’s the official registration of the finding of the Lost Treasure. It was recorded this morning. I run my hand over the paper. The find is attributed to Emma Castleton. Me, and only me.

“Oh Andrew,” I whisper.

He and the town hall secretary witnessed the document. It’s all official. I found Romeo’s Lost Treasure.

“It’ll be all over town,” says Ferran. “Everyone is going to go nuts.” She leans against the desk and takes a sip of her coffee. I ran into her downtown, when I was frantically walking the sidewalks of Romeo trying to spot Andrew. I’d already checked the house—he wasn’t there. I’d checked the woods—he wasn’t there. The only thing I’d found was a rubble-strewn entrance to Sol’s cavern.

I tried calling him on my train ride up, but his phone went straight to voicemail. So, I didn’t know what to do except check all the restaurants and shops in Romeo in case he decided to stick around for a meal or something before leaving town for good. When I was in front of SweetStop, Ferran waved me down and told me all about my hunky soul mate and his registration this morning of our find.

What Ferran’s saying finally breaks through my haze. “The police department will need to put up barricades and warnings. It’s not safe to go in. There was an explosion.”

“Wow,” says Ferran. “Okay. I’ll call them. I’m on it.”

She gives me a happy grin and then heads back to her office. She’s in a cozy glass-fronted room just down the hall.

I wave and head back outside. It’s pretty clear that Andrew left this morning.

I stand on the sidewalk and look out over the brightly colored town. I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do or how to move forward.

I would never have guessed that Andrew would give up so easily. He spent five years fighting to get out of that mine, and then he spent another five years fighting to get me back. I smile and squint at the bright blue sky of Romeo. He might not see the last five years as him trying to get me back, but I do. He couldn’t let me go. Just like I could never let him go.

I look around at the Official Town of Love, USA, and a plan begins to take shape.

I pull out my phone, scroll through my missed calls, find the reporter with the biggest network, and hit redial.