More Than We Can Tell

by Brigid Kemmerer

  “Do you want me to come get you?”

  His voice is so kind. I sniff and swipe at my eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

  He gives a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I do know you. Kind of.” He pauses. “We can go for coffee or something. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the grass beside Saint Patrick’s. In Annapolis.”

  “Funny.”

  “Why funny?”

  “Because that’s where we go to church. I’m fifteen minutes away. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.” I take a long, shuddering breath. “Thanks.”

  “See you soon.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Rev

  The drive to Edgewater takes forever. The farther I drive, the more I regret forcing Declan to stay home. He wasn’t happy about it, either. I thought I was going to have to steal his car.

  But this, I need to do alone. This visit is nothing like his journey to find his father.

  There is nothing positive here. Not even memories.

  “What if he tries to hurt you?” Declan asked.

  “I won’t let him.” This much I know. He will not touch me. My muscles are tense already.

  “What if he has a gun? You can’t ninja a bullet.”

  That question almost got me. But then I said, “You can’t either. I’m going.”

  Somehow I find my father’s street early, and it’s not what I expected. The neighborhood is peaceful and quiet, with large single-family homes set back from the street. I don’t see any apartment buildings, and one would be very out of place on this road. I wonder if I have the wrong street. Road names are reused all over the county. But when I pull over to reset the map on my phone, it puts me right back here.

  Maybe it’s a home that’s been converted to apartments?

  That must be the case, because the address leads to a large yellow house with white trim. Gray stones edge the garden, surrounding huge bushes set at regular intervals. The driveway leads to a small parking lot. A handicapped ramp has been installed alongside the porch stairs.

  I back into a parking place, then sit and study the building. Six other cars are parked here, though the building doesn’t seem large enough to support that many families. And I know I was taken from my father ten years ago, so I don’t have a clear idea of his tastes, but this doesn’t look anything like a place I could imagine him living.

  Now that I’m here, I can’t force myself out of the car.

  This hold he has on me seems impenetrable. I remind myself that I’m not a child. I drove myself here. I’m almost six feet tall. I know how to defend myself.

  I keep hearing Jim Murphy’s voice when he first heard Declan speak. You sound like a man.

  What will my father expect? What will he say?

  My phone chimes and I jump a mile.

  It’s a message from Kristin.

  Mom: Matthew says Emma was here, and she seemed upset. I thought you might want to know. XOXO

  My eyes flick to the clock. It’s 3:57 p.m.

  Upset? Upset how? I wish Matthew had a phone.

  Upset enough that she came looking for me.

  But then I notice I’ve missed two messages from someone else. They came through while I was driving.

  Emma: Rev. I need to talk to you.

  Please. I know you’re mad. Please don’t ignore me.

  I type quickly on the face of my phone.

  Rev: Not mad. I was driving. You OK?

  I wait, but no response comes back. And now I’ve been sitting here long enough to be conspicuous. It’s 4:02 p.m.

  I wonder if my father can see me.

  Dec’s comment about the gun is so unwelcome right now. I try to imagine my father with a sniper rifle and fail. It wouldn’t be his style.

  I need to get out of this car.

  It’s nice to see you coming out of your shell a little bit.

  I don’t think this is what Mom meant.

  Her words do the trick, though. I climb out of Declan’s Charger. My feet shift in the grit of the parking lot and I study each window in turn. My heart pounds. I examine each pane of glass, watching for a face to be looking back at me.

  Nothing. All the windows are covered by blinds or drapes.

  I should push the hood back, I know. I should try to look normal. This hoodie is like a security blanket right now. For a weird moment, I’m glad my father isn’t in prison.

  Then I shove the hood back. Mom and Dad have drilled manners into me for years. I won’t walk into someone’s home looking like the Grim Reaper.

  As I climb the steps, the front door opens. I flinch at the sound, but it’s only a young woman in nursing scrubs heading out. She must be another tenant heading to work.

  But she spots me and stops. Her eyes are tired, but kind. “Oh. Hello! Are you here to see a guest?”

  I’m thrown. To see a guest? Would that make this a hotel? “I—I don’t know.”

  The tiniest frown line appears between her eyes, but otherwise, her expression doesn’t shift. “Who are you here to see?”

  I don’t want to say “my father” out loud. I also don’t know what business this is of hers. Her expression is so expectant that I can’t ignore her, though. “I’m going to unit one oh five.”

  “Oh! Mr. Ellis?”

  I swallow. “Yes. You know him?”

  The frown line appears again. “Of course. I’m Josie. Come with me.” She turns and heads back through the door she just left.

  Now I’m doubly confused. Does my father have a roommate?

  Once through the door, I find myself looking at a large counter that runs the length of what must have been the living room of the house. A few sofas sit at angles to the walls, with a TV mounted overhead. Magazines are strewn across a coffee table between the sofas.

  Behind the counter, two other women and one man sit at monitors. They’re all wearing scrubs, just like Josie. On the wall behind them, in large, scripty blue letters, is a sign that reads Chesapeake Hospice.

  My mouth goes dry.

