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Post by daisyfields on Jun 12, 2014 17:28:12 GMT -5
Ahhh! I can't wait to see how things plan out!
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Post by barbt on Jun 12, 2014 17:58:15 GMT -5
It's about bloody time!
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Post by tonilous on Jun 13, 2014 12:32:59 GMT -5
Remember Me? Chapter 6
Ella drops onto the couch across from me, her shoulders sagging, head hanging. When she finally looks up, I'm surprised that it's not shame or guilt I see in her expression; it's relief. Like she's been waiting for this moment forever. "I'm sorry. I should have told you," she says. "That first day in the coffee shop, I should've just told you."
"Yeah. You really should have."
"I wanted to. I just wasn't sure how you would react."
The ache of betrayal isn't easing. If anything, it's growing. These past few days that I've spent pining over her, daydreaming about her, finally feeling her in my arms and tasting her on my lips... it's all meant nothing to her. "You made me think I was special."
"You are special," she says at once, reaching out for my hand. I pull it back, and she looks as though I've slapped her.
"I'm not interested in being with someone who's still living in the past," I tell her. "I don't want to be a stand-in."
"I'm not living in the past."
"Aren't you?" I wave the photograph in its frame. "Who do you want to date, Ella, me or him?"
She shakes her head. "I'm not following."
"You mean to tell me it's a coincidence that me and your dead boyfriend look--"
"My what?"
"I get it. I do. It was traumatic, and awful, and he was the great love of your life. But I'm not him. And it's not fair to string me along just because I remind you of him."
She looks at the photo again, then back to me, realization dawning in her eyes. "Emmet... I never said my boyfriend died."
"Yes you did."
"No, I didn't."
"You did too, you said you --" My eyes close briefly. Oh. "You said you lost him."
"You thought --" She gapes at me. "What are... what do you think that picture shows, exactly?
I swallow past the lump in my throat. "You. Happy."
"Happy with...?"
"Some guy with my coloring and an unfortunate sense of style," I shoot back. She reacts the one way I don't expect; she throws back her head and laughs loudly, sounding delighted. "I'm serious," I insist. "Does he not understand that there are solid colored fabrics out there, that he doesn't need to combine plaid with checks and stripes with polka dots all in the same outfit?"
Ella just laughs louder, her eyes scrunched closed tightly, one palm pressed hard against her chest. It's making me angrier that she's not seeing my point. Ella lives for fashion. How could this travesty of a boyfriend - who's apparently still out there somewhere - have made her as ecstatically happy as she looks in the photograph?
"And he must be color-blind," I add savagely. "Because really, neon orange and flamingo pink should not -"
"It's you," she gasps, wiping away tears of hilarity.
"What?"
"It's you, Emmet, it's you."
I stare at her dumbly. "What's me?"
"The photo, you idiot. It's you and me."
Her tears are leaking out too fast, now, and the hand against her heart seems to be clutching at something. She draws a series of shuddering breaths, wiping her cheeks with the back of one hand.
And she waits.
And I stare at her blankly.
"Ella... I'm not sure what you..."
She sniffles daintily, then stands and extends a hand. "Just... come with me. I want to show you something." When I don't take her hand, she drops her arm down with a sigh. "Please. I promise things will make more sense when you see it."
She turns and starts to walk away, swiveling her head back to raise one eyebrow at me. I'm standing before I realize it, trailing after her like a fool. Why does she hold this power over me? What's stopping me from turning, running out the door, and just forgetting I ever met this girl?
I follow her down the hallway, past a couple of closed doors and into a small bedroom. Most of the space in here is taken up by a big wooden bed, with crisp white sheets and a red coverlet. It smells like Ella's perfume in here, and fresh linens, and I can't take my eyes off the bed --
"Emmet?"
I finally look at Ella, who's got one hand raised, gesturing to the wall behind her.
The wall that is absolutely covered with pictures of me and Ella.
I step toward it, my mouth falling open as I absorb the full magnitude of what I'm seeing. Photo after photo of us smiling together, singing together, even dancing together.
"What is this?" There's a sudden rush of anger surging through my veins. "Ella, what is this?"
"This is the sixteen months you lost," she replies quietly.
"No."
"You said it yourself, babe. You had a girlfriend before the attack. Before our attack."
I can feel the blood draining from my face. "Our--" She nods, and I look at her scars again, finally noticing how they've healed just about as much as mine have. "You're lying."
"I know you don't believe that."
"Yes I do." I'm feeling dizzy. "You Photoshopped all those pictures."
"I understand," she says calmly. "It's a lot to take in."
There's no way. There's no way she's telling the truth. My parents wouldn't have kept something like this from me. I can't stop looking at the stupid fake photos, with our big dumb smiles and my ugly clothes and our matching promise rings--
I turn away, breathing erratically and steadying myself on her dresser. There's another framed photograph on top of it, with the two of us both elegantly dressed. Ella, looking incredibly beautiful in a white gown, is smiling even wider than she did in the living room picture, as she pins a rose boutonniere onto my lapel --
I have to get out of here.
Stumbling out into the hall, I wrap one arm across my stomach, willing myself not to vomit.
"I know you've remembered things," she says behind me. "Things about me and you."
"I have not."
"What did you see when you looked at my bed, then?"
I turn back toward it involuntarily, and the vision is back. "They're just spells, they're not real."
"When have you ever heard the word spells outside of a Jane Austen novel?" she demands. "Your dad is a psychiatrist. If you were hallucinating, he'd call it that. But he won't, because he knows what's really going on. They're not spells, Emmet, they're memories."
"They couldn't be. They're too insane to be real."
"Try me."
"Did you and I spray foam all over a bunch of people?"
"Yes."
I roll my eyes. "Come on, we did not."
"We really did."
"In some huge empty warehouse? How would we even get a foam machine?"
"That comes with being friends with Colm."
I don't know who Colm is. "Fine, then, did I perform a bunch of songs in an outdoor amphitheater and a purple piano bursting into flames behind me?"
"Yup."
"You're just saying yes to anything I say." I throw my hands up in frustration. "Did you and I ride across rainbows on the back of a horse? Because I saw that, too."
She sighs. "Yeah. That was one of Allen's art projects that he made for me." She leans back into the bedroom, opening her bottom dresser drawer and pulling out a large sheet of cardstock. "One of the few I kept."
I take it from her and stare at it dumbly. It's a pink poster, with "Taste the Rainbow!" in bubbly letters on the top. In the middle is a picture of the two of us, riding a horse together and eating Skittles.
"He only made one print of this design," she says. "You always tried to take it from me whenever you came over. I'd been planning to give you a copy for your birthday, so that you could pin it up on the ceiling of your closet." At my startled look, she explains, "You said you wanted to lie on your shelf and either look up at the poster, or over to the wall, at the rose boutonnieres I gave you. That way, no matter where you turned, I'd be there with you."
"How do you know about my shelf?" I ask her hoarsely. "How do you know about the roses?" Ella doesn't answer. She just watches me with that same expression, a mixture of pity and longing. "Even my parents don't know they're up there."
"That's why we put them on the inside wall. So they wouldn't be able to see them."
"I don't understand."
"Yes you do. You just need some time to process, that's all." She takes the poster back, and it's with difficulty that I relinquish it. The idea of lying on my shelf and gazing up at it really does seem appealing. "It's a lot to take in all at once."
My head falls back against the wall with a thud. "I live in Mullingar. That's nowhere near Dublin."
"I know."
"You and I met by chance, at a random coffee shop."
"It wasn't random, Emmet. We went to The Bean together almost every day." She squints at me. "What do you think made you drive all the way there, anyway?"
"I was..." looking for something, I don't say. But she nods as though I spoke the words aloud. "But Mullingar and Dublin are over an hour apart. How would you and I have met?"
