Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé) Read online

  Embracing

  Emma

  by

  Leigh Ann Lunsford

  Copyright © 2016 by Leigh Ann Lunsford

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Chelsea Kuhel

  Proofread by Laura Murphy

  Cover Design by Kristen Karwan

  ISBN: 978-1532857041

  1532857047

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Who I Am – Emma

  Who I Am – William

  Who We Are

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Note to Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Playlist

  Dedication

  My husband and child. John and Evan. You constantly keep me on my toes, both of you cheer me on and love me. Add in a dose of insanity, constant laughter, and a happily ever after, you’ve made my dreams a reality.

  Also . . .

  For anyone who has dealt or is dealing with Alzheimer’s. It’s heaven and hell all in one. You learn things about a person’s past, imagination, and strength while watching their brain shut down. You relive moments over and over; yet, you mourn the memories that slip away. All I can say is love them, honor them . . . it’s harder on them. They feel distance from others knowing they are missing something, yet can’t put their finger or thoughts on it.

  I know we lose them each day, mourn their demise as it happens, delight with joy when a good day is upon them, but they not only lose their ability to recall those memories—they lose their identities, their entire life comes in pieces, never a full reel.

  Patience is a gift they deserve. Dignity is a must. Love is theirs and should be emulated in every action of those who love them.

  This was one of the hardest subjects for me to write, not because I had to do research or was unaware of what happens, but because I’m too aware and had to remember and relive those days. It brought me tears, smiles, aching in my heart; it also brought me a piece of my grandmother back, and I know she is watching me from above, smiling in my achievements, cringing at some of the words I write, but fully healed in her mind and able to see the love she brought us all. XOXO.

  Who I Am

  Emma

  I’m Emma Nichols, daughter of Lucas and Phoebe—best friends to small town sweethearts who found their happily ever after. She was his ballerina; he was her superhero.

  I’ve been cherished, loved, and doted on my entire life. One boy claimed my heart before it was mine to give away, but that same boy destroyed my love.

  My outlook on life is forever changed.

  Who I Am

  William

  I’m William Jacobs. Son of . . . I’m not sure. James and Brett Jacobs adopted me and they’re the only parents I’ve ever known.

  Life in small town suburbia isn’t always cohesive for the relationship they share, and it has pushed me further on the outside. One girl stole my heart; it beat solely for her. I let her down, but she doesn’t believe in meeting in the middle.

  Who We Are

  Together

  Two hearts, two minds, in time did find one love, one aim, two paths, the same. Hold fast . . . and love will last

  -Matt Buttram

  Together this is our story, our boundaries, our hurdles.

  You have to crawl before you can walk.

  Walk before you can run.

  Then you can soar.

  Prologue

  Emma

  Present Day

  Standing in my dad’s arms, my hand automatically goes to my necklace. Entwining it with my finger, releasing, twirling it again. It’s my comfort. He gave me the necklace for my sixteenth birthday . . . trying to charm me into cancelling my first date with William Jacobs. The boy who owned my heart . . . and the boy who broke it.

  I haven’t been home in three years, and I blame him. I’ve never wavered in that culpability until today. In this moment, though, it doesn’t seem to matter. I told him goodbye in this same hospital waiting room. Ironically, not much has changed from that scenario to this one. One life hangs in peril, yet again. The boy I fled from that day was only a shadow of the boy to whom I had given my heart.

  He was cold.

  He was callous.

  He became a stranger right before my eyes.

  I don’t know if it’s time or healing. Or fear . . . but I see things differently.

  “Daddy . . .” I look up to his red-rimmed eyes, brimming with unshed tears.

  “I know, Princess. No matter what, we’ll get through it. Together.” His lips rest on the top of my head, and I breathe his scent. Begging for the comfort it used to bring me.

  “I should have been here. I shouldn’t have run.”

  “Emma, we all do what we need to do. Nobody blames you.”

  “I do. These last years seem so wasted. I could have been here making memories. I could have been with you and Mom. Brett and James . . .” I refuse to admit William is included in that thought.

  “You can’t stop what’s happening. Nothing you could’ve done would have changed this.” I glance over to James, his head hanging low, tears running unchecked down his cheeks. I’m not so sure my dad’s words absolve me. I believe that day three years ago set the course to the present. I distanced myself, created a life that didn’t allow my past to enter; created a fortress around my newly erected reality; and in turn, life back home went to shit.

