You Heal Me

Sneak Peek

The counter helped to prop Emily up as she waited for her parents’ ancient coffee maker to serve up her first—and much-needed—kick of caffeine for the day.

She needed something to clear her head.

Last night had been bad. Her dad’s mental health continued to decrease rapidly, to the point where she couldn’t fight it anymore. For all that she wanted to take care of him herself, she knew his Alzheimer’s meant he would soon need professional help. Full-time professional help. She’d been managing the full-time part—mostly—but she wasn’t a pro, and her dad deserved the best care he could get.

She finally realized the irritating buzz in her head wasn’t—her head.

That was the sound of the neighbor’s lawn mower.

Her first thought was that it was incredibly rude to be mowing this early on a Saturday morning, but on reflection, she realized how late she’d slept. A peek at the retro clock on the wall confirmed it.

Her second thought was, wait! The house next door was empty. The people who had been renting since the Holmes left last year had moved out more than a week ago.

Since she’d been back, she’d never had much time—or the inclination, for that matter—to spend getting to know them, so she’d been surprised to see the movers pack up the house. Soon after, the family piled some remaining odds and ends in their cars and pulled away, never to be seen again.

There must be new renters. Or maybe Mr. Holmes was here. Unless things had changed, they still owned the house. The last gossip her mom had shared before her death was that Tyler was still in New York and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had moved farther south. While the winters in North Carolina weren’t that bad, they were done with the cold.

So, yes. Maybe it was Mr. Holmes. Seeing him would be bittersweet. There was a time his house had been her second home. His family, her family. And she was in need of family these days. Her mom was gone, and some days her father didn’t even recognize her. And Mr. Holmes gave the best hugs.

She was in need of one of those as well.

Certain that’s who she would see when she opened the door, she didn’t give much thought to what she was wearing. Dressed in pajamas that covered more than her bathing suit did, she was decent, and that was good enough. She left the support of the counter, crossed to the kitchen door that opened to the side of the house and eagerly yanked it open. She was across the patio and almost onto the shared lawn that separated the two houses before she realized her mistake.

It was Mr. Holmes mowing the lawn, just not the Mr. Holmes she’d been expecting. Not that she’d ever thought of him as Mr. Holmes. The last time she’d seen him, he wasn’t even a man yet.

The grass was still wet with dew, and as she spun to head back to the house, she slipped, and unable to stop her momentum, she went down.

Thankfully, not a face plant, and thankfully her butt had a fair amount of padding.

Before getting up, she cast a quick glance to the heavens and uttered a silent plea for strength. And maybe for the ability to hang on to the maturity she’d gained since she saw him last.

She was on her feet again and ready to sprint for the door when he reached her side.

“Em! Emily! Are you okay?”

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She looked down at herself, saw the blades of grass clinging to her leg, and started to bend over to pick them off.

Maybe her prayer had been answered, at least to some extent, because she suddenly had the presence of mind not to bend over. She was not giving him a peep show. Ever. Her body had been the subject of enough mocking, taunting, and outright cruelty. And he, her best friend for most of her life, had been a part of it.

The desire to completely ignore him, to walk away without replying, was strong. But some of that strength she’d asked for seemed to be washing over her, and she reminded herself she was better than that.

She was better than him.

Still not looking at him, Emily answered. “I’m fine. Thanks. For some reason, I thought it might be your dad out here, and I wanted… I wanted to say hi. To him.”

Emily started to move toward the house, clearly indicating she had no plan to stay and chat. “I have to get back inside. My dad might be up.”

“Em.”

She didn’t stop.

“Emily! I’m sorry about your mom. And your dad.”

“Thank you. Please say hello to your parents for me the next time you’re talking to them.”

With that, she opened the door, made sure the blinds covering its window were fully down as she closed it, then fell back against it.

This time, she needed more support than the counter could offer.

She hadn’t seen him since high school. The beginning of eleventh grade. Things had started to change between them toward the end of the ninth grade. At first, she hadn’t noticed. New school, new friends, lots of changes in life. Her best friend distancing himself had gone under the radar for longer than she cared to admit.

Until it had become impossible to ignore.

Until he hurt her so badly she left the school. Left her home and parents. Left the state.

She’d done a really good job of cutting him out of her life. She’d had to. Oh, her parents, especially her mother—not knowing what went down, because she’d never told them—had made a point of telling her what he was doing. Tyler this, Tyler that. Guess what Tyler is up to. She’d pretended to pay attention but blocked it out. Easy to do over the phone or via email and text.