She leans against the door frame, one hand running along the grain of wood. "I was a student at the uni at Dublin. One of my friends had a huge crush on one of your friends after they met at some party. So she sent me to Trinity to spy on him." She smiles wistfully, and I have an urge to climb into her mind so I can see what she's seeing. "You were with him, and all of your friends caught on right away, but you were all really nice about it. And you and I became friends. After a while we started dating."
"Then what?" I ask, dubious and curious.
"You ended up transferring to the uni for your last year. Because you said you couldn't stand to be apart from me." I can hear the echo of my father's voice, saying You were in love. My knees feel unsteady.
"This doesn't make any sense," I protest weakly. "My parents wouldn't have lied to me all this time. They love me."
"They do love you. But they also lied to you."
"They wouldn't."
"They did." Ella's eyes are blazing. "You think I would have just abandoned you? After everything we'd been through together, all the plans we'd made for our future together? They wouldn't let me near you, Emmet. They wouldn't even let your college friends near you. They told us you didn't remember any of us, and that they were going to keep it that way."
"I don't even know you!" I burst out. "This is insane. I have no reason to believe you." Her fingers are stroking the chain around her neck again. I think about the ring dangling from the end of it. I think about promises. "I need to get out of here."
She looks up, alarmed. "There's a snowstorm outside."
"I don't care. I can't stay here with you."
"Then let me leave. You can wait inside until it lets up and the snowplows come through."
I ignore her, striding down the hallway and into the kitchen, grabbing my coat off the hook.
"I don't want you driving in this," she says, hurrying after me. "It's too dangerous."
"You don't get a say."
"Emmet, please."
Not looking back, I open the front door and slam it behind me. The snow is almost up to my knees as I march out to my car. I start the engine and pull out onto the road, trying to remember how we got here. Eventually I find my way back to the highway and head towards home, my head spinning.
It doesn't make any sense.
But at the same time, it would explain so much. My strong connection to Ella. Our matching, fading scars. My strange, persistent visions. The absence of my old university friends. The roses.
I drive and drive, the thick snowfall making it hard to see very far ahead of me. Sometimes the road gets slick, and my car's tires begin to drift. I clench my jaw tight, lowering my speed a bit. When my house finally comes into view, I let out a sigh of relief. Both of my parents' cars are in the driveway, so I pull in behind them, parking and pulling the hand brake.
I can do this. I've known them my whole life. We've always been able to talk about everything. I'll just go in, tell them what's been going on, and they'll explain that it's all just a big misunderstanding.
The cold air bites at my cheeks as I climb out of the car. Snowflakes drift down to stick to my eyelashes, and I blink hard to clear them. When they're gone, my vision adjusts and I notice a car idling at the curb, just beyond out driveway. I close my car door, hitting the automatic lock.
I should be angry.
But I can't even say what it is that I'm feeling right now.
I trudge over to her car slowly, and Ella rolls down the passenger side window. She looks miserable.
"I wanted to make sure you got here okay," she says. "I couldn't bear to worry about you more than I already do." She slides her fingertips along the steering wheel. "I'll go now."
I nod, torn, and she pulls away from the curb. My heart twists as I watch her go.
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Post by HburgEagle44 on Jun 13, 2014 15:09:14 GMT -5
Rough. But so so good!!
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Post by tonilous on Jun 14, 2014 20:12:26 GMT -5
Remember Me? Chapter 7
When I enter the house, I can hear the faint sound of clinking china. A quick glance at the grandfather clock in the foyer tells me it's nearly eleven. On Saturdays, that means coffee and scones with strawberry preserves. I head down the hallway and into the dining room, where my parents are sipping coffee and sitting in a tense silence.
"See?" Dad says, the creases in his forehead fading when he sees me. "I told you there was nothing to worry about, Marie. Emmet is an excellent driver."
"I know he is, but it's been snowing hard out there," Ma says, looking up at me and smiling tightly. "I'm glad you're back, dear, it's supposed to get much worse throughout the day. We might get up to three feet of snow, if you can believe it."
Dad hums a little. "Can't remember the last time we got this much." He reaches for the little bowl of preserves, spreading some liberally on his scone. "May set some records."
They're acting so normal. Like something hasn't changed. Like everything hasn't changed. I dig my fingernails into my palms hard, trying to figure out a way to confront them.
If I do confront them, though, and they deny it, then it's their word against Ella's. I need proof.
"I'm just relieved we bought Emmet his new car." Ma folds back the style section of the paper before reaching to her coffee cup again. "Imagine if he'd still been driving that old station wagon when the blizzard hit."
"I wasn't driving during the worst of it," I assure her, then feel a rush of adrenaline as I add, "I stayed at Ella's house until it let up a bit."
"Probably a good idea," she nods. Her coffee cup is halfway to her lips when she freezes, and looks over at my dad. He's wearing a similar expression of horror, and then I know. I know.
And then I take off running.
"Emmet!" My dad is out of his chair and sprinting after me, but I'm taking the stairs two at a time, and I've got a head start. I reach the top of the staircase before he's even halfway up, and I tear down the hallway toward his room. "Emmet, what are -"
I barrel through his bedroom door and slam it closed, locking it behind me. Dad reaches it a few seconds later, jiggling the handle before knocking on the door loudly. "Emmet Cahill, you open this door right now!"
My time is limited. There's a skeleton key in the kitchen drawer and once he remembers that, I won't be able to search anymore. My eyes rake over my parents' room slowly as he pounds on the door.
It has to be here somewhere.
I went through the attic last spring when we were looking for Easter decorations. And we don't have any storage ares in the basement. If they kept it, if they hid it in the house, then it has to be in this room.
I look under the bed first, then on the shelves in their closets. I pull out each of their dresser drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Biting back a swear, I can hear my dad running down the stairs. I've got maybe another minute until he makes it in here. My eyes fall on their flat-screen television set, which is sitting on top of my great-grandmother's hope chest. My dad's footsteps are treading up the stairs as I pull the TV off and set it on the floor, before pushing up the heavy lid of the chest.
There's a scrape of a key in the lock, and my dad looming in the doorway, and my mom behind him. And I notice none of that at all. Because there's a chest full of clutter and mementos and deceit in front of me, and I don't know where to begin.
My yearbook from Trinity? The stack of photographs with pushpin holes in them? The University of Dublin pennant? My head is reeling from it all. I look back at my parents, who are staring at me, frozen in place.
"Where is it?" I ask dully.
Dad looks down, but Ma is still pretending nothing is wrong. "Where's what, dear?"
"You know what. Give it back."
"Emmet, I really don't -"
"I said give it to me."
"Let's talk like rational people," Dad says, still not looking me in the eye.
"Rational?" I get to my feet, my eyes ablaze. "What's rational, Dad, erasing my past? Barring the people I love from having any contact with me?"
"I don't -"
"Give it to me!" I'm yelling now, and I've never yelled at my father. Ever. "You have no right!"
He hisses out a long breath before walking over to his dresser. "Joseph,don't -" Ma moans, but he continues, opening his top drawer and reaching for his box of cufflinks. And then he's opening a hidden compartment underneath, and holding something out to me, and I'd know those intricately winding vines of silver anywhere. I take it from him, my vision blurring as the tears spill over with a foreign sensation. I don't cry. I never cry.
It's true, everything Ella told me. It's all true. My parents - the people I've always trust most - have been lying to me ever since I awoke from a coma. I turn the ring over in my palm, reading the inscription Always yours, Ella on the inside.
"Emmet," Ma murmurs. "Please try to understand."
I don't remember this ring. I don't remember how we decided to exchange them, or how long it took Ella to come up with the design, or whether we did anything special to present them to one another. It's like the ring just fell out of the sky, and I'm trembling with the need to know.
"Why?" I croak out.
