Stage Two
…as soon as Drake was released from the hospital
Drake felt the gentle kisses on his lips. Emme was standing right in front of him.
Drake never was the kind of person that questioned fate, he just went in for another
round of kisses, and they were way better than chemotherapy.
"I love you."
"I believe that is so."
Something was different. She had her long and bouncy blonde pre-cancer hair.
"I'm dreaming, aren't I?"
"I believe that is so."
Were they the only words she could say?
She put her arms around him for an embrace. Her hugs were awesome. If the only
way he could experience her was in a dream state then Drake was content to stay
asleep forever.
It still felt warm and wonderful until the gray clouds darkened the hospital room and the
warm and soft Emme Jessica Watson was now rapidly aging before his shocked
eyes. If this was indeed a dream turned nightmare how come he wasn't waking up?
He watched in a silent horror as she went from a one hundred year old woman to a
skeleton who dropped to its knees and turned into dust. His eyes swiftly opened and
Drake thrusted his body in the upright position. He was in his bed in his room. Josh
was avoiding him like the plague lately. Drake felt bad about that knowing the reasons
why. This should have been a happy time for the whole Parker-Nichols family. Drake
survived his cancer and the only thing he had to go through was a half series of
chemotherapy. All he could do was cry alone and sulk when he was in the room with
other people. It wasn't fair. He climbed down the ladder, feeling the smallest of
desires to get dressed before heading downstairs to see what was going on.
Walter and Audrey were sitting on the sofa in the living room, her knitting and him
reading the San Diego Union-Tribune. They both hated not being able to do anything
to help their son through his loss. Any age hurt when you lost someone you love. They
were both too young, Emme only sixteen when her whole life was ahead of her and
Drake at seventeen to have to accept and say goodbye to the only real girlfriend he
ever had.
"I can't believe it." Walter said
"What is it?"
"I realize Beverly has a drinking problem, but how come there isn't any announcement
of a memorial service for Emme?"
Drake was right behind them when he came in from the kitchen. His mood shifted
from a heavy heart to a quiet building rage.
"What?"
Audrey turned around startled
"Drake," but she knew she couldn't shield him even if he didn't already overhear, "It
seems like there isn't going to be a service for Emme. I'm very sorry."
Drake quickly went in the kitchen to grab his keys from the hook and breezed past his
parents.
"I have to go somewhere…."
His face was like stone.
Walter motioned for her not say a word, both of them knowing exactly where he was
going.
Beverly Watson sat with a cup of tea in the breakfast nook. She was shaking despite
the soft pink afghan across her legs. Her eyes were all red and puffy. Her hair brushed
out and graying at the temples. Not being able to stop she took the cap off the vodka
bottle to pour it into her teacup.
This was her fault. All of it. Neither one of them came home. She was a failure. A
terrible wife and an equally terrible mother and now she was alone in this big old
house. She told Mrs. Simpson to go home and that she would only need her services
once a week, but she would still pay the housekeeper the same wage as an incentive
to make sure she didn't leave like everyone else seemed to.
Mrs. Watson finished what was in her teacup and went to grab the bottle that was next
to her.
"I should have known you'd be drinking."
Another voice to break the silence. She turned around to see the young Drake Parker
and briefly wondered how he got in the house?
"Drake,"
"You don't get a say, Mrs. Watson. Is your need for booze so damn important to not
give your daughter a proper memorial?"
He was angry and deservedly so. She wouldn't fight him.
"She's buried at Greenwood Memorial Park. Emme had a will; she didn't want a
memorial service. I don't expect you to believe me—but I could give you a phone
number to call."
"Shove it up your ass," Drake was determined not to shed a single tear in her
presence, "Emme loved you so much. Even during times when it should've been just
about us—she was still concerned about your welfare. You slapped her, you called her
'a whore', she had to forge your signature on checks to pay your staff, and you made
her a nervous worried wreck—and maybe you don't remember those things, but I do
and I don't forget nor forgive easily. All she wanted was for her mother to be there for
her and take her out to the crown room for tea. I can't even look at you. You disgust
me that much. Emme meant so much to me. I loved her. It sickens me that you
choose liquor over your daughter. You stopped being there for her. And you were in a
stupor when she needed to go the hospital. And if you had enough of a conscience to
throw pills in the toilet, why couldn't you have SAVED HER? The cancer didn't kill her,
you did. You are responsible for your daughter's death. You killed Emme." Drake had
to get out of the room before he started to sob in front of Mrs. Watson. He had to
catch his breath and sat in the living room or whatever posh name her mother had for
this part of the house.
