The Most Dangerous Place on Earth(73)
In the hospital room, Elisabeth handed Emma her phone. “I charged it for you,” she said.
“Thanks.” The smooth white phone, nestled in Emma’s palm, had a comforting, familiar weight. She curled her fingers around it.
—
As soon as Elisabeth left, Emma scrolled through her missed texts. She stopped on a series from her mom, from that night:
11:32 PM: Hi honey, where are you? Are you at Abigail’s? Everything OK?
12:05 AM: Hello? Do you realize it’s an hour past curfew?
12:12 AM: Time to come home now.
12:12 AM: We will talk about this when you get here.
12:32 AM: Emma Jane. This is your mother. Please do not ignore me.
12:48 AM: Text me or call NOW, please!
1:01 AM: Now I’m beginning to worry…
1:06 AM: I just want to know you’re OK.
1:13 AM: OK I’m calling again. Pick up your phone!!
1:15 AM: Honey?
1:15 AM: You didn’t answer.
1:33 AM: Where are you.
1:34 AM: Are you OK??
1:35 AM: Answer me
1:35 AM: Text me
1:36 AM: Call me I’m trying you again
1:41 AM: Baby?
1:42 AM: Please
Emma dropped the phone. The naked desperation in the messages made her ache—an ache deeper than her injuries, centered in the hollows of her bones. Her mom was her mom, no matter her faults.
No matter that when Emma was thirteen, her mom would gather her parents’ friends in the living room for drinks, then pull Emma to her lap and hug until it hurt. “This is my favorite girl, my best girl,” she said, squeezing her, kissing her neck. “I love you, Emma-Bear, I love you, I love you.” While everyone was watching. The grown-ups with their glasses tilted over their faces smirking because they knew her mom was drunk.
Emma kissed her mom and said she loved her too. Then she squirmed away and went back to her bedroom. But the party people’s voices carried through the walls, hippie music on the stereo and plates crashing on the hardwood floor and bodies thumping into walls and Emma knew that they were dancing. Not dancing like she did, not real, just bodies lurching senselessly around the room. It was no use trying to sleep. She was missing everything. Rubbing her eyes, she pulled her hair into a topknot and went out in her pink cotton nightgown to join them.
The grown-ups careened around the living room. Emma’s mom spun in Randall Neal’s arms. Threw her head back, laughing. “Emma-Bear, you’re up!” she said. “Come here, honey. Dance with us. Emma is the most amazing dancer,” she announced, and Emma blushed with pleasure and embarrassment.
“Jesus Christ, Debra,” said Bob Simonsen, “we know, we know!”
“My little ballerina girl,” her mom said, breaking away to come to Emma, brush her hair back from her face. “When she dances, it’s a—what’s that called, like a religious experience, like a thing you can’t believe—”
“A miracle,” Emma’s dad broke in. He was at the wet bar, pouring drinks.
“Yes!” Emma’s mom leaned down to Emma, who was small for her age, pulling her against her chest. Her cotton blouse released the familiar, heady scent of patchouli and red wine. “It’s like a miracle. God-given, I’m telling you. Her father and I had nothing to do with it.”
“No kidding,” said Phil Monroe.
Emma was pleased and embarrassed, embarrassed and pleased. She said, “Mom, get off, you’re crushing me.” She untangled herself, went and opened the door to the kitchen.
“Em, while you’re up, bring us a refill?” Her dad picked up an empty gin bottle and shook it. “Should be another in the fridge.”
In the kitchen, glassware scattered over the butcher-block counters. Half-drunk martinis and glasses of wine. She picked a martini glass still heavy with gin. Sipping the bitter liquid, she circled the kitchen and stopped at the sink. The gin made her head swim gently, pleasantly. Out the window were swirls of misty silver. Mill Valley lay below them, but she couldn’t make out its glitter of lights; they were floating on acres of fog. It was like gazing out the window of an airplane after ascending through a cloud—the span of clear, dark sky above, the roiling gray below. Hilltops broke through here and there, stippled with houses, but these were the only signs of any kind of life below them, any other humans in the universe.
—
In the hospital, Emma scrolled through the rest of her texts:
Lexie Carlton: omfg em r u ok I cant beleive this happened!!
Jonas Everett: Emma just want u to know Im here for u whatever u need. Sorry this sux so hard.
Dave Chu: Emma, I’m sorry abt what happened. Are you having more surgeries? My mom says Get well soon and We’re thinking abt you.
Kai Alder-Judge: Emma Fleed. This truly blows I am so sorry. Stay strong and keep a Positive Outlook. Remember its the struggles in life that help us grow. Peace and Love.
Annalynne Schmidt: Luv u to the moon and back, lets do something soooon!
Alessandra Ryding: Miss ur beautiful face girly. <3 See u soon.
Nick Brickston: Yo ima try to get there to see u asap. hang in there girl.
Ryan Harbinger: Dear Emma, Get Well Soon. My parents said we should all come visit you so maybe thatll happen, lol well see. Anyways hope you feel better soon.
Steph Malcolm-Swann: Luv u hope u r doing better. I cant wait to visit u babe!!!!