Barely Breathing

"Who cares," Evan shrugged. "What's he going to do?"

Jared laughed with enlarged eyes, like he knew exactly what their father was capable of. Evan didn't seem fazed. But I couldn't help but shrink a few inches in my chair.

"Should I be worried about Evan and his father?" I asked Sara when I was driving her back to her house.

"Are you looking for insider information because Evan's making it seem like it's not a big deal?"

"Well, yeah," I answered uncomfortably. "Has Jared said anything?"

Sara was quiet, deliberating what to say. She always got fidgety whenever she had to tell me something I didn't want to hear.

"Just say it, Sara," I demanded flatly.

"I promised Jared I wouldn't, so you have to swear that you won't mention it to Evan, no matter what." I just stared at her impatiently. "Fine. Mr. Mathews has threatened to cut Evan off if he goes to Stanford. He said he could freeze his accounts, take away his passport and even his car."

"Over choosing Stanford?" I struggled to get the words out.

"You know it has nothing to do with Stanford."

"Yeah," I breathed. "I do. I can't let this happen."

"It's not your decision to make, Emma," Sara warned. "It's Evan's."

30. Unexpected Future

My mother couldn't stay silent for long. It was against her nature. So whether she'd truly forgiven me or not, she was talking to me like she had.

"I may be a little late tonight," she informed me, rushing around as she tended to do most mornings before work. "Do you have practice today?"

"No, not today," I told her from my spectator position, on the couch with a bowl of cereal.

"Do you think you could cook dinner?" She paused and looked to me. "Or... maybe order out? I don't think I'll be out of the meeting in time."

I smiled and said, "I may go to Evan's for dinner."

"Great. I'll feel better knowing you're eating something that's not microwaved. But I won't be late, okay?"

"Okay." She'd been letting me know her schedule for the past couple of days. I was pretty sure it was her indirect way of apologizing for making me worry about her last Thursday night when she passed out at Sharon's without calling.

She rushed out the door with a lightweight jacket over her arm.

This week had taken a pleasant rise in temperature. They were forecasting near eighty by Friday, which was unheard of in early April in Connecticut. I wasn't complaining.

With the increase in temperature and only eight weeks to go until permanent freedom, the seniors were having a hard time concentrating. Class was more chatty and the halls were bouncing with energy.

"Want to skip last class?" Sara proposed during lunch.

"I can't," I moped, "I have a paper due."

"What are you doing after school? You should come over."

"I don't think I'll have time. I have to get some laundry done before I have nothing to wear, and then I'm going to Evan's for dinner."

"This weekend then. I'm not leaving for Florida until Monday, so you can spend the weekend with me. Do you have a game?"

"On Saturday," I told her. "Yeah, I think we need some girl time."

Sara smiled. "Yes we do! I'm feeling a little disconnected from you lately, so we have some catching up to do."

"Agreed."

I'd decided even before this conversation that I needed to fill Sara in on everything that was happening with my mother. I didn't have Jonathan to talk to any longer, and Sara was my best friend. She was supposed to know these things. Now that we had actual time set aside for us, I somehow felt... better. Sara would know what I should do. Or at least have a very candid opinion of the situation.

With a promise of seeing Evan at his house after baseball practice, I drove home with my windows down. Spring was starting to stretch its arms, and I welcomed it after a frigid and snowy winter. The early spring flowers were in bloom, and the trees were in varied stages of budding or flowering, which meant in a few weeks they'd be filled with green leaves.

I knew this warm and sunny weather was a fluke in early April―they were already predicting cooler temperatures and rain by the end of the weekend. But today the heat from the sun felt good blowing against my face as I drove home.

There was a man standing on my doorstep when I pulled into the driveway. First impression, his dark suit and brief case―he was a salesman. He even wore a fedora on his head. But when I stepped out of the car, I realized his tailored suit was much too nice to belong to a door-to-door salesman. Besides, I didn't think anyone did that anymore.

"Can I help you?" I questioned as I approached him.

"Are you Emily Thomas?" the tall older man confirmed, removing his hat to reveal thick white hair, brushed back to expose a receding hairline.

"Yes," I answered cautiously, still standing on the walkway, hesitant to get closer.

"My name is Charles Stanley," he explained. He stood erect on the porch, his perfect posture making him appear to tower a mile above me. "I'm the lawyer for the Thomas family. I am your father's executor."

"My father?" I questioned, unable to move.

"Yes, Derek Thomas," he answered patiently. "Is there somewhere private we can talk? Do you expect Rachel home any time soon?"

"No, she's working late today," I told him, ungluing my feet and tentatively walking towards the door. "Do you have a card or something?"