Dad drops heavily onto the bed, running his palm across the back of his neck. "It wasn't a decision we came to lightly."
I lift my head to glare at him. "Lots of thought went into it, huh?"
"The doctors didn't know if you would ever wake up," he says helplessly. "And then you did, and everything happened so fast -"
"I had friends. I had Ella. You took them from me."
"We felt you needed -"
"Who are you to decide what I need? I could have used their support. I nearly died, and -"
"Exactly!" Ma bursts out. "You nearly died, Emmet! Did you ever stop to think about that? Did you ever wonder what that would have done to us, to lose our only child?"
I squeeze the ring in my hand, trying to steady myself. "You're acting like I'm to blame for what happened."
"You may have well been!"
"Marie," Dad admonishes quietly. "Don't."
"We don't know! No one knows! The police never apprehended your attackers, Emmet. They're still out there, somewhere. And whoever they are..." She pushes her fist against her chin hard. "It's someone who you knew."
I can feel my heart drop. "What?"
She's shaking her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears, so Dad speaks up. "You were injured far more severely than Ella was," he murmurs, his shoulders slumped. "She was able to remember what led up to the attack, and she said you'd both been taking a walk. There'd been nothing to draw their attention more to you than to Ella."
"Meaning they knew you," Ma supplies angrily. "Either they hated your more, or they liked Ella more. Either way, it was someone you knew."
"You can't know that for sure."
"It's likely, though," Dad says.
"It could have been someone who went to Trinity with you." Ma's voice is getting shriller. "It could have been someone on Ella's brother's football team. It could have been someone in your social circle."
"That's why you cut everyone out of my life? Because you thought the attackers would come after me again and finish what they started?"
Dad makes a small noise, covering his lips with his fingertips. "You're all we have," he whispers. "First the attack after your formal, then this... What's next Emmet? How are we supposed to live with ourselves if something worse happens to you?"
"So you kept me here." I swallow hard, trying to chase the taste of bile in the back of my throat. "You made me your little house pet, with no contact from the outside world."
"Just until you graduate," he says entreatingly. "Just until you could finally leave. I couldn't move my practice."
"We had to keep you safe," Ma insists.
"I understand the need to protect me... but this was too far," I tell them tightly. "You didn't just evict my friends from my life. You made me thing my memories were hallucinations. You made me think I was crazy. You drugged me for goodness sake."
"I asked him to," Ma says weakly. "I saw something about lithium on TV, and -"
"I never gave him lithium, Marie."
We both turn to look at Dad in shock.
"That's not true," I protest. "Those pills you brought home made me all tired and dizzy."
"That's because I gave you Benadryl," he admits. "I wasn't about to prescribe a powerful and potentially dangerous medication to keep you from having memories. That's a line I wasn't willing to cross." He shrugs one shoulder. "Benadryl makes your brain a little fuzzy, so you'd doubt what you were remembering. And usually you'd just sleep it off."
I look down at the ring in my hand, then over to the stacks of my belongings in the hope chest. "So when were you going to tell me the truth, then? When I was ready for work?" Dad's eyes are on his knees, and Ma seems to be studying her bedspread. I nod bitterly. "Right. You were never planning to tell me, were you?"
"It could be a fresh start for you." Ma smiles at me, as if it's a brilliant suggestion. "You could just start over, meet someone special -"
"I met someone special!" I remind her furiously. "And you took her from me. And you took me from her, too, did you ever consider that? Did you ever consider that she might have needed me just as much as I needed her?" They both look at me, quiet and defeated. The rage is growing stronger within me. I turn and lean over the hope chest, gathering as many items as I can carry. "I can't stay here," I mutter.
"You're not going back out there," Ma says with alarm. "Emmet, there's a blizzard."
I shove past her, my arms loaded as I march down the hall. They both hurry after me.
"Let's discuss this like adults," Dad calls as I turn to descend the stairs. "You don't want to be on the road in conditions like these, in the state you're in right now."
When I reach the foyer, I turn and look up at the two of them. They're both standing on the stairs, looking terrified. "I can't be here right now," I tell them. "I may only remember bits and pieces of my life with Ella, but right now she's a lot less of a stranger to me than you two are." I turn and head out the front door. They don't follow, for which I am grateful. I lay my recovered treasures gently on my car's passenger seat before climbing into the driver's side.
The snow is coming down hard as I pull out onto the road. For a moment, I think about Ella and her long drive back to Dublin. Worry starts to twist in my stomach as I wonder whether she's safe. But I blink it away, just as I've blinked away my spells for the past year. For once, I need to focus on me.
I start to drive without having any real idea of where I'm going. It's getting hard to see out the windshield, and I know I'm going to have to find a place to wait out the storm. Inspiration strikes, and I steer the car north, staying clear of the major roads. The apartment complex is normally a twenty-minute drive from my house, but it's nearly an hour before I reach it. I park between two snow-covered cars in the lot, and load my belongings into an old shopping bag that I find in the trunk. With some interest, I notice that I managed to grab my old journal from the chest. Maybe there are answers inside.
The security code to the building's entrance hasn't changed, and soon enough I'm standing in the warm lobby, brushing snow off my shoulders and pressing the button for the elevator. Rob's apartment is on the top floor, in a quiet corner of the building. I'll be able to think here, and figure out what to do next.
I've put the key in the lock and stepped halfway into the apartment when suddenly I realize something's wrong; the lights are all on, and I can hear the water running. I frown, closing the door behind me. Rob works all the way on Wall Street, and only uses this apartment a couple weeks out of the year, when he's visiting. Why would he be here? "Hello?" I call out uneasily.
The water shuts off, and footsteps approach. My breath catches in my throat as she rounds the bend.
"Hi," Ella says faintly.
"What are you... how..." I stammer hoarsely.
Her eyes are red-rimmed; she's been crying. "I started driving back to Dublin but the blizzard got too bad. Thought I'd stay here until the storm passed."
"How did you get in?"
"Key."
I gape at her. "We used to come here together?"
"A few times a week," she nods. "Finally you just had a spare key made for me. Your cousin said he was fine with it." She's twisting her fingers nervously. "Should I leave?"
"No, you -" make me feel like I'm home, I don't say. "You can stay."
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Post by HburgEagle44 on Jun 14, 2014 22:38:32 GMT -5
Ahhhh. So good!!! Love it. Good for Emmet.
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Post by tonilous on Jun 15, 2014 20:20:06 GMT -5
Remember Me? Chapter 8
Ella lounges in front of the TV, engrossed in a Project Runway marathon. She looks so at ease, lying back on my cousin's couch, and I have to wonder how many times I brought her here in the past. What did we do together, when we were here? Did we pretend Rob's apartment was our own home? The idea is strangely appealing. I let myself imagine the two of us sharing intimate candle-lit dinners together. Are they memories, I wonder, or just daydreams? How can I even tell the difference?
I'm sitting at the other end of the living room, methodically going through the pile of salvaged treasures that I took from my parents' house. The photographs are easiest to start with, but somehow they're also the most confusing. Ella shows up in many of them, and the university friends, of course, but there are also a ton of faces I just don't know. A tall boy appears often, as does a girl with long hair. There are a few shots of girls in uniforms, an intense-looking boy with brown hair, a bespectacled kid, another boy making dramatic poses with Ella... I don't recognize any of these people. But they clearly meant something to me once, if I tacked their pictures up on my bulletin board.
With a sigh, I move towards the University of Dublin Annual and as soon as I open it, it's clear right away why my parents chose to hide it from me; on the third page is a huge picture of Ella and me sitting on a picnic blanket on the east lawn. She appears to be talking animatedly, and I'm gazing at her with the sappiest, most embarrassingly love-struck expression on my face.
