Chapter Three

 

 

Emerson

“Mr. Cartwright get your ass home. We have all day tomorrow for this shit. What are you still doing here?”

I flipped my head up from the exam I was grading when Jagger poked his head in my classroom door. His grin was mischievous and creased the skin beside his emerald green eyes. A quick check at the window told me it was getting late. The sun had set long before and snow pelted against the glass, accumulating on the sill of my second-story classroom.

“I was hoping to turn these in tonight, so I could leave first thing in the morning. The weather is shit, and I wanted to give myself more time for travel.”

Jagger’s brows rose as he watched the thick flakes swirling outside as well. At this rate, I’d be lucky if the roads weren’t closed by morning.

He crossed the room and planted himself on a student’s desk up front. His tie had already been pulled loose, and a few buttons by his collar had been opened. The disheveled state of his dark blond hair told me he’d been running his fingers through it most of the day. He did that when he was stressed. With exams to mark and final grades due by five the following day, every teacher at Lakeview High was stressed. Final exams had ended hours before, and there weren’t any students left in the building. If his state of undress was any indication, Jagger had clearly taken the liberty to unwind.

He crossed his arms over his chest and peered at my papers. “Got many left?”

“A few.” I leaned back in my seat and yawned. “Probably get them done in another hour or two. Then tally grades.”

“You eaten?”

I shook my head and stretched, my bones and joints protesting with audible pops. “Was gonna grab something quick on the way home later.”

“Forget it, man. It’s after seven already. I’ll run out and grab us some grub. Mind if I join you? I’ll grade a few more of my own and take the strain off myself for tomorrow.”

“Be my guest.”

Jagger pushed off the desk and snagged one of the papers from the top of the pile I had yet to mark. He screwed up his forehead as he paged through it and laughed. “I’d have failed miserably. Algebra and I never got along, or rather, Mrs. Mulligan and I never got along. ‘No, Jagger. You’re wrong, Jagger. Use BEDMAS, Jagger.’ What the fuck is BEDMAS anyhow?”

“It’s your order of operations. Brackets, exponents, division, multiplication, add—”

“I wasn’t actually asking, smartass. The point is, math sucked, and Mrs. Mulligan was a bitch.”

I snapped the paper from his hand and shooed him toward the door. “Quit knocking my major and go get us food before I start writing you a comparative essay on why math is better than English.”

“Now that I’d like to read,” Jagger said as he strutted to the door. “What do you want?”

“Nothing greasy. I have to be in a truck for at least eight hours tomorrow.”

“Mateo’s Pizza?”

“No.” I scrunched my face at the thought. “That’s all grease. Sandwiches, but not Elmira’s. Go to Bistros. The one on Queens, not the one on Second. I don’t trust them to follow the health code.”

“Yes, sir. So demanding.” Jagger wiggled his eyebrows over his shoulder before exiting into the hallway.

“Turkey club, Jagger. Light mayo, no tomatoes, whole wheat,” I yelled after him. “Do not get it toasted, and if their lettuce looks funky, do not let it touch my sandwich.”

“Is that all, your highness?” he asked as he poked his head back in the room. “Or do you want me to bend over for you, too?”

“Are you offering?” I quirked a brow in fun, knowing he wasn’t serious.

“Not on your life. Be back in twenty.” He knocked on the door frame and was gone.

Jagger and I had met in college and were inseparable. I was new to Port Raven at the time and pounced on the offer of friendship. I’d been wretchedly lonely at the time. Jagger had a tendency to avoid responsibilities and sought out parties and trouble frequently, whereas I often forgot to have fun. We balanced each other; I’d remind him to study, and he’d remind me to live a little. We made it through teacher’s college in one piece. He was a lot like Kaiden when I’d met him and responded well to my sterner edge—just as Kaiden did. Over the past four years, he’d calmed significantly and had become a full-fledged grown-up. He hated when I called him that.

The silence between us as we ate and worked at grading papers was comfortable. We’d spent many hours in that void, keeping each other company while saying nothing at all. Endless hours studying for classes and forging our way through teacher’s college as a unit. We could read each other’s minds and knew how the other was faring through simple looks alone.

As I scrutinized a barely legible exam, trying to determine if I was reading the numbers correctly, there was a soft rap on the classroom door.

