A Breath of Eyre (31 page)

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Authors: Eve Marie Mont

BOOK: A Breath of Eyre
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“Well, I knew something was wrong. That night, I woke up with this panicked feeling, like someone had just taken out a giant chunk of my heart.”
“I know the feeling,” I said. That was how I felt now, only the piece wasn’t gone yet. But someone was tugging on it furiously. “But how is that possible?”
“I don’t know, Emma. Call it women’s intuition, call it whatever you want. But I know what I felt. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I’d done something to stop her.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I convinced myself I was dreaming. Otherwise, I would have been crazy, right?”
“And yet it happened.”
Chills fell in waves across my body, and I felt the same hand squeezing around my chest, forcing the breath out of my lungs.
“Emma, what’s wrong?” Grandma said.
“I don’t know.” And then a voice called out to me, very faintly. In it were traces of pain and sadness, with fear amplified above all.
“Grandma,” I said, “how long has it been since you drove a car?”
“I still have my license, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you know how to drive a stick?”
“Any self-respecting woman does.” She was already walking back to the den to get her shoes and coat. “If I don’t ask any questions, I can’t be held liable, right?” she said, taking my father’s car keys from the hook in the kitchen.
“Should we leave a note?” I asked.
“What on earth would it say?”
“Good point. What about the whiskey?” I said, pointing to her empty glass.
“Don’t worry. One just steadies my nerves.”
C
HAPTER
32
W
ithin ten minutes, the Volvo was plodding along the Massachusetts Turnpike, the windshield wipers moving faster than we were. Grandma was driving around thirty-five miles per hour, both hands on the steering wheel, and I was leaning forward in my seat trying to accelerate us by sheer force of will.
“Grandma,” I said as politely as I could, given the circumstances. “Can you go any faster?”
“I can try,” she said. “But I don’t like driving in rain.” I watched the speedometer rise from thirty-five to fifty. “Where are we going anyway?”
“Waverly Falls,” I said. “I’ll tell you when to get off the highway.”
We finally made it to the exit, and I navigated us through the back roads that led into town. I told her to park near the bridge and wait for me.
“Emma,” she said, just as I was about to exit the car. She gripped my arm as tightly as her frail hand could. “Be careful.”
“I’ve always been careful,” I said. “There are times for being something other than careful.” She nodded and released my arm.
I ran through the rain to the middle of the bridge, listening as my feet echoed across the floorboards. Here I was again, where Gray and I had stood just a few weeks ago, only it was darker this time, so dark I could barely see my hand in front of me.
“Gray!” I shouted. I had no idea why I felt so certain he would be here. “Gray! Where are you?”
Gripped with a sudden fear, I peered through the long, narrow window that framed a view of the power plant, the falls, and the river below. Through the mist, I spotted a figure sitting on the stone wall inside the power plant, right at the spot where the river spilled over the falls, dropping into the churning white foam below.
“Gray!” I screamed, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.
I ran through to the opposite side of the bridge and started up the hill. When I reached the power plant, I peered through the slats of the iron gate and saw Gray sitting on the wall, casually almost, like one might sit at the end of a dock watching a sunset. My voice ripped through the thunder of the water, but still he couldn’t hear me.
How had he gotten through the massive gate? I threaded my fingers through its metal slats as if I could rip them open with force.
The only way to reach him, I realized, was from below. I’d have to get to the bottom of the falls and try to get his attention. I ran downhill as fast as I could until the road flattened out. Without thinking, I scaled the waist-high wall that flanked the river, landing on a massive boulder and almost sliding right off. The rocks were slick and scattered at uneven heights. I tottered as I walked. Carefully, I treaded my way down to the rocky ledge below. The river raced mightily at my side, pent-up nature releasing its fury. Dread gripped me as I recalled that day in the ocean, how powerful the tide had been, how little control I’d had over my own destiny. I squatted down on the ledge to steady myself, clutching the ridges of the stone with both hands.
Terrified, I resumed my journey, moving faster now, feeling an urgency to reach Gray. I paused to see if he had spotted me yet, but his eyes were directed toward the middle of the dam. The rocky ledge inclined steadily, following the pitch of the street. The closer I got to the falls, the more steeply I had to climb. Wind and water whipped through my hair as the water from the falls catapulted in front of me, transforming into a writhing mass of white foam.
