by Chris Zett
Emily tried to make a list of people to call. Only a few names came to mind. She had no relatives left, and her mother had made no real friends Emily knew of. She had many acquaintances and colleagues, members of the same charities, but she had always preferred the company of her books to real people. Just like you.
“Ahem.” Her mother’s attorney had reached the end of his papers and was obviously waiting for an appropriate reaction.
She tried to recall the last thing he had said but came up empty. “I’m sorry, I lost focus for a minute.”
His features softened with what appeared to be well-practiced compassion.
Emily loathed him for it—and herself even more for the sting of tears in her eyes.
“That’s understandable, Dr. Barnes. Take your time with the paperwork; there is nothing you need to do or sign now. Your mother made you part owner a few years ago.” He handed her a stack of files and a set of keys. “These are for the beach house. Your mother still kept a few personal things there. Maybe you want to have a look. When you’ve decided if you want to keep it or sell it, I can help you with the arrangements or recommend someone trustworthy.”
“Thank you. I’ll sell it. I’ll contact you in a couple of days.” Emily stood and offered her hand.
Instead of a businesslike handshake, he held hers for a moment too long and patted her arm with what he probably considered appropriate grandfatherly concern.
Blinking back tears, she stiffened, and he withdrew his hands immediately. She took her bag, scooped up the files and keys, and left the room as fast as she could. She only slowed when she reached her car to throw the papers in the back seat. Her hands shook as she turned the keys in the ignition. Biting the inside of her cheek, she willed them to comply. She had no time for such an emotional reaction; she had things to do. Visiting the assisted-living facility where her mother had spent the last six years was the next item on her to-do list. She had already checked off the funeral home and the attorney. When she should have turned south at the next intersection, she found herself going north toward the sea.
The sunlight made her eyes tear, and she searched blindly in her bag for her sunglasses. The blaring of an angry horn returned her focus to the road just in time to steer back to her side of the road. She clenched the wheel harder and forced herself to ease up on the gas. No reason to get killed just because her mother had died.
Chapter 13
With the distance to the town center and the lawyer’s office the tension receded from Emily’s shoulders. She concentrated on the narrow road. Pines loomed on both sides and cast long shadows, hiding the too-bright sun. She pushed the sunglasses up on her head, switched off the air-conditioning, and opened the windows. Warm air flooded the car, carrying pine and a hint of salt. Emily inhaled deeply. The scent brought back memories of the endless summers she had spent on the beach, reading and talking about books with her father. This time, the tears running down her cheeks weren’t caused by the sun.
As she neared the small cottage her parents had bought long before her birth, she got the first glimpses of familiar buildings. At first she thought nothing had changed, but of course, it had. In some places only minor details were different, but in others new houses and even new side streets confused her sense of orientation.
Finally, she arrived at the last house on the street. The cottage looked immaculately kept up, and the parking space was free of weeds. Why had her mother spent money on maintenance of a property she didn’t visit anymore? Why hadn’t she just sold it?
Emily shrugged. She would have to get rid of it; she had no time for useless sentimentality.
Inside nothing had changed since the last time she’d been here twenty years ago. For that matter, nothing had changed since she could remember, probably even since the day her parents had bought the place. Beige walls, brown carpets, and décor from the seventies. She used to think of it as calming; now the lack of color suffocated her.
Emily ignored the emotions twirling deep inside her. She had work to do, and it was best to stick to the system she’d thought of on her way here. It was always better to have a solid plan, and she mentally checked her to-do list. Cleaning out the cupboards came first. She needed to remove anything personal, broken, or old that couldn’t be sold. The next step would be an inventory of the furniture and finally a good deep-cleaning of the house.
With the intention to keep going until she was finished or starving, she tackled the kitchen. No surprises there. She threw away some decade-old cans but left the rest untouched. The bathroom already looked as if it were attached to a sterile hotel room, without any personal touches. The bedrooms were the same, only matching sets of bedding, no old clothes, no forgotten jewelry. It seemed as though her mother hadn’t planned to ever return here after her last visit.
The living room looked as bland and empty as the other rooms—until she looked into the sideboard. Several photo albums she had never seen before stood in a neat row. The ugly green faux leather dated them in the seventies or early eighties.
Since when did they have family albums? How could she have missed something like that, growing up? She sat on the rug in front of the gas fireplace and opened one at random. It contained faded pictures of her mother and rarely her father or both at different locations. Sometimes she thought she might recognize famous landmarks like the Grand Canyon or cities like New York and London. They were obviously old holiday pictures. Both looked so young, completely different from the parents she had known. Hairstyles and clothes chronicled her mother’s development from a modern, young woman to the settled and conservative librarian she had grown up with. From the style of clothes, she guessed her father’s interest in taking pictures had ended in the early seventies.