"Of course," he replied, pulling out a silver card holder from his pocket. He opened it and extended a card to me, confirming who he was. I didn't have any real reason to doubt him.

I unlocked the door and held the screen open for him. "We can sit in the kitchen."

"Wonderful." He followed me into the kitchen and set his hat on the table. I kept my eyes on him, fearing that if I blinked he was going to disappear.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," he replied, sitting in the chair and unbuckling his briefcase to remove a file. I lowered in the chair across from him, my hands shaking slightly. "I'm sure you're wondering who I am and what I'm doing here, so let's begin. As I said, my name is Charles Stanley. I have represented the Thomas family most of my career, focusing mainly on estate matters and preparing their trusts and other financial concerns."

"I'm sorry," I interrupted, already confused. "You keep saying the family. I don't understand. Who does that include?"

Charles nodded and began again. "Your father gave me permission for full disclosure, so I may reveal to you everything I know that pertains to him. Derek Anders Thomas was born to Laura and Nicolas Thomas. They lived in Lincoln, Massachusetts most of his life. His brother George Samuel Thomas was born three years later.

"Derek attended private schools through high school and went on to Cornell where he studied Architectural Engineering and eventually graduated with a master’s."

"Cornell?" I questioned in surprise, wondering why I'd never known this.

"Yes," Charles replied calmly, his smooth deep voice devoid of emotion. Then he continued, "He decided to return to Massachusetts to be near his family, and took a position with the top engineering firm in Boston. This is where he met Rachel Walace." He paused. I swore I saw sympathy flash across his dark blue eyes for a moment before he returned to his emotionless report.

"She was a temporary replacement for their receptionist who was out on leave for a short time. From this point forward, the facts that can easily be researched are combined with your father's firsthand account and his own opinions. So unfortunately, I cannot substantiate much of what I'm about to tell you.

"Derek was under the impression that Rachel was older than she was when they first met. She indicated that she was twenty-six, and he at that time was thirty-two. They went out on several occasions, and he really enjoyed her company. She was different than most of the women in his social circle, and he described her as a 'breath of fresh air.'"

My insides were already chilled, because I knew how old my mother was when I was born.

"In time, he discovered her true age of twenty and broke off the relationship immediately. Your father believed in integrity and trust above all else, and she’d lied to him. She was distraught over the break-up, and made multiple attempts to regain his favor. Just when he thought she'd given up, she appeared by his car after work with the news that she was pregnant."

I exhaled and closed my eyes, my stomach turning to ice. I wasn't planned. They weren't married. They weren't even technically dating.

"Are you okay, Emma?" Charles asked. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

"I'll get it," I said in a rush, pushing myself out of the seat. I needed a break from the story, from the truth of how I came into this world. It was so different than I'd ever imagined. I returned with a glass of water, and after taking a small sip, I encouraged, "Go ahead. I'm ready."

"Derek agreed to restart their relationship, and to be there for you when you were born. Months later, he bought a house in Lincoln where you were raised for seven years. Rachel chose not to live there after Derek's death, but the house was not rightfully hers and became a part of his estate. Which brings me to why I am here today."

"Wait," I intercepted frantically. "Did they ever get married? Did he love her? What about his parents? Are they still in Lincoln?"

"I'm sorry. I am certain you have more questions than I am capable of answering. No, Rachel and Derek never married. He did care for her, and he was convinced that she loved him. But he admitted to me that he did not trust her. She was young and irresponsible, tending to be a bit excessive in her social habits."

I smirked with a disgruntled shake of my head, knowing he was politely saying that she was a drunk even back then. This was who she always was. It wasn't a symptom of grief, a way for her to cope. It was as much a part of her as the lies she'd led me to believe all of these years. The lies that included a fairly tale romance, a marriage that didn't exist and a love destroyed by a senseless accident. And where did I fit into her delusions?

My throat was tight. My insides were hollow. I thought my head might explode from all the conflicting emotions coursing through me.

"Your grandparents moved to Florida before you were born. They, your grandmother in particular, did not approve of having a child out of wedlock, so they disconnected themselves from Derek and Rachel, and therefore, from you. Apparently your grandfather did not feel as strongly, and when he passed fifteen years ago, he left a sizable inheritance to each of his sons―despite Laura's wishes.

"That inheritance is the foundation for your father's estate." He opened the folder and began displaying sheets with numbers and charts in front of me. I was too overwhelmed to understand them. They became a blur of ink before my eyes.

"What is this?" I choked, my hands trembling in my lap.

"This, Emma, is your future," he explained smoothly. "Your father invested wisely, and with his earnings at the firm, the sale of the house in Lincoln, and his life insurance policy, on top of what he had inherited from your grandfather, his estate is quite impressive. All of these assets become your legal right when you turn eighteen in June.