All We Have Is Now

by Lisa Schroeder

  “He used to keep the guitar in his bedroom, so I’m guessing that’s where it is,” Emerson says.

  “You go ahead,” Vince says. “I’ll stay down here and keep watch.”

  “So, what, you gonna give me a signal if he pulls up in the driveway or something?”

  “Yeah, I’ll whistle.” He puts his fingers in his mouth and gives a catcall. “How’s that?”

  “Or you could just yell, ‘He’s home!’ ”

  He laughs. “That’d probably work, too.”

  Emerson climbs the old wooden stairs, watching as Vince takes a seat on the sofa. When she gets to the top of the stairs, she automatically heads to the room that she and her sister shared when they came to visit. The room that became hers when she moved in after her mom kicked her out. She decides she wants to see it. She’s curious. Are there still two beds? Did her sister change anything about it when Emerson didn’t come back? What about all the clothes she left behind?

  When she opens the door, she gasps.

  Whatever she might have expected, it wasn’t this.

  NOTES HUNG all over the room.

  On pink paper,

  blue paper,

  green paper,

  purple paper.

  A rainbow of notes.

  Each with a few words.

  On every wall.

  Where are you?

  Why’d you go?

  I miss you.

  I need you.

  I love you.

  Please come back.

  They love you, too.

  They miss you, too.

  I want you to come home.

  Why don’t you call me?

  Please talk to me.

  I’m here.

  Where are you?

  Are you cold?

  Are you hungry?

  Are you alive?

  Beyond the notes,

  in the closet,

  all of Emerson’s clothes.

  Her shoes.

  Her stuff.

  Nothing’s been moved.

  Frankie was waiting for

  her to come back.

  All this time.

  Waiting.

  CARL WISHES time would slow down. Or stop altogether. Anything but continue to pass at this incredibly fast pace.

  “It’ll be dark soon, I’m afraid,” Carl says from the passenger seat of James’s luxury sedan.

  Carl, Rhonda, and Paige have been driving all over downtown while James and Frankie got out to walk around Waterfront Park. Rhonda didn’t think it was a good idea for Carl to exert himself, so she took the wheel when James and her oldest daughter got out to look around on foot. She and Carl have stopped and asked a few people if they’ve seen Emerson, sharing her picture with them, but so far, no luck.

  “Yeah, another thirty minutes and then I think it’s time to give up the ghost,” Rhonda says. “Wish I’d brought my last bottle of wine along. I could really use a drink about now.”

  The thought makes Carl’s stomach churn. While she longs for a drink, he’s thinking about how much he’d like a good dinner. Spaghetti, maybe. Or steak and a loaded baked potato. After all, he’s only had an apple and some cookies since the pastries he and Jerry shared.

  Rhonda turns a corner, pulls over, and parks the car. After she turns the engine off, she leans forward and rests her forehead on the steering wheel.

  “Hey,” Carl says. “You okay?”

  She shakes her head, then looks out the window. “I’m tired and I want some dinner. I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s a waste of time.”

  “Maybe not,” Carl says. “You just never know. She could be right around that corner up there.”

  “I feel like if she wanted to be found, she’d have made it easy for us. The fact that we’ve been looking this long and this hard, with hardly a trace of her, well, maybe we need to admit she doesn’t want anything to do with us.”

  “Probably a hard thing to admit, yes?” Carl asks.

  She looks at him with tears in her eyes. “Yes. But I think it’s time. I just hope Frankie can forgive me. She really wanted to find her, in case you couldn’t tell.”

  “And you?” Carl asks.

  She stares out the window again. Presses her lips together, like she’s thinking hard. “Of course I wanted to find her. She’s my daughter.”

  “But?”

  She looks at Carl and blinks a few times. “But, things were so much easier when she was little. I’m not sure I know how to be the kind of mother she needs now.”

  “Hm,” Carl says, thinking about that. “My guess is today, the only kind of mother she needs is one who tells her that she is loved.”

  “I’m afraid she won’t believe me,” she says softly. “Ever heard that old saying, ‘Actions speak louder than words’?”

  When Paige starts babbling about something, Rhonda turns around and smiles. “Hey there, sweet pea. You eat all your crackers?” She grabs the sippy cup sitting in the drink carrier, reaches back, and hands it to her. “Here’s some water.”

  “Tank you,” Paige says before she puts the cup to her lips and drinks.

  “See how easy it is with little ones?” Rhonda says when she turns back around.

  It confuses him, this mention of the word easy again. Who ever said parenting was supposed to be easy? He quickly thinks back to his teen years and realizes there’s nothing easy about that, either.

  He supposes they’re both in tough places, and he can’t help but feel bad for each of them.

  OVER THIRTY minutes of tears. Of sadness. Of hating herself so much for what she’s done to her sister. Vince tried to console her when she came downstairs crying, but she pushed him away. Refused to tell him what had happened.

  Now she sits at the far end of the sofa, unable to control the shuddering gasps that keep coming, even though the tears have finally stopped falling.

  “Em, can I come sit by you now?” Vince asks from his spot at the other end. “Please?”

