Chapter 14 - Emma Did Not Want To Come Home
My mother screamed when I told her.
Not horror.
Relief so loud I had to pull the phone away.
“She's alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You didn't ask?”
“I did.”
“What did she say?”
“Not tonight.”
Diane started crying.
“Give me the number.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then:
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“I am her mother.”
“Yes.”
“You don't get to keep her from me.”
“I’m not.”
“You have her number.”
“No. She called from an unknown number.”
That was true.
Also useful.
Diane breathed hard.
“What did she say about me?”
“She said she's safe.”
“What else?”
“That she isn't ready to talk to you.”
My mother made a wounded sound.
I hated hearing it.
I did not change the answer.
“Why?”
“She didn't say everything.”
“Did she blame me?”
“Mom.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“And me?” I continued.
Diane stopped.
“What?”
“She blames me too.”
That mattered.
Emma had not assigned one villain.
My mother whispered:
“Will she come home?”
“I didn't ask.”
“Rachel.”
“I’m serious.”
“How could you not ask?”
Because I knew what home meant in our family.
Not geography.
Reentry.
Obligation.
Immediate forgiveness.
Old roles waiting in their chairs.
“I wanted to hear her before asking for something.”
My mother cried quietly.
Then:
“I don't know how to do this.”
“Me neither.”
That was the most equal our relationship had ever felt.
Emma called again four days later.
This time I was sitting in my dorm.
I answered:
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
No scream.
No where are you.
She noticed.
“Very mature.”
“Don't get used to it.”
We talked about nothing for ten minutes.
My classes.
Her terrible landlord.
Apparently she lived somewhere with a landlord.
Information.
I didn't interrogate.
Then I asked:
“Are you working?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“Okay.”
She laughed too.
Then:
“I heard Mason got suspended.”
“Interim.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do you want to talk about him?”
“No.”
Immediate.
“Okay.”
Emma paused.
“Did he apologize?”
“Yes.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“To Nora?”
“I don't know.”
“Good.”
I smiled slightly.
“You're getting better.”
“Painfully.”
Then I asked the question that had been sitting in my throat.
“Do you want me in your life?”
Emma went quiet.
Not long.
Long enough.
“I think so.”
I closed my eyes.
“That sounds great.”
“Rachel.”
“I know.”
She continued:
“I don't want daily calls.”
“Okay.”
“I don't want every bad day turned into proof I should come home.”
“Okay.”
“I don't want you telling Mom everything I say.”
“Okay.”
“And I don't want you pretending you're fine with that if you're not.”
I stared.
“I’m not fine with all of it.”
“Which part?”
“I want to know where you live.”
Emma laughed softly.
“I know.”
“I want to see you.”
“I know.”
“I want to yell at you.”
“Also fair.”
“I want you to apologize.”
Silence.
Then:
“For leaving?”
“No.”
That surprised even me.
“For letting me think you might be dead.”
Emma's breathing changed.
“That part…”
I waited.
“I’m sorry.”
It came without conditions.
My throat tightened.
“I should have found a way to tell you I was alive without giving you access I wasn't ready for.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't know how.”
“I know.”
She continued:
“I also thought Mom would tell you I called.”
I laughed bitterly.
“She didn't.”
“I know now.”
“So you both left the truth with each other.”
“Yes.”
No need to explain the symmetry.
We heard it.
Then I asked:
“Are you sorry you left?”
Emma took a long time.
“No.”
That hurt.
I let it.
“Okay.”
“Are you angry?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
No fixing.
Before hanging up she said:
“I might come east in October.”
My heart started beating faster.
“For me?”
“For work.”
Of course.
Then:
“Maybe coffee.”
I stared at the wall.
“Maybe.”
“You hate that word.”
“I’m learning.”
Emma laughed.
May you like
We hung up without scheduling anything.
For once, an open door did not need me standing inside it immediately.
