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I groan and bury my face in my hands.
“Mom.”
“Okay, okay. But, honey, it’s very obvious how special Aubrey is to you, and I’ve barely even met the young lady. So, I’m going to give you some advice.”
Mom inhales a big breath and walks around her desk, sitting in the chair next to mine.
“Emmett. You know better than most how fragile life can be. I shouldn’t even have to tell you that you should live in the ‘now’, and that you should always go after whatever you want most in life. That being said,” Mom pauses and grabs my hand in hers, “We’ve already told you, your trust is yours to do with whatever you please.”
Mom pats my hand and goes back to sitting behind her desk, typing away on her computer.
The trust she’s talking about is the more than half a million dollars that I haven’t touched because Mom and Dad have insisted on still putting more money than I could manage to burn through in my spending bank account every month. I know what she’s implying, but isn’t that a little—insane? Buying an entire property to preserve a place where I met a girl who I haven’t even kissed, let alone admitted how strong my feelings are. Sure, the water tower means a lot to me aside from my connection to it with Aurbey, but—.
I walk over to Mom and give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you,” I tell her and head back to the elevator and back down to my car.
As I drive home, I torment myself with what I should or shouldn’t do. When I get closer to the road that leads to the water tower and to Aubrey’s parents’ home, and that stupid for sale sign, I let instinct make the decision for me. I quickly turn the steering wheel and pull onto the narrow road. I let it lead me all the way down to the small house, parking in the gravel driveway in front of it. Running on pure adrenaline, I walk the fifty paces from my car to the front door, lift my hand and knock.
A woman who must be Aubrey’s mom opens the door, a sour look on her face.
“Sorry, we’re not interested,” she says as she moves to close the door.
“I’m a friend of Aubrey’s,” I say, as quickly as I can manage, and the door halts, halfway open.
Slowly, the woman opens the door back up and looks me up and down with narrowed eyes.
“Do you know where she is?” she asks.
“I do. Are you her mom?”
“Yes, now tell me where my daughter is,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
I didn’t exactly come up with a plan when I pulled off the main road and headed straight for Aubrey’s parents’ house. Now that I’m here and standing in front of her mom, I’m fumbling. I take in a deep breath, rub the not as spikey as it used to be hair at the back of my neck and wing it. It’s the fourth quarter, thirty seconds left on the clock, every move counts.
“May I come in and talk? I have a proposition for you,” I say in the strongest voice I can muster.
Aubrey’s mom narrows her eyes at me, but opens the door all the way and gestures for me to come in. She yells for Arthur, who I’m assuming is Aubrey’s dad. I follow her to the living room and sit on a worn floral couch. The room is nearly empty aside from the couch, a few chairs, and a coffee table. There’s a pile of boxes lined up against one wall and I notice a few with a big A written on them in black marker. You can see spaces on the walls where pictures used to hang, where the paint is a slightly different color.
A tall man with Aubrey’s eyes comes into the room. A look of surprise covers his face when he notices me sitting on the couch. Normally, I’d stand to offer my hand to the father of the girl I’m about to buy a house for, but he doesn’t deserve my respect. Instead, I stay seated on the couch, my hands folded together tightly.
“Who are you?” Arthur asks gruffly.
“My name is Emmett Colter.”
Yes, I made sure to use my last name in hopes they recognize it. I keep talking before either of them gets the chance to ask any more questions.
“I’m a friend of Aurbey’s. She’s safe, but that’s all I’m willing to tell you. I’m not here to talk about her. I’m here to talk about you selling me your property.”
Arthur, who still hasn’t moved from standing just inside the living room threshold, tilts his head and looks perplexed. Aubrey’s mom lets out a dry laugh.
“You’re a child. The property is listed for two-hundred-thousand-dollars,” she says.
Arthur says nothing, but continues to scrutinize me.
“I have the finances. I’m willing to pay cash,” I tell them.
It’s quiet for an excruciating long time and my hands begin to sweat.
