Barely Breathing (39 page)

With a promise of seeing Evan at his house after baseball practice, I drove home with my windows down. Spring was starting to stretch its arms, and I welcomed it after a frigid and snowy winter. The early spring flowers were in bloom, and the trees were in varied stages of budding or flowering, which meant in a few weeks they'd be filled with green leaves.

I knew this warm and sunny weather was a fluke in early April―they were already predicting cooler temperatures and rain by the end of the weekend. But today the heat from the sun felt good blowing against my face as I drove home.

There was a man standing on my doorstep when I pulled into the driveway. First impression, his dark suit and brief case―he was a salesman. He even wore a fedora on his head. But when I stepped out of the car, I realized his tailored suit was much too nice to belong to a door-to-door salesman. Besides, I didn't think anyone did that anymore.

"Can I help you?" I questioned as I approached him.

"Are you Emily Thomas?" the tall older man confirmed, removing his hat to reveal thick white hair, brushed back to expose a receding hairline.

"Yes," I answered cautiously, still standing on the walkway, hesitant to get closer.

"My name is Charles Stanley," he explained. He stood erect on the porch, his perfect posture making him appear to tower a mile above me. "I'm the lawyer for the Thomas family. I am your father's executor."

"My father?" I questioned, unable to move.

"Yes, Derek Thomas," he answered patiently. "Is there somewhere private we can talk? Do you expect Rachel home any time soon?"

"No, she's working late today," I told him, ungluing my feet and tentatively walking towards the door. "Do you have a card or something?"

"Of course," he replied, pulling out a silver card holder from his pocket. He opened it and extended a card to me, confirming who he was. I didn't have any real reason to doubt him.

I unlocked the door and held the screen open for him. "We can sit in the kitchen."

"Wonderful." He followed me into the kitchen and set his hat on the table. I kept my eyes on him, fearing that if I blinked he was going to disappear.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," he replied, sitting in the chair and unbuckling his briefcase to remove a file. I lowered in the chair across from him, my hands shaking slightly. "I'm sure you're wondering who I am and what I'm doing here, so let's begin. As I said, my name is Charles Stanley. I have represented the Thomas family most of my career, focusing mainly on estate matters and preparing their trusts and other financial concerns."

"I'm sorry," I interrupted, already confused. "You keep saying the
family
. I don't understand. Who does that include?"

Charles nodded and began again. "Your father gave me permission for full disclosure, so I may reveal to you everything I know that pertains to him. Derek Anders Thomas was born to Laura and Nicolas Thomas. They lived in Lincoln, Massachusetts most of his life. His brother George Samuel Thomas was born three years later.

"Derek attended private schools through high school and went on to Cornell where he studied Architectural Engineering and eventually graduated with a master’s."

"Cornell?" I questioned in surprise, wondering why I'd never known this.

"Yes," Charles replied calmly, his smooth deep voice devoid of emotion. Then he continued, "He decided to return to Massachusetts to be near his family, and took a position with the top engineering firm in Boston. This is where he met Rachel Walace." He paused. I swore I saw sympathy flash across his dark blue eyes for a moment before he returned to his emotionless report.

"She was a temporary replacement for their receptionist who was out on leave for a short time. From this point forward, the facts that can easily be researched are combined with your father's firsthand account and his own opinions. So unfortunately, I cannot substantiate much of what I'm about to tell you.

"Derek was under the impression that Rachel was older than she was when they first met. She indicated that she was twenty-six, and he at that time was thirty-two. They went out on several occasions, and he really enjoyed her company. She was different than most of the women in his social circle, and he described her as a 'breath of fresh air.'"

My insides were already chilled, because I knew how old my mother was when I was born.

"In time, he discovered her true age of twenty and broke off the relationship immediately. Your father believed in integrity and trust above all else, and she’d lied to him. She was distraught over the break-up, and made multiple attempts to regain his favor. Just when he thought she'd given up, she appeared by his car after work with the news that she was pregnant."

I exhaled and closed my eyes, my stomach turning to ice. I wasn't planned. They weren't married. They weren't even technically
dating.

"Are you okay, Emma?" Charles asked. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

"I'll get it," I said in a rush, pushing myself out of the seat. I needed a break from the story, from the truth of how I came into this world. It was so different than I'd ever imagined. I returned with a glass of water, and after taking a small sip, I encouraged, "Go ahead. I'm ready."

"Derek agreed to restart their relationship, and to be there for you when you were born. Months later, he bought a house in Lincoln where you were raised for seven years. Rachel chose not to live there after Derek's death, but the house was not rightfully hers and became a part of his estate. Which brings me to why I am here today."

"Wait," I intercepted frantically. "Did they ever get married? Did he love her? What about his parents? Are they still in Lincoln?"

"I'm sorry. I am certain you have more questions than I am capable of answering. No, Rachel and Derek never married. He did care for her, and he was convinced that she loved him. But he admitted to me that he did not trust her. She was young and irresponsible, tending to be a bit excessive in her social habits."

I smirked with a disgruntled shake of my head, knowing he was politely saying that she was a drunk even back then. This was who she always was. It wasn't a symptom of grief, a way for her to cope. It was as much a part of her as the lies she'd led me to believe all of these years. The lies that included a fairly tale romance, a marriage that didn't exist and a love destroyed by a senseless accident. And where did I fit into her delusions?

My throat was tight. My insides were hollow. I thought my head might explode from all the conflicting emotions coursing through me.

"Your grandparents moved to Florida before you were born. They, your grandmother in particular, did not approve of having a child out of wedlock, so they disconnected themselves from Derek and Rachel, and therefore, from you. Apparently your grandfather did not feel as strongly, and when he passed fifteen years ago, he left a sizable inheritance to each of his sons―despite Laura's wishes.