  She feels so alone. Maybe more alone than she’s ever felt. Suddenly, there’s nothing more she wants than to feel Vince’s arms around her. She looks at him and gives a little nod.

  He’s there in an instant, pulling her to him, whispering in her ear that it’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.

  “No,” she whispers. “I don’t think so.”

  “Do you want to go back to your mom’s place? See if anyone’s there?”

  She shakes her head, hard. She’s done looking for them. Knowing how much she’s hurt her sister, she can hardly bear the thought of seeing her again. What could she say to make it better? What could she possibly say?

  Sorry isn’t good enough. A simple sorry doesn’t make up for all those nights Frankie probably cried herself to sleep, imagining the worst.

  God, how she must hate Emerson for what she’s put her through. That single thought causes her eyes to fill with tears again.

  “You know what?” Vince says. “I think we need to get you out of here. Obviously, I was wrong about coming here, and I’m so sorry. I thought it was the right thing to do, Em, and I hope you know I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know what happened, what set you off, but I think we need to leave. Where do you want to go? I’ll take you anywhere; just name the place.”

  She wants to go somewhere that can be theirs. All theirs, and no one else’s. A place that feels like home. The home they’ve dreamed about during the hard days.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “It’s hard to think right now.”

  Vince pulls out Carl’s wallet. “Remember this? We have money. Let’s pretend it will get us anywhere we want to go. We took Jackie to Paris; now it’s your turn. Don’t think too hard, just listen to your gut. What’s it say? Where does it want to go?”

  She reaches for the wallet. Opens it. Looks at Carl’s picture. Driver’s license pictures usually aren’t the best, but this one’s good. He’s not smiling a lot, but enough so he looks content. It’s exactly how Emerson wants
to feel. She wants to forget everyone and everything and feel like that.

  “Here,” she says, holding the license up to Vince. “Let’s go to his house, and make it ours.”

  He gives her a funny look.

  “He’s gone,” she explains. “Who knows what happened to his family. Why he was on that bridge. But his house will be empty, or he wouldn’t have been there. We can pretend it’s ours. Like when we were little. You must have played house, right? It’ll be like that.”

  “It’s probably a really nice place,” Vince says.

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Emerson says. “Because it’s in Lake Oswego.” Her eyes get big. “Maybe it’s on the lake. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

  Vince shrugs. “Well, I guess we can go check it out. If you’re sure there’s nowhere else you want to go.”

  “I’m sure.”

  He stands up and helps her to her feet. “Do you want to talk about what you saw? What made you so sad?”

  She shakes her head again. “No. I’m going to try and forget it. That’s the only thing I can do now.”

  As they close the door behind them, Emerson thinks of all the colored notes, back in their room. She ripped them off the walls. Every single one. And then she gathered them up, one by one, in a neat little stack and threw them in the trash can.

  She’s broken her sister’s heart. She knows that. And there’s nothing she can do to fix it.

  THEY’RE HEADING south again on I-5. The sun will be setting soon. Emerson leans her head against the window and wishes she could release the weight of the regret she feels.

  “How do I let it go?” she asks, desperate to do just that.

  “What?” Vince asks.

  “I don’t know. Everything I’m feeling bad about, basically.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  She sighs and sits up. “I hurt my sister. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I guess I thought she didn’t care very much.” She pauses. “Or maybe I’m a selfish bitch and I didn’t give her that much thought.”

  “Em, I know you’re feeling bad, but the thing is? You can’t change any of it. And really, if you could, would you want to? We wouldn’t have met. I mean, think about that. These past twenty-four hours would have been completely different if we hadn’t met. The Make-a-Wish-for-the-Apocalypse would not have been a thing.”

  She stares out her side window. The light is so pretty right now. There’s a special warmth to the golden glow, as the sun makes its descent. It’s practically hypnotic. She turns her thoughts to the people she and Vince have met recently.

  Hayden. He nailed the Queen song.

  Jackie and Phillip. A match made in make-believe Paris.

  Kat. Backstabbing wench.

  Kailee and Kendall, with their sweet dog, Teddy. Emerson’s soul sisters in all things mother-related.

  She can’t deny it. Thinking about them makes her feel good. The fun they had. The wishes they granted.

  Well, except for—

  “Our Make-a-Wish-for-the-Apocalypse was awesome,” Emerson says. “But I really could have done without that Kat girl.”

  Vince laughs. “Oh, come on. She was sixteen and never been kissed. She can die happy now.”

  “The kiss was good?”

  “The kiss was excellent.”

  Emerson groans. “Do you enjoy stabbing me in the heart, Mr. Kiss-and-Tell?”

  He laughs harder. “No, I mean, for her, the kiss was excellent. I gave her the best I had, but it was like a job, all right? It didn’t mean anything.”

  “How come guys always say that?”

  “What?”

  She puts her hands up and makes air quotes. “ ‘It didn’t mean anything.’ What a crock of shit.”

  “But it didn’t. What do you want me to say to make you feel better? That she was a terrible kisser?”

  “Was she?”

