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“Emerson, please. I know that it isn’t much. But you have my word and I need you to trust it. Trust me.”
“Trust? Tell that to the girl who cried by your grave almost every night you were gone. Trust has to be built, and right now the trust between us is six feet under.”
“Emerson,” she starts but her voice cracks and she breaks down in tears. Maybe I went too far. Maybe my words were too harsh.
I drop my hands, walk over to her, and sit next to her as she leans in and sobs on my shoulder.
We stay like this for a very long time.
Chapter 33 - Emerson Clarke
When mum finally composes herself enough to be able to stand, she quietly excuses herself and walks away as if nothing happened. I try to restrain myself from feeling too guilty. I did what I needed to do to know the truth. People’s words aren’t enough to make me trust them anymore, I need something real.
After finishing my cold waffles that have gone soggy from being drowned in maple syrup for too long, I consider walking up to Albert’s office and seeing if he will tell me anything. But seeing him is the last thing I want to do right now, so I end up just walking around Calveron with no particular destination in sight, trying to get the sounds of my mother’s sobs out of my head.
I want to believe her. Every instinct in my body is telling me to believe her. But to believe her would be to side with Albert. If what she is saying is even partly true, and he’s not really the bad guy I know him as, I can’t bring myself to consider him as an ally. Not after everything he’s done.
How could I possibly believe her when she is agreeing with the man that destroyed my life?
But how could I possibly not believe her when she was just sobbing on my shoulder in regret after I said I couldn’t trust her?
I don’t know who to believe, but I know that there is nothing else for me here now.
I find myself walking to the Jones’ apartment before I even register the idea. I linger for a moment before knocking. What if Travis is home? He can’t know about our idea. Or Hugo? No, that would be even worse.
I hope for the best and knock on her door anyway. I hear a voice from the inside, “Who is it?” It’s Luna. I breathe a sigh of relief. She sounds sleepy, as if she just woke up. I’m guessing she’s the only one home, otherwise one of the boy’s most likely would have opened the door.
“It’s the postman,” I say. “I’m here to deliver a package to Miss. Luna Jones.”
I hear her quietly laugh behind the door, “Fine,” I hear soft footsteps and I laugh the moment she opens the door. She’s still in her pyjamas, bright pink ones with dogs on them, to be specific. Her hair is in an impossibly messy bun on the top of her head, as if her hair wants nothing better than to escape from its restraints. She is holding a bowl of some type of cereal in one hand, and a large book about astronomy in the other.
I’m not sure where she would have even gotten the book from. No one is meant to have books anymore, everything is done digitally. I thought all of the books were burned in the Great War to stop misinformation about the Government being spread. To keep them under control. But I guess I was wrong. It almost feels like a crime just looking at it. I draw my eyes away from it and look back at her. I can’t help but laugh.
“Yes, I know,” she laughs. “I have a few out of place hairs.”
“A few is an understatement.”
“Alright, whatever,” she tries to shove me, but her hands are full of cereal and books, so she has a bit of a hard time and trips over, spilling the cereal all over the floor of the apartment, and myself. She gasps, and stays still for a minute, as if expecting me to retaliate in some sort of rage.
All I do is double over in laughter, soaked in milk and some round cereal pieces. Luna on the other hand looks absolutely horrified. She runs over to the kitchen, grabs some paper towel, and gives some to me, all the while muttering to herself, ‘I’m sorry’ over and over.
I forget about my clothes and instead bend down and clean the mess off of the white tiles. She comes back with more paper towels to help me, continuing to mutter those two words over and over as if she is stuck under some trance. When all of the mess is cleaned up off of the floor, I help Luna put the paper towel in the bin and take her over to the pristine black leather couch.
She takes a few deep breaths and calms herself. “I’m sorry.” She says again. Her eyes glued to the ground.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“But your shirt. The floor. I’m clumsy. I’m too clumsy. I always drop everything.”
“Lu, it’s fine. The mess is clean. My shirt will be alright. It was an accident, okay.”
“Oh, my goodness, your shirt.” She says, finally looking at me, then down at the mess on my shirt. “I’ll get you another one.”
“It’s okay, Lu. Really I’ll just get changed when we head back to my room.”
“We? Your room.” It finally clicks, “Oh. It’s time?” She asks and I nod.
“I know it’s earlier than I said but I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”