When I got as close as I was willing to go, I tilted my head back and called to Gray. He was standing now, looking straight ahead, his arms slightly back, like he was contemplating the unthinkable. He looked like a bird poised to fly.
A terror seized me as I recalled the dream I’d had at Thornfield—a child clinging round my neck as if to strangle me, a gust of wind blowing me off balance, stones rolling out from under my feet, the wall crumbling, the child falling through my fingertips, falling out of reach. My mother’s body careening from the rooftop. Gray tumbling from the dam.
No. That wouldn’t happen here.
“Gray!” I hollered again, fear bringing my voice to an unearthly pitch. “Don’t jump! I’m here. I’m here!” I flailed my arms as much as I could without losing my balance.
I kept screaming, bellowing an incoherent stream of warnings, and then—a miracle!—Gray looked down. When his eyes met mine, his body went slack, and I thought he was going to fall, come toppling down and crash into the rocks right in front of me. Instead, he collapsed onto the wall, clutching it, turning his body away from open air and falling water, away from gravity and certain death.
I collapsed, too—in relief, in fatigue—and we both crouched there, hugging our separate life preservers of stone. I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Eventually, Gray stood up and shouted something to me, but I couldn’t hear through the din. I watched as he hopped off the wall and then shimmied up a tall tree that towered over the falls, its branches tangled in the slats of the gate that surrounded the generator. For a moment, he disappeared amid the leaves, and I held my breath until I saw him reappear on the other side. I exhaled and watched him fall unceremoniously to the ground, landing on his feet.
Content that he was safe, I turned around, intending to reverse my steps. But in the time it had taken for me to reach the falls, the water level had risen dramatically. The ledge I had walked here on had disappeared, submerged beneath the river. I descended as far as I could go. Gray called down to me from the stone wall above.
“Don’t move!” he shouted. “I’m coming for you!”
“No!” I screamed, but he had already taken off down the street. I watched him climb over the wall about a hundred yards downriver and drop onto a large boulder. He only had about two feet of clearance before his feet would meet the river, and the water level was rising fast. He walked as far as he could to meet me, and when neither of us could go any farther, we stopped and stared at each other. There was a look of supreme tenderness and gratitude that passed between us as we stood there contemplating our next move. I only wanted to reach him, pull him toward me, tell him I was sorry, kiss him everywhere it hurt.
Like a surprise attack, the river surged and literally swept me off my feet. I felt like I was falling in slow motion, toppling from a great height, even though I must have met the water almost instantly. My body lurched into the frigid water and bobbed up again, swept along the currents like a piece of driftwood. The water pulled me downstream like a vacuum, sucking me toward its greedy mouth. My instinct was to fight against it, but my head kept dipping below the surface, water flooding my nostrils and lungs. I coughed and sputtered. I tried to swim again, to do anything, but my limbs were rubbery and chilled.
How long had I been in here? Minutes? Seconds? Water filled my lungs again, and I choked and flailed my arms. I was a pawn of Nature, being shuttled to a watery death.
And then something overtook me, something large and solid and powerful. It trapped my arms to my chest so I couldn’t fight. My body thrashed instinctively, and my head hit something hard behind me. I was hurtling downriver on my back, headlong, floating on something, with icy river water streaming past me on all sides. I let myself be jettisoned downstream for several seconds, finally opening my eyes to see trails of red in the foamy wake behind. Blood. I shut my eyes, not wanting to trust my own senses.
My eyes shot open when my makeshift raft flung out from under me, and I found myself alone momentarily, splashing like mad amid the currents. I flipped onto my stomach, and my instinct to swim kicked in. And suddenly Gray was next to me, his hand on my arm, guiding me toward the riverbank. His face was bleeding.
“Stay above water,” he shouted. “Go with the current.”
I tried to answer him, but my mouth filled quickly with water, so I surrendered to the current and let it carry me down. My arms and legs and chest were burning, and I knew I couldn’t last much longer. I was so tired. So very tired. Why wasn’t I cold?
