The Legend of James Grey

by Jennifer Moorman

  Emma sensed the awareness of time so profoundly that it felt like another person following her around all day, reminding her, whispering in her ear, counting down the hours, minutes, seconds until James would be gone. Finally, when the sun dipped low, turning the sky the color of pink cotton candy, Emma stood at the long windows in the library with James as they stared at the sunset. He reached over and grabbed her hand, and she stepped closer to him, leaning her head against his arm. She tried to etch every second with him into her mind—the way it felt to be near him, his warmth, his scent, the way his cheek dimpled when he smiled at her.

  He leaned down and kissed the top of her head and squeezed her fingers. “I wish I could take you with me to my Mystic Water,” he said.

  She closed her eyes and nodded against his arm. “I wish I could go with you.” Then a jolt of electricity exploded from her heart, traveling all the way to her feet. She gasped and dropped his hand.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Words floated all around James before circling around him, faster and faster, until she and James were enclosed in a tornado of phrases. Emma couldn’t even read all of them, and when she opened her mouth to speak, nothing would come out. It was as if all the words she wanted to say were flying around them. She reached out her hand and four words crashed into her palm. This is your life.

  “I have to talk to Morty,” she said, grabbing James’ hand and pulling him behind her while she ran toward the back entrance of the library.

  Emma shoved both hands against the door, slamming it open, and jumped down the stairs. Then she ran across the lawn toward Morty’s cottage with James close behind. She knocked on the back door and waited a few seconds before calling Morty’s name and knocking again.

  Morty opened the door, looking slightly disheveled and sleepy. He gazed at her with a confused expression marred with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “The dust,” Emma said, sucking in gulps of air. She squeezed a cramp in her side. “The magic stuff that you use on the stamp pad. Where is it? In the archives somewhere?”

  Morty took a step back and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He nodded and glanced between her and James. “Why?”

  Emma bounced on her toes. “Where is it?”

  “It’s in the box behind the first four books on Mystic Water’s earliest history, those leather bound monsters that are held together by goodwill and deteriorating threads.”

  “Thanks,” she said as she turned and leaped off the back stoop.

  “Emma!” Morty called.

  She stopped and looked up at him and James, who still remained on the steps.

  “What’s going on?” Morty asked.

  Emma wrung her hands together in front of her. “I have an idea that I’d like to test out.”

  Morty crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do I feel queasy? What are you up to, Em?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the setting sun, and panic, like a tidal wave, rose up within in, pushing her back toward Morty and James.

  “Hear me out,” she said. “I’m going to eat a little bit of it—of the dust—and then I’m going to—I don’t know because I haven’t figured this all out yet—but I think I’m going to hold James’ hand, and when he starts to disappear into his light and warmth thing, I’m going to see if I can go with him.”

  “What?” Morty and James exclaimed at the same time.

  “Absolutely not,” Morty argued. “You have no idea what that would do to you, what eating the dust might do. What if it kills you?”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Emma said.

  James shook his head. “Emma, I’m not willing to take that chance. I can’t let you do that.”

  Emma frowned. “What if it’s a chance I’m willing to take? What if this is what I want to do?” She stepped onto the stoop and reached for Morty’s hand. “It’s worth a try to me. What if nothing happens at all? What if James disappears, and I’m left here? Then my life goes back to black and white. You’re the only family I have here, Morty. I don’t even have a real life here anymore. Let me do this. Let me see if I can have a different adventure.”

  James touched her arm. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You have no idea what the dust can do.”

  Emma dropped Morty’s hand and looked at James. “But what if it’s strong enough to let me stay with you? Isn’t that worth a try? I’ve never met anyone like you before, and I won’t ever meet anyone like you again. I’d like to take this chance, to see if I can be happy with you.”

  “But you’ll be leaving your home,” James said. “We have no idea what might happen over there, wherever there is to you. What if it’s nothing? What if it’s a void? What if we can’t find each other?”

  She stepped closer to James. “But what if we can?”

  Morty shook his head. “I don’t like this at all.”

  “Will you let me try? Please?” Emma asked.

  “Emma, you’re asking me—no, both of us—to let you try something that might harm you, that might take you from us. Permanently. You can’t expect us to be okay with that.”

  “You do have a life here,” James said. “There are so many opportunities still waiting for you.” He smoothed his hand down her hair. “Your light is back on, Em. I can’t even imagine what’s waiting around the corner for you, what amazing things you’ll do and the people who will be drawn to you.”

  Emma pressed her hands against her heart and felt the electricity zinging through her still, causing her fingers and toes to tingle. “I have this feeling about this. It’s an overpowering feeling that everything will be okay. I promise.”

  Morty closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ll be the death of me. I’ve been trying to keep you safe since you were a little girl, and this goes against my good judgment.” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “Let me get changed and put my shoes on.”

  “Hurry,” Emma urged. “I don’t know how much time we have left. We’ll meet you in the archives.” She grabbed James’ hand and pulled him from Morty’s back stairs, and they hurried across the lawn, sending up words from the grass with every step. Emma glanced over her shoulder and watched the words soar into the air like hundreds of launched rockets. A few were grander and more vibrant as they raced skyward. Rush. Start over. Your choice.

