Pretend She's Here(75)

But Casey and Carole got it.

Carole: What r u doing?

Me: Not sure. What’s the meaning of life?

Carole: Ur so existential

Me: That’s me. Changing my name to Fran?oise Sagan.

Carole: Bonjour, Tristesse. Best depressed girl novel ever. U depressed?

Me: Massively.

Carole: Gee I wonder why

Me: A mystery

Carole: Could be fact u were held captive by lunatics? Just a thought.

Me: Ur a genius

Carole: *sigh* the cross I bear. Ok, gotta go. Class. Ms. LeBlanc.

Me: What r u reading now?

Carole: Chaucer. The Canterbury Tales. Ur my favorite pilgrim.

Me: Ur mine.



And then there was Casey.

Did you really write that song for me? I asked after yet another new tune.

Casey: I write them all for you.

Me: Why?

Casey: Because L.

Me: L?

Casey: You know what I mean.

Me: Not really. What?

Casey: It’s the first letter in a word.

Me: How many other letters?

Casey: I’ll let you take a guess on that.



He didn’t give me an actual answer on that, but the next song was titled “Three Letters.” The first line of the song was:

In case you’re wondering, they’re O-V-E.



I had to admit, those two texts made everything much, much better for the next few days.

*

One cold January morning, my mother and I were the only ones at home—my dad was at work, Bea and Patrick at school. Mom and I were in the kitchen when the phone rang. My mom answered, listened to whoever was on the line with a frown on her face, then started to smile. When she hung up and came over to me at the kitchen table, she was beaming.

“You’re about to get a special delivery package,” she said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a surprise,” she said.

The word surprise lodged like a hard black walnut in my chest. It hurt and made me feel on edge. I had stopped liking anything spontaneous. I wanted to know what was going to happen every minute. I didn’t like not seeing around the corner. My mother must have spotted the worry on my face, because she leaned over and hugged me.

“You’re home safe, honey. Nothing is going to hurt you here.”

I shrugged. Couldn’t she imagine what it was like to be snatched off the street, ten minutes from our house, by people I’d known and loved? Was that really so alien to her? I stared into her face, the smile lines around her gray-blue eyes. She wore the same necklace Mrs. Morton had; I counted the children charms. Seven. Each had birthstone chips. Mine was topaz. A November baby, like Lizzie.

“What did you do on my birthday?” I asked.

Despair flashed in her eyes. “Oh, Emily. That was a hard day.”

“But what did you do?”

“Honestly? I couldn’t get out of bed. I tried to sleep all day because every time I opened my eyes, you weren’t there. I tried to pray, but I felt there was no one listening. I couldn’t hear God talking back to me. The priest from All Souls Church came, but I told your father not to let him in.”

“I’m sorry.” I wanted to feel something, but my heart had turned to stone. This was my mom, she was gazing at me with the purest love in the world, and I could see how much she wanted the old me back.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“I’ll do whatever it takes. Getting through this next part—healing from the surgery, getting ready for court—I know it’s terrible for you. Believe me, Emily—I want to go to Maine right now, straight to prison, and I want to see the evil for myself, and I want to rip her throat out. I swear, I hope they never let her free.”

Mrs. Porter.

My mother had my attention, but I was still numb.

“I won’t do it, of course,” she said.

“I know.”

“What I will do is protect you,” she said.

But you couldn’t before, I wanted to say. But I held back, because I knew how badly it would hurt her. She pressed her forehead to mine, and I couldn’t help sniffing the air for alcohol. Since returning home, I hadn’t seen her drinking, hadn’t heard the bottles clinking.

She caught me doing it and tilted her head back.

“I’m sober, Em,” she said.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to act like I think you’re not.”

“It’s normal that you’d wonder,” she said.

“They told me you were drinking,” I said. “That you thinking I had run away would make you start again.”

“The Porters?” she said.

“Yes.”

She shook her head hard. “No, Emily. Having you gone made me even more determined to stay sober. To keep my mind clear, so I could find you. Except for that day when I couldn’t face the world, your birthday, I never stopped looking. I was the biggest thorn in the police’s side—I called every day. And I knew you hadn’t run away.”

“How did you know that?” I asked. I stared at her. My mom was tall and thin. Her dark hair was streaked with silver. I loved those little lines of sun and weather around her eyes when she smiled, but they had disappeared along with her smile.