He was going to sit down, but he noticed the photographs on the fireplace mantle.
Emme with her cheerleading group looking more beautiful then any of the other girls in
the picture, the other picture was of her and Drake taken by Mrs. Martinez when she
was still in Mrs. Watson's employ. They had their arms around each other. He noticed
his face was very content; they were both very young, and in healthy in both mind and
spirit. She was supposed to be here! He picked up the photograph and remembered
a conversation they had during their first cuddle party.
"My mom is my best girlfriend. We did everything together and Drake you have to
promise me that if I don't make it----"
"Hey! Don't you dare, Miss Priss. Don't you dare say that."
"We have both be realistic we have cancer. May I finish?"
"Go ahead."
"Promise me that you'll make sure my mom gets help."
"I promise. But you'll be here to help with that too. You will beat your cancer. We
both will."
She wasn't here, of course, but that didn't change the fact that he made a promise to
his girlfriend.
I promised you, Sweetie.
Drake touched her face in their photograph and kissed her face. The face he'd never
see again and if that dream turned nightmare this morning was the only way he'd ever
get to see Emme then he never wanted to go back to sleep.
He put the photograph back on the mantle noticing the phone directory that was on the
on the small table. Drake feverishly opened to the beginning of the yellow pages and
once he found what he was looking for he tore it off.
"I made a promise to your daughter, one that I don't take lightly," Drake said to Mrs.
Watson who was still sitting in the breakfast nook only drinking when it felt necessary
in her mind. He didn't care if she didn't speak to him at this point Drake Parker didn't
matter. Drake could've been back in his car driving back to his house instead of
calling the Ethridge Center of San Diego, California. "Take the phone."
She stared at the man who probably would have been her son-in-law blankly. Terrified
of taking the necessary steps to be a normal, functioning human being again.
"Take the damn phone! If you ever loved your daughter, take the damn fucking phone!"
Damn it. He was crying in front of this woman.
Damn it all to Hell.
Mrs. Watson thought her hand was going fall off her arm the way she was shaking so.
The counselor on the other end of the line heard this whole exchange and wasn't
going anywhere.
"H-hello? M-y name is Beverly Watson and I need help….I need help….
W-will someone please help me?"
Drake was emotionally drained, he didn't think he had any more words left to say but
he had to interrupt Mrs. Watson,
"You don't have to worry about a taxi. I'll take you."
"T-thank you, Drake."
The only thing he could do was nod.
He loved her daughter so much, that's the only reason why he was doing this. She
wished he let her take the taxi maybe it would have crashed and she could join her
daughter in Heaven. She didn't feel that she deserved to get better not with her baby
girl gone.
Mrs. Watson went upstairs with the guilt on her shoulder's that would never fully be
resolved to pack and the one thing Drake was going to do after he dropped her off at
the rehabilitation center was to come back here and DESTROY every bottle of liquor
that he could find. He didn't care if a bottle was worth thousands of dollars. He was
going to smash them all in the sink.
Emme Jessica Watson did not die in vain.
"I'm ready," Mrs. Watson came downstairs ten minutes later carrying one suitcase and
one of her non-designer purses. "I know you hate me, Drake, and I can't say I blame
you….but thank you for today and thank you for making my daughter happy."
He couldn't (or wouldn't, he wasn't sure which and didn't care) respond at this time.
The anger was just too fresh. The only words he could find to say were
"I'll put your suitcase in the trunk."
When Drake got home two hours later he banged the steering wheel in frustration
about ten times consciously trying not to beep the horn by accident. He cut his right
hand on a few bottles that he shattered after he silently dropped Mrs. Watson off at the
rehab place. They said he was cancer free, but he knew as soon as his mother saw
his cuts he'd be bandaged up.
He put his head on the steering wheel and cried for a few minutes.
Emme DID NOT die in vain.
The longer Drake thought about this through his tears he was convinced that that's
what exactly was going to happen. He couldn't let it. Drake Parker didn't know what
he could possibly do, but he knew one thing was for certain; Emme Jessica Watson's
death was not for nothing. There was a purpose behind it and he was determined to
see it through.
Drake lifted up his head and wiped his eyes. The blood from his hand staining his
cheek.
"I promise. I love you, Miss Priss." Drake said to the empty air as he exited his car.
Wishing that Emme were here by his side. How was he going to survive without her?
And you know I keep my promises.