  16

  Down in the archives, Emma pulled the first four volumes detailing the history of Mystic Water off the shelf. She placed them on the closest table, careful to not handle them too much. The leather-bound books looked as though they’d survived a few million sunsets that had left them with brittle, yellowed pages and spines that barely held on with fragile, flaking glue and dangling threads.

  James had run up to the kitchenette to grab a can of Coke at her request because she thought she’d need something to chase the dust once she ate it. She stood alone and reached toward the back of the shelf and touched a box. She pulled it down and set it on the table. The hand-carved box, smaller than she’d imagined, appeared Romanian in design, bearing a cross in the center of the top. All the edges of the box were embellished with fanciful borders. She brushed her fingertips across the carvings. Then she unhooked the latch and flipped open the lid.

  The golden dust inside sparkled like illuminated sand, and seeing it shine in the lamplight caused her to inhale slowly. The beauty of its glow mesmerized her.

  Movement in the shadows pulled her attention away from the box. Crusoe stepped into the dim light.

  “I spent a lot of time alone on that island,” he said. “I often daydreamed that someone would show up and rescue me and relieve me from my despair. My misery created a hole inside of me, and I fell into it. I thought of staying lost forever, never facing the world again. Then I realized that I couldn’t depend on someone else for my happiness. I couldn’t hook all of my hopes and dreams on humanity or even on a single person. People will disappoint you, Emma. They can’t help it. We’re all flawed. But you can find joy within yourself. You ca
n live again on your own terms.”

  “Ooo-kay,” Emma said. “I’m kinda busy here, Crusoe, and I don’t see how that is—”

  “Relevant?” Crusoe interrupted. “Excuse my presumption, but I believe you’ve been waiting for someone to pull you out of that hole of misery when you should have been pulling yourself out.” He pointed to the glittering sand. “Avoiding your life isn’t the same as living your life. Maybe Grey served his purpose in your life. Maybe it was for a shorter time than you hoped, but sometimes you have to let people go so that you can move on to greater things.”

  Crusoe echoed Hook’s final words, and Emma stared at him.

  “I don’t want to let him go,” she whispered.

  “That is often the case,” Crusoe said and nodded. “But we should strive to not dwell on the past. Your life is before you Emma, not behind.”

  Crusoe looked toward the sound of James returning, and he moved back into the shadows.

  “Emma,” James said as he approached, “you don’t have to do this.”

  She stared at the spot where Crusoe had disappeared. Words fluttered out of the darkness. Look ahead. Move forward. Trust your heart. “Do you think it will work?” Emma asked, glancing back at the glowing sand.

  James shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Then what are you worried about?” she asked.

  Emma reached out her hand and dipped her fingers into the dust. A current of power zapped up her fingers, through the palm of her hand, and raced up her arm, causing her to stumble backward a step.

  “Ow!” She shook out her arm, feeling as though she’d shoved it into a bathtub full of too-hot water.

  James grabbed for her.

  “I’m okay,” she said, stepping back toward the table and shaking her head. “Of all the crazy stuff I’ve seen, this has to rank the highest. Well, maybe right behind seeing fictional characters alive in the library, but still…this is so bizarre it’s almost like my brain doesn’t want to process it.”

  James rubbed his hand down her arm and entwined their fingers. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  Emma looked up at him. Uncertainty bubbled in her stomach. Crusoe’s words swirled in her mind. Was leaving with James an escape, an easy way out of a life she hadn’t truly been present for in months? “You don’t want me to try? Because you don’t want to be with me? Because all of this has been just a few days of living in the moment?”

  “Of course that’s not all I think this is,” he said. “But I care about you too much to want you to risk all of this for me.”

  “All of what?” Emma asked. “All of my family? That’s Morty. I’m not losing him. He’ll bring us back to visit. What else am I losing? My life here? I’ve given up days and days to my sadness and pity, and now I finally feel like I have a new start. With you. I want to try this. If it doesn’t work, fine. But what if it does?”

  James almost smiled, almost lost the concern she saw in his expression. “Since when are you the optimist?”

  She squeezed his hand. “Since you showed up.”

  Words spiraled out of the sand and twinkled in the air above the box. Live. Leap. Faith. Morty’s footsteps sounded on the staircase leading down to the archives. He called out to Emma and James, and she responded. He appeared a few moments later, puffing up the aisle and looking determined.

  “I see you found the stash,” he said. He pushed up his shirtsleeve and glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late, and we’re losing sunlight fast. Better get on with the show.” His jaw tightened and released. “Listen, Em, is there any way I can convince you otherwise? No offense to you, James, because I think you’re a stand-up guy, and I’ve always thought you would be a good person for Emma, or someone like you.” He looked at Emma. “But leaving here, if that’s even possible, for some unknown place that might not even accept you because you’re…you’re not of their time, I don’t know what will happen, and I don’t—well, I don’t want to lose you.”

