Page 59 of Little Pieces of Light

He grabbed my arm, like a snake striking, his fingers digging into my flesh. “I’m not let you do this. I refuse—”

“You don’t have a say. I know you hate that, but there’s nothing you can do.” I shook my head. “Some part of me will always love you. But mostly, I just feel sorry for you.”

His eyes flared, and then his free hand whipped up and lit my cheek on fire with the sudden, stinging pain of a slap. I turned my head back to stare at him, my face aflame.

And then I slapped him back.

The shock of it, more than the pain, stunned him. His fingers around my arm loosened, and I broke free.

“Goodbye, Daddy,” I whispered.

I twisted out of his grip and then I ran.

Down the stairs and out the front door. Nowhere to go, no money, no idea what came next.

The Harringtons’ black sedan was pulling into the drive, and an exhilarated laugh burst out of me.

I must’ve looked like I was running from a fire, running in a dress and heels, with only a stack of letters to my name.

That’s all I need.

Night was falling. I ran until I couldn’t, and then I walked until I found myself at Brenton Park. The anvil-shaped rock was still there. I sat down, nerves humming, my lungs sucking in the deepest, cleanest breaths of my life, and I read every single one of Xander’s letters.

In them, he told me about his life at Langdon School, his worry for his father, and complicated physics questions that fascinated him—as if I were an equal who might understand.

And in each letter, he wondered if I might write back. At first, with curiosity and politeness, then with more and more hurt and confusion as his letters went unanswered.

Under the light of the lone lamppost, I read Xander’s words and cried so hard, at times I could hardly see the pages. And then I reached the end. Xander, now fifteen years old, had written to me for the last time.

Dear Emery,

At this point, it’s self-flagellation—a kind of sweet torture—to keep writing with no expectation of hearing back.

Something has prevented you from receiving my letters, or you have chosen to send them straight to the trash pile.

Whatever the reason, I have come to the end of my own capacity for hope.

This will be my last letter.

And because it’s my last letter, I feel compelled to write down, in black and white, what I’ve been too cowardly to express all this time, and that is to say that I love you.

It makes no sense. We were children when we met.

We only had a handful of minutes. Scientifically, there is no justification for why I should feel like I do.

It is not my nature to romanticize my way into loving a stranger, and it doesn’t seem possible that my bitter heart crafted these feelings from scratch.

At first, I wondered if it was the comfort you gave me (which was quite a lot).

Of all the kids at the park that evening, you chose to sit with the sad boy who’d lost his mother.

You made me feel less alone at a time when I had never felt lonelier.

But it’s not gratitude for your compassion that compels me to love you. Instead, I worry that it’s something unexplainable. Something fantastical or magical that I can’t sort out, even with my “genius” brain working overtime. I have no rational explanation.

Nevertheless, I am in love with you. Irrevocably. Some part of me recognized a part of you that day—as if I had found a missing piece of myself. But I have lost it again, so I have to stop writing now, though I’m quite sure I’ll never stop loving you.

I hope that your life is full of beauty and joy—as much as you are yourself—and I hope, too, that you somehow know I kept my promise.

I did not forget you.

I never could. I never will.

I will love you forever.

Yours,

Xander

A sob tore out of me. I held the letter to my heart and cried tears of joy that this boy loved me, and I loved him. No matter what happened next, I knew I was going to be okay because my heart was intact. I was alive in the world but fully myself, and that was all that mattered.

I heaved several deep, shaking breaths. My phone was at the house. I had no way to call anyone. Nothing to do but start walking.

“Emery?”

My head whipped up. Xander stood in the yellow glow of the lamp in his usual jeans and jacket. His eyes behind his glasses, red and shining.

“Emery,” he said again, his voice a croak. “What happened? I went by your house, and Belinda said you’d left. That you ran out the door.”

“I did. I had to. He was going to try to marry me off to that creep.” I held his letters tightly to me. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you. I—” Xander hung his head.

“My dad isn’t doing well. I don’t think he’s going to…

be around much longer. I’m going to sell the house to help pay for the home, but anything after that, I’m giving to you.

And the tutoring money. I still have it.

I’ll give that to you too, so you can make a fresh start in California—”

I tore off the rock, letters fluttering to the ground, and threw my arms around him. I buried my face in the warm skin of his neck.