It's easy to see why, though. She's mesmerizing. Her eyes are alight with humor, her lips full and pink -
"Is something wrong?"
Oh. At some point, I seem to have stopped staring at the picture, and started staring at Ella in the flesh. She's cocking her head at me curiously, and I can feel a blush spreading across my cheeks.
"No, no, everything's fine," I mumble, turning the page quickly and pretending to study a collage of speech and debate candids. Ella settles back to watch TV again, though I can tell she keeps glancing my way curiously.
Further into the yearbook, there are the usual full-page pictures and profiles of each graduating senior. I read the goodbye messages from my friends with misty eyes; Matt always had a lovely way with words. The notes from my fellow underclassmen, though, are far less moving - they seem to be waging a battle to see who can make the most inappropriate comments about my relationship with Ella.
Shaking my head, I flip to the T section, melting when I catch a sight of Ella's photo. She's gorgeous in the uniform, the dark fabric making her skin look even more luminescent than usual. Not even the graffiti at the bottom that I recognize as Colm's handwriting ("I said what what, in the butt butt") can mar the beauty of the picture.
I'm nearly finished looking at the yearbook when Ella stands and stretches. Her shirt rides up a little, and I can't help staring at the pale sliver of skin that's exposed.
"I'm getting hungry," she says. "You want anything from the kitchen?"
My stomach rumbles in response, and we both smile shyly. "Is there even food here, though?" I wonder aloud.
"Sure. We always kept a bunch of non-perishables in the pantry and freezer, plus Rob restocks when he's in town. I should be able to pull something together." She disappears into the kitchen, and the faint sound of cabinets opening and pots clattering reaches my ears. The moment feels homey and intimate and only a little terrifying.
Finally nothing is left in the stack but my old journal. I pick it up gingerly. It must hold so many answers, but for some reason, I'm afraid to open it. What if it exposes more lies? What if everything that Ella and my parents admitted to me today wasn't everything after all?
A tantalizing smell is wafting through the air, and I put the journal aside, grateful for the distraction. Ella is in the midst of setting the table in the kitchen. I lean against the door frame, watching her carefully line up the silverware before folding a couple of cloth napkins into intricate fan shapes. I wonder why she's going through so much trouble.
She stops suddenly, looking up at me and blinking. "Oh, I... I just assumed you'd want to sit in here with me. But I can put yours on a tray if you'd rather take it into -"
"This is fine," I assure her, grabbing a couple of glasses from the cabinet. "What would you like to drink?"
"Water, please?"
I fill two glasses with ice cubes and tap water, then join her at the table. She sets down two plates of food, and I peer at mine curiously. It looks like a combination of roasted vegetables and tuna fish, and smells divine.
"It's your favorite," she tells me, taking a seat. I slip into the chair across from her. "You always said it reminded you of a dish your grandmother used to make."
I taste it tentatively, and while it's quite good, I can't say it reminds me of my grandma. Then I get a hint of a familiar flavor. "Because of the coriander?"
"Because of the coriander," she nods.
We eat quietly. The air around us feels thick, heavy with tension. I can't seem to come up with any small talk to break the silence. What were you supposed to say to an utter stranger who knows you so completely?
Ella glances up at me halfway through the meal, hesitating briefly before asking, "Your parents told you the truth?"
I swallow a bite of tuna. "Yeah."
"How'd that go?"
I shrug. It went terribly, of course, but I don't feel comfortable admitting that.
"At least it's out now," she says.
I move some broccoli on my plate, suddenly not hungry anymore. "I guess."
"You guess?"
"It's just that... I don't know. I have more questions than ever now. Some things don't make any sense."
"Like what?"
"Like you and me." I lay my fork down. "We dated for a long time. I assume we loved each other?"
Ella nods, her eyes wide.
"And we even exchanged custom-made promise rings," I finish. "Ones that said Yours always. That implies a pretty deep level of commitment between us. So after all the promises and all of the plans we made together... how could you just abandon me like that?"
She flinches slightly, looking hurt. "I told you. Your dad said I couldn't see you."
"No, I get that. I do. But -" I let out a low noise of frustration. "You had to have thought that my parents were doing the wrong thing by keeping us apart. So why'd you go along with it?"
"What was I supposed to do, kidnap you?" she asks, folding her hands defensively. "Storm into the hospital and drag you to my house? My family nearly went bankrupt from my own bills; how could we have paid yours too?"
"I'm not saying that. But you could have at least come to hospital and told me the truth."
"You were in a coma for months. Your parents never updated any of us on your recovery. By the time we found out you'd woken up, you were already back at home."
"Then you could have come to my house and -"
"And said what, exactly? Hi, I know you don't remember me, but we planned to spend the rest of our lives together? Your parents would have made you choose between us, Emmet, and you would have chosen them over a complete stranger. You know you would have."
I shake my head stubbornly. "But -"
"What should I have done?" She asks shrilly. "What would you want me to have done?"
"Something!" I burst out. "Anything! Not just sit around sipping coffee at The Bean every day on the off chance that I'll show up -"
"Oh, yeah, because my life's been a piece of cake this past year, Emmet. Yeah, I just put off everything and went to work in the auto shop for kicks. Because it seemed like a fun thing to do. Not because I was holding out desperate hope that your memory would finally come back or anything -"
"Why is it all on me?" I'm shouting now, my fingers braced against the edge of the table. "I'm the one with the broken head. How about you put in a little effort?"
"What the heck should -"
"You should have fought for me!"
"He said I couldn't see -"
"That's a lie and we both know it," I say furiously. "I'm tired of the lies. Tell me the real reason."
We're both breathing hard, staring at each other. Her mouth remains resolutely closed.
Finally I spring up from the table, gathering my stack of mementos and storming off to the guest room. I dump them on the desk before slamming the door shut and kicking it for good measure. I stop to collect myself, squeezing my eyes shut and forcing myself to breathe deeply.
It's only once I turn around that I realize that it isn't the guest room anymore. From the looks of things, it stopped being the guest room some time ago.
The oak twin bed is gone, replaced with a metal queen-sized bed covered with a down comforter. The walls have been painted a robin's egg shade of blue, and instead of the old Mondrian prints on the wall, there are several framed black and white photographs of me and Ella. I spin around slowly, taking it all in.
The new furniture that isn't Rob's taste.
The two matching nightstands on either side of the bed.
The lighted vanity with bottles of my favorite hair gel and an unfamiliar brand of hairspray sitting side by side.
This was our room. Rob gave me and Ella our own room here.
The anger drains from me slowly, until I sink down onto the bed, cradling my head in my hands. I can hear the faint sound of dishes clinking, and realize Ella is cleaning up the remnants of our dinner. Feeling guilty, I open the door and shuffle down the hall toward the kitchen.
She's loading the rinsed glasses into the dishwasher, but she straightens up when she senses my presence.
"Hi," I murmur.
"Hi."
"Look, I -"
I break off as her cell phone starts to ring. She holds up a finger, pulling it out of her pocket. "One second, it's probably just my -" She blinks, looking at the display. "It's you."
"Me?" She turns the phone to show me. Emmet Cahill is on the screen, with my cell phone number underneath. "I'm not calling you," I tell her stupidly; obviously I'm not calling. I don't even have my phone with me. I left it back at my parents' house when I -
Oh.
"Don't answer it," I yelp, just as she holds the cell up to her ear.
"Hello?" she says, then pauses. "Hi, Mr. Cahill... You guessed right, I'm the Caffeine Fiend on his contact list... Yes sir, he's here with me now." She's rubbing her elbow absently as she talks, and I can't figure out what's happening. Shouldn't she and my father be screaming at each other right about now? Why are they being so cordial? "I can ask, but I'm not sure he wants to talk to -" I shake my head quickly, and she nods. "Yes, I'm sorry, Mr. Cahill, he's not up for conversation right now. But he's fine. I promise." She listens for several seconds, then sighs. "You're welcome. Have a good night."
