Smart, Sexy and Secretive
Page 16That I can’t be what you need me to be.
I look at the words on the page
As they swim and they rage.
They fight me even though I try,
Sometimes I still wonder why
What can I ever say
To make you love me today?
I’m willing to forget yesterday.
I need you… .Mmmmmmmmmmm
I try to be
All that you want to see,
But you know how it goes.
Nobody else knows
That I can’t be
what you need me to be.
I look at the words on the page
As they swim and they rage.
They fight me even though I try,
Sometimes I still wonder why.
You’ve been awake for a while now.
Can you love me no matter how,
Can you take me as I was born
Instead of insisting reform?
You’re supposed to love me no matter what,
But I can see you’d rather
Have anyone but me on your side.
This has been a long ride.
Every time I’m ready to give up on you
He won’t let me give up on you
Even though you gave up on me long ago, Dad.
But you can help that you see me that way.
Because I am not broken,
And I’m still always hoping
That one day you’ll see I’m just me…Dad.
The music stops and the spotlight on me dims as the crowd falls completely silent. I wipe the tears from my face and set my guitar to the side. The stage lights are taking forever, and I can’t figure out why.
There’s a pregnant pause. Maybe I went too far. Maybe I should run out the back door rather than face the scorn of the audience. I just poured my heart out up here. And I did it for one man. Sure, the lights and the performance were for Logan. I wanted him to know what I had to say, and he wouldn’t hear it in the words of my song. The rest of it…
I hear the sound of hands clapping together. It’s not a crowd of people. It’s just two hands clapping. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. It’s slow and methodical. And then I hear his voice.
“Well done, Emily!”
My heart leaps into my throat. That’s not Logan or any of the Reeds. That’s my dad. My dad is clapping for me.
The stage lights come on, and I can see him standing at the foot of the stage. He’s clapping like crazy, and he has tears running down his face. Certainly, it didn’t affect him this much.
“Emily!” he yells, his hands cupping his mouth, even though I’m only ten feet from him. “I’m so proud of you!” He yells out words like “brilliant” and “amazing” and “awesome” and he turns to someone behind him and says, “My daughter is so talented. Did you see that?” He’s crying unabashedly, and so am I.
The crowd is getting over my dad’s emotional outburst, and they all get to their feet, clapping for me. I walk toward my instructor and he says, “Excellent job, Miss Madison.”
“Did I do all right?” I ask him quietly. He points toward the crowd. They’re all on their feet. They’re giving me a standing ovation. “Wow,” I breathe.
“Congratulations, Miss Madison. I’d say you’ve found your calling.” He motions me forward. “Take a bow.”
I step forward on quivering legs and bend at the waist. The crowd is applauding wildly, and my dad is still standing directly in front of the stage. He’s the loudest one of all. He holds up one finger to tell me to wait. I see him dodge around the side of the stage and up the stairs. And in front of the entire auditorium, my dad sweeps me into a hug. He spins me around in a circle, my feet flying. “I’m so proud of you, Emily!” he yells.
He still hasn’t wiped all the tears from his face, and he doesn’t seem to care. He speaks in my ear. “I never knew, Emily. I’m an idiot. I never knew.” He squeezes me to him again. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” He takes my face between his palms and stares into my eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”
He lets me go without waiting for an answer and stalks over to the microphone. “That was my daughter,” he says. “I had no idea she had that kind of talent.” He stares at me, his voice cracking. “I’ve never been so proud.”
The teacher beckons us off the stage with a quick flick of his wrist. I drag my father toward the back curtain and slip behind it. Waiting there are all the Reed brothers and my mother.
Sam gets to me first. He scoops me up and spins me around. “You showed them,” Sam says in my ear. He smacks the side of my face with a loud kiss. Paul ruffles my hair with his huge hand, and Matt pulls me to him and holds me tightly.
“Did Logan leave?” I ask him when he finally steps back.
He shakes his head, smiles, and points over my shoulder. Logan is leaning against the wall. He’s not rushing toward me. Instead, he’s standing there with his foot flat against the wall, his knee bent. He has a bouquet of roses in his hand.
I love you, I sign.
He hands the flowers he’s holding to my mom and then he signs back. You were brilliant up there. He points to my dad and grins. Just ask him. He’ll tell you. But then he sobers. You did it, Em. You did it.
I know what my dad thinks. I want to know what Logan thinks. What did you think you of my performance? I bite my lower lip.
I’ve never known what music felt like before, and I know now. Thank you. But I already knew you were f**king brilliant.
I run over and wrap my arms around him.
He tips my face up. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before.”
“I’d do just about anything for you.”
My mom finally gets to hug me. “You should have seen your dad’s face the minute you started to sing. He had no idea you had that in you. And then he realized the words were about him. He sobbed through the whole performance.”
“Cried?” Paul suggests.
“Boohooed?” Matt tosses in.
“Wailed like an infant?” Sam says.
My dad huffs, but he’s not angry. “I’m just so proud of her!” My heart expands in my chest at his words.
Logan drops an around my shoulders. “So am I.”
Paul yells, “I think that’s pretty much unanimous!”
“I’m starving,” Sam calls out. “Can we go get a pie?” He rubs his stomach.
Dad laughs. “The pie is on me.”
“Better make it pies,” Paul says. “You’ve obviously never seen these boys eat.”
We start to the restaurant on foot, since it’s only a short walk away.
My dad puts his arm around my shoulders and walks with me. “You really surprised me tonight,” he says softly.
“I can tell.” I laugh. But it’s not a funny topic, not to me.
“I’m sorry, Em. I should have heard you play a long time ago. I would have understood why you have this passion for music. You’re talented.”
I wrap my arm around his waist and lean into him. “Thanks, Dad.”
