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Emma had come home from school one day and Solomon’s drawn expression had morphed into sympathy at the small dining table. She’d known instantly something was wrong.
Her mother was dead. She’d overdosed and was found a week later in a drug den. The people she’d lived with hadn’t even realized she was gone for a whole seven days. She’d left Emma for people like that. For the poison in her veins that had killed her. Am I really that unlovable?
Solomon was the only one who’d ever taken her in, loved her like his own. She’d never shown him every part of her though. She’d abided by her mother’s words. Not wanting to risk being abandoned again, she’d hidden parts of herself. Link’s words came back to haunt her. And then I left Solomon when he needed me most.
Emma shot to her feet, bending over the trash can before she vomited. Her limbs trembled as she wiped her mouth. She needed to get out of there. Away from the memories. Away from the pain.
She walked with leaden limbs over to hit the button opening the bay door. Approaching her motorcycle, she grabbed the helmet from the handlebar and strapped it to the back. Opting instead for a pair of sunglasses, she straddled the bike and twisted the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. She hit the gas, shifting into gear and driving out of the garage before stopping to shut the bay. After returning to her bike, she revved the engine, skidding out of the driveway.
Wind whipped against her skin, blowing through her hair. She pressed harder on the gas, speeding faster and faster until everything blurred by.
What if I just steered into that tree? What if I just kept driving straight, even as the road bent ahead? She pictured the crash of the machine and the way her body would fly through the air, weightless and free for one stolen moment in time as a rush coursed through her veins. And then there would be pain for one split second before the darkness pulled her under for good.
31
Link
Link coughed as a cloud of dust rose from the stack of boxes he’d moved from his father’s bedroom closet.
Emma sneezed before opening the window. Warm spring air filtered into the stuffy room. Sunlight dappled the brightly patterned handmade comforter on his father’s bed, still rumpled from the day he’d found his father clutching his chest on the floor.
“Wow. You were so little. And Dad looked so young here.” Emma picked up a picture frame, turning it so he could see. The colorful background of the market in Ghana surrounded a younger Link and his father. The red clay ground contrasted with the bright patterns of the kente clothing they both wore.
“That was the last time we went together,” Link commented as the memory flooded over him. “He was so excited to introduce me to our authentic foods. Fufu and palm nut soup. Banku and okro stew. Jollof rice.”
“Oh, I miss his peanut soup and rice balls.” Emma smiled wistfully, closing her eyes as the sun danced over her fair skin, making her seem to glow.
Driving away from her had been harder than he’d thought it would be. But this was for the best for both of them. There had been no missing the hurt in her eyes yesterday, but she seemed better today.
“Think he still has some Milo in the cupboard?” Link asked.
Where other kids had had hot chocolate, they’d had Milo—a chocolate malt drink that his father had called “tea.” Whenever Link couldn’t sleep, his father would make him a cup with milk and some bread to dip in it.
A twinge of pain crossed his chest. That will never happen again. How many small rituals were now only going to be a memory?
“Mmmm, maybe I’ll make some for us after we get this room done,” Emma said, bringing him back to the task at hand. He opened a box filled with files. His father never threw anything out.
One of the tabs was labelled adoption papers. He pulled it out and opened it curiously. He scanned the documents inside. “Em?”
She stepped closer, her strawberry scent wafting, reminding him of all the times he’d got up close and personal with that smell. He cleared his throat, cursing his body for the arousal speeding through his veins.
Emma plucked the file from his hand, her eyes tracing the page back and forth. “He was going to adopt me?”
“It’s dated years ago. You had to be . . .”
“Seventeen . . . Why didn’t he ever ask me? Why didn’t he ever go through with it?” Doubt clouded her vision.
“I’m sure he had a reason. You know Dad; he probably set it in a pile, and it got lost in his never-ending to-do list.”
She blinked, staring at the words. “Or . . . he didn’t . . .” Her voice choked.
The broken expression on her face tore him to pieces. He couldn’t hold back, pulling her into his arms. She relaxed instantly into his embrace, and fuck, it felt good to hold her like this again. To be the source of her comfort. “He wanted you.”
She shook her head but clutched him closer. His chin rested on her crown as he closed his eyes. Every cell screamed at him to not let go, to pull her lips to his and kiss away all her doubts. No. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.
Knock. Knock.
“Come in!” Link backed away from Emma so abruptly, she had to reach her hand out to a box to steady herself.