I stare at her as she ends the call. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"Are you friends with them now?"
She sets the phone on the counter. "You don't know what it was like, Emmet, after the attack. Seeing you lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to all those machines. We almost lost you."
"What does that have to do with -"
"Your parents have endured enough. They shouldn't have to spend tonight worrying that you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere." She pauses and sighs. "I don't like what they did to you - to both of us. But it would be cruel to let them worry." She turns and finishes loading the dishwasher, as I shake my head.
Every time I think I'm starting to understand who Ella Turner is, she throws me another curveball.
"Ella?" I murmur, and she turns around again. "Look, I... I'm sorry about the things I said to you before."
"No, you're not." She's quiet as she leans back against the counter. "But that's okay."
"I am," I insist weakly.
"You're allowed to be angry, Emmet. You got beaten within an inch of your life, and you lost over a year of your memory, and everyone you love has been lying to you about it. That's a lot for you to process."
"Okay, fine, I'm still angry. But I'm also sorry for some of the things I said," I lean against the door frame miserably. "I was trying to hurt you."
She smiles mirthlessly at the floor. "It's okay, I deserve it."
I want to argue with her again, but I'm too exhausted. Between driving in a blizzard twice, confronting my parents, and fighting with Ella, it's been an emotional roller coaster of a day. "I think I'm just going to head to bed."
"It's still snowing pretty hard out there," she says. "Is it okay if -"
"Of course you should stay here. Stay as long as you want."
"Thanks. I'll take the couch."
"Don't be silly, I -"
"I actually prefer the couch."
"No. I can sleep in Rob's room, and you -"
"I'm not trying to be noble," she interrupts. "Ever since the attack, I've had trouble sleeping, and for some reason I'm only able to sleep when I'm lying on a couch." I must still look unsure, because she adds, "Really. You should sleep in our room."
A strange feeling warms my chest when she says our room, and it's with difficulty that I nod in acceptance. She turns to put the little canisters of spices back in the cabinet when a thought occurs to me. "You'll be here when I wake up, right?"
Her hand stills, but she doesn't turn around. "Do you want me to be?"
"Yes."
There's a long pause, and I hold my breath. "Okay," she says finally.
"Thank you." I whisper.
I get ready for bed, using the guest bathroom and pausing when I hear the telltale sounds of Ella turning on the shower in the master bathroom. There are spare sets of pajamas in the dresser, and I pull on a familiar pair. Then I grab a silky royal blue set that are decidedly not my style, and lay them out on the couch for Ella before returning to the bedroom.
My journal is still on the desk. I like in bed, staring across the room at it, conflicted. The temptation is there, certainly. It would hold so many answers. But the thing is... that journal holds answers to another Emmet's life. Not mine. Why would I read a Cliff's Notes version of my forgotten year? It still won't have happened to me. It happened to that other Emmet - the one with the devoted girlfriend, and the courage to transfer schools, and the row of dried roses in his closet.
I settle under the comforter uneasily, turning off the light and closing my eyes.
Sleep won't come.
The bed is wonderfully soft, the pillows plump and downy just like I like them, but I can't seem to fall asleep. I toss and turn for a long time, before deciding to get a glass of water from the kitchen.
The living room is dark, so I tiptoe down the hall, trying not to wake Ella. A glance at the digital clock on the microwave tells me that it's been almost two hours since I got into bed. Insomnia has been one of the lasting side effects of my head trauma. I fill a glass with water from the tap, draining it in a big gulp. A faint rustling sound comes from the living room, and I set my glass in the sink quietly before creeping over to peek in on Ella. My brow furrows in confusion when I see her.
She's dressed in the pajamas I set out, with her back pressed up against the back of the couch. I'd expected her to be covered in the thick throw Rob keeps folded on the side, but she's done something weird with the blanket instead - twisted it into a tight roll and wrapped it around her waist. She's shivering in her sleep, and I pad over to the linen closet to pull out a spare quilt. Ella murmurs a little in her sleep when I drape it over her, but then she grows quiet.
I tiptoe back into the bedroom without turning on any lights. I misjudge the distance, though, and my hip bumps into the desk, knocking several items onto the floor. Freezing, I listen for any signs that Ella has awoken, but it's just as silent. I shut the door softly before turning on the light and picking up the fallen items.
My journal is lying open, and as I reach for it, a passage jumps out at me:
Ever since our first night together, I can't sleep properly when Ella's not in bed with me. My arms feel empty when they aren't holding her.
I look up, startled, thinking of the blanket roll around Ella's waist, her spine pressed up against the couch back.
Sighing pensively, I set the journal back on the desk before getting into bed. A flick of the switch restores the room to darkness.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, but my mind is jumbled with thoughts of Ella. It's only when I grab the spare pillow, holding it tight against my chest, that I can finally drift off to sleep.
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Post by LoveCT on Jun 17, 2014 19:55:47 GMT -5
W.O.A.H.
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Post by barbt on Jun 17, 2014 22:57:36 GMT -5
Intense.
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Post by tonilous on Jun 19, 2014 3:06:29 GMT -5
Remember Me? Chapter 9
Ella is still sleeping when I wake up, so I take a quick shower and pull on a pair of sweats that I find in the bottom drawer of the dresser. I creep quietly into the kitchen to rummage for something to eat, but the options are limited. Finally I settle on strawberry Pop-Tarts, dropping a couple into the toaster before leaning back against the counter.
It's easier today, somehow. The sting of my parents' betrayal still hurts, and I still can't understand why Ella didn't fight to stay a part of my life... but after a full night's sleep, it's a lot easier to wrap my brain around everything that I learned yesterday.
From this vantage point, I can see Ella's sleeping figure on the couch. Her face looks younger, softer when she's asleep. I wonder what it felt like to wake up next to her, back when we shared a bed together.
The toaster makes a loud clicking sound when it pops up, and Ella starts to stir. I grab a couple of plates from the cabinet and set a Pop-Tart on each of them before heading into the living room.
"Breakfast is served, my lady," I announce with a horrible British accent, and she smiles with her eyes still closed.
"Strawberry Pop-Tarts?" she murmurs.
"Lucky guess."
Ella's smile fades, and my heart sinks. Not a lucky guess, then. Her eyes crack open, and she sits up. "Morning."
"Morning." I offer her one of the plates. She yawns widely, scratching at the back of her head as she takes it. "So this was a thing?" I ask, sitting down on the coffee table in front of her. "Me making you Pop-Tarts in the morning?"
"Yeah, it was a thing." She breaks off a piece of the pastry, blowing on it and watching the steam rise from the hot filling. "You sleep okay?"
"I did, thanks. It's a comfortable bed."
She nods. "We went to three different mattress stores before we found one that we could both agree on. We used to call it the Goldilocks mattress." At my raised eyebrows, she explains, "All the others were either too soft for me or too firm for you. That one was just right."
I bite into my Pop-Tart, hissing when the inside burns my tongue. From Ella's soft laugh, I know that this, too, was a tradition. I hurry into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of glasses and filling them with tap water.
"Get some milk," Ella calls out. "Trust me, it works better."
I grab a carton of milk from the fridge and pour it into another glass, downing it quickly. She's right, the milk soothes my sore tongue right away. I grab one of the glasses of water and make my way back into the living room, handing it to her. "How about you?" I ask as she takes a small sip. "How'd you sleep?"
She shrugs one shoulder. "Had a nightmare around three. I got up and read one of Rob's paperbacks until I fell back to sleep. Other than that, it was fine."
"Do you have nightmares a lot?"
"Ever since the attack. You?"
"Yeah."
We eat and drink quietly. I keep sneaking peeks at her, but she looks lost in thought.