  Before I can go over to console James, the doctor comes in, and all of our attention is snapped to him . . . waiting with baited breath to hear the news.

  Life or death.

  Goodbye or hello.

  Forgiveness or bla
me.

  I’ll never forgive him or myself . . . if this is the end.

  Three years wasted.

  Three years away from my family.

  Three years of hate.

  Three years comes down to this moment.

  Chapter One

  Emma

  PAST

  “Emma, point your toes!” My mom’s voice interrupts my daydream, yelling at me once again for something that should be second nature after eight years of ballet lessons. I stop myself from rolling my eyes and concentrate on the task at hand. This could all be avoided if she’d let me quit like I’ve asked a million times. My focus doesn’t last long as I begin thinking of missing out on hours of fishing with William. He had his ballet lesson this morning before mine with the rest of the Pop Warner football team. He doesn’t hate it as much as I do because it’s used as a means to an end. The entire team takes a lesson every week to help balance and coordination. You’d think they were playing in the NFL. I’m stuck here because my mom was a prima ballerina who thinks it makes me well rounded . . . even though I suck and hate it. No amount of begging has gotten me out of these lessons, the rule is when I turn twelve I can quit if I still despise it. Two more years. I see her awards, her name on all the posters lining the wall . . . Phoebe Wells. That’s her old name. She now has the last name of my daddy. I wish I loved it like her, but she doesn’t care one way or another; as long as I’m happy…that’s what she says. I’d be much happier today if I was fishing.

  Finally, the music ends, and I hope class is over. It’s fair to say my dream isn’t what my mom’s was. I’m horrible at ballet, tap, and any other thing that requires coordination . . . unless it’s climbing a tree or catching a fish. Those are the things I enjoy partly because my best friend does them with me and because I can bait a hook and catch a bass better than most kids my age. And being a girl, those skills come with bragging rights. I hurry to the front of the studio and wait impatiently as my mom talks to students and parents. I wanna interrupt and ask her if I can have my dad come pick me up so I don’t have to wait any more, but I remember the last time I did that . . . one week of restriction and that sucked.

  My feet tap of their own accord, and I fidget with my hair, unwrapping it from the tight bun that pulls my eyes and gives me a headache. I make quick work of putting my street clothes over my dance uniform and switching my shoes, and she’s still talking. And talking. And talking. I begin to wonder if it is ever going to end when finally she turns to me with a smile and twinkle in her eye. “You ready to plan your birthday party?”

  What? “No, I’m ready to go fish.”

  Her deep sigh is my first indication that a lecture is coming. “Emma, it’s not every day you turn double digits. I want you to have everything you want.”

  “I know, Momma. It’s just I want you, Daddy, Brett, James, and William. No fuss.”

  “Emma, if you didn’t look just like me I’d wonder whose child you were. Let me guess, you want yellow cupcakes with strawberry icing, no ice cream, and no presents that don't include a fishing pole. You’d like to squeeze in the birthday celebration during your obligatory break for lunch so you can go back to fish right away.”

  She’s spot-on. I’m her carbon copy, as everyone likes to remind me . . . repeatedly. White blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes . . . Brett and Mom almost cried when they realized what a klutz I was on the dance floor. They used words like lithe, lean, long body—some nonsense about a ballerina’s body going to waste. Daddy just winks and tells them to leave me alone, then lets me sneak off to my tree house.

  I grin at her, and she shakes her head at me. “You’re breaking my heart.” My smile falters, and she quickly assures me, “No honey, I’m teasing. It’s your day, and we’ll celebrate it the way you want to.” Even if we’re nothing alike, she loves me and always tells me.

  “Thanks, Momma.”

  “Love you, baby girl.”

  “Love you to the moon and back.”

  “Sweet talker—just like your daddy. Let’s get you home so you can get fishing.”

  I just bob my head up and down and allow the smile to make my cheeks ache. The drive home is quick, and I sneak upstairs as soon as my daddy starts kissing my momma. It happens so often. My parents are the poster children for PDA. Before I can dash out the back door to meet William, my daddy grabs me and throws me up in the air. “Hey peanut, where you heading?”

  “Fishing.” I point to my pole I dropped when he hoisted me above his head.

  “I should have known.” His warm chuckle fills me with love. “Be careful. And be home before dark.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “William is going to be there, right?”

  “Of course.”

  He chuckles again. “Nana is coming for dinner so see if that boy wants to come over. She loves him and now that she isn’t so close, she misses you both.”

