“I said I want to be alone.”
Emerson’s back is turned to them now, so she can’t see what they’re doing. She hears some whispering, and then, there’s nothing.
It’s a long time before she finally takes a peek to see if they’re gone. When she discovers they are, she pinches her lips together, and blinks back the tears.
She tells herself it’s what she wanted. Though she knows it really wasn’t.
BIRDS CHIRP like it’s another ordinary day. After all, they don’t know any better. Emerson watches as light trickles into the sky. She’s facing the east, and because she’s above the city, it’s the perfect vantage point to watch the sun tiptoe its way into view. Soon, sunlight and clouds swirl together, and it’s like the sky is one big Creamsicle.
Deliciously lovely.
For a long time, her life had been ugly. Some days, the ugliness depressed her so much, she wanted to sit and do nothing. But Vince made a game out of looking for beauty in ordinary things in an effort to cheer her up.
“It’s everywhere,” he told her once. “You’ll be amazed all the places you can find it when you keep your mind open to it.”
So they would look. And he was right; they found it just about everywhere. In posters advertising the latest exhibit at the art museum. In a dandelion growing in the grass. In the way a tree’s leaves fluttered in the breeze. In the eyes of an old woman. In the laughter of a child.
As she remembers the things they discovered, she gasps. Now it all makes sense. When he said it wasn’t ready yet, he meant he couldn’t show her the surprise because it was too early.
This is it—the sunrise. He brought her here to see it, knowing that from this vantage point, it would be beautiful beyond words.
She’s about to get up, to run back to the chauffeur quarters and see if Vince and Kat happen to be hanging out there. Or the parking lot, where they might have sat in the car, giving her some time. Because although they left, her heart tells her Vince wouldn’t really leave her. Not completely, anyway.
But as she’s about to run and find him, he’s there. Sliding in next to her, on the bench.
“Pretty spectacular, right?” he says softly.
He’s looking out at the sky, but all Emerson can do is stare at him. She was right—he didn’t leave. Or he left, changed his mind, and came back. Whatever. He’s here. And she’s so relieved, she can hardly breathe.
“Where’s Kat?” Emerson whispers.
He looks at her. “She went home.”
“Do you like her?”
“Are you jealous?”
“Stop it. I just want to know.”
“Emerson, nothing happened. I mean, not like what you think. We talked. We kissed, because we had a deal. Then we talked some more. She’s sad. Kind of lonely, you know? Like a lot of people right now.” He touches her face, and turns it slightly, toward the sunrise. “Now, stop talking. I don’t want you to miss your surprise.”
Emerson scoots down to get comfortable, and leans into Vince. He puts his arm around her and she curls up next to him. Together they watch as splendor and light extinguish the darkness completely.
It’s hard to watch it and not wish for a hundred more like it. A thousand more. Ten thousand more.
On any given day, this sunrise would be an amazing spectacle. Today, armed with the knowledge of what’s coming, it brings tears to her eyes. If she could have one wish, Emerson is sure it would be for time to stop right now, in this moment. But of course, Mother Nature isn’t in the wish-making business.
So the sun rises. And the message is sent loud and clear.
Time is ticking.
When the impressive show is over, Emerson turns to Vince. “Yes. I was jealous.”
He smiles a really big smile. “I knew it.”
“You swear nothing happened?”
He raises his hand. “On my mother’s grave.”
“While you were busy talking, Mr. Casanova, I had a lot of time to sit here and think. And I realized something.”
He looks at her curiously. “And?”
She swallows hard. “And, I realized I’ve been afraid. Afraid because I didn’t want more pain in my life. This whole time, I’ve been playing it safe, like Rima back in the library. But you know what? There are no amazing sunrises back in that library. She’s missing out.”
He nods. “Truth.”
“I don’t want to miss out anymore,” Emerson says in almost a whisper. “I was telling myself that I don’t deserve the good stuff.” She sits up straighter. Her voice is louder now. “But it’s not true. I deserve it as much as anyone. Certainly as much as that devil disguised as a girl you made out with.”
Vince laughs. “Em, come on.”
“No, let me finish. Because, you know what else? The crazy thing is, I was afraid I’d get hurt by you.” She rolls her eyes. “God, why don’t I just get a tattoo across my forehead that says idiot?”
“Stop it. You’re not an idiot.”
“Yes. I am. Because you don’t hurt people. Vince, you help people. Like, this idiot sitting next to you didn’t see what you spell out for me every single day. You are the complete opposite of pain.” She stretches her arms out. “Like, pain is here.” She waves her left hand. “And you are here.” She wiggles her right hand.
He gives her half a grin. “And so?”
“So. As I thought about that, I realized, you are my Mr. Darcy.”
“Wait. Just a second ago you said I was Mr. Casanova.”
She gives his leg a little shove. “I was joking.”
“Okay. I’m Mr. Darcy. Is that a good thing?”
Emerson leans forward. “Trust me. A very good thing.”
