Chapter 13 Emma
Imade a six-year-old cry on a Saturday morning. If there's a lower circle of hell reserved for people like me, I'd like to submit my application now.
The two days before that Saturday were a masterclass in cowardice. I'd elevated avoidance to an art form, perfected the craft of disappearing in plain sight.
Thursday morning, I arrived at school forty minutes early. The hallways were empty, my footsteps echoing off linoleum like accusations.
"You're here early," Janet from the front office observed, her eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
"Couldn't sleep," I said. "Thought I'd get a head start on grading."
"At six-fifteen in the morning?"
"I'm very dedicated to spelling tests."
She gave me her familiar look. I knew she wouldn’t keep this between us and it’d be gossip around town. Who cares? I retreated to my classroom before she could ask follow-up questions.
At three-fifteen, when the final bell rang, and parents began flooding the pickup line, I stationed myself in the supply closet.
The supply closet. Like a rational adult.
"Ms. Reed?" Tommy's voice floated through the door. "Are you in there?"
"Just looking for... construction paper," I called back.
"There's construction paper on your desk."
"Different construction paper. Special construction paper."
"What's special about it?"
"It's... more constructed."
A pause. "Okay," he said, with the skepticism only a seven-year-old can muster.
I waited until I heard Cole's truck rumble away before emerging from my paper fortress. My phone showed three missed calls. I deleted the voicemails without listening.
Thursday evening, I was pretending to grade papers when headlights swept across my living room wall. My heart seized. I knew that engine sound, the specific rumble of Cole's truck.
Footsteps on the porch. Heavy, deliberate, unmistakable.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Emma?" His voice, muffled through the door, sent cracks splintering through my resolve. "I know you're home. Your lights are on."
I sat frozen on my couch, not breathing.
"Emma, please. Just tell me you're okay."
I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep any sound from escaping.
"I'm worried about you," he continued, softer now. "Sarah said you seemed off at school. She made you a card."
The image of Sarah bent over construction paper, tongue poking out in concentration, creating something for me, was almost enough to make me open the door.
Almost.
"Okay." His voice was resigned. "I'll try again tomorrow. But Emma... whatever's going on, we can figure it out. Together."
His footsteps retreated. The truck engine started, faded, and disappeared.
I sat in the dark for two hours, Sarah's imaginary card burning a hole in my chest.
Friday was worse. I called in sick, the first mental health day I'd taken since moving to Pine Ridge.
"You sound terrible," Principal Morrison said.
"Stomach thing," I lied. "Very contagious. Practically a biohazard."
"Take care of yourself, Emma."
I spent the day in bed, curtains drawn, my phone off. At some point, I heard a car slow near my driveway, then continue on. I didn't check if it was him. I couldn't afford to know.
By Saturday morning, I'd rehearsed my speech approximately four hundred times.
I'm so sorry, but I need to cancel tutoring. Work has been overwhelming. I should have communicated better. This isn't about you. I just need space.
Clean. Professional. Reasonable.
The speech evaporated the moment I saw Sarah's face.
Cole's truck pulled up at exactly ten. Sarah exploded from the passenger side, pink backpack bouncing, something clutched in her hands. Cole followed more slowly, his eyes scanning my windows.
I watched them approach from behind my curtain like a complete coward.
"She's probably just running late," I heard Cole say.
"She's never late," Sarah replied. "Emma is very punc... puncty..."
"Punctual."
"That word."
I forced myself to the door. My hand trembled on the knob. I opened it just enough to stand in the gap, a human barricade.
Sarah's face lit up like sunrise. "Emma! Look what I made!"
She thrust a folded piece of construction paper toward me. The outside showed three stick figures beside a lopsided blue triangle. A giant yellow sun beamed down. Inside, in careful, wobbly letters: Will you go kamping with us? Check yes or yes.
"There's no 'no' box," Sarah explained proudly. "Because no isn't an option."
My throat closed completely.
"Hey." Cole's voice was cautious, his blue eyes searching my face. "You didn't respond to my calls. I came by Thursday night."
"I know. I'm sorry. I was..." The excuse died on my tongue. "I was dealing with some things."
"What things?"
"Just... things."
Brilliant, Emma. Very convincing.
"I made a list for camping," Sarah continued, oblivious to the tension. "Marshmallows, sleeping bags, Emma, bug spray, more marshmallows, a flashlight, and Emma. You're on the list twice because I like you a lot."