  This can’t be right. I stop there in the hallway. “Wait.”

  Josie stops and peers at me again. This close, I realize she’s not as young as I originally thought. Gray winds through her hair at the temples, and more lines crowd around her eyes as she becomes concerned. “Are you all right?” She pauses. “Is this your first time here? It doesn’t need to be frightening.”

  Her voice is so kind. She reminds me of Mom.

  I swallow. “Wait.” My voice is barely audible. “Wait.”

  Now they’re all looking at me.

  Another nurse steps away from her monitor, fills a small paper cup with water, and brings it to me. She’s older, and she pats my hand as she gives it to me.

  Now I’m embarrassed. I take the cup sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t—I wasn’t sure what this place was. He just gave me a unit number. I thought it was—” I swallow. “An apartment. Not …”

  Not a hospice facility.

  Not a place where people go to die.

  “So Mr. Ellis is expecting you?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Wonderful,” says Josie. “I can take you back when you’re ready.”

  I’m not ready.

  I’m not ready.

  I’m not ready.

  This doesn’t seem fair. I can’t confront my father on his deathbed. I try to reconsider all his e-mails with this knowledge. Did I misread everything? Was he reaching out for some kind of connection?

  I’m frozen in this space between the desk and the door, and I want a do-over. I want to enter this building with full knowledge.

  I should have brought Declan.

  No. The thought makes my spinning thoughts go still.

  I can do this.

  “Sorry.” My voice is husky. “I’m ready.”

  Josie leads me down the hallway, and around a turn. Our feet are soft on the carpeting. I would give anything for guards and bars right now.

  Then she sto
ps in front of 105 and gives a gentle tap. We’re on the back side of the building; none of the windows here face the parking lot. He hasn’t seen me yet.

  “Come in,” calls the voice from inside.

  His voice. I remember his voice.

  I take a step back without meaning to.

  But then I steel my nerve, find my backbone, and walk through his door.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Emma

  Ethan drives a silver Toyota Corolla. Completely boring car. When he pulls up, I’m surprised. For some reason, my brain keeps superimposing his in-game presence over the real guy. I thought he’d have something wild and crazy.

  The window rolls down when he pulls up, and he frowns and says, “Azure M can’t cry.”

  That makes me smile, and I swipe the last of the tears off my cheeks.

  He looks exactly like the picture he sent me, which is a relief. He’s bigger than I expected. Not fat. Just … husky.

  I pull open the passenger-side door and climb into the front seat. “Hi. Thanks for doing this.”

  “An excuse to get coffee with a badass gamer girl? There are legends on Reddit about this.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  My door closes, and he clicks the Lock button, then shifts into drive.

  This is so different from driving with Rev. That car was loud and aggressive. This is small and quiet. There’s a name badge on a lanyard hanging from his gearshift. AACS is written in huge red letters at the top—Anne Arundel County Schools. Below that, in black print, is the name E NASH, followed by a smaller line that says INFORMATION TECHNOLOGY.

  He sees me looking. “My mom’s. She works in IT. I told you I know people.”

  “So she found him.”

  “No, I found him.” He sounds a little irked. “I just used her system.”

  “Oh—no, it’s awesome. I’m glad you did.” I keep hearing Rev’s voice, about how I wanted to handle it myself, and then Ethan took care of it for me. His words prick at my thoughts, refusing to leave me alone. “I was going to restore the game this afternoon, but then—well, you know.” I blot my eyes again.

  “That really sucks about your house,” Ethan says.

  “I can’t believe she did that without telling me.” I pause. “This morning, we talked. I thought things were getting better. She didn’t even mention calling a real estate agent.” I glare out the window and distantly hear him hit his turn signal. “She had to know I’d see the sign when I got home. What did she expect, that I’d be completely oblivious and just—”

  I see where he’s turning, and stop short. “Why are we getting on the highway?”

  “Starbucks? Coffee?”

  Oh. “There’s one by the mall.”

  “I just know the one on Solomons Island Road. They have a drive-through.”

  That’s on the other side of Annapolis. But what’s the difference, really? It’s only a few miles down the highway.

  “You’re going to bring the game back up?” Ethan says.

  “I want to,” I say. “Especially since Nightmare is gone.”

  “I’m glad I found him for you,” he says.

  My phone rings, vibrating against my leg. I slide it out of my pocket.

  Cait.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Em? Are you okay?”

  Beside me, Ethan sighs and mutters something under his breath.

  I frown at him. But then, I’m awkward all the time. Maybe he suffers from the same curse. “Sorry,” I whisper, moving the phone away from my face. “I left her like a hundred messages.” I put the phone back. “Cait. Yeah. I’m okay.”

  “Mom says we can come get you. Where are you?”

  “Oh.” I glance at Ethan. “I’m okay now. We’re going to Starbucks.”

  “We?”

  “Yeah. Me and a—a friend.”

  Her voice warms. “Oh, did Rev finally call? I told you he would.”

  I’m very aware of Ethan’s attention right now. I’m pretty sure he can hear every word.

  “No, it’s—Cait, can I call you back?”

