Page 75 of Emmett
They left me. They really left me here.
Perching on the side of the bed, I scrub my knuckles against my eyes with a loud sniff. My suitcase lays open on the floor in front of me and the few pieces of clothing that Mother and Father left with me are folded inside of it. A Bible and my rosary sit on top of the small pile, staring at me. Mocking me.
My grandfather heaves a sigh as he takes a seat next to me, resting his hands on his knees. The wrinkles between his eyebrows pinch together as he looks down at my belongings, and he offers a shake of his head. “Tomorrow, Orla will fetch you some proper clothing,” he tells me. “What kind of bedding would you like for her to bring you? Silk?”
“I wantmybed withmybedding,” I tell him. “I want to sleep in my own room. I want to go home.”
“You are home.” Bending down, he flips closed the lid of my luggage. “This is where you live now.”
“But I didn’t mean to!” I wail. “I tried to fix it. I promise, I tried. I confessed, I prayed and I prayed, but God didn’t fix me. I can do better, I swear, just let me go home!”
My grandfather sits with my words for a moment with his wrinkled lips pulled into a tight line across his face. I sniffle and wipe the back of my hand against my nose, and he pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, handing it to me.
“God didn’t fix you because He didn’t need to,” he tells me. “So you like boys. Plenty of other boys do. Your parents…they’re only able to see in black and white. Does God not create all of His children in His image?”
I know the answer to the question; I’ve studied the Bible every day this year and I’ve meditated on all of the scripture that the priest told me to, but I only shrug in response to his question as my tears roll down my face. I can’t stop them. My skin burns and my eyes are swollen, my throat feels as though it’s been clawed apart and my head is throbbing, but I still can’t stop.
My eyes move to my hands, where my fingernails are broken at the ends from trying to pry my suitcase from my father’s hands and from trying to force the car door open as we drove here. It hurts; every part of me hurts, inside and out.
“Look at me when I speak to you, young man.” I turn my attention to my grandfather, who smiles warmly at me and continues. “God created people who work in science and will cure cancer. God created the doctors who heal our sick and wounded. God created people with a talent to give us music, like He gave to you; and He created you to like boys. He will forgive you for any sin that comes from that, because He made you.”
“I don’t want Him to forgive me, I wanted Him tofixme.” I wrap my aching hand around the golden crucifix that hangs from my neck and yank as hard as I can until the chain snaps, then I throw the jewelry onto the floor. “I hate Him. I hope He dies! I asked Him for help and he forsook me!”
“Orla,” my grandfather calmly calls out as he bends down to pick up my discarded necklace. A tall woman with ginger hair pulled back into a sleek bun steps into the room with her hands held behind her back. “Have the jeweler replace Nash’s chain while you’re out tomorrow.”
“Of course, Mr. Montgomery,” she says with a small bow as she takes the jewelry from him. Her accent is thick, somewhere between Irish and English.
“I don’t want it back,” I tell her, and my grandfather reaches for my knee. My skin is sore, callused and inflamed from months of kneeling on the carpet to pray. I kick my foot against the side of the luggage as hard as I can with a loud sob. “I just want to gohome. Edie’s crying, I know she is. We’ve never been apart and she needs me.” Standing from the bed, I pick up the suitcase from the floor and throw it against the wall, screaming. “I want to gohome!”
The case falls open as it makes contact with the wall, its contents spilling out and littering the floor of the room. My rosary lands at my feet and I pick it up, pulling it in two directions and snapping it apart with another anguished scream that rips through my throat. The beads fly in every direction, making a mess.
Orla steps away from me as if she’s frightened of me, but she keeps her hands clasped behind her back and her expression neutral. My grandfather presses his hands to his thighs and stands, taking a step toward me. His silver hair shines against the artificial light in the room as he looks downat me. He looks so much like Father; older and more wrinkled, but all of his features match. The only thing out of place is the empathy behind his eyes.
“Leave us,” he orders her, and she complies immediately. With his hand coming down on my shoulder, he tells me, “You need to gain control of yourself.”
“Mother said—”
“I’m not interested in what your mother had to say,” he says. “When I’m gone, an empire will be dropped at your feet and youwillbe expected to know how to hold it. What will you do with the life that you will inherit from me? What will you accomplish?”
I don’t want to accomplish anything. I want to go home to my family and feel my parents wrap me in a warm embrace, and I want to have breakfast with them, and I want to stay up until two o’clock in the morning laughing with my sister and my brothers. I want to be normal.
“I want to go home,” I echo for what feels like the hundredth time, my voice raw and thick with exhaustion.
“It’s time to be brave now, Nash.” My grandfather reaches up to brush my hair away from my face. “Build a mask on the inside. Build several. When you don’t feel brave, put one of them on and pretend. Use that fire inside of you to push yourself forward.”
•
Present Day
Whoever invented the idea of a launch party was a complete blubbering idiot, and If one more person smacks me on the shoulder to congratulate me, I might have their handsremoved. I don’t know any of these people and I don’t give a singular fuck about any one of them. It’s only been twenty minutes, I haven’t even cracked open the first bottle of Montgomery Estate Bordeaux, and I want this to end.
Standing at the back window of my home, I look out at my beautiful backyard. Frost coats the grass as the first sprinkle of snow falls to the ground. The pool will freeze over soon, taking with it my personal slice of heaven and the only place that feels anything like peace. Maybe it’s juvenile, but it feels like more than just a piece ofmenow; watching the surface ripple as water falls from the rock above it, I can’t help but feel the presence of the one person I wish were here tonight.
I slip my phone from the pocket of my suit jacket and I scroll through my contacts list to find Emmett’s name. I should have deleted his information, and the memories right along with it, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to. Each time that I’ve tried, something burned behind the wall of my chest and I felt like I might be sick.
“Mr. Montgomery, they’re ready for you.”
“Right.”