Mrs. Ragsdale shakes her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Emerson looks at Vince, then back at Carl’s wife. “Vince here, he didn’t want to hurt you. But I think we should tell you the truth.”
“Em, no,” Vince says. “Don’t.”
“But she’s his wife,” Emerson says. “She’s wasting time waiting for him. Worrying about him. Don’t you think she should know?”
“No,” Vince says firmly. “I really don’t. I think—”
“Stop it!” Carl’s wife screams. “Please. Stop! Tell me. I don’t care what it is, I just want to know. I have to know.”
Emerson takes another step forward and as she speaks, she does so gently. With kindness in her voice. As much kindness as she can find.
“We think he’s dead,” she says. “We met him on the Vista Bridge. He was about to jump when he spotted us. He came over and talked to us. Asked if there was anything he could do for us. When Vince said we could use some money, he gave us his wallet. And then he said he felt ready to say good-bye. At peace, is what he said.”
Emerson watches. Waits for the woman to break down. To cry. To scream. Something. But she doesn’t. A smile slowly spreads across her face. She closes her eyes and looks up at the sky. And then she starts laughing. She laughs and laughs.
It reminds Emerson of Carl—how he laughed when Vince asked him if he was sure he didn’t want the wallet anymore.
“What?” Vince says. “What is it? What’s so funny?”
“I called him,” she explains. “I spoke to him. After he gave you the wallet. I can see now I called him in the nick of time. See, I was at my parents’. He didn’t expect me to come home, but I did. I came home and he said he’d try his best to get here. So whatever’s happened, I still have hope. I’m not going to give up on him.”
Emerson shakes her head. “But why isn’t he here yet? Even if he couldn’t find a ride, he could have walked from downtown and been here by now. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Nothing makes much sense, does it?” she asks. “I mean, really, what do we know for sure except that right now, in this moment, we’re standing here, breathing? The rest, who knows? Let’s stop asking questions. Let’s just stop trying to figure out everything and simply be happy we’re here. What do you say?”
Emerson remembers Vince’s words. Stay focused on the right now. She folds her arms across her chest and nods as Vince says, “Yeah. I agree. One hundred percent.”
“Good,” Mrs. Ragsdale says. “Now, would you like to tell me why you really came here?”
“Actually,” Vince says, “I think we’d rather not. But please know we’re glad you’re here. And we really hope Carl gets home soon.”
“Yes,” Emerson says, thankful Vince didn’t tell her they came to break into her house and pretend to live here for the next couple of hours. How awkward would that have been? “So, we should probably get going now. But tell Carl we said thanks. For everything. We’re really glad we met him. Because of him, we’ve had an amazing twenty-four hours. He kind of changed our lives, if you want to know the truth.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” Mrs. Ragsdale asks. “Wait and see if he shows up, so you can thank him yourself?”
Vince looks at Emerson, but she doesn’t even have to think about it. “We’re sure,” she says. “But thanks for the offer. It was great to meet you.”
“Wait,” Carl’s wife says. “I don’t even know your names. I’m Trinity, by the way.”
“I’m Vince.”
“And I’m Emerson.”
“Wonderful,” Trinity says. “Well, I’m really glad I met you.”
“Same here,” Emerson says.
Vince waves. “I guess we’ll say good-bye, then.”
“ ’Bye,” Emerson says before she turns and gets back in the car.
When Vince climbs in, he lets out a long breath. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Emerson says.
Trinity stands there, holding the wallet to her heart, waving with her other hand. “She’s nice,” Vince says.
“I can totally see them together, can’t you?” Emerson asks. “They’re like two peas in a pod or however that saying goes.”
“Like us?” Vince asks.
Emerson squeezes his leg as he puts the car in reverse. “No. Not like us. Come on, we’re more exciting than that.”
“Like two strings on a guitar?” Vince asks.
“Yeah. Or two fries on a Shari’s plate.”
They turn the corner, just as a luxury sedan is coming the other way.
“Or two stupid kids in a fancy BMW,” Vince says with a grin. “Now there’s an original one.”
But she didn’t hear him. Because she thought she saw something, and she’s turning her head, craning her neck, looking back, trying hard to see.
IT’S NOT quite dark yet. Almost, but not quite. And because of that, she could make out the faces of the two people in the front seat of the car they passed.
Unless she was hallucinating.
Unless her brain is playing mean tricks on her.
Unless it’s too ridiculous to be true.
“Vince, stop,” she says.
“What?”
“Stop the car. Please. We need to turn around.”
“How come?”
She shakes his arm. “Come on, please? Just do it. I think I saw … I don’t know. I don’t want to say yet. But let’s turn around and see.”
“See what?” he asks as he pulls into a driveway and then puts it in reverse. “Can you give me a hint?”
“No. Just go back the way we came.”
And so that’s what Vince does. When they turn the corner, the car they passed is now sitting in Carl’s driveway. And Carl is running from the car to the spot where Trinity is standing, her face a perfect mixture of surprise and happiness.
Vince stops the BMW in front of the house and they both watch as Carl gathers his wife into his arms and covers her face with kisses.