Maybe drowning isn’t such a bad way to die. Maybe it’s peaceful. After the gasping and choking are over, it’s probably just like sleeping.
“Now!” Gray bellowed, yanking my arm with a powerful tug. My body lurched, and I tried to fight his momentum. “Swim, Emma! Swim. We can make it!”
“No,” I said, resisting Gray’s pull. I felt numb and drowsy. “Let me go. I can’t do it.”
“You can!” he said. “You’re stronger than you think.” His words echoed through my head.
Stronger than you think. Stronger than you believe.
These had been my mother’s words, and now they were Gray’s. And the words had a power to them. I forced myself to swim toward him, following his voice, which kept calling to me and never wavered. It gave me the strength to keep going, to fight against the current until I was close enough to the riverbank I could almost touch it.
Spurred by a powerful surge of adrenaline, I began to swim, my arms wheeling in a desperate crawl until my hand struck stone. I scrabbled at it madly, finding purchase on the rough crags of the ledge. Gray had found it, too, and he was dragging his body up out of the river. I clambered onto the rock, trying to pull myself out, but I was too weak. The river rushed by, and I clung for dear life.
“Emma,” Gray’s voice said, breathlessly, as he extended a hand to me. His outstretched palm hovered just a few inches from mine. “Emma, you saved my life,” he said.
With a transcendent effort, I reached out to grab his hand and let him return the favor.
C
HAPTER
33
A
nd so I ended up in the hospital for the fourth time that year. I was treated for mild trauma, but my injuries were nothing compared to Gray’s. He’d suffered facial lacerations from the tree, a fractured tibia from the dive, and a broken nose from when I’d rammed his face with the back of my head. He had to stay overnight so they could set his nose and leg and treat him for tachycardia.
The doctor discharged me around five in the morning while Gray was still in the ICU, so I wasn’t able to see him before I left. I called Gray’s cell all day, but he didn’t pick up. I was so worried. I slept for thirteen hours that night, and when I woke up I tried calling his house. Finally I reached his father, who told me Gray was doing much better and that they were releasing him that afternoon. Relieved, I asked if he could have Gray call me as soon as he was home. I was practically sobbing when I got off the phone.
Back at school, I called Gray all week, but he wouldn’t answer or return my calls. He must have been angry with me, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I’d stopped him from following through on destroying himself at the falls. Or maybe he realized I’d been right after all, that the only reason he wanted to be with me was because he thought I could fix him. And when he found out I wasn’t willing to do that, he’d given up on me completely. Whatever the case, it seemed that Gray and I were officially over.
Michelle stood by me throughout the entire ordeal, helping me study for finals when my mind could focus only on Gray. The gossip about his suicide attempt was uncharacteristically subdued by Lockwood standards. Some girls even had the good taste to stop talking about it when I entered a room. I was stunned when Jess Barrister approached me after our English exam and pulled me aside in the hallway.
I stared at her incredulously as she began to apologize for Elise’s behavior. “She went too far this time,” she said in her low throaty voice. “I mean, I know why she feels she has to do this shit, but it’s getting so old. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I like Gray, and it wasn’t right what she did to him. Or to you.” And with that, she left me standing there in astonishment, wondering where on earth that speck of decency had come from.
For the next few weeks, I sat through test after brutal test, filling in tiny bubbles on answer sheets and writing pointless essays on everything from Evolution Theory to Dystopian Literature. Then I’d skulk back to the solace of my room and watch the erratic spring weather wreak havoc on the quad. The wind was so wild, the rains so persistent, it felt like the campus was going to come unglued from the earth and slip quietly into the Atlantic.
It was the third Saturday of May when the skies finally cleared. The windows in our room were open for the first time in weeks, and when I came in from my shower, sunlight was streaming through the curtains, along with a cool breeze that smelled of roses. Michelle came in after me, kicked off her shower shoes, and flopped onto her bed. I could feel her eyes on me, so I turned toward the wall so I could sulk in peace.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. I said nothing. “Emma, please talk to me.”
I sat up and pulled my wet hair into a thick ponytail. “Tonight was supposed to be Gray’s prom.”
“Oh,” she said. “I forgot. That sucks.”
“Yeah, it does.”