"Looks like the snow finally let up," she says after we've finished. "I should probably hit the road. My stepdad and Greg do inventory on Sundays, and I said I'd help them."
"Can I see you tomorrow?" I ask, cringing at the neediness in my voice.
Her expression remains neutral. "Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, maybe you could come back here after work. Show me how to make that tuna dish."
"I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"Okay, then, a different dish. Or we can just rent a movie, or—"
"Emmet, please." She pauses. "We can't just jump back into something together."
"What do you mean? You said it yourself, you loved me."
"I did, but—"
"Are you mad that I yelled at you last night?"
"No, I—"
"So what's the problem, then?"
She sighs heavily. "It's like... how do I even explain this. You wouldn't remember, but sometimes, after a long school day, we'd watch mindless television. Just to unwind before starting our homework. Real Housewives, The Bachelorette, that sort of thing, really cheesy American reality tv. And this one time, we watched a special on the women who love convicts."
"Something you want to tell me, Ella?" I smirk. "Have you been convicted of a felony?"
"No, this is important," she says earnestly. "We both thought these women were so ridiculous, to fall in love with con men. They'd send the men gifts and money and naked photos of themselves, and the men would swear up and down that once they were released from prison, they'd marry the women and start their lives together. But once they actually got out of jail, invariably they wouldn't stay faithful to the women who'd devoted themselves to them for so long. And the women would end up heartbroken."
"So you're afraid that you're going to break my heart?"
"No, I'm afraid that you're going to break mine." The hurt must be showing on my face, because she lays a reassuring hand on my knee. "The point of the show was that the men really weren't lying to the women. They honestly thought that they were madly in love and that the women would be their soulmates. But once they were free, once they had their pick of millions of other women—"
"No, I get it," I interrupt. "My parents have kept me locked away, and you think that I'm throwing myself at you because you're the first attractive girl I've come into contact with."
"That's not — okay, that's kind of what I'm saying, yes."
"It's not the same. Before all this happened, before the attack, I had other choices. And I still picked you."
"Of course it's not the same. But Emmet, we don't know each other anymore." I start to protest, but she raises a hand. "I was thinking about this last night, when I couldn't fall asleep after my nightmare. Even if you'd woken up this morning and suddenly had all of your memories back, you still wouldn't know the person I am today. You missed an entire year of my life. A year during which I had to recover from a severe beating, and deal with the guilt that came from nearly bankrupting my family, and worry about my father's failing health, and grieve losing you, and regret not going to work... I'm not the same person that I was before the attack. And while yes, you did pick me back when we were in college, maybe you wouldn't pick the person I've become."
I shake my head feebly. "But—"
"And I'm sure a lot has changed about you, too, for that matter. You're not the same boy that I exchanged promise rings with. You're just not."
There's a lump rising in my throat. Is she really breaking up with me, before we've even had a chance to really be together again? "So that's it, then? You're just giving up?"
She reaches out for my hand, squeezing it. "It's going to take a lot to get me to give up on you, Emmet. Especially when I've just gotten you back."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I think we should get to know each other again." She pauses, and I can't help the smile that starts to spread across my face. "We can go on dates, learn about one another. See if we're still compatible. See if that spark is still there. And—" She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. "And I think you should see other people, too."
My smile fades. "Wait, what?"
"How will you know if I'm the one, if you haven't seen what else is out there?"
"That's stupid," I retort, dropping her hand. "You're being ridiculous."
"I'm not. You've never dated anyone other than me."
"Have you dated anyone other than me?"
"Yes." She takes my stunned silence as permission to continue. "I went on a few dates over the past several months. And I know, now, that what you and I had was special. If I hadn't gone out with those guys, I might have always wondered what else was out there." She swallows. "Do I hope that we're still compatible, and that you'll choose me again? Yes. More than anything. But I really think you need to do this first. If you don't, and we just get back together like nothing has changed, and then in a few months or years you realize that there are other girls you want more... I can recover from a crowbar to the collarbone, but I couldn't recover from that."
I sigh, feeling defeated. "Fine, then. How long do I have to date other people before you'll let me take you out?"
"You really think I'm going to let you go gallivanting all over town with eligible young women while I wait around?" She laughs lightly. "You'll be dating me, too. That way it'll be easy for you to compare us."
Okay. This proposition isn't nearly as bad as I'd thought. I'll just claim to be dating other people while Ella and I are getting to know each other. And eventually she'll agree to— "Wait, so when do I get to say whether I've decided that you're... it, for me?"
"Good question." She mulls it over briefly. "How about we agree that you won't be intimate with anyone — including me — until you're sure that she's the one for you? Kissing is one thing, but I think exchanging body fluids should imply some level of commitment."
"You're such a romantic," I tease, but she just nods.
"Yes, I am."
I pick up one of her hands and kiss her knuckles lightly. She offers me a genuine smile, and I can feel my heart beat a little faster in response. It's frustrating that my body seems to remember everything that my brain has forgotten. "How about we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? At The Bean?"
"It's a date."
I walk Ella to the door, hoping for a hug, but she just trails her fingertips down my arm before leaving.
It's a good hour before my arm stops tingling.
I head outside a little after eleven o'clock to dig my car out from the snow. Other tenants nearby are doing the same, and a couple of them wave as if they know me. Once the car is uncovered, I feel like I should drive somewhere, but there are few options on a snowy Sunday afternoon. I can't go to Mullingar, or my parents' house. Eventually I decide to drive by the university I've missed that place, and who knows, maybe it will spark some lost memories.
When I reach campus, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. This was the place where I felt comfortable being myself. There's the athletic center, where I enrolled in self-defense classes just after transferring. There's the music building, where I took a chance and signed up for a cappella auditions. There's the east lawn, where Ella and I apparently liked to spend much of our time together. A few students are strolling along the paths. They look poised and relaxed. It was months before I was able to truly relax on this campus.
Unfortunately, my friends at the university were in my level or the one above me, so I don't see any old buddies milling about anywhere. I park in the visitor lot and get out of the car, buttoning my overcoat and pulling a cap over my head. The air is crisp and cold, and I close my eyes to take a deep breath of it—
"What are you doing here?"
My eyes pop open, and there's an unfamiliar, unfriendly-looking boy standing in front of me. He's tall and wide, with white-blond hair and narrow blue eyes. "Pardon?"
"Why did you come here?" he presses.
"I used to go to here, I—"
"You shouldn't be—"
"As I live and breathe," comes another voice nearby. We both turn and see a couple of students walking toward us. One was a short boy, with a buzz cut and a large mole on his cheek. The other was a girl who was tall and positively gorgeous. "If it isn't Emmet Cahill," the gorgeous one says. "Never thought I'd see you around here again."
"Sorry," I say politely, "do I know you?"
"Joanna Finnegan," she says, extending a hand and smiling brilliantly. "We were friends, sort of. Met after you transferred out of Trinity. I was really sorry to hear about the assault and your memory loss, that's a tough break."
"Thanks," I return, shaking her hand.
"This is Morgan Adams," she says, gesturing to the boy beside her. "And you've already met Lawrence, I see."
"Charmed," the blond mutters. He glances warily at Joanna.
"So what brings you back to our fair campus?" Joanna asks me, cocking her head. "Trying to jog some memories, or just looking for a familiar environment?"
"Little of both."
"Any luck on the memory front?" Her smile seems to turn a little brittle, but after I shake my head, it looks normal again. Must have been a trick of the light. "That's a shame. Well, I'd invite you to sit in on our Sunday music practice, but it just let out."
"You guys are in music?"
"Well, I am," she says, chuckling. "These two knuckleheads can't carry a tune." She turns and looks pointedly at Morgan, whose eyes dart over to Lawrence.
"We should go," Morgan says to Lawrence. "We have to get to that thing."