“Wow,” Vince whispers. “He’s here.” Emerson slowly opens her door. “Em? Where are you going? I think maybe we need to give them—”
But she doesn’t let him finish. She walks toward the other car, her heart racing and her mind telling her it can’t be. That it doesn’t make sense and how could it possibly be true?
She remembers Trinity’s words. Let’s stop trying to figure out everything and just be happy we’re here.
Is Emerson happy about this, though? If it’s real, if it’s true, will she be happy?
When she sees Frankie’s face as she turns and looks at Emerson, out the side window, she feels a hundred different things in that moment, but mostly she does feel happy. She’s missed her older sister, after all. Maybe she didn’t even realize how much until this moment.
Frankie screams, “Emerson!” before she jumps out of the car and grabs her, pulling her into a hug. “Oh my God,” Frankie says, her arms wrapped tightly around her sister. “I can’t believe it. You’re here. You’re really here.”
Emerson lets herself feel the love as tears pool in her eyes. She tries to find the words. The right words, to let her know how badly she feels.
“Frankie,” she says as she pulls away and looks her sister in the eyes. She hasn’t changed much. She’s taller, maybe. Her hair’s a little different, as she has bangs now, where she didn’t before. But her eyes—her hazel eyes with rings of gold around the center—are still the same.
Emerson swallows hard. “I went to Dad’s house, and I went into our room. I saw all the notes, and I want you to know, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please know that. I didn’t think you cared that much, I guess, and I’m so sorry. About what I’ve put you through.”
Now tears fill Frankie’s eyes and she blinks quickly to try to keep them back. “If you didn’t think I cared that much, then I’m the one who should be sorry. Truly. I get it. You didn’t think you had any other choice but to leave. You felt like you had no one on your side.” N
ow the tears fall. “But I was on your side, Em. I was always on your side. I just didn’t do a very good job of letting you know that.”
She pulls Emerson into her arms again as both of them cry. They stay that way for a minute, until Frankie pulls away and says, “I think there are some other people here who want their turn.”
Fear grips Emerson hard, so she clings to her sister as they turn to face their parents, who are now standing in Carl’s driveway along with everyone else.
Her dad runs over to Emerson and pulls her into his arms, kissing her cheek as he does. “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetheart,” he whispers in her ear. “I’m sorry. About everything. The rest doesn’t matter right now. You’re here, you’re all right, and that’s the important thing.”
She can’t find any words, so she gives a little nod. When he pulls away, he steps back and Emerson stares at the ground, afraid to look her mother in the eye.
“Oh, Emerson,” her mom says, rushing over to her. “I can’t even tell you how happy I am to see you.”
When she hugs her mother, she takes in the familiar scent of coffee and hair spray as a mixture of happiness and fear washes over her. Happy because despite everything that happened between them, this is her mother. Now and always. And terrified because she doesn’t want to get hurt again. Not like that. Never again.
Emerson doesn’t let the hug last more than a few seconds. She pulls away and finally looks at her mother, and waits. Waits to see what she has to say.
Her mom presses her hand against Emerson’s cheek. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I am sorry. I didn’t handle things well. I didn’t know what to do, honey. I felt like I had to choose, and obviously, I didn’t choose well. I want you to know he’s out of the picture now. He moved out. It’s just me and your sisters.” Her face lights up. “Oh! You have to see Paige. You won’t believe how big she’s gotten.”
Her mom quickly moves to the car and opens the door to the backseat. After a couple of clicks and some gentle maneuvering, Paige is out of her car seat and in her mother’s arms.
“Paige, this is your sister Emerson. Can you say hi?”
“Hi,” she says easily and effortlessly. Her big blue eyes and blond curls are so cute, Emerson can hardly contain herself.
“Hi, Paige,” Emerson says. She puts her arms out. “Can I hold you?”
And when the adorable two-year-old climbs into Emerson’s arms, and Emerson puts her cheek against Paige’s sweet, soft skin, a feeling of pure contentment washes over her. The feeling stirs up a memory, like a flash, that comes from long ago—of curling up in a chair with a good book and wanting nothing else than to spend time in the story. She is here, in her own story, and even with all the strange twists and turns, she’s so very glad about that.
Emerson closes her eyes and lets herself enjoy the feeling. And that’s when she thinks of Vince, because he’s a part of her happiness, too.
“Oh my gosh,” she says, handing Paige back to her mother. “There’s someone you guys have to meet.”
But when she turns to the street, to wave Vince over, he’s gone, along with the fancy BMW.
DOWN THE street.
Around the corner.
Searching.
Wishing.
Wondering.
Why
did
you
go?
Daylight disappears.
Darkness settles in.
Is this
what death
feels like?
“LET’S GO home,” her mother says.
Home.
Just the mention of that one word, and the memory comes rushing back. When she and Vince were in the library.
It’s not about going home. It’s about the feeling. The feeling of being home.
Why is it so hard to see things when they are right in front of you? She didn’t need to go anywhere.
She had it all along. When she was with Vince, she was home.