"That inheritance is the foundation for your father's estate." He opened the folder and began displaying sheets with numbers and charts in front of me. I was too overwhelmed to understand them. They became a blur of ink before my eyes.

"What is this?" I choked, my hands trembling in my lap.

"This, Emma, is your future," he explained smoothly. "Your father invested wisely, and with his earnings at the firm, the sale of the house in Lincoln, and his life insurance policy, on top of what he had inherited from your grandfather, his estate is quite impressive. All of these assets become your legal right when you turn eighteen in June.

"I decided not to wait until then to speak to you since you have financial obligations with Stanford that need to be addressed more immediately. Congratulations you on your acceptance."

"Uh, thank you," I replied automatically, staring at the figure at the bottom of the page―several commas floating before my eyes. "So this is mine? I can afford to go to college?"

"My dear girl, you can afford college, medical school and still be able to open a clinic in Africa if you wanted." I looked up at his wrinkled face and for the first time his lips motioned a smile.

"I still don't understand," I uttered. "George never claimed to have money. I mean, I lived with them for years."

"George." Charles said it as if the name itself was an enigma. "George's choices were never made clear to me. All I know is that he was provided with an inheritance similar to your father's. What he chose to do with it or to divulge to his wife, is not something I know anything about." He paused. His grave expression pierced me. "I can never express to you how sorry I am for what happened to you while you were in their house." My eyes stung with tears. I blinked heavily to ward them off. "No one should ever have to go through what you were subjected to.

"But your father would be proud of the person you have become, Emma. You are strong and intelligent, and the fact that you are here trying to make amends with Rachel means you have a good heart. He would be
very
proud."

I nodded, swallowing against my closing throat. I diverted my eyes, not wanting to cry in front of this man.

"You will continue to receive your monthly allowances, and they will increase once you turn eighteen. You will not have full control of your funds until after you graduate from college, or when you turn twenty-one. However, if you need anything, you may contact me at anytime, and I will make the proper arrangements for you, whether it is a computer, or a car, or an emergency situation. Your father has entrusted me to use my best judgment in assisting you."

"Thank you," I whispered, still not processing half of what he'd just said.

"Emma," he beckoned. I looked up at the aged face that remained impassive despite the intensity flickering in his eyes. "You may call me
anytime
, for
any
reason. Please understand that. I know you do not know me now. But I hope to gain the same trust and respect that I earned from your father. In the meantime, I wouldn't advise alerting Rachel of this visit, or your inheritance."

"He never trusted her, did he?"

"No," Charles answered flatly. "He loved you more than anything, and wanted you to have both parents in your life. But he did not trust her with his finances, or with you."

"What?" I questioned with raised brows. "What do you mean
with me
?"

"He hired a woman to care for you when he was at work. Concerned with Rachel's impulsivity, he didn't want you left alone with her. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to secure an alternate custody agreement, in case of his death, before the accident. He was trying to find a way around the legal rights of a birth mother so that you could be raised by someone who was better suited to care for and love you.

"In the meantime, we set up a portion of his estate to go to Rachel, along with the monthly allowances to care for you, which then became accessible to George and Carol when they took custody of you.

"This was never supposed to be your life, Emma. He wanted so much more for you, and I believe he would be happy to know that you will finally get it."

"But I'd trade it all, every penny, to have him back," I wanted to say. I had a hard time raising my eyes to meet his, still too vulnerable with emotion.

We sat in silence for a moment before Charles picked up each paper and placed it in the folder. He handed it to me. I shook my head. "I think you should keep it. I don't want her to find it."

Charles nodded in agreement and inserted the folder into his case. "Then you should program my number into your phone and not keep my card."

I took out my phone and saved his number under the initials "CS".

"It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Emma," Charles said, standing and pushing the kitchen chair back into the table. "Do you have any other questions before I leave?"

"No," I answered lowly, my mind spinning with more than I could process.

"Please call me if you do."

I walked him to the door. He turned to me and placed his hat on his head. "Take care of yourself." He walked out the door before I could respond. I watched him as he continued down the walkway to the large shiny black car awaiting him on the street. I shouldn't have been surprised when a driver stepped out and opened the back door for him.

I was still staring at the empty space when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and answered it.

"We're getting out of practice early," Evan announced excitedly. The lightness in his voice was a shock to my ears. I felt as if I'd just sailed through a hurricane. "Do you want to meet me at my house in an hour?"

I realized I hadn't even started the laundry. "An hour. Um... sure."

I hung up the phone and mindlessly went into the basement, sorting through the clothes to make sure I washed something to wear the next day.

Then I went to my room and sat on my bed, still in a daze. I eyed the drawing on my dresser that Leyla and Jack had sent me, and went to pick it up. As much as I missed them, I kept thoughts of them at bay so I wouldn't be tortured by my choices.

I inspected the woman in the picture. The one with the grey hair. My grandmother.

This family would never be mine.

And then it hit me.

I buckled over like I'd been hit in the stomach and slumped to the floor. I still couldn't comprehend everything that had just happened, but one truth slammed into me with such force I couldn't catch my breath.

I was never supposed to exist.

31. What If

I still hadn't completely pulled myself back together by the time I arrived at Evan's. He was sitting on the front porch swing reading a textbook when I pulled in.

"Hi," I said, sitting next to him, intoxicated by him immediately. It was obvious from his wet hair that he'd just taken a shower. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing interesting," Evan replied, closing the book and setting it on the porch below the swing. He lifted his arm and I nuzzled in under it, resting my head on his chest, breathing him in. "I like this week."