  “Sure. Take your time.” She clicks off. My phone goes back to the Home screen.

  There’s a text message waiting. How did I miss a text message?

  Rev: Not mad. I was driving. You OK?

  My heart flutters before I’m ready for it.

  “Who’s Rev?”

  For half a second, I forgot I was in a car with Ethan. “What?”

  “Who’s Rev?”

  I don’t know if he can see the screen or if he eavesdropped on the phone call, but either way, it feels unfairly intrusive.

  “Just a friend.”

  “Oh.” His voice sounds irritated.

  The air in the car has shifted. “Are you mad about something?”

  “I don’t know, Emma.” He gives a little laugh. “I don’t know what to think.”

  I swallow. “He’s just a guy from school.”

  “You just said he was a friend.”

  “He is!”

  “Is he the same friend you were out with the other night?”

  I hesitate without meaning to. That’s all he needs.

  Ethan looks away from the road to glare at me. “Who do you think you are? What kind of game are you playing?”

  “I’m not playing a game!”

  “When I called you, you were acting like you had no one to care about you, and since you got in the car, you’ve had two people reach out.”

  “But …” I stop. He does have a point.

  Wait. Does he?

  He runs a hand through his short hair. “You know how much this means to me.”

  Every time he says something, my brain has to process it twice. He speaks as if he’s talking more to himself than to me. “How much what means to you?”

  “This!” He glances at me. “You and me.”

  And then I realize we’ve passed the exit for Solomons Island Road.

  My heart turns into a brick in my chest. “Where are we going?” I say.

  “Sorry,” he says. “You made me upset. I missed the exit.”

  But he doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t even change lanes.

  “Just take the next one. Just take me home.”

  “I will,” he snaps. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

  I give him a minute. The car does not change lanes. We fly past the exit for Jennifer Road. Then for Riva Road. My heart pounds in my chest.

  I slide my fingers across the phone to reply.

  Emma: No. Not OK.

  “You’re texting him right now?” Ethan explodes. “In my car? What kind of girl does that, Emma?”

  The kind of girl who would give anything to be anywhere else right this moment.

  I feel very small and alone in the passenger seat. I pray for the little gray dots to indicate Rev is writing back.

  They don’t appear.

  Ethan’s driving in the left lane, flying past other vehicles. He doesn’t look ready to exit the highway anytime soon. I glance at the odometer. He’s going almost ninety miles an hour.

  My heart rate triples. Maybe a cop will see us and stop him.

  I have never wished so hard for a speed trap in all my life.

  I swallow. “I’m sorry. Can you please take the next exit?”

  He says nothing. He keeps driving. The car continues flying along the pavement. His jaw is set, his fists tight on the steering wheel. Fear wraps around that icy brick in my chest.

  “Ethan?” My voice trembles. “Please just take the next exit.”

  I glance at my phone. Rev hasn’t responded.

  My fingers fly across the phone.

  Emma: with ethan

  The fist comes out of nowhere. My head hits the window. Pain explodes into my face from both sides. The phone goes flying and lands somewhere between the door and the seat.

  I taste blood in my mouth.

  This is bad. I am so stupid. I’m breathing so fast I’m going to hyperventilate. Black spots fill my
vision.

  NO NO NO. I need to stay conscious.

  I need to stay conscious. I tell the black spots to back off.

  It takes a moment, but they listen.

  I’m gasping against the window. This hurts more than anything I can ever imagine hurting. My teeth feel loose somehow, and my jaw aches something fierce. I wish I’d paid more attention to Rev’s words about self-defense and less attention to the feeling of his arms wrapped around me.

  The worst part is the little sobbing sounds coming out of my throat.

  “I didn’t think you’d be like this,” Ethan says. “I thought you were different.”

  No kidding.

  I don’t want to straighten. I don’t want to answer. The speed of the car traps me more effectively than anything else. My phone is sitting right there, upright against the door. The messages between me and Rev. He still hasn’t written back. I slide my hand to reach for it.

  I bump it. It slips down.

  NO.

  Maybe I can still reach it. Maybe.

  I can reach the screen, but I can’t get my fingers around the case. I strain, and my middle finger brushes the little “I.”

  Great. Now I have Rev’s contact information instead of a texting screen.

  Not that I could have sent a text. The bottom half of the phone is too low. This is useless.

  I need to think. I need to think. Ethan is breathing hard beside me. He’s stopped talking. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

  I try to reach the button to call Rev. It’s too far to the right. I strain hard.

  A long shot anyway. Who knows if he would have answered. And how would he have found me?

  Wait. A link sits below his contact information. I’ve never used it before.

  Share My Location.

  I strain to tap it.

  My head is suddenly jerked left. I cry out. Ethan’s hand is wrapped in my braid. My head jams into his midsection. It’s just his abdomen, but it’s horrible. I can smell him, a combination of detergent and male musk that makes my stomach turn. I can see his feet. The grip on my hair is tight and painful. His forearm pins my face.

  “What were you doing?” he snaps.

  I don’t know if I tapped the link. I don’t know.

  And even if I did, what will Rev do with that? He has no idea what’s happening.