On the streets.
In the shelter.
In a BMW.
He was her home. Because home isn’t where you are so much as it’s who you are with.
Emerson shakes her head, hard. “No. I can’t go. I can’t leave. He might come back here. Or maybe he’s close by. I have to try and find him.” She looks in her mother’s eyes, pleading. “Don’t you understand? I have to.”
She hears Frankie sniffle behind her, and the sudden knowledge that she’s causing them pain all over again makes her stomach feel like she’s swallowed a thousand needles.
And then, Carl is there. “I have an idea. Why don’t you all come inside? Just for a little while? Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe he wanted to give you some time alone. If he doesn’t come back soon, then you can go. How’s that sound?”
“I think that sounds like a good plan,” her mother says. “Emerson? What do you say?”
She can’t get her brain to stop thinking, Why?
Why did he go? Why’d he leave without saying good-bye? Why did he think she’d want things to be this way?
Frankie comes and puts her arm around Emerson’s waist. “We’re going inside,” she says firmly. “We’ll wait here for a while. I’m not going home without you, all right? You don’t get to decide everything anymore. It’s not just about you.”
Emerson lets herself be led into the house. She hears someone rattling around in the kitchen as they take a seat at the dining room table. The stereo plays a familiar song by the Beatles.
“This is really unbelievable,” Carl says as he sits across from Emerson. “That you ended up here, of all places. May I ask you how that happened, exactly?”
Emerson nervously rubs her hands together. “We wanted a nice place to wait things out. We thought your house would be empty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been … there. Where we found you.”
Carl nods. “So you came here. And you found Trinity.”
“Right. It surprised us. But she told us she talked to you on the phone after we left. But what I want to know is how you ended up with my family?”
So he tells her what happened. Tells her about Jerry. About getting knocked out. About being saved by her mom and sister.
Trinity appears as he’s telling the story, carrying plates and forks. She passes them out as she listens. And then she returns to the kitchen and brings out a beautiful quiche on a gorgeous scalloped white cake stand.
When Carl finishes his story, Emerson’s mother compliments Trinity on the quiche.
“I had all the time in the world today,” she explains. “Decided I might as well put it to good use. You know, all of you ending up here at the same time, it’s like the perfect storm. But in a good way.”
“The perfect miracle,” Frankie says.
“Before the perfect tragedy,” Emerson says drily. “Unless the skeptics are right, I guess.”
Her mother gives her a curious look. “What skeptics?”
“Vince and I learned earlier today that there are people out there who believe this is all a giant hoax. They think it’s the government, wanting to push the reset button or something.”
Her father shakes his head. “It takes all kinds, I guess.”
“Well, shall we have a little supper?” Trinity asks. She hands Carl the serving pieces. “Can you cut it for me, please? I’m going to get everyone some juice.”
“I feel like I should go look for Vince,” Emerson says. “So I can kill him with my own bare hands.”
Frankie laughs, startling Paige, who is sitting on her lap, playing with a stuffed monkey. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“It’s dark out, Em,” her dad says. “I don’t like the idea of you going out there.”
“Have a bite to eat,” her mom says. “If he hasn’t come back, maybe we can all drive around and look for him. How’s that?”
Trinity brings four glasses and returns to the kitchen.
“Have you known each other long?” her moth
er asks. “You and Vince, I mean.”
“Feels like I’ve known him forever,” is all Emerson says. She doesn’t want to tell them how long or about how they met or what the streets were like. They don’t really want to know. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t.
“Well, I’m glad you had someone looking after you,” her dad says.
Trinity returns with two more glasses and a large pitcher of orange juice. While Carl passes out slices of the quiche, Trinity pours the juice.
“I’m curious,” Carl says after everyone’s served. “After you left the bridge, what did you do? Did you find any people to help, like we talked about?”
Emerson smiles. “Yeah. We did. We helped a kid become a rock star. And we took a woman to a place very much like Paris. And we took two girls to the Enchanted Forest earlier today.”
“Aw, I love that place,” Frankie says. “Did you go down the slide?”
“A bunch of times,” she replies as she watches Frankie offer a forkful of food to Paige. Emerson turns to Carl. “We had so much fun, I can’t even tell you. Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. “I had fun, too. Makes the end a little easier to take, doesn’t it?”
No one says anything, and the words hang there like an invisible noose. Rhonda turns her head, biting her lip, as she tries to compose herself, but eventually, she pushes her chair back and gets up.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” she says. “I can’t sit here and pretend like everything’s fine, when it’s not. What the hell are we doing? We hardly have any time left, and we’re stuffing our mouths with quiche? What kind of alternate universe are you all living in? This isn’t a celebration. It’s not like it’s someone’s birthday, for Christ’s sake. We shouldn’t be happy the world is about to end.”
Emerson glances at Paige, wondering if her mother’s outburst has made her anxious, but she’s oblivious, lost in her own little world with her monkey.
“Well, obviously, it isn’t someone’s birthday,” Emerson says, trying to ease the tension. “Otherwise we’d have cake. Preferably chocolate with raspberry filling.”
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