Emily leafed through album after album until she came to one that was different. Her picture was on the cover. In truth, the baby in the orange-brown onesie lying on a sheepskin rug could be anyone. But her mother had neatly labeled the picture with her full name, date of birth, length, and weight. In the first year were several shots of her lying around in different clothes on various quilts. Underneath each was a date and a name. She recognized some as the names of elderly relatives who had mostly died when she was a kid; some names were completely unknown. Had they presented her parents with clothes and gotten a thank-you picture? Emily couldn’t be sure. At Christmas, she lay underneath the tree, next to the presents. The next one was of her first birthday with a cake and a single candle. And so the album continued. One picture for Christmas, one for her birthday, every single year. But nothing else. Not her first steps, her first lost tooth, or her first bike.
The memory of the fight she’d had with her mother on her thirteenth birthday rose in her mind. She hadn’t wanted to put on the sundress her mother had selected for her picture. In the end, her father had asked her to do it one last time, for him. The dress still showed the wrinkles her mother couldn’t remove after Emily had thrown it in the corner of her room. She knew the smile was fake. She looked back at the last few pictures and recognized the same smile in many of them. Had she been happy then? She couldn’t remember.
She had never rebelled before or after against the painstakingly long preparations her mother had made her sit through each year. Makeup covered her freckles, and her hair had been straightened and pulled back so the red wasn’t so obvious. The clothes were old-fashioned dresses she never wore the rest of the year. After her father had died, they had stopped the tradition, so the album ended with her seventeenth birthday.
The picture captured the last moment of innocence. Her father had given her a car, nothing new or fashionable, but it was special to her. They had been looking at it when her mother had called them inside to take a picture of her with the cake.
Emily had insisted on her father posing with her, a break in the tradition that had left her mother with a pinched mouth as if she’d swallowed a lemon.
She care
fully peeled the picture from the page and traced his outline, hovering over the strong hands that embraced her shoulder, his proud smile, and the neat gray hair. In the last thirty years, his features had blurred in her memory. Only his warm voice remained, reading to her at night.
After the photography, they had eaten the cake until her father had gone pale and they had all driven to the ER. Twenty-four hours later he was dead.
Emily’s throat constricted, and tears welled up. She threw the album across the room. It hit the wall with a thud, and some of the pictures scattered across the floor. After all these years, she still missed her dad but couldn’t shed a single tear for her mother.
She shivered, suddenly feeling cold. She looked around. The room was lifeless, like a picture from an old magazine. Everything was as sterile and vacant as her mother’s life had been. And what about her own life?
Finally, the tears came. She pulled her knees up to her breast, hugged them, and buried her face in the soft wool of her slacks.
Emily awoke in darkness. Her head and back hurt, and her nose was stuffed. Groaning, she stood and stretched. After a moment, her eyes got used to the moonlight shining into the cottage. She found her way to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and drank it all at once. She refilled it and took it outside on the small porch. The furniture was in the storage shed, so she sat on the steps leading down to the grass. The cool evening air was a balm to her burning eyes. She was weirdly relaxed after crying and sleeping like a baby. She still missed her dad, but the pain had receded to a manageable dullness. And she was still not grieving for her mother. Her guilt over her lack of feelings lingered, though. She wished someone was here with her, sitting with her on the steps.
Not someone, Diana. The salty air reminded her of the night she had seen her for the first time, playing her drums on the beach. The drummer had been a nameless object for her to project her desire upon. Now she had met the person and missed her personality. She was quick and funny, with a strong sense of who she was and where she wanted to be. Emily wished she could borrow some of Diana’s strength and security.
Fear sliced through her. What was happening to her? She had always been independent and emotionally self-reliant. For as long as she could remember, she had never wanted the support of another person. Not even from her parents.
Emily’s phone vibrated once in the pocket of her pants. Diana’s name glowed in the darkness.
Hesitating, Emily paused her finger over the message icon. Where had her independence led her? Did she really want to end up like her mother? Alone, only connected to books, never to people? She tapped on the message with more force than necessary.
I’m sending good thoughts your way. I hope you sleep well.
Before she could think through the consequences, Emily pressed Diana’s name and the phone icon. Her pulse beat twice as fast and loud as the dial tone.
“Emily, hi.” Diana’s voice was warm and enveloped her like a hug.
“Diana… I… Thank you for your text.” Emily stood and walked to the trees lining the property until she reached the cliffs. The old wire fence at the edge was bent and broken in multiple places.
“I know you asked for distance, but I hoped a text would be okay.”
“No. I mean yes. It’s more than okay. Can I take back my request for distance?” It seemed as if her voice was swallowed by the waves breaking underneath her, so she hoped Diana had understood.
“Of course. It’s officially forgotten. How can I help you? What do you need?”
Emily had to lean against a tall pine as her knees turned to mush. She had not driven her away yet. “Talk to me. Tell me about your day.”
Diana chuckled. “You don’t really want to hear about work, do you?”
As long as I hear your voice. She couldn’t say that. “I don’t mind. I need to hear about something normal, about something that is not here.”
“I get that. Okay, let’s see, what happened today…” Diana recounted her day with funny anecdotes.