And then, before he can say any more, she puts her lips, gently, on his. It’s so tender at first, and silky soft, it takes her breath away. It’s only a few seconds before he pulls her to him, their lips parting ever so slightly, and he tastes like fresh air with a hint of peppermint. She starts to pull away and ask if Kat had mints or gum she shared with him, but she resists. After all, now is not the time for an inquisition. Especially about something as ridiculous as why he tastes like mint.
She tells herself to simply enjoy it. All of it. His kisses. His touch. Him. She runs her hands across his big, broad shoulders. One of his hands moves down her spine and comes to rest at the small of her back, where he presses her closer, even though they are about as close as they can be. As her hands float down to his chest, Emerson is sure nothing has ever felt so good and so right as this.
And then, behind her closed eyes, she sees stars. Stars full of light and love. To kiss him is to sail across the night sky. To travel on a moonbeam. To dance across stardust. Where there are stars, there are wishes. A hundred, a thousand, a million, all the same.
Let us live so we can love.
Eventually, Vince’s mouth leaves hers, and he’s breathing hard as he kisses her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and then her ear. She can’t help but shiver.
When he whispers, “I love you, Elizabeth Whatever-Your-Last-Name-Is,” she bursts out laughing.
She leans back, a smile as wide as the Hawthorne Bridge, and says, “The name’s Emerson Steele. And I love you, too, Vince Mason.”
THEY SIT
on the bench
wrapped in each
other’s arms
kissing
and kissing
and more kissing
still.
They drink
each other up
like a magical potion
that provides
immortality.
If only.
The sun continues
to rise.
It grows warmer,
time passes
and still,
they don’t move
from the spot
above the city,
on the hill
near the mansion.
For now,
there is nothing to see.
Noth
ing to do.
Nothing to miss.
It’s like a song that
pulls you in and
fills you up
and gives you what
you didn’t even know
you needed until
the sounds, the melody,
and the voices
wash away the pain.
They have each other,
and it’s all they need.
A new single,
headed for the top
of the charts.
“HI.”
Carl feels someone poking his nose and he opens his eyes. There’s a blurry little person with blue eyes and curly blond hair staring at him. But that isn’t what concerns him most. He’s instantly aware of how much the back of his head hurts. When he reaches back he finds a huge bump.
“Ow,” he says with a moan.
“Oh, sweet pea, you need to leave him alone,” the woman says, scooping the little girl into her arms. Carl gets a whiff of her stale coffee breath and recoils. “Here,” she continues, talking to the girl. “Why don’t you watch a movie on the tablet? I’ve got it all set up. Sit in the chair with Mr. Monkey and put your headphones on.”
Once the child is situated, the woman turns back to Carl. “Sorry about that. She was just being friendly.”
Carl sits up slowly, wishing his head would stop throbbing. He manages to open one eye slightly.
“Should I get you some more acetaminophen?” the woman asks.
“Yes, please,” Carl says.
“I gave you two before,” she says. “After you stumbled into the house, with myself and my daughter on either side of you, trying to hold you up. Do you remember?”
“Not really,” he says.
“So you want a couple more? Pain pills, I mean.”
“How about three? Or maybe even four?”
“You don’t want to overdo it,” she says.
“At this point,” he says, leaning back against the back of the sofa, “I don’t think it matters much.”
When she steps away, he takes a look around. It was dark earlier and he couldn’t see much. It’s a nice house. Cozy. Kind of old. He notices a curio cabinet in the corner filled with vases in various sizes and colors. To his right is the kitchen, and he can see the woman moving around in there.
She brings him the pills and a bottle of water. “I wasn’t sure if I should let you sleep. After we got you cleaned up, I mean. I think a person is supposed to stay awake after a concussion.”
“Like I said,” Carl says as he unscrews the cap on the bottle of water, “at this point, I don’t think it matters much.”
The woman sits down at the far end of the sofa. “I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s terrible, the way they knocked you out so they could take your car.”
Carl pops the pills into his mouth and drains the water bottle. It hurts to think. To try to remember. His brain is so fuzzy, it’s like he’s swimming through split-pea soup.
The woman keeps talking. “Thank goodness we found you. We normally wouldn’t be in downtown Portland in the middle of the night, of course, but we’ve been looking for my middle daughter. My oldest daughter, Frankie, is desperate to find her. She’s the one who helped me get you in and out of the car. Little Paige was asleep in her car seat. I was exhausted and had told Frankie it was time to come home when we found you.”
She’s talking so fast. It’s too many words, and Carl wants to ask her to slow down. Or maybe stop talking altogether. He starts to ask her if she can please take him home soon. He realizes she’s done a lot for him, but surely she’ll understand that he wants to go home. No, needs to go home. But before he can get the words out, the woman reaches over to the end table and picks up a frame with a picture in it.
“This is my other daughter,” she says. “The one we’ve been looking for. She ran away about a year and a half ago. We checked all the shelters and someone finally told us he recognized her. Apparently, she’s been staying at a youth shelter. She wasn’t there at the time, but at least we know she hasn’t left Portland.”
Carl blinks his eyes, trying hard to focus. She moves the picture closer, like she can tell he’s having trouble seeing.