  “He’ll be here.”

  Since my papa died last year, the house was too much for Nana to keep up, so she moved to some old folks home to live. I hate not being able to walk next door whenever I want to see her. We live in the house my momma grew up in, and it’s next door to where my daddy grew up, too. I didn’t meet my grandparents on my mom’s side; they died before I was born. I’ve heard stories, seen pictures, but it’s not the same. My nana, though, she has always had my back. I wasn't the princess in the ballerina outfit, but I was Papa’s and her princess. She loves to spoil me, and I love to be spoiled.

  Seeing the photos and video of my momma is the best. I don’t hate watching her dance; I just hate performing. She was a beautiful dancer, traveled and performed with the best company, but as she says, ‘My heart was here, with your daddy.’

  My daddy says, ‘Twinkle, that isn’t exactly true, but Peanut is too young still.’ I don’t care; I just love my parents and my uncles, Brett and James, William’s fathers. Non-traditional is the word I’ve heard to describe them, but it’s the only way we’ve ever been, and it works. They live across the street, so my parents have their best friends, and I have mine.

  I don’t remember the day William and I met. I was six months old, and he was a little over two when they adopted him. To hear them tell it, they saw his picture and knew he was their son. We’ve seen the pictures, heard the stories, but we’ve always had this bond. We each have other friends, but we gravitate towards each other. Our parents say we are the flip to each other’s flop. I don’t care how or why, but I know he’s my best friend, and lately I think I have my first crush.

  On him.

  I hurry to the lake at the back of our neighborhood and see him standing at the end of the dock. He’s not alone . . . tweedledee and tweedledum are here. Brian and Seth…the troublemakers from the end of the street. My mom calls them menaces, and my dad uses a word that is quickly smothered by Mom’s hand, so I couldn’t understand it. They are twins and look nothing alike, but their personalities are identical. Mean. They’re just stupid.

  “Look here, Will.” I hate when they call him that; I’m the only one who shortens his name. It’s mine and I don’t share anything about him. “Emma the Great is here.” I hate that nickname as well.

  I roll my eyes and ignore them, but William doesn’t. “Don’t call her that. She hates it.”

  “Oh, is little Emma gonna go cry to Mommy and Daddy?”

  Before I can respond, William steps in front of them. “Knock it off.”

  “At least Emma has a Mommy and Daddy.” Seth sneers at William. I don’t think, I just charge forward and push him in the lake. He comes up sputtering more insults and threats, but I don’t hear a word. Instead, I’m staring at William’s face. The confusion, hurt, and shame wash over him. He looks to me, and I can see the tears on the brim of his eyes, close to spilling out.

  That day set our path. It wasn’t all cut and dry; in fact, it was very hazy over the years, and there were times I thought we would muddle through.

  But we didn’t.

  Chapter Two
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  William

  She’s beautiful. I get butterflies in my stomach every time she walks up to me. Summer will come to an end, and we will be in different schools for the first time. It makes me sick to think about it. I’ll be off to middle school, and she’s still in elementary. I used to find her in class, during assemblies . . . usually I didn’t have to look too far because she was next to me, but I watch her, and it never gets old. I study the way she pushes her hair behind her ear, or her glasses up her nose—glasses she hates, but I love. They make her eyes stand out, and I can tell everything she’s thinking in one glance. I won’t have that next year, and I worry about her. We run in different circles, but it works for the most part. I’m with the football team, or ‘jocks’ while she is a friend to almost everyone. She doesn’t have a clique and fits in everywhere but my circle. I hate it, but I’ve never let it hinder our relationship. Emma Nichols has been in my life as long as I can remember, and nothing or nobody will change it. She gets annoyed with the attitude of most of my friends, and I can’t blame her, but my desire to fit in outweighs her concerns. I tried to bring her more into my world, suggested she try out for cheerleading. She laughed in my face. I knew it was a long shot, but I just need all the tension in our relationship removed. The distance is starting to show and crack our foundation. I don’t know what will happen when we don’t get to spend every day together. No walking to the bus stop together, no doing homework together. Everything is changing, and it’s causing me to hang on to her tighter. At twelve years old, I’ve always been the kid who thinks too much, doesn’t always enjoy what’s in front of him because I’m afraid of it being ripped away. I overheard the social worker tell my parents that it stems from the years in the orphanage. I may not remember them well, but they left an impression in my psyche. I studied what she meant by that, and I wanted to prove her wrong, but I haven’t been able to.