Suddenly, without any warning, the door behind her pushed inward, jolting her from her reprieve and knocking her forward. This time, she nearly did the face plant she’d escaped moments before.

She swung around, knowing who was there, and let years of anger and hurt free. “Get out of here! What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just walk into my house!”

He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, much like she had. “I’ve been walking into your house without knocking all my life. Just like you’ve been walking into mine.”

Emily sneered at him. “No, Tyler. We haven’t. You stopped walking into my house when we were in tenth grade. I finally stopped walking into yours in eleventh. You have no right.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything in reply. Just closed his eyes and banged his head back against the door. Once. And left it there. When his eyes finally opened, he didn’t look at her; just stared at the ceiling.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything.”

Head shaking in contempt, she said, “Too little, too late. I don’t accept your apologies since they’re probably worthless anyway, right? Just get out. You’re not welcome in this house.”

Without watching to see if he complied, she turned, then froze.

Her dad was shuffling through the doorway into the kitchen, bathrobe and hair askew.

“What’s all the shouting about, Emmy girl? You know your mother gets upset when you shout.”

Well, at least she now knew her day was about to get even worse. “Dad…”

When he caught sight of Tyler, he pulled up short. Then his face just—beamed.

“Tyler! Good to see you, son! Did you come for breakfast before school? Is your mother trying to make you eat oatmeal again?”

He chortled, slapping his leg as he continued his shuffle across the ceramic floor, his dragging slippers swish, swishing. The only noise in the stunned silence that greeted his words.

“Emmy! Where’s your mother? Where’s breakfast? You two need to hurry or you’ll be late.”

As he started to pass her, he paused, frowned, and said, “And you need to get dressed. You should be dressed by now.”

“Yes, Dad. I need to get dressed. But…”

He ignored her and kept moving toward Tyler.

The last thing she wanted to do was look at Tyler. Certainly not communicate with him in any way. But she turned and stared directly into his eyes. And the nonverbal language the two of them had shared for the first half of their lives still seemed to be alive. He returned her look, visibly swallowed, then nodded.

Tyler wiped his face clean of whatever expression may have been on it a moment ago and smiled at her father.

“Hey, Mr. Holt. How are you?”

“Not bad, son. Not bad.”

Emily watched as her dad gave Tyler a once-over, then frowned. “Did you have practice before school? You’re in your gym shorts and you’re all sweaty. You need to shower, son.”

“No, I was mow… You’re right. I need to shower.”

Tyler looked at her, slightly shrugged his shoulders, and turned his palms up toward her, clearly asking, what now?

Brokenhearted in so many ways, she approached her dad and wound her arm through his. “Mom’s not here right now, Dad. And this isn’t…” She paused and cut a glance toward Tyler. “This isn’t a school day. Tyler has other plans, and he isn’t staying.”

Her father patted her hand. “Okay, honey. Aren’t you going with him?”

She shook her head, nearly in tears. “No, Dad. We’re not going anywhere together.”

Tyler remained silent until her dad said to him, “Well, you make sure you come for breakfast tomorrow, okay? It seems like…” He stopped, staring into space for a moment, then frowned. “It seems like a long time since you’ve been here.”

Watching her as he answered, Tyler replied, “Yes, sir. It might not be for breakfast tomorrow, but I will be back soon. You’re right, it has been a long time. But not any longer.”

With that promise to her father—and threat aimed at her?—he turned and let himself out.

Forcibly gathering the million shattered bits of her back together, Emily tugged on her father’s arm. “Come on, Dad. How about you go get dressed while I get some breakfast together, okay?”

In one of those moments of stunning clarity that were at once both joyous and painful, her dad—her dad, not this shell of a dad—looked at her. Read her face. Tried to read her thoughts.

“Emily? What’s wrong? You’re upset about something.”

She smiled up at him, struggling to hold back tears that desperately wanted to escape. “I’m okay, Dad. It’s just… sometimes the past catches you by surprise, doesn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm. The past…” His eyes glazed, and he stared over her shoulder.

She’d lost him again. These moments were coming less often and ending so quickly. This place constantly reminded her of all she’d lost, but it was her choice to be here. Having Tyler next door—and please may he just be there for the weekend—would be an added burden, but she was made of strong stuff.

She’d left here as a girl, shattered and beaten. Oh, not physically, but she’d already made an acquaintance with the bottom of her emotional pit, and she’d never revisit. She’d made that promise to herself.

Whatever happened here—with her dad, with Tyler—she’d handle it. Triumph over it.