Jagger and I peered up simultaneously. It was long past eight, and I was surprised there was anyone besides a janitor in the building, but the man in the doorway certainly wasn’t an employee at Lakeview. He wore a knitted beanie with a heavy, dark-brown winter jacket zipped to his chin. There was an accumulation of snow on his hat and shoulders which told me he’d come from outside recently.

“Umm, excuse me, I’m looking for Mr. Cartwright. I was told I’d find him here.” He pivoted, gaze bouncing between Jagger and me, unsure who he should address.

“That would be me.” I smiled warmly and put the illegible paper I’d been working on aside as I stood to greet him.

It was late for parents to be milling about, and his appearance made me uneasy. I’d had my fair share of dealings with defensive or irate parents who insisted I change their child’s grade, despite the fact that I could show them consistent proof their teenager was undeserving. One showing up after eight on a Thursday night, on the last day of class before reading week, did not sit well, and I was glad for Jagger’s presence.

“Hi, Mr. Cartwright, I’m Adam Powers, Alexa Powers’ father.” He rushed forward and shook my hand as he eyed Jagger. His fingers were frozen; a testament to our northern weather.

“Please, call me Emerson. I’m sorry, Adam, I don’t have an Alexa in my class. Are you sure I’m who you’re looking for?”

“Umm, yes, actually.” Adam shoved his hands in his coat pocket and shuffled his feet. “Alexa was in Mrs. Tremble’s grade eleven class this past term. She struggled. Alexa is… different. I’m not defending her poor work quality, I’m not that parent, but I get the sense her teacher was… unforgiving with her.” He scrunched his face like it wasn’t the word choice he wanted to use but was the first word that came to mind. “Anyhow, Alexa is sensitive, and when she was continually… centered out… I feel like she gave up trying.”

Adam’s eyes drifted to Jagger again who was pretending to mark papers and not eavesdrop so openly. I knew better and saw the act he was putting on. Whatever Adam was trying to relay wasn’t clear, so I waited patiently for him to get to the point. I knew Rebecca Tremble was an older, square woman, who refused to move with the times and expected teenagers to be the same as they were twenty years ago when she’d started her teaching career. It was hard not to overhear the student’s blatant dislike for her when they expressed it in the hallways.

“Well, Alexa failed her class. I don’t need to see her report card or know how she made out on the exam. She admitted it flat out when she got home. She’s a good kid, Mr. Cartwright. She will need to redo the class, and she’s afraid they will just plunk her in with that same teacher again.

“Alexa told me you taught grade eleven mathematics as well. I… I called the school earlier when I got home from work to request she was placed in your classroom. The secretary said she didn’t have that control. She suggested I make a request with the VP directly, except he’s gone on holidays already. I asked if you were available, and she told me you were here working late tonight. I don’t mean to interrupt or seem like I’m…” He drifted off, again not finding his words. “Alexa can’t be in that woman’s class again. If there is anything you can do, I would appreciate it. I know it’s a longshot.”

The man looked positively ill as he made the request. Did he honestly believe I had any power over which students were placed in my classes?

“I’m sorry to hear about Alexa’s struggles, and I can hear how frustrated you are. The best I can do for you is put in a request on your behalf to have her placed in my class. Honestly, if it doesn’t happen when we begin the new semester, Alexa can take it to a counselor at student services, share her concerns, and have the change made after the fact. I’m flattered you feel I’d be a better fit for your daughter.”

What more could I say? Adam nodded frantically at my suggestion.

“Please, if you could. I would be so grateful. Alexa would be so grateful. Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. She’s a good kid, really.”

If he emphasized that point once more, I was going to stop believing him. As much as I knew Rebecca could be a tough teacher to get along with, I’d never heard of her being unfair. The request seemed odd.

“No problem. Please tell your daughter to enjoy her week off and try not to stress too much. I’m sure this can be sorted out.” I offered my hand to shake again, and Adam snagged it with a much firmer, more confident grip than when he’d first entered.

Without more exchange, he departed.

“That was weird,” Jagger said once the man had been gone long enough to be out of earshot. “You know you probably just signed up for a delinquent teenager who will throw you over the edge into madness.”

“God, I hope not. Do you know this girl?”

“Nope.”

I sat heavily and counted the papers that remained in my unmarked pile. Four more. I could do it.