  He reaches over and takes her hand. “Let me put it to you this way. Your kisses? Not even in the same league as hers. You are, like, getting your master’s degree in kissing, while she’s in fourth grade, chasing all the boys at recess, threatening to give them cooties.”

  Emerson smiles as she relaxes in her seat. “I like the sound of that. Master’s degree in kissing.”

  He gives her hand a squeeze. “And you know, if you want to go for your doctorate, I’m happy to help.”

  She gives him a shove. “Oh my God, stop it with the cheese, would you? You should have quit while you were ahead.”

  Emerson feels him looking at her. She turns and meets his eyes. “What?”

  He smiles. “I’m glad the Emerson I know and love, aka Ms. Tell-It-Like-It-Is is back, that’s all.”

  She returns her eyes to the road and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I just can’t let myself think about the stuff I wish I could change,” she says. “You were right. Regret hurts.”

  “So, try to focus on the good.”

  “Once again, you say it like it’s so easy.”

  “It’s a lot easier than killing yourself with regret, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “From here on out, we need to stay focused on the right now.”

  She stares at the clock, remembering how it freaked her out, watching the minutes tick by. “Okay. I’ll try.”

  BIRDS DANCE

  upon branches.

  Mice scurry

  in fields.

  Spiders spin

  across spaces.

  No looking back

  No looking ahead.

  Each minute, each hour,

  spent doing, spent living.

  A means

  of survival?

  Or the way

  it’s meant to be?

  Perhaps nature understands

  what we do not.

  It’s not about

  how we live.

  Just that

  we do.

  Moment

  by

  sweet,

  lovely

  moment.

  FRANKIE’S CURLED up in the corner of the backseat, crying. Paige has one of her hands in her sister’s hair while she sucks the thumb of her other hand. Carl sits on the other side of the car seat, as James is behind the wheel again and Rhonda is in the passenger’s seat.

  “You need to pull it together, Frankie,” Rhonda says as she turns around. “I will not spend these last couple of hours with you like this. I’m serious. You need to get it together because it’s not fair to the rest of us.”

  “Hey, go easy on her, Rhonda,” James says. “She’s missing her sister. Worried about her, too.”

  “Dad, don’t even try, all right?” Frankie says. “It won’t do any good. Mom doesn’t give a rat’s ass.”

  “Watch it,” Rhonda says. “Little ears and all.”

  “Okay, Carl,” James says as he catches Carl’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Let’s get you home, then I’ll take these girls back to their house. Can you tell me where to go?”

  Home. Carl’s heart practically jumps out of his chest at just the mention of the word.

  “I sure can.”

  VINCE AND Emerson pull up to the house on Edenberry Drive. Carl’s house. It’s smaller than most in the area, but really nice. Mocha colored with white trim. Pretty flowers in the beds, along with bushes of various sizes, and a beautiful Japanese maple in the front corner, next to the driveway.

  As they came into town off the freeway, they spotted an elderly couple, strolling along a walking path. Vince stopped the car, got out, and asked if they might know how to get to Edenberry Drive, and they did. It so happened they weren’t far from the street at all.

  “Just take Westlake into the development,” the old man said, “and you’ll eventually come to it.”

  And so, here they are. But neither of them moves.

  “This is weird, isn’t it?” Emerson says.

  “No, it’s brilliant.” He turns so he faces her. Leans in and kisses her. “Think abo
ut it. For the next couple of hours, it’s only you and me. We’ll have an entire house all to ourselves. Doing whatever we want.”

  He moves in to kiss her again, when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns to find a woman running toward the car, the front door of Carl’s house wide open.

  “Ummm,” Emerson says.

  “Who is that?” Vince asks.

  “Like I’m supposed to know?”

  Vince opens the door and gets out.

  “Where is he?” the woman asks, running up to Vince, trying to peer past him, into the car.

  “Who?” Vince asks as Emerson gets out.

  “Carl,” she says as she looks at Emerson. “He’s with you two, right? That’s why you’re here?”

  Emerson looks at Vince, feeling completely helpless. What should they say? Should they tell her about the man she’s asking about, or let her continue to believe he’ll be coming home eventually?

  Vince turns back to the woman. “Are you his wife? Mrs. Ragsdale?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not with us,” Vince says. “He’s not home, then?”

  Emerson is watching the scene as if she’s watching a movie. She has no idea where this is going, and she’s incredibly anxious to find out.

  Carl’s wife looks like she’s about ready to cry. “No. He’s not here. I’ve been waiting for him to come home since yesterday.”

  Vince reaches into his back pocket. “We, um, found his wallet. On the street. And we wanted to return it to him.” He reaches out and hands it to her.

  “He told me he gave it away,” she says, looking at the wallet with longing in her eyes. “His car, too.” She returns her gaze to meet Vince’s. “I don’t know why he did that. He was trying to help people or something.”

  Emerson can’t do it. She can’t stand here and lie to this woman. It’s wrong. She has a right to know, doesn’t she? That he’d been helping people, and that he was happy?

  Really happy, it seemed to Emerson at the time.

  “Actually,” Emerson says as she steps toward Mrs. Ragsdale, “we didn’t really find it. He gave it to us. We’re the ones he wanted to help.”