  Emma’s throat burned, and she felt the familiar salty sting in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Morty and hugged him. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane here. I would have been long gone without you.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I would have wasted away in my sorrow.”

  Morty chuckled and hugged her tight. “You’re giving me all the credit. You’re a lot stronger than you think. You’ve been keeping me on track too. You’ve been my daughter, my friend, my partner in crime. I couldn’t have loved you more if you were my own child. I’ve been rooting for you since you were riding that tricycle down the sidewalk with those pink and purple streamers. And I think you’ve done me the biggest kindness yet—sending a wonderful woman to me with a plate of cookies. Completely devious, yet much appreciated. If this does work…I’m going to miss you sorely.”

  Emma pulled away and wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks. “You can bring us back, though, right?”

  Morty sighed. “I don’t know, Em. James is in his biography, but you’re not. You don’t exist there. I have no idea what’s going to happen.”

  Emma turned toward the box. She stretched her arms over her head and leaned her neck from side to side. Then she shook her arms out at her sides and bounced on her toes. She popped open the can of Coke and listened to the bubbles rising to the top of the dark liquid. “Here goes. Everybody ready?”

  “No,” Morty and James said at the same time, causing Emma to release a nervous laugh.

  She stuck her hand back into the shiny sand and felt the shock, but this time, she scooped up a palm full of the dust, making her feel as though she’d grabbed hot coals. She stared down at the sparkling sand, and Crusoe’s words echoed in her mind, Your life is before you Emma, not behind. An ache started deep in her heart, and she tried to blink away her tears as she spread her fingers apart; the sand dropped back into the box.

  Emma looked up at James, willing her bottom lip to stop trembling. “I can’t.” She closed the lid on the box. “I can’t go with you.”

  17

  Emma’s chest felt like she’d swallowed a Roman candle. She wanted to go to James, to explain to him why she couldn’t go, but she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, he closed the space between them and grabbed her hands.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to go with me,” James said, “because there is no one I’d rather have near me than you. But you’d have to change your whole life to make that happen. You’d have to live according to what I need, and I have nothing to offer to you but a life of uncertainty. And me allowing you to even take this risk was selfish.” He pulled Emma against him. “I almost let you give up your life just for the slim chance that I could be with you in my world. I’m no different than Thomas.”

  Emma pulled away from him and pressed her hands to his chest. “You are nothing like Thomas.”

  “Aren’t I?” he asked.

  Emma’s hair brushed against her shoulders as she disagreed. “I’ve been avoiding my life for months, years probably. And even though leaving with you is tempting, maybe it’s just another version of avoidance. I’d be running away, and I don’t belong in your world.” Emma wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, James. For being you, for seeing me, for making me feel special, for helping me to believe in love again. I am going to miss you so badly.”

  James squeezed her against him and kissed the top of her head. “You’re one in a gazillion, Em. There’s nobody in the whole universe like you. I’m so thankful for these days with you.” He released her and pressed his hands to her cheeks. “You deserve all the love in the world.”

  “It’s happening,” she said, stepping away from him. “You’re glowing.”

  Morty slipped Emma’s hand into his. “You take care of yourself, James.”

  James nodded. “You take care of her.” Then he smiled at Emma as he placed his hands over his heart. His eyes turned the golden color of the magical dust. “I will never forget how wonderful my time was with you. Never ever.”

  “Never ever,”
she repeated.

  Emma’s body trembled as a windstorm of air and light swirled around her. Within seconds, James was gone. Emma pressed her hands over her mouth, closed her eyes, and cried.

  18

  A cardinal chirped from an outside windowsill of the library. Emma walked toward the window, gazing toward the library’s back parking lot. Morty and Dana climbed into his BMW with the top down, and Emma watched for a moment longer as Dana leaned back her head and laughed. Morty smiled over at Dana and reversed out of his driveway. They were on their way to a weekend getaway at Wildehaven Beach. Emma closed her eyes, feeling the sunlight warm her cheeks, and sighed.

  James had been gone for three weeks, and so far, Emma had thought of him every single day. She’d stopped carrying around his biography and had packed it up with Bobby’s belongings in her closet, but that didn’t stop the ache. She didn’t regret her decision to stay, but she missed him. She’d written and written, nearly nonstop. The impressive, teetering stack of paper in her bedroom corner wasn’t quite the Tower of Babel high, but give her a few more weeks and it might spill out the windows and reach the heavens.

  The last three weeks had been uneventful otherwise, and perhaps that’s what life was supposed to be like—an endless stream of ordinary days with a sprinkling of magic every so often that created memorable moments. At least in the ordinary, her quiet heart allowed her the room to reassess her life and how she wanted to live it. She glanced down at the glossy college pamphlets in her hand.

  “Excuse me,” a man said from behind her.

  Emma spun on her heel. The young man behind her held a couple of books against his chest, and he smiled at her, effortless and all easy on the eyes. Mr. Soccer Coach. Sunlight stretched through the library windows and draped over his shoulders.