Logan and the boys have already crossed the street, as has my mom. I stoop to tie my shoe, and my dad stops in the middle of the road. He waits for me.
I hear the screech of the tires before I even see the car careening in our direction. The ice on the street is thin and black and hard to see. The car can’t stop. My dad stands there immobile, frozen in the headlights. The car swerves, but it’s not enough. My dad is directly in its path.
The scene freezes in my head, like a film played in slow motion.
“Dad!” I call. I run toward him, but then I look over his shoulder, and I see the moment Logan makes his decision. His blue eyes meet mine, and he looks directly into my face as he steps into the path of the oncoming car and shoves my dad to safety. My dad falls onto the concrete beside me, and the car hits Logan directly in the knees. He flies over the hood and rolls into the windshield. The car skids into a parked car with a screech of its brakes and a furious turn of the wheel. Logan falls from the hood of the car and lands on the concrete. He lies there. I watch, paralyzed with fear as I wait for Logan to get up and shake it off. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. And then I see the blood spreading across his forehead.
I run to Logan and grab the front of his coat. “Logan!” I scream. “Logan.”
Paul pulls me off Logan and pushes me into Matt’s waiting arms. I fight, kicking and screaming, until Matt restrains me with his arms wrapped tightly around me. He won’t even let me look at Logan. I scratch and kick at him, and he grunts when I head butt his chin.
“Stop it,” he breathes.
He holds me immobile, his strong arms wrapped around me while he keeps me turned away from the sight of Paul and Sam working on Logan. They’re giving him mouth-to-mouth. I can hear Sam counting, and I can hear Paul as he breathes in and out. It seems like days until the ambulance arrives. They hoist Logan inside, and I’m left there in the street with Matt holding my hands behind my back. Paul rides with Logan. Another ambulance is coming. I can hear the sirens. And that’s when I realize the second one is for my dad.
I look down. He’s completely motionless, and my mom has his head in her lap. She’s sobbing and rubbing his quiet face. I watch, knowing it has to be too late for my dad. He is as still as Logan. No one was giving him CPR, though. Not like they were with Logan. The emergency responders load my dad in the ambulance, and I stand there. I feel dead inside. I don’t know what to do or where to go. My mom gets in the ambulance, and they close the doors behind her. This reminds me so much of the time that Matt was sick, and I had to call the ambulance for him. They let me ride with him, though. No one left me waiting in the street not knowing what to do.
Matt and Sam drag me toward a waiting police car. “Get in,” Matt says as he pushes my head down like you see the police do on cop shows. He slides in behind me and drops an arm around my shoulders pulling me into him. He looks down at me, getting in my face. “You didn’t get hit, did you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “It wasn’t me. It was Logan.”
Oh my God. It was Logan. Logan got hit by the out-of-control car. He rolled over the hood and into windshield. Then he lay on the cold concrete, unmoving. Pete and Sam did CPR.
“He wasn’t breathing,” I say. I start to shiver.
“No, he wasn’t.” Matt’s hand rubs absently along my shoulder.
“Are you scared?” My voice is quivering.
“The car was going to hit my dad.”
“I know,” he grunts.
“Why did he do that?” I gnaw on my fingernail, tearing at my flesh until I feel pain.
“Why does Logan do anything?”
“I saw the look on his face.” Tears roll unheeded down my cheeks.
Matt tips my chin up. “What look?” he asks.
“I saw him make the decision to shove him out of the way.” I can’t believe he did that. Why would he do that?
“Mother fucker had better live,” Matt murmurs. “If he doesn’t, I’m going f**king kill him.”
The police officer lets us out at the Emergency Room doors. Matt takes one of my hands and Sam takes the other. I wish Pete were here. Shoot! Pete. “Did anyone call Pete?” I ask.
“Pete can’t get phone calls,” Sam reminds me.
“You’ll have to go see him.”
Sam nods.
My mom runs toward me when we walk into the waiting area. She wraps me in her arms, but I shove her back. “Where are they?”
“They’re in the ER. They said we can’t go back.” She wrings her hands together. “Logan wasn’t breathing.” She looks into my eyes, her brown eyes looking for confirmation. Of what, I don’t know.
“Was Dad?” I ask.
“Was Dad what?”
“Breathing,” I suggest.
“Yes, your dad was breathing.”
The weight doesn’t lift from my chest. Not at all.
“But Logan…” she says. “I’m afraid it’s not good, Emily.”
“I’m scared, Mom.”
Paul walks from the back of the hospital, running his hands through his hair. He tugs on the tips and then does it again. Matt and Sam approach him, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t know anything.
“Why did he do that?” Paul cries. Then the big guy crumples into a heap on the tiles. Matt goes down with him, wrapping his arms around him, and Sam squats down beside them and puts his hand on Paul’s arms. Paul’s body is wracked with sobs.
I know why he did it. He did it for me. Did my eyes silently plead with him? Did I somehow ask him without using my voice to save my dad? He read something in my eyes that made him do it? Did I beg him? Is this my fault?
Emily
“I don’t want to be here,” I whisper to Paul as he leads me into the church. My legs are shaking. I’m afraid the casket will be open for everyone to view the body, so I make sure not to look in that direction.
“I don’t either,” he whispers back.
“Ditto,” Matt says from behind us. We squeeze into the pew and slide down, making room for Sam. Sam looks lost without Pete. It’s like he’s lost part of who he is with his brother gone. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder for his other half. But Pete’s not here. Pete’s still waiting for arraignment.
Tears fill my eyes when the preacher starts to talk about the loss of life and the tragedy of losing a beloved brother, son, and friend. He talks about divine will, the power of the soul, and the healing hand of faith. I’m not feeling healed. When will that start? Soon, I hope.