"What thing?" Lawrence scowls, as Morgan grabs his arm and pulls him away.
Joanna watches them go, grinning fondly. "There's no thing," she confides in a stage whisper. "I just wanted to be able to talk to you alone."
I can feel a flush creeping up my neck. "Oh?"
"It can't be a coincidence that you came to visit this school right as I was walking by. It must be fate, seeing as this would be the spot where we met. " She leans a little closer. "Let me take you out tomorrow night."
"Out? Tomorrow night?" I repeat dumbly.
"There's a bar called Paddy's, out towards the city. You and I went there once, had a great time."
"We did?" That doesn't sound like me. But maybe Ella was right, maybe I have changed a lot, and — I blink suddenly.
Ella.
Sweet Ella, with her soulful eyes and her matching scars and the way she makes me feel so safe. What am I doing, talking to this girl when I get to see Ella again in a matter of hours?
"We had real chemistry back then," Joanna is saying. "You knew it, and I knew it. So what do you say? We'll go dance the night away. And actually, now that I think about it, Monday is karaoke night. You know you can't resist karaoke, Emmet."
There's something strange tickling at the side of my brain, like when I'm trying to come up with song lyrics and they keep slipping away just as I think I've thought of them. "I don't know."
"One date," she says, suddenly looking serious. "If you don't have fun, I'll never bother you again. What harm could one measly date do?"
I can hear the echo of Ella's words in my head — How will you know if I'm the one, if you haven't seen what else is out there?
"Okay. You're on."
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Post by HburgEagle44 on Jun 19, 2014 10:37:34 GMT -5
No boo. Haha
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Post by daisyfields on Jun 19, 2014 18:23:05 GMT -5
Interesting!
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Post by tonilous on Jun 20, 2014 1:41:33 GMT -5
Hi!
I just want everyone to know that I will not be updating from Sunday to Thursday because I will be camping in the wilderness with a couple of my friends and naturally, there will be no wi-fi where we're going. (insert pathetic laugh here)
Sadly, tonight will be my last time updating my stories until next Thursday or Friday because I have to pack for the trip and get everything in order for the next two days. So I hope you enjoy this update and I will "see" you then!
Goodbye for now!
Remember Me? Chapter 10
I stop for groceries after leaving the university, loading up on fresh fruits and vegetables, eggs, bread, rice and fish. Many of the shelves in the supermarket are nearly empty; I guess a lot of people stocked up before yesterday's snowstorm. I grab some tortilla chips and fresh salsa from the organic section. When I pass the spices, I toss a container of coriander into the cart, too, smiling to myself.
The empty apartment feels colder when I get back. I check the thermostat, but the heat is working fine.
It's so quiet here. As I stack the groceries in the refrigerator and pantry, I start humming an old Beatles tune. I'd love to call Ella up, just for a chat, but she only left about three hours ago. Maybe I'll send her a text in an hour or so. Just to make sure she got home okay.
I settle down to watch TV when the silence gets too overwhelming. There are hundreds of shows to choose from on cable. Recalling what Ella said about mindless television, I put on a rerun of The Bachelorette, but I can't get into it. Finally I cave, deciding to text her to see what she's up to. I head into the kitchen looking for my cell phone, and—
Oh, right. I left my cell at my parents' house.
The realization leaves me feeling more isolated than ever. I click through the TV channels, settling on a showing of Elf and feeling terribly sorry for myself. The movie is nearly over — Buddy has run away from home — when I hear a knock at the door.
I'm careful to look through the peephole before pulling the chain lock, and I'm grinning like a lunatic by the time I get the door open. "Hey!"
Ella's grinning back at me just as inanely. She has a large duffle bag slung over one shoulder. "Hey yourself."
"Why didn't you just use your key?"
"It would've been rude." Her eyes are positively dancing with mischief. I swear, she's so beautiful it makes my knees weak. "Seeing as I brought guests."
"Guests?"
She turns and makes a beckoning motion behind her, and two kids our age follow her into the apartment. One is a blonde girl, dressed in a sweater set and wool pants. The other is a rough-looking boy with a mohawk, who juts his chin toward me awkwardly.
"Hey, man. Sucks about your brain."
"Thanks…"
"Fitz. I mean, Noah, but people call me Fitz."
"And this is Lucy," Ella says, gesturing to the blonde. She gives a little wave. "We all went to college together. Fitz went to Trinity and Lucy was my roommate."
I nod politely. "Well, uh... welcome to our apartment. I mean, my cousin's apartment."
"Nice digs," Fitz says, looking around. He wanders off without an invitation, and Ella shrugs as if to say That's Fitz. "Whoa!" he calls from my bedroom. "I totally knew you two had to have some love nest where you went. We should shine a black light in here, bet it looks like a hotel room."
"Anyway," Lucy says pointedly, "Ella, maybe you should tell Emmet why we're all here."
Ella's eyes light up again. "When I finished doing inventory at the shop, I went to call you, to see what you were up to. And then I remembered that you'd left your phone at your parents' house."
"Right…"
"So I think we should get it back."
I shake my head. "I appreciate the thought — believe me, I do — but I really don't want to see my parents right now."
"Me neither." She rocks back and forth on her heels, grinning. "That's why Lucy and Fitz are here. We're all going to steal it back."
"We're what?"
"Lucy's here because she looks wholesome and innocent." She makes a snorting noise, and Ella adds, "I said looks. And Fitz's here–"
"Because I'm the only criminal you know," Fitz says, returning to the room.
"Right." Ella walks over to the dining room table, opening up her duffle bag. "So Lucy is going to create a diversion. She'll knock on your parents' door pretending that her car broke down. While your parents are occupied with her, the three of us will sneak into your house and steal your phone back."
"I appreciate the thought, but all this isn't necessary. My mother plays bridge every Wednesday afternoon; I can go over then and get it."
"You really want to wait three whole days before you can have access to a phone again?"
I blink at her. "But I mean... there's three feet of snow on the ground. My parents would hear us if we tried to trudge through all that to find an open window."
"Ah, but what's the first thing your mother always does after a snowstorm has ended?"
"She..." My eyes widen slightly as realization dawns. "She has the gardener come dig out the rose bushes."
"Right. And since they're on the side of the house—"
"He has to dig a path that runs right underneath a lot of the windows." I have to hand it to her, she's really thought this through. I chew on my lip, glancing at Fitz and Lucy, then back to Ella, before coming to a decision. "Okay, I'm in. What's the plan?"
She claps her hands excitedly, then starts pulling items out of her duffle bag. "We'll be going once night falls, so we'll need to dress all in black. I've chosen fabrics that have a matte surface, so your parents won't catch the reflection off the sheen if they look outside. It's a shame, because I have a gorgeous black silk sweater that I've been dying to try out."
Lucy speaks up. "I'll park halfway down the street and walk to Emmet's house. That way his father will be less likely to offer to come outside and try to fix the car himself. Ella said the cold bothers the arthritis in his knees."
"Makes sense," I nod, as Ella continues pulling shirts, pants, gloves and ski masks out of the bag.
"I'll knock on the door and say that I broke down on the way to visit my grandmother," she continues.
"They'll ask who your grandmother is," I interrupt. "Go with Mrs. Morrow. She's an obscenely wealthy recluse who lives about five miles down the road. No one knows much of anything about her background, but my mom has always been intrigued by her. She'd never turn away Mrs. Morrow's grandchild. And she wouldn't offer to drive you the rest of the way, not when she could pump you for information."
"What sort of information?"
"Oh, she'll probably ask where your grandmother's money comes from, and why she keeps herself holed up in that mansion, and why nobody has ever come to visit her before. You can make up your answers; as I said, no one knows anything about her, other than her last name. Just sound confident when you're talking. My mom will buy it."