She came and sat next to me on the bed, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Where’s the dress?” she said.
“What?”
“You know, the dress he bought you. I want to see it.”
“Why?”
“Just humor me, will you?”
Reluctantly, I found the dress in my closet, removed it from its cellophane bag, and held it up to my body, watching the diaphanous material ripple in the breeze, changing colors from gray to blue to green.
“That’s gorgeous!” she said.
“I know.”
“Try it on. Right now.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Do it for me. Please? Pretty please?”
I sighed, angrily stripping off my jeans and T-shirt and stepping carefully into the narrow sheath. It fit perfectly—slim but not too tight, the sequins at the bustline shimmering like sea glass, the sheer skirt draping elegantly from the empire waist so the material whispered against my skin.
“It looks even better on,” she said. “At first I thought it was gray, but it changes color with the light. Sort of like the ocean.” She stood behind me, playing with my hair, twisting it up and pulling down a few pieces to frame my face. “I know I’ve had my issues with Gray, and I haven’t always been there for you when you needed to talk about him, but ... maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misjudged him.” I kept quiet, not wanting her to stop. “Look, I’m trying to apologize here. I think you’re really good for Gray, and you’ve been so miserable these past weeks that he must be good for you, too.” Despite my horrid mood, I cracked a smile. Michelle’s mouth broke into a mischievous grin. “So, I have an idea.”
“That’s never good,” I said.
“Come on, it’s a great idea. Dare I say it, an excellent idea?”
“You do remember that sneaking off to Braeburn was your idea, too. And drinking champagne in the limo before the Snow Ball?”
Michelle let out a devious laugh. “Yes, but this one’s better,” she said.
Before I knew it, she was on the phone in the hallway concocting some crazy scheme and leaving me out of the loop. When she came back in, she put some loud dance music on the stereo and got out her curling iron.
“Do you want to let me in on your plan?” I said.
“Just be quiet, hold still, and let me do your hair.”
“If I do, will you tell me what’s going on?”
“Soon enough,” she said, holding a bobby pin in her mouth. She smoothed down an errant strand of my hair and inserted the bobby pin somewhere on my head. When she’d finished with my hair, she began dusting my face with a light bronzer and lining my eyes.
“Is this to compensate for the fact that you didn’t have a Barbie as a kid?”
“I’ll have you know, I did have a Barbie,” she said. “Astronaut Barbie.”
“You did not.”
“Did too. She had glow-in-the-dark moon rocks. And anyway, I’m doing this because Owen’s coming to pick us up in half an hour. We’re taking you to Gray’s house.”
“Oh, no you’re not,” I said, grabbing the arm that was about to apply mascara to my eyelashes. “He hasn’t called me back. He obviously doesn’t want to see me.”
“Oh, he wants to see you.”
“Michelle, seriously, what’s the point?”
“Emma, it’s Gray’s senior year, and he’s missing the biggest event of his high school experience. So unless you can live with that on your conscience, you’re bringing the prom to him.”
“Michelle—”
“Emma, trust me,” she said, sighing. “Okay, don’t trust me. Trust Gray. He loves you. I know he does. And one look at you in that dress, he’s going to forget all about being mad at you. Hell, he may forget his own name. Look at yourself. You’re a goddess.”
She dragged me in front of the full-length mirror and made me look at myself—really look. Who was this person? For sixteen years I had seen myself as plain and ordinary. The girl in the mirror was me, but a different version of me, one who had grown into her looks and seemed at peace with them. Michelle smiled at me through the mirror and said, “Now hold still and let me finish your curls. A goddess needs curls.”
An hour later, we were standing in front of Easty waiting for Owen to show up. I chewed my lower lip while Michelle chastised me for messing up her Pink Nouveau lipstick. When Owen arrived, I crawled carefully into the backseat of his car, while Michelle hopped in front. I was a little jealous that they were both so relaxed and comfortable in their casual clothes while I sat stiffly upright, trying not to wrinkle my dress, trying not to breathe.
A half hour later, we arrived in front of Gray’s enormous stone house. Owen helped me out of the car and handed me my purse. “You look beautiful,” he said.
“You really do,” Michelle agreed.