I’ll never let go…

“How are you forgiving me?” he asked against my hair.

“Forgiving you?”

“You were trying to save me. To push me away to keep me safe, and, like a fool, I took the bait. I left you. Now you’re out here in the dark, alone…”

“I had to do it alone. I had to walk away with no hope or promise that anything could save me but me.” I pulled away to hold his face. “You were exactly where you needed to be. With your father, right?”

He nodded. “He’s safe now. In Boston. They can give him the care I can’t.”

“You did so good for so long, Xander.”

His gaze was soft and warm…then sharpened on the left side of my face. “Emery…”

“I’m okay.”

“He hit you.”

“Yes, but I hit him back,” I said, my voice watery. “It was terrible and awful but kind of freeing too. Like something breaking between us forever.”

Xander’s mouth was drawn down in anger and he pulled me to him again, holding me fiercely. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I have something to show you.” I led him by the hand to our rock and swept up the letters. “Look.”

He slowly took them from me. “How…? Where…?”

“My mother had them. All this time. She thought she was protecting me, as if she could stop me from loving you, somehow. She was wrong.”

Xander sat down on the rock and I sat beside him. “Did you…?”

I nodded, tears in my eyes. “I read every single one, and they’re so beautiful, Xander. It hurt to see how much it hurt you to hear nothing back, but you still said you loved me.”

He looked to me. “I always will.”

I smiled, my tears spilling over. “Can you kiss me now? I could really use a kiss.”

Xander cupped my face in his hands and brought his lips to mine.

My eyes fell shut as the purest relief and love infused me.

His mouth was warm and soft, and I opened mine to let him in.

His gentle tongue tasted every part of me.

And I kissed him back, his own taste and scent so familiar now, seemingly made just for me.

His lips retreated, but he kept holding my face, his eyes drinking me in. “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real.”

“I’m right here.”

“And I’m not letting you go again.”

“Good thing, seeing as how we’re legally bound in holy matrimony,” I teased, happiness coming out of my pores.

He smiled but his gaze was intent as he glanced at his watch. “We still have time.”

“For what?”

“Prom.”

I gave a little laugh. “Are you being serious? No…it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late. It’s not even eight. We can make it.” He pulled me in close for a moment. “You are so brave, Emery. You did an amazing thing tonight. You deserve to be celebrated.” He took my hand and helped me off our rock, then stopped. “Wait, your dress.”

“It’s at my house.” I glanced down at the black cocktail dress I was wearing. “The theme is Black-and-White Ball. This isn’t a ballgown, but it works.”

“You bought that dress with your own money. You should be able to take what’s yours.”

“He won’t let me take it,” I said. “And going back…?”

“I’ll get it. You don’t have to step one foot in there.”

“But Xander, the Harringtons are there. And my dad will call the police, or I don’t know what.”

“I don’t care.”

“It would be the worst capper to this night if you got arrested for trespassing. But I can go in,” I said, contemplating. “There’s something else I want to get. It’s important, actually. I’ll sneak in through the kitchen. Belinda will help.”

“No, Em, wait.” Xander was shaking his head. “I didn’t think this through. It’s a bad idea. You look beautiful just as you are. I can’t let you walk back into the lion’s den.”

“I want to do this,” I said. “Grayson can’t lock me in, and he won’t want to cause a scene in front of the Harringtons.

It’ll be okay. More than okay. Because I know I can leave.

” I smiled sadly. “The cell door was locked from the inside the whole time.” I kissed Xander’s dubious expression.

“I want the dress, but there’s something I need more. ”

Reluctantly, Xander drove me back to the house. I thought I’d be scared, but I wasn’t the same girl who’d walked out earlier that night. My father had been a monster in my mind but was only a small, petty man in reality. And I was only taking what was mine.

And one more thing. An artifact…

“Oh, Miss Emery!” Belinda whispered when we knocked at the side door. “I’m so happy to see you.” She glanced at Xander behind me, tears in her eyes. “Oh, sweet boy, you found her.”

I hugged her tight. “I’m just grabbing a few things. Where are they?”

“In the study,” she said, letting us in. “Mr. Wallace is entertaining the senator and his family.”

“Business as usual,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here,” Xander said.