Lucy nods. "I'll tell them I called AAA but that they might take over an hour. I'll ask if they—"
"Don't ask," I correct her. "Knock on the door, apologize for the inconvenience and the late hour, but say that your car broke down on your way to visit your grandmother. You've called AAA, but it's been terribly cold sitting in the car while you wait. Then just stand there."
"And don't say anything?"
"No. A proper young lady wouldn't ask. She'd state her situation and wait to be invited in."
"What if they don't invite me?"
"They will." I watch Ella rifle deeper in the bag and pull out what look like huge fuzzy slippers. "What are those?"
"If we climbed in the window and went walking around the house, we'd leave wet tracks from the snow on our soles. We'll slip these over our shoes once we're inside." She pulls out the last item, a large rolled sheet of paper. "Now, let's figure out our strategy once we're inside." She unrolls the paper, and I'm stunned to find myself looking at a blueprint of my parents' house.
"How did you get that?"
"You don't want to know." She positions some of the gloves atop every corner to keep the paper unrolled, then moves to the other side of the table so that we can all look at it. "I figure our likeliest entry point will be your father's study."
"Probably the best option," I agree. "It's along the path to the rose bushes. Mom tends to keep the thermostat higher than Dad prefers, and when he's in his study he cracks the window open. Even if it's closed tonight, I'll bet it will still be unlocked."
Fitz leans over my shoulder, peering at the blueprint. "Okay, so where did Emmet leave the phone, so we know where to look for it?"
"That's the part of the plan that I'm most concerned about," Ella admits. "Emmet's parents used his cell phone to call me last night. And we have no way of knowing where they left it afterwards." She gestures to the first level of the house. "We'll start at the ground floor in hopes that it's there — it would offer us the easiest exit point. Emmet, where would your parents bring Lucy after they invited her in?"
"The parlor," I reply at once. It's the standard receiving room. "Mom will offer her tea and her homemade cookies."
"I'll just tell her I'm full or something," Lucy says.
"No, you'll need to accept. Because there's a chance my dad will be so engrossed in his work that a strange girl at the door won't interest him. But almond cookies are his weakness. When he realizes Mom is serving them, he'll be sure to come out and join you. Then once he's there, he won't leave. It would be impolite."
"Okay. And then once the three of us are all settled in the parlor, I'll pretend to send a text message to my parents to let them know where I am. But I'll actually be texting Fitz to let him know that it's safe to come in."
"If you see the cell phone in the parlor, Lucy, you'll need to find a way to steal it yourself without being caught, and then text us to make sure we don't come in," Ella says. "Otherwise, we'll enter the house and begin our search." She points out the different rooms on the blueprint. "The study would obviously be the preferred location, but chances are good that they left the phone in a more communal area. The kitchen, dining room, and living room aren't visible from the parlor, so we'll search there if it's not in Mr. Cahill's study. If we still can't find it, then we'll move upstairs. The second story has Emmet's bedroom, his parents' bedroom, three guest rooms and several bathrooms. It's a safe bet that they wouldn't have left it in a guest room or bathroom, so we'd be searching the two main bedrooms. If we do have to search the second floor, Emmet and I will go alone. Fitz, you'll head outside and wait for us there."
Fitz frowns. "Why?"
"I'm assuming it's because of the creaky floorboards," I supply.
Ella nods. "There were a couple of times when Emmet and I had to sneak into the house without being heard, so he taught me where to step on the stairs and in the hallways to avoid making a sound. We can't chance having you there, Fitz, because one creak could give us away. If we have to go upstairs, you'll proceed outside and wait for us there." She traces one finger down the hallway on the blueprint. "Once we have the phone, we'll exit through the study window. The Cahills have never met Fitz, so he's going to pose as the mechanic sent by AAA. I've borrowed a set of overalls from my dad's shop for him to wear. He'll say he was able to start the car, and Lucy can be on her way."
"What if Emmet's dad asks what was wrong with the car?" Fitz asks.
"Just be rude. Say it's none of his business, and you have a lot of other stops to make tonight so you have to go."
"Rude I can do."
"Emmet and I will be hiding in your backseat by then, so you can just get in your car and go." Ella turns to Lucy, looking serious. "If at any point during this operation you feel like you need to be removed from the house — if they find holes in your background story, or they somehow recognize you — send an emergency message to Fitz and we'll have him extract you early. Got it?"
"Got it," she nods.
"I think that's it." Ella rolls up the blueprint carefully as Fitz notices the TV behind us.
"Ooh, I love Elf," he says excitedly. "And it's at the best part, too. Do we have time to order a couple of pizzas, you think? Freaking starving."
"Sure, just make one of them plain." Ella turns back to me, looking a little unsure. "So."
"So," I echo back.
"That's the plan. What do you think?"
I shake my head fondly. "I think you're the single most interesting kid in all of Ireland," I tell her, and I swear her smile could light the room.
-8-
It's dark outside by the time we arrive on my parents' street. I direct Fitz to park his car in front of the Olsens' house — Mr. Olsen holds a poker tournament every Sunday evening, and no one will notice an extra car at the curb. Fitz kills the lights, and the three of us don our ski masks and gloves before exiting the car. I take the lead, walking carefully down the road and keeping an eye out for witnesses. It's just after dinner, though, and the neighbors seem to be otherwise occupied.
We reach the hedges that form the border to my parents' property and pause, waiting. After a few minutes, headlights appear down the road, and we crouch behind the hedges. The car pulls to a stop in front of the Hendersons' house. Lucy gets out, smoothing down her peacoat before squaring her shoulders and striding toward my house. As she passes, Fitz whispers loudly, "Yeah, baby, how much for one night?" and she daintily raises a not so polite finger without glancing our way. She draws nearer to the front porch, and at this point I'm pretty sure my heart is about to beat out of my chest.
Ella lets out a shaky breath beside me. Is she nervous? She seemed so calm earlier. I reach down, feeling in the dark for her hand and squeezing it. We watch as my mother opens the door and peers at Lucy curiously. I wish I could hear their conversation. It's only a few seconds before Mom ushers Lucy into the house and shuts the door.
"It worked," Fitz says admiringly. "Not bad, O'Malley."
We creep cautiously down the driveway, staying low and trying to avoid any snow that might crunch underfoot. The path to the rose bushes is mercifully cleared, and I lead Ella and Fitz to the study window. The window is cracked slightly. Ella raises her eyebrows, but I shake my head quickly. I can hear my father inside, humming while he works. We stay perfectly still, trying not to make a sound. Finally, there's the telltale footsteps of my mother approaching.
"Joseph!" she hisses. "Constance Morrow's granddaughter is here!"
"Who's Constance Morrow?" he asks, sounding bored.
"You know, the rich old lady who lives in the estate on St. Pierre!"
"Mrs. Morrow? I didn't know her name was Constance."
"Well neither did I, but as I said, her granddaughter is here. Come be sociable, please."
"Marie, I really need to work on this."
"I just set out some tea and butterscotch cookies."
"I'll be right in," he says at once.
Ella catches my eye, mouthing Almond cookies? I shrug. Sometimes even my parents aren't completely predictable.
We wait together, hunching over Fitz's cell phone. After what feels like eternity, it lights up with a new message: Mission is a go. Also, tell Emmet to get me the recipe for these cookies, because man.
"Last chance to chicken out," Fitz whispers.
I hook my fingers under the window, sliding it up soundlessly. "Slippers?" I breathe. Ella presses a pair into my hand, looking anxious. I hoist myself onto the sill and wink at them both before disappearing inside.
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Post by HburgEagle44 on Jun 20, 2014 3:11:12 GMT -5
Haha love it!! This was a great update. Such great friends
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Post by barbt on Jun 20, 2014 8:41:25 GMT -5
What a plan!
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