Chapter 13 - My Sister Called From A Number I Didn’t Know
Emma called on a Thursday at 6:42 p.m.
I almost didn't answer.
Unknown number.
I was walking back from chemistry lab carrying a terrible coffee.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then:
“Rachel.”
I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
My coffee hit the pavement.
Not dramatically.
The lid popped off.
A student swore because some splashed near his shoe.
I didn't apologize.
“Emma?”
Her breath caught.
“Yeah.”
My knees weakened.
I sat on the nearest concrete wall.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
Wrong first question.
I closed my eyes.
“Sorry.”
Emma laughed softly.
Same laugh.
Older.
“You lasted three seconds.”
“I’m improving.”
“Apparently.”
I started crying.
Quietly.
Angrily.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you—”
“Rachel.”
I stopped.
She waited.
“What can I ask?”
“That.”
I stared at the ground.
“What can I ask?”
Emma took a breath.
“Anything.”
“Do you have to answer?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
My hands were shaking.
“Why now?”
“I saw the site.”
“Who showed you?”
“No one.”
“You check it?”
“Sometimes.”
My chest hurt.
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
“Why didn't you call?”
“Because every update sounded like you were getting closer to me without asking.”
I closed my eyes.
Fair.
“Did taking it down make you call?”
“Not immediately.”
“Two weeks.”
“Yes.”
“Were you testing me?”
Emma was quiet.
Then:
“A little.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“I know.”
She continued:
“I wanted to see whether Mom would put it back up.”
“She didn't.”
“I know.”
“You spoke to her?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Emma paused.
“Public internet exists, Rachel.”
Right.
I was still looking for a hidden channel.
“Do you know about Mason?”
“Yes.”
My body tightened.
“How?”
“News travels.”
“He punched me.”
“I know.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No.”
“Nora?”
“Sometimes.”
I stopped.
“You still talk to Nora.”
“Occasionally.”
My chest tightened.
“She told me she hadn't heard from you in a year.”
“That was true when she told you.”
“So you contacted her after.”
“Yes.”
I felt anger rise.
Emma heard my breathing.
“Rachel.”
“She knew.”
“Recently.”
“And didn't tell me.”
“I asked her not to.”
I stood.
Then sat again.
Same reflex.
“Okay.”
Emma went quiet.
“You're angry.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I almost laughed through tears.
“Everybody says that now.”
She laughed too.
For a second we were sisters again.
Then I asked:
“Did you leave because of me?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Relief hit so fast I hated myself for wanting it.
Emma continued:
“Did you make leaving harder?”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
There.
“Did Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Nora?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then why did you leave?”
Emma was quiet for a long time.
“Because I had become the person everybody called when they didn't want to make their own decision.”
I stared at the campus bus moving through traffic.
She continued:
“And because I liked being that person more than I admitted.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“I liked being needed.”
Her voice softened.
“Until I didn't.”
I said nothing.
“I blamed you all for asking.”
“You asked too much.”
“Yes.”
“But I also trained you to ask.”
That hurt differently.
“Why not just take a semester away?”
“I tried.”
“By disappearing.”
“Yes.”
“Why not tell me?”
“I called.”
My throat tightened.
“That night.”
“Yes.”
“I said awful things.”
“Yes.”
“Then you called Mom.”
“Yes.”
“You told her not to report you missing.”
“Yes.”
“Why not call me after?”
Emma took time.
“Because I was afraid you'd apologize in a way that required me to come back.”
I started crying harder.
“I would've.”
“I know.”
She wasn't cruel.
That was worse.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
I caught myself.
“You don't have to answer.”
“No.”
“Will you?”
“Not tonight.”
I wiped my face.
“Are we doing this again?”
“What?”
“You deciding when I get to know you.”
Emma went quiet.
Then:
“That’s fair.”
We sat.
She tried again.
“I don't know how much contact I want.”
“Okay.”
“I don't want Mom on the next call.”
“Okay.”
“I don't want you giving her this number.”
“Okay.”
“Do you mean that?”
I looked at my hands.
“Yes.”
Emma breathed out.
Then:
“I believe you more than I did two weeks ago.”
That was not forgiveness.
It was more than I had that morning.
Before hanging up, I asked:
“Can I tell Mom you're alive?”
Emma was quiet.
Then:
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Tell her I’m safe.”
“Will you call her?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay.”
Emma whispered:
“Rachel?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy late birthday.”
I laughed through tears.
“My birthday was four months ago.”
“I know.”
“Terrible sister.”
“Apparently.”
Then she hung up.
No location.
No reunion.
May you like
But for the first time in twenty months, my sister was no longer missing.
She was simply somewhere I had not been invited yet.