Her words were a knife sliding neatly between my lies.
"Sarah." I crouched down to her level, hating myself more with every passing second. "That's such a beautiful invitation. But I can't go camping right now."
Her face flickered with confusion. "Why not?"
"I'm just... very busy with school."
"But it's Saturday."
"I have a lot of grading."
"You can grade there! I'll be quiet. I'll be so quiet you won't even know I'm there."
"It's not about being quiet, sweetheart."
"Okay.” Her voice was a whisper of heavy disappointment. "Did I do something wrong? Is it because I called you Mommy? I can stop. I won't say it again, I promise."
The fissure in my heart widened into a canyon.
"No, baby. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why won't you come?"
I stood up, unable to look at her anymore. Cole was watching me with an expression I couldn't bear to analyze.
"I'm canceling tutoring," I said, the words tumbling out flat and rehearsed. "For a while. I'm overwhelmed with work. I texted the other parents already. I should have texted you too, but it slipped my mind."
"It slipped your mind." Cole's voice was carefully neutral. "For two days."
"I've been busy."
"Too busy to answer a single call? To open your door when I was standing on your porch?"
"I need to focus. I should have set better boundaries from the start."
The words tasted like poison. Cole's face shuttered closed, the warmth draining away.
"Boundaries," he repeated.
"Yes."
"Emma, what happened?" He stepped closer, and I stepped back instinctively.
Pain flickered across his features. "Something changed.
When I dropped you off after school on Tuesday, you were fine.
Now you're hiding in your house, not answering calls, standing in your doorway like we're strangers. This isn't about being busy."
"It is."
"It's not." His voice softened, the challenge giving way to something gentler. "Talk to me. Please. Whatever it is, we can—"
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Emma—"
"I said there's nothing to talk about." My voice came out sharper than intended. Sarah flinched. The guilt was a physical weight, crushing my chest.
"Can we come next Saturday?" Sarah's voice was small, desperate. "Uncle C can help you grade. He’s really good at arranging papers."
"That's very sweet, but I don't think—"
"I will sit quietly with my coloring book. You won't even know I'm there."
"Sarah—"
"Please, Emma." Her eyes were filling with tears. "Please don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you," I managed, my own voice breaking. "I just... I need some space right now."
"Why?" Her brows were furrowed in confusion.
"I don't know."
"Like, a little space? Or a lot of space?"
"I don't know, Sarah."
"But you still love us, right?" The question was barely a whisper. "You still want to be our family?"
Family? I can’t...
"I think we should take a break," I heard myself say. "From all of this."
Sarah's face crumpled. The tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks. She looked at me like I'd physically struck her.
"Sarah, come on." Cole's hand settled on her shoulder, steady and protective. His eyes met mine over her head, and I saw it all, the hurt, the confusion, the dawning understanding.
He knew. He saw my retreat for exactly what it was: fear, dressed up in flimsy excuses.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. The most inadequate words in the English language.
I started to close the door.
"Emma." Cole's voice stopped me. Not demanding, but pleading. "Don't do this. Don't shut us out because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified. I can see it." He put his hand on the door, not pushing, just holding. "Whatever happened, whatever triggered this, we can work through it. But not if you won't let me in."
"There's nothing to work through."
"That's not true and we both know it."
I pushed gently against the door. For a long moment, he resisted. Our eyes locked, a silent war of wills.
Then his hand dropped.
The door clicked shut. The softest sound. The loudest ending.
I pressed my forehead against the wood, squeezing my eyes closed, waiting for their footsteps to retreat.
Instead, I heard Sarah's voice, muffled but achingly clear.
"Uncle C, why doesn't Emma like us anymore?"
A pause. I imagined him kneeling, his face level with hers.
"She's going through something hard right now, sweetheart."
"We can help her. We're good at helping."
"Sometimes people need to figure things out on their own."
"That's not fair." Sarah's voice cracked. "Did I mess it up? Was it because I called her Mommy?"
"No, baby. You didn't mess anything up."
"Then why is she being mean?"
"She's not being mean. She's being... scared."
"Of what?"
Another pause. When Cole spoke again, his voice was heavy with something I recognized: the weight of explaining adult failures to a child who deserved better.
"Sometimes when people love someone very much, they get scared of losing them. And sometimes that fear makes them push people away."
"I don’t understand."
"I know. Grown-up feelings don't always make sense."