“Oh well. I’ll draw up a letter and leave it for David, then it’s out of my hands.”

Jagger yawned and leaned back in his seat. “You have many more?” he asked, nodding to the pile of papers on my desk.

“Four. How are you doing?”

“I’m toast, man. I have to call it. I need my bed.”

I dashed a look outside at the swirling snow. “You have all day tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me company. Drive safe. It’s nasty out there.”

Jagger packed up his folder of papers and shoved them in his briefcase. “Never mind me, you have a long haul tomorrow. You take it easy out there. Call me when you get to South Belle, or I’ll worry about you.”

“Yes, Mama,” I teased.

Jagger smirked as he hooked the latch on his case. “I’ll be thinking about you as I ride the slopes next week.”

“Bastard. I wanna hear all about it.”

Jagger chuckled and disappeared out the door as I resumed marking the final few papers on my desk. Almost done. I’d been looking forward to the time off until my plans had changed. Anxiety brewed in my gut again, and I couldn’t shoo it away. The last thing I wanted to do with my reading week was to go home and face Kaiden.

 

* * *

 

The following morning, I was up before the sun and sipped a coffee as I filled my duffle bag with enough clothes and personal supplies to last me a week. The snow had petered off during the night, but the accumulation was significant. From the window in my bedroom, it appeared to be at least a foot and a half deeper than it was the previous day. I hoped the plows had begun making their preliminary pass on the highways or my drive would be slow going.

Happily leaving my face unshaven, I dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a dark-gray sweater for traveling. I rubbed a dollop of gel through my dark hair and messed it into a front spike. It was nothing like how I made it for work, and I felt like myself again as I studied my reflection in the mirror.

Before leaving the house, I dialed my home number to let my mother know I was leaving a day early and that—weather pending—I’d hopefully be there around the dinner hour. It was shortly after seven in the morning, and I knew she wouldn’t have left for work yet. She answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ma.”

There was a pause before she asked, “Emerson?”

I was her only child who lived away from home. Who else did she think was calling her ma?

“Yeah. I’m just calling to let you know I’m about to hit the road. I know I told you I’d be there Saturday, but I got my marking done, and I’m leaving now. The roads aren’t great, but I’ve got the winter tires on the truck, so I should be okay. I hope to be there around dinner.”

With the sudden whir of a blender, I yanked the phone from my ear, holding it at arm’s length until the noise became a distant grind in the background. She must have moved away from it.

“Ma?” I asked, unsure if she’d heard me.

“So, you’ll be here for dinner?”

“Hopefully.”

She sighed, and I gritted my teeth. I was making the trip because it was what she wanted. She’d better not think I was an annoyance. I’d have much preferred going skiing with Jagger.

“I’ll grab groceries, I suppose. It’s a real pain in the ass without a car, you know. I went with Collette to look at new cars last week. I’m still waiting on insurance to sort it all out, but I’m leaning toward—”

“Ma,” I interrupted. “You can tell me all about it when I get there. I need to hit the road.”

The blender noise grew in intensity again as she returned to the kitchen, then, it cut out. “Okay.” There was shuffling as she continued doing whatever she was doing.

“So… umm… bye, Ma.”

She hung up without another word, and I stared at my phone, breathing through my frustration. Jagger had shown more concern for me driving through the snow than my mother. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d forgotten I was coming.

By the time I’d been on the road for four hours, my neck was kinked, and my ass was sore from sitting on it for so long. The sun had decided to shine, and it worked wonders to help the snow melt on the newly salted roads. About an hour after sun-up, the highways were all passable, and I was making good time.

I pulled into a diner just after noon, so I could stretch my legs and get myself something to eat. Enjoying a coffee with my food, I decided to spend a good hour out of the truck before continuing on. As I sat, I shot Jagger a text to let him know where I was and how the drive had been. We chatted a bit before his end of the conversation fell silent, and I assumed he got tied into his work again. I sent him a final text to let him know I was heading back out onto the road before pocketing my phone.

The last half of my drive was much nicer. The farther south I drove, the better the weather. There was still a good covering of snow in the fields, but old dead grass poked through in spots where the sun had melted most of it away.

