The Truth About Unspeakable Things by Emily Myers (people reading books txt) 📗

he knew to wrap my hands up so well. He works in the cardiology department in a hospital about an hour north of here. He’s never been married, though he did come close. He’s single now. Knowing this and in an effort to make up for her past sins, my mother called him and invited him to tonight’s reception.

“So, what about you, Ms. Journalist?” he asks me.

“How do you know I’m a journalist?”

“Well, I may stumble across your Hub articles from time to time,” he says.

“Which means you basically stalk me.”

“Basically,” he agrees. We both laugh.

Ezra stands and moves to the window overlooking the garden, leaving me on the bed.

“Do you remember when you snuck out to meet me in the pool house?” he asks me.

“All too vividly,” I say. I brush my hands over the skirt of my dress. “My dad came in with his work friends and almost caught us making out on the pool table,” I say, remembering back.

“Yeah,” Ezra laughs. He turns to me then with a twinkle in his eye. “We had a lot of good times.”

“We did,” I agree. Though they don’t bring me much joy. Instead, thoughts of Ezra and I only bring me sadness, sadness for the way my family treated him. Even more so, I mourn the life we could’ve had together.

“Yet, you don’t seem too happy to see me,” Ezra says, returning to his place next to me on the bed. He removes his jacket.

My lips part as I contemplate what to say. I mean, what can I say? I was heartbroken when you left. I hated my family for what they did to you. All this time, when I think of myself as happy, I think of myself with you. None of those things matter now. Perhaps in another life, we end up together. But not this one, and certainly not after all that’s happened.

He is familiar. He is kind and strong and protective and intelligent. He is the Ezra St. Germaine that I fell in love with. But I am not the Emma Louise Marshall he once knew.

“Talk to me,” he says.

He moves his hand to my shoulder and massages it. His touch brings me back—to the pool house, to the lake, to the backseat of his truck, to all the times I wish I would’ve given in to him, to us.

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” I finally say. I close my eyes, reveling in his touch. “I’m—I’m just surprised. I—I never thought we’d see each other again, especially when you didn’t even say goodbye.”

At that, Ezra exhales and pulls his hand back into his lap. I open my eyes and realize how selfish I must sound. After what my parents did, of course he didn’t want to say goodbye.

“Ezra, I . . .” I start, but he cuts me off.

“How could I?” he asks me. Though, something tells me I’m not meant to answer. “Not only was I embarrassed and shunned, but my family was also. My mother cried for weeks after what your parents did,” Ezra says. “And when I left for college, I couldn’t bring myself to face you, knowing the pain your family had caused mine.”

I nod. “I understand.”

Ezra regains his composure.

“Look, I’m sorry, Emma,” he says. “It’s been almost ten years. I’m past it. And clearly, I didn’t let it keep me down,” he says with pause. “But I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” he tells me then. “I think if you would have been eighteen, I would’ve asked you to run away with me.”

My lips part in surprise. He moves closer to me, bringing his hand to my thigh.

“I never wanted to let you go, Emma. And now, maybe I don’t have too,” he whispers.

Ezra leans in closer. I feel his breath on my neck and then his lips. They are soft and gentle. Yet my insides don’t burn for him like they used to. My body doesn’t crave his touch. My heart doesn’t long for his company.

All these years, I’ve fantasized about what my life would be like with Ezra, and I think it would’ve been amazing. But that’s not the path we took and now . . . my body, mind, and spirit longs for another.

Ezra’s lips move from my neck to my jaw, and just as he leans in to kiss my lips, I pull away.

“I . . . I can’t do this,” I say, moving from the bed to the opposite side of the room. “I . . . I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

“Emma,” Ezra breathes. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it,” he says, standing. He drops his eyes to the floor and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I just hope that whoever has stolen your heart is worthy of it,” he tells me then. His eyes meet mine.

“He is,” I say.

My heart fills with warmth at the thought of Julian. Despite the fact that he may never speak to me again.

“I’m happy for you,” Ezra says, slipping into his jacket. “And it was nice to see you, to say goodbye, if you will.”

His lips draw into a sad smile, as do mine. I may not be in love with him anymore, but I will never be prepared for goodbye. I close the distance between us, and he pulls me in for a hug.

“You will always be my first love, Emma Louise Marshall,” he whispers into my ear. My heart aches at his words.

“And you will always be mine,” I whisper back.

Our eyes meet one last time and Ezra kneels to kiss me on the forehead.

“Goodbye, Emma.”

My throat burns with concealed emotion.

“Goodbye, Ezra.”

* * *

By the time I compose myself and rejoin the party downstairs, most of the guests have gone and my mother is rounding up the stragglers.

“Now, now, the bride must get her beauty sleep. We’ll see you all tomorrow,” she says.

I find Eva and Bill swaying back and forth in the sitting room as the record player plays something I imagine Julian playing. It’s a violin tune accompanied by the best