“Are you all right?” she asks as he stares at the photo. “You don’t look so good. Maybe you better lie back down. Shoot, I just realized I haven’t even asked you your name.”
“Carl,” he tells her, though that’s not what he wanted to tell her. There’s something about that picture. What is it? He tries to figure out why this girl looks familiar, but his head hurts so much, and there’s ringing in his ears, and suddenly he feels …
“Oh no,” cries the woman as Carl leans forward and vomits all over the pretty beige carpet. She throws the picture down, mutters a couple of curse words, and runs toward the kitchen. “Don’t worry. I’ll get it cleaned up. Maybe you should lie down. Rest some more.”
It’s the only thing that makes any sense at the moment. So he returns his head to the nice, soft pillow she brought him last night, closes his eyes, and does as she says.
“I’M SORRY it took me so long,” Emerson says, running her finger down Vince’s strong jawline.
He kisses the tip of her nose. “You know what they say. Better late than never.”
As she tries to draw up her leg and curl it in front of her, a sharp pain shoots down her back. “Ow.”
“What?”
She turns, facing forward on the bench, her hands massaging her sides. “My back. I think I need to get up and walk around.”
Vince stands up, then leans down and carefully, tenderly, helps Emerson to her feet. “You all right?”
She smiles as she stretches her arms up toward the sky, twisting her body right and then left. “I’m good. Just a little stiff. We, um, sat there a long time.”
When she’s done stretching, he takes her hand and they walk slowly along the pathway that curves around the viewing area, with the city below. The air smells clean. Fresh. Emerson takes a deep breath and holds it in.
“I’m starving,” Vince says.
“Yeah. Me too. Wish we could have a big breakfast. You know—eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast. The works.”
“That does sound good.”
“What are we doing today, anyway? Do you want to help more people, or …”
Her voice trails off. It’s their last day. Ever. Suddenly, it seems so final. And so important that they get it right. Whatever they do, it needs to be right. They can’t mess up on this. There’s no tomorrow. No second chances.
They stop walking and take in the view. Emerson feels her chest tighten as she thinks about all of it, gone, in a matter of hours. How does a person come to terms with it? Like, how do people with terminal diseases do it? Accept it? She’s about to ask Vince, when he turns to her and says, “I want to help one more person.”
Emerson looks at him, puzzled. “You do? Well, it might be harder to find someone today. I mean, will people be out and about?”
“It won’t be hard.”
“It won’t?”
“No.”
“How come?”
He smiles. “Because the person we’re going to help is you.”
Emerson shakes her head slightly. “I don’t get it.”
“Do you remember what Carl said? The last thing he said? Before we left the bridge.”
She thinks back to their conversation. “Look for those who have wishes or regrets?”
“Exactly. You have both. And you shouldn’t. It’ll be hard for you, as the day goes on. It’ll get harder and harder. More and more painful. And I don’t want it to be that way for you. If we go and see your mom and sister today, you can be free of all that, you know?”
“It’s sweet, that you’re thinking of me. Worrying about me. But I don’t know if I’m up to it. I mean, what if it doesn’t go the way I hope? Won’t I feel worse?”
“The way I see it, it can only go one way. Because it’s now or never, baby. This is it. You gott
a make things right, and I think everyone is going to want that.”
Emerson sighs and turns back to the view. He sounds so sure. And it makes sense. It does. But it’s hard to let go of the fear she’s been carrying around for so long. After all, her mother made Emerson leave.
“You weren’t there, Vince. You didn’t see the way she looked at me. The way she screamed and cried, furious at me. I’m just not sure—”
He takes her arm and spins her around so she’s facing him. A slight breeze catches her hair, and she has to brush it away from her face. Vince looks so serious. And determined. “She was mad at the time, I get that. But it’s not the same world it was then, Em. And besides, time has this magical ability to change things. Just because something was true then doesn’t mean it’s true today. I know it’s hard to believe in magic, but I think it’s time for you to try. I never want to hurt you. You know that. I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe that your family will be happy to see you.”
He reaches out and takes both of her hands in his, and caresses them with his thumbs. It instantly eases the tension she feels just thinking about doing what he’s suggesting.
“I’m scared,” she says softly.
“I know. I get it. I do. But I’ll be with you the entire time.”
“And when it’s over, can we go somewhere, the two of us? Somewhere nice? Special?”
He nods and gives her that half grin she loves so much. “Absolutely.”
She takes a deep breath. “Okay.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Let’s do it. After we get something to eat.”
He turns and starts walking back, toward the mansion, holding her hand as he goes. “While you’re jonesing for a big breakfast, I’m hungry for some mac and cheese.”
“Like, from a box?”
He shakes his head. “No way. Homemade, with three kinds of cheeses and bread crumbs on the top. Like my mom used to make.”
The way he says it, she feels like someone’s reached in and pinched her heart. “I’m sorry, Vince. That you only have me.”
He stops walking and looks at her. His face is stern. “Don’t be sorry about that. You can be sorry I don’t have my mom, but you can only be happy I have you. Because that’s what I am—happy as that Schroeder kid in the Peanuts gang when he’s playing the piano.”
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