Emily tuned in and out of the narrative while the soothing voice washed over her. She walked in a wide circle along the border of the property and back to the porch. Afraid to test her newfound serenity by facing reality again, she hesitated to enter the house and sighed.
“Emily? Do you want me to tell you more?”
Emily grimaced. Diana was too perceptive. “No, thanks. I think I have to go back in.”
“Can I do anything else?”
“Could you come here?” Shit, had she just said that out loud?
“Sure. Where’s ‘here’? How long do I need to get there?” Diana sounded as though she was ready to jump in her car immediately.
“I’m a few hours away, close to Port Townsend. What about work? You can’t just stay away.” Emily’s protests were feeble, even to her own ears.
“I finished my night shifts this morning and have a few days off. If we need more time, I’ll call in some favors. I’ve got free days around the Fourth of July; that’s enough incentive for most to swap some shifts.”
Sinking down on the porch steps, Emily had difficulty believing what she’s heard. Diana would call in favors just to be with her? She quickly gave her directions before she could change her mind.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Take care.”
It was after midnight when Diana finally arrived. After an unintentional detour and a short search, she had found the right house. At least she hoped so. The car in front of it looked like Emily’s.
She parked next to it, got out, and looked at the dark house for a moment. Neither movements nor sounds indicated that someone had noticed her arrival. The only noises were natural: no cars, no planes, no music. Soft rustling hinted at animals moving through the darkness, and the swishing of the trees in the soft breeze was barely audible. The mild air carried the clean scent of pines and ocean and banished the industrial stench she had encountered on her way that had forced her to close the windows.
Maybe Emily had fallen asleep. An old metal nameplate on the door confirmed it was indeed the right place. After knocking and waiting without result, Diana tried the doorknob, but the door was locked. Maybe Emily had left a door or a window open on the back of the house?
Diana grabbed her overnight bag, locked the car, and walked around the house. The first view of the ocean stopped her in her tracks. Majestic pines surrounded the house and grew nearly to the edge of what probably was the cliffs, but left enough space between them to see the horizon. The reflection of the full moon glistened on the black water, and she had to force her gaze away from the mesmerizing movement of the waves. Stairs led up to a porch.
On her way to the back door, she nearly stumbled over an obstacle in the shadows. A soft and very much alive obstacle.
Sound asleep, Emily lay next to the door beneath a large quilt.
The curled-up bundle triggered a wave of protectiveness, and Diana sat beside her. Waking her up to move inside would be the reasonable thing to do, but she was loath to disturb her rest.
Emily turned and rolled against Diana. “You really came.” Her mumbling was barely understandable and followed by a soft snore. Seemingly without waking, she grabbed hold of Diana and laid her head on her thigh.
The light weight anchored her like a calm haven. As Diana’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she studied Emily’s features. She’d never seen her so relaxed and vulnerable; it took years off her. Diana couldn’t resist trailing her hand through Emily’s hair. It was as soft as it looked, like fine silk.
She shifted a little to find a more comfortable position to sit and pulled at the quilt until it covered her legs as well as Emily’s. Diana closed her eyes, rested her head against the wall of the house, and allowed the rhythmic breaking of the waves to wash the tension from the late-night drive and the last few days off her. Just five minutes, then she’d wake Emily to go insid
e.
The cry of some bird woke Diana. A seagull? Disoriented, she opened her eyes and took stock of the situation. Golden light sneaked through the trees and cast long shadows. The last thing she remembered was sitting with Emily on the porch of her mother’s cabin. She must have fallen asleep during the night. Now she was lying on her side on the wooden floor. Her front was spooning Emily’s back. It was cozy and warm under the quilt, but the arm stretched under Emily’s head hurt as if it had been pricked with a thousand needles, and her face was cold and wet from the morning dew. All in all, it wasn’t too bad for a night outside. Her bladder was screaming at her to get up, though. She moved slowly and slipped out of her jacket inch by inch, so as not to wake Emily. She left the soft leather as a cushion beneath Emily’s head.
But when she stood, Emily turned onto her back and looked at her with big eyes.
Diana smiled. Emily was cute with tussled hair and creases from Diana’s jacket lining her face. “Good morning.”
An answering smile crept hesitantly over Emily’s face. “Good morning.”
“I wanted to wake you last night, but I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry.” Diana lifted her arms to stretch and turned a few times from right to left. Her spine popped appreciatively.
Emily blushed and jumped up. “I hadn’t planned on sleeping here either.” She folded the quilt over her arm, then looked at the house for a moment and bit her lip. “Do you want to go in? Or go directly to a café? I didn’t think to bring anything to eat or drink, so we have to find breakfast somewhere else.”
Diana looked from Emily to the house and back. While Emily’s face didn’t give a hint about her preferences, her babbling revealed how uncomfortable she felt. “I’m not too hungry, but I desperately need to use your bathroom.”
“Just straight through, you can’t miss it.” She pointed in the right direction but didn’t move to enter herself.