When I entered our small town of South Belle shortly after four, a sense of peace erupted over my body at seeing the familiar landscape and buildings. I’d grown up in South Belle and missed it a lot some days, despite the trouble that had found me when I’d come out as gay in my last year of high school. The small town was behind the times when it came to equality and LGBTQ rights. It was a sad reality I wasn’t aware of when I’d announced my sexuality at seventeen. Despite the problems I’d faced, it was not why I’d run. I’d run because of Kaiden.

Moving up north had been difficult. Not only was the weather much to be desired, but it had been lonely until I’d made friends with Jagger. When I’d left home, it had been abrupt. All I’d known was I needed to get as far away from South Belle and Kaiden as possible. Port Raven had a suitable teacher’s college, and when I’d looked into a transfer, it turned out to be an easy fix.

The population of South Belle was just under ten-thousand. As I drove down one of the main roads, I noted all the tiny things that had changed in the four years I’d been gone. Kersey’s Groceries on the corner had been painted and appeared to have all new windows in front. The library had a new sign. Mulligan’s Pizzeria had taken over the old laundromat building, and the pub where I used to go on occasion when I was in school was vacant and boarded up. A shame. I’d enjoyed that little place. It made me wonder if the owner, old man Horner, had died. He was always in poor health.

I turned right on Brown St. and slowed down as I passed through my old neighborhood. The elementary school that Kai and I had attended seemed smaller than I remembered. Memories of taking Kai for his first day of kindergarten surfaced. He’d clung to my hand with such a tight grip, I was certain he’d never let me go. When I’d showed him the playground meant for the little kids, he’d fought off tears as he’d asked, “Where’s your playground, Emy?”

Our father had just died, and Kai was certain I’d leave him too. He’d needed constant assurance I was just on the other side of the school and would come for him when the day was over. Twice that first day, I’d been called down to the kindergarten room because Kaiden had hidden in the coat closet and wouldn’t come out.

I left the school behind as I turned down Peach Ave. My heart jolted and thumped harder as my old house came into view. I squeezed the steering wheel tighter as I pulled into the vacant driveway. What was Kaiden going to think of me turning up out of the blue? Maybe I should have warned him. Nothing good would come from me surprising him like this.

I killed the engine and stared at my old home. The white siding was dirty from the messy winter. Green shutters sat on either side of the big bay window, paint chipped and slats missing in places. It was dark beyond, but only because the day was bright. The stone stairs leading up to the front stoop and door were snow covered as were the shrubs that grew under the window. We’d never used that door in all the years we’d lived there, so no one had bothered to keep it maintained.

Around the side of the house was a door that led onto a small landing with stairs that went up to the kitchen and more that went down to an unfinished basement. That was the door we used, regardless of the inadequate space allotment for people coming and going.

My mother worked until four, and because she was without a car, I knew she’d be later arriving home, which meant I’d be facing Kaiden alone. Unless he’d gone somewhere. I got out of the truck and squinted through the sun at the bay window, wondering and hoping I’d have a few more minutes of peace before all hell broke loose. Over the past three weeks, I’d envisioned every scenario possible for how our reunion might play out. None of them were positive.

I left my bags in the truck and wandered through the lightly snow-covered driveway to the side door. If it was locked, I knew where the spare key was kept. It would also be the blessing I was hoping for that would mean Kaiden was out. As I reached for the doorknob, I half-prayed it wouldn’t open.

It turned, and when I gave a small shove, the door rubbed against the frame and creaked as it fell inward, letting out a small burst of warm air from inside.

Figures.

I went in, and the familiar smell of nutmeg and brown sugar wafted through the air. My mother had always been obsessed with those scented wax room fresheners. She mixed it up constantly, and the house always smelled of something delicious and overly sweet you wished you could eat.

I kicked off my snow-covered shoes and placed them on a slim mat that sat a stair down, blocking safe passage to the basement. As I unzipped the light jacket I’d worn in the car, I climbed the four steps that led into the kitchen. Sunlight streamed in from a small window above the sink, so even though the lights were all off, it was bright. The white counters gleamed in the silent room. The sun’s rays reflected off canisters and the ceramic surfaces of strategically placed knickknacks.

No one was about.

