by A J Rivers
I shake my head.
“No. Sam, remember. Think about it. Think about when he got that scar. We weren't very old. Maybe ten. It was one of the very few times I got to spend part of fall in Sherwood. Don't you remember that?”
“It was a long time ago, Emma.”
“I know it was. But try to think. My father was helping the neighbor across the street. The one who used to live in the house where Janet and Paul live now. He used to mow their lawn for them because they were old. But he mowed over a beer bottle some kid had tossed into their backyard. It shattered, and a piece of glass cut his face. It almost cut his eye, Sam. The scar on my father's face is across his cheekbone. Not his jaw.”
“He's been gone a long time. He could have got another scar in that time,” Sam says.
“He could have. Of course, he could have. But you can see both sides of his face in this picture. Whoever this is, he doesn't have a scar on his cheekbone. He's been gone a long time, but that cut was far too deep for the scar to completely disappear. Do you remember the picture of what I thought was my mother and father, but the initials were wrong? It should have said M and I, but I know it said M and J.”
“What are you saying, Emma?”
“The birth certificate we found from when my father was delivered by the midwives in Iowa. It wasn't wrong. That mark wasn't in the wrong place. They didn't miss when they tried to mark a single birth. They marked a multiple birth.”
Epilogue
It takes a while for me to calm down enough to even think clearly, much less bring myself to pick up my phone. Bellamy answers on the first ring.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her. “Not really. I know this is going to sound callous of me, but I can't come there right now. I appreciate you being there, and it means a lot to have you and Eric with him, but I can't come to the hospital right now.”
“No, Emma, that doesn't sound callous. This is a lot to hit you with. And you’ve had a really rough few days. Take your time with it. He is not conscious, and he has no idea we're here, probably. Of course, I say that and watch him be listening to me right now.”
She lets out a forced laugh, but I can't reciprocate it.
“You don't need to stay with him all the time or anything. But if you could just update me and let me know how things are progressing. I will come. I'll get there.”
“I know you will,” she says.
“B, about that picture…”
I get up and walk over to the window. It's not a beautiful view by any means. It looks out over the parking lot, but it's something other than the inside of the room that feels like it's closing in on me.
“His scar,” she says, and I draw in a sharp breath.
“You saw it,” I say.
“I've looked at your father's picture so many times I feel like I know him. I haven't said anything,” she says, her voice lowering to a murmur.
“Don't,” I tell her. “Not yet.”
I start to tell her more about the train as I pull aside the curtain, but looking down at the parking lot stops me.
“Emma?” she says. “Are you still there?”
“Sam,” I call over. “Come here.”
“Emma,” Bellamy says. “What's going on?”
“B, I'll call you back. Forget what I just said. Stay with Greg. As much as you can. Stay with him.”
Sam steps up beside me and looks down at the parking lot. From this angle, we can see the car we rented yesterday, so we don't feel so stranded. The late-afternoon sunlight shines down on the simple, generic sedan, making the large, dark bouquet of flowers stand out against the silver.
Without saying anything, Sam and I bolt out of the room. Not bothering to wait for the elevator, we scramble down the steps and out through the side exit. The emergency alarm screams behind us, but neither of us care. I can't breathe as I walk toward the car. Sitting on the hood of the car is a massive bouquet of roses with petals so dark they nearly match the black velvet ribbon wrapped around their stems.
A cream cardstock envelope nestled among the blooms has my name written across it in the color of rust. I open the envelope and pull out a piece of matching stationery. The top corner of the note has today's date. As the handwriting flows down the page, it changes from the block letters of the cards in the train to the script of the note that came with the train ticket.
It's rude to ignore an invitation, Emma.
You should have come when you were asked.
Didn't your mother teach you better manners?
Do you want to know what happened to her?
I know a secret.
Come see me.
P.S. Jake sends his regards
THE END
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