“We’ll stay here for a little bit to make sure you’re okay.”
“What are you guys going to do while I’m here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Owen said. “Maybe catch a movie?”
“Or two,” Michelle said, winking at me. “You have my cell if you need me.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling a thousand nervous flutters in my chest. “And, Michelle?”
“I know, I know,” she said. “You’re welcome.”
I laughed and approached the front door on my heels, feeling like none of this was real, like I was walking through a stage set. Crickets were chirping and the sun was just dipping beyond the hills that lay behind Gray’s house. I knocked on the front door and waited there, feeling a chill run under my sheer gown.
Finally, the door opened, and Anna was looking up at me with huge eyes. “Wow, Emma. You look like Mermaid Barbie.”
“Thanks,” I said, laughing. “Is Gray here?”
“Yeah. My parents went away for the weekend, and he’s
supposed
to be babysitting, but he just stays up in his room all the time.”
She led me inside and went running back to the couch to continue watching her TV show. Cautiously, I walked up that beautiful open staircase and along the corridor that led to Gray’s room. I had a sudden feeling of panic. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. What if he kicked me out? What if he wanted nothing to do with me?
But it was too late to do anything about it now. I was standing in front of his door, and my heels on the wooden floor had already given me away.
“Who’s there?” I heard him shout.
I opened the door to his room and saw him sitting sideways on the bed, his feet splayed out on the floor, one in a cast. He glanced up at me, and his face dropped. I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or happy or just surprised. Even though most of his lacerations had healed, his right hand went involuntarily to his face, touching the largest scar, which traversed his forehead and intersected one eyebrow.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I came to see you.” For a moment, my stomach plummeted.
I shouldn’t have come. This is going to be a horrible repeat of last time. He doesn’t want me here.
“I thought you hated me,” he said.
I froze in the doorway, stunned. “I called you, like, a million times.”
“I lost my cell phone in the river that night.”
“Oh,” I said. I was so confused. “But I spoke with your dad. He promised to tell you I’d called.”
“My dad’s an idiot,” he said. “He never told me. I assumed you didn’t want to talk to me. I thought it was over.”
“So did I.”
Suddenly, I felt deliriously happy. Gray didn’t hate me, and his parents were away for the weekend. I had as long as I wanted to make things up to him, to show him how much he meant to me. A part of me couldn’t wait to get started. Another part of me felt nervous and uncertain. My body tingled with anticipation and fear, exhilaration and love. And Gray Newman, that beautiful boy, sat staring at me with those downturned eyes. He was just a few feet from me—unable to move, really—mine for the taking.
I walked over and sat down next to him on the bed. Reaching out my hand, I gently traced every scar on his face. I ran my fingertips along his almost-healed nose and kissed him softly, tenderly, on the forehead like he had once kissed me. He didn’t move a muscle or say a word, but when I drew away, he was staring at me like he wasn’t sure if I was real.
“Do I look awful?” he said, touching his scars again.
“Of course. You always did,” I said, laughing. I took his hand and pressed his palm to my lips. “Your hands are freezing.”
“I’ve been dead,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.
I placed his cold hands on my flushed cheeks, and he pulled me toward him to kiss me. I wanted to, desperately, but I’d been holding in so much emotion for so long that everything felt too feverish, too rushed.
“Wait,” I said, pulling away from him. His eyes followed me as I retrieved my iPod from my purse and hooked it up to his stereo. “I figured if you couldn’t go to the prom, I’d bring the prom to you.” I shuffled through my songs and selected one to play. “You remember that day when you asked me once which song reminded me of you? I never answered. This is the one.”
As the piano chords of Embrace’s “Gravity” filled the room, I walked to the bed and offered him my hand. “Gray Newman, will you dance with me?”
He shook his head. “Em, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He nodded sadly toward his crutches. I grabbed them from the corner of the room and handed them to him. “Here. Now you’re a Hemingway character,” I said, and he laughed out loud. The sound was sweeter than anything I could imagine.
Offering him both my arms, I eased him off the bed and onto his crutches, then helped him to the balcony door. He hopped through, and I followed him over the threshold, so we were both standing on the now-darkened balcony, silvery stars just beginning to appear above our heads.

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