I poked my head into the living room but again found it empty. The single floor bungalow wasn’t huge. A closet style laundry room sat just off the kitchen, but there was only room in the small space for the washer and dryer, nothing more. Down a long hallway were three bedrooms; my mother’s, Kaiden’s, and mine. I had no clue if mine would still exist as a bedroom or if it would have been transformed over the years into something more utilitarian.

Finding the living room empty, I took a steadying breath and inspected the familiar space before I went searching for Kaiden. It was exactly the same as when I’d left. A wall-size cabinet took up one side of the room. China plates and teacups sat behind glass doors on one side, and a closed off liquor cabinet housed the other.

On a higher shelf sat dozens of framed photographs among countless ornaments and candles. There was not a single picture of Kaiden among them, and there were only two of me. I was young in both of them, not yet out of diapers. In the first, I was a newborn, fresh out of the hospital and swaddled in a blue blanket with two proud parents flanking me on both sides. Young, beaming grins bloomed across their faces on the day they brought their first child home from the hospital. The only other picture was of when I was a young child of maybe two. It was summer in the picture, and I was swimming in a turtle pool in our backyard, naked as the day I was born. The sun shone bright, and the flowers in the planters behind me were brilliant colors the old film couldn’t capture.

I approached the wall unit and scanned the countless other framed photographs which were intermixed with dried flowers and angel figurines. Every single one of the remaining pictures were of my baby brother, Elijah. For almost twenty-five years the shrine of his life hadn’t changed. Each photograph had its specific place among the other memorial items, and each item carried significance and a story. My mother meticulously dusted around them, and they never moved. In the five short months of his life, there had certainly been a lot of pictures taken.

Whenever I examined them—even years before—their presence always left a pressing weight against my heart. An aching sadness. Not for the brother I barely knew and honestly didn’t remember, but for the mother both Kaiden and I had lost in the process. The one, in truth, Kaiden had never known.

I turned from the depressing commemoration of my mother’s lifelong illness and scanned the rest of the room. Same tan, corduroy couch. Same chocolate, floral embossed pillows. Same dependable wooden coffee table where I’d split my head open wrestling with Kaiden when I was fourteen. Same twin end tables and tacky shaded lamps.

The beige, shag carpet really needed to be updated. It’d been the same since before I was born. I had distinct memories of Kaiden and I hiding our dinky cars and Legos in it when we were growing up and my father cursing a blue streak when he’d been unfortunate enough to step on one. The carpet monster was often the culprit for our missing toys—the vacuum, when they went unfound, was the other.

I squeezed my eyes closed a moment before deciding I was ready to take the plunge and seek out my baby brother. Too much dawdling would mean he might find me first, and I wanted to be the one making the entrance and keeping the upper hand.

There was no music or other noise coming down the hallway, and I considered again he might not be home and had simply forgotten to lock the door behind him. I edged my way down the darkened corridor; past the bathroom on my right, past my mother’s room and the scent of her jasmine perfume that lingered and bled into the hall. I paused outside my old room and stared at the closed door. What were the chances?

I nudged it open, and even in darkness, it was apparent it had been made into an office. Clicking the door back in place, I stared at the last room at the end of the hallway. The door wasn’t closed tight, and light framed the edges.

My heart raced as I advanced, pulsing in my ears and bringing a sheen of sweat to coat my skin. Among wrestling with my nervous energy, I realized, deep, deep down grew a tiny seed of hope that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t be as bad as I’d made them out to be.

Here goes nothing.

At the closed-over door, I rapped my knuckles gently and waited for a reply. My insides trembled as I envisioned Kai’s response to my sudden homecoming. What were the chances we could lay things to rest and move on? What were the chances we could get back our friendship? Our brotherhood?

“What?” His voice was marbled and grumbly—not at all impressed at having been interrupted. It was the bitter side of Kaiden I’d once been so good at tempering. The fierce reaction and need to calm that beast surfaced without permission, and I shoved it down again. As far down and as locked away as I could get it. Maybe, if I was lucky, he could forgive me. If I failed him again, it would be the end for us, and I knew it.

Not responding, I pushed the door inward and stepped into his line of sight. He sat on his bed, chin to chest as he scrolled through his phone. When I remained quiet, he lifted his head. Four years had done him wonders. He wasn’t the scraggly, awkward nineteen-year-old I’d left behind. He was a man.

The moment he registered who it was, he paled, and his eyes widened.

“Oh, fuck. Emerson?”