Little Do We Know(89)

He wouldn’t look at me.

“I’m sor—” I began, but he turned around and started yelling before I could finish.

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened to her? You needed to tell me that!”

“Emory changed her mind. She made me promise I wouldn’t tell you and Mom.”

“That’s not a promise you can keep, Hannah. That wasn’t a detail you could leave out!”

“I know. I made a mistake. But you did too, Dad. You knew Emory needed to talk to you, and you got all bent out of shape because I happened to mention it was about a guy!” Now I was in his face, yelling right back at him. “You’re so quick to judge her. What if it had been Alyssa? Would you have said that? Or thought that? If anyone at school had said they needed to talk to you, you would have dropped everything and been there, and listened, and helped. If Emory had come to the church, would it have been different? If she’d met you on your terms, on your turf, like Luke did that first time, would you have taken her seriously? Or would you still have dismissed her because she’d ‘changed’ and our friendship might not be in my ‘best interest’?”

I watched my words sink in. Dad didn’t seem to know what to do once they did. His eyes had been fixed on mine, but he finally broke the connection when he turned his back to me. He began pacing the lawn, combing his fingers through his hair, looking up at the sky.

I kept talking. “I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. And because of me, my best friend has had to live in that house for months, looking over her shoulder, keeping her bedroom door locked, and the whole time, helping her mom plan her wedding.”

Then I heard a click. Dad must have heard it, too, because our heads both snapped in the direction of Emory’s house.

The door opened, and she stepped outside and walked to the edge of the deck. She gripped the railing, and I could see her shoulders heaving. Then she looked up and saw Dad and me.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and took off running down the stairs, heading straight for us. I moved to meet her halfway and she threw her arms around me, hugging me hard and crying even harder.

Now I felt Dad’s hand on my shoulder. And then I heard his voice. “I’m sorry, Emory,” he whispered. I could tell by the way his voice was shaking that he was crying, too. “I’m sorry for what I said. And for not talking to you that day. I’m so sorry.” Emory squeezed me harder, and I knew that meant Dad had said what she needed to hear.

After a long time, she loosened her hold on me. She took a sharp inhale and wiped her face dry with her shirtsleeve.

“Is your mom okay?” Dad asked.

Emory nodded. “She wants to be alone.”

“Do you?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Good,” he whispered. “Come inside. Tell us what you need us to do.”

He wrapped his arm around her and led her toward our house.





When I woke up, the sun was streaming through Mom’s bedroom window. I blinked a few times and looked over at her. She was still asleep.

“Mom,” I said. When she didn’t move, I sat up and gave her a shake. “It’s time to get up. You have to go to work.”

I shook her again.

“Mom. Time for work.”

That time, she rolled over, facing me. She fluffed up her pillow but didn’t open her eyes. “It’s okay,” she slurred. “I canceled all my clients today.”

I watched her settle back into her pillow, and I wanted to yank it out from underneath her head. There was no way this was going to happen again. Instead I stroked her hair gently and said, “Please, Mom. You have to get up and go to work.”

Then I started telling her all the things her therapist used to tell me to say when she slipped into a funk. “You love your job. You’re good at your job. Cooking for your clients makes you happy.”

That time she opened her eyes and looked at me. “I know all that, Emory.”

“Do you need me to call Dr. Wilson?”

“No. I’m okay, I promise. I just need the day to get my thoughts together, okay? Please.”

She seemed lucid, so I climbed out of her bed, showered, and got ready for school. I texted Hannah with an update, and she said her mom would find an excuse to come over and check on her.

During school, I called her cell phone three times: once after first period, once after third, and again at lunch. She never answered.

As I stared at the phone, willing her to pick up, I felt caught between two conflicting emotions: anger and fear. I was mad with her for making this all about her, checking out on me like that when I needed her most. And at the same time, I was terrified that she’d disappear into her shell like she had before, and that it might be months or years before I saw her again. It all felt horribly familiar.

At lunch, I didn’t have the energy for Luke’s friends, so I took my sandwich to go and followed Charlotte to the theater. Tyler was already there.

Our Town was over and the backdrops and stage props had been cleared away, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, the theater was completely quiet during lunch. The three of us didn’t seem to know what to do with ourselves. No lines to rehearse. No marks to memorize. No one there but the three of us.

We sat on the edge of the stage, our feet dangling over the side, looking out into the empty auditorium at the rows and rows of red crushed velvet–covered chairs.