“You’re too isolated here,” Nate says, pulling me from my thoughts. His voice is firm, as though he has a say in it. “You need to be around people, Emmy.”
“I am,” I tell him. “I have guests here every day.”
“Not the guests. I mean real people who you can talk to.”
“What time does your flight leave?” I change the subject and Nate sighs.
“Six a.m. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
We’ve had this conversation at least ten times during the past week. I nod.
“Yes. We have to get back to normal. Our new normal.”
It feels odd now, because when Nate leaves, our tie will be severed. Leah was our common bond, the last vestige from our marriage. Now that she’s gone, there’s no reason to stay in touch. It’s as though he reads my mind, and he grabs my hand, squeezing it gently.
“We should...we should organize a memorial,” Nate says now, and ice forms in my rib cage, stabbing my heart.
“No,” I snap. “We can’t. I can’t do that yet, Nate.”
He stares at me, his eyes filled with his own pain, yet so concerned with mine.
“Okay. We can wait. I’ll come back whenever you’re ready to do it. I’m always here for you, Em,” he tells me. “I want you to check in with me, and we’ll talk. Right?”
I nod. “Okay.”
But I know what my intentions are. I’ll phase him out, slowly but surely. Our calls will get further and further apart, until they disappear. He’s too painful. He reminds me too much of Leah...the way he holds his mouth, the way he cocks his head. I can’t do it.
“I can take Bo back with me,” he offers, and this startles me. My gaze snaps up to where Bo is sleeping beneath a palm tree on the front lawn, his big head resting on his large paws. He sleeps there a lot nowadays, as though he’s waiting for Leah to return. The thought of Nate taking him fills me with panic.
“No,” I answer quickly. “It’s too hot in Phoenix for him.”
“It’s hot here, too,” Nate answers. I can see that we both want this last piece of Leah. But Nate acquiesces. “But you can keep him, if you want. I just thought you hated him.”
“Of course I don’t hate him.” Leah loved him, and now so do I. I owe that much to her. “He needs to be here in case we find her.”
Nate arches an eyebrow but he doesn’t say anything. He’s being so careful, treading so cautiously, as though I might break.
And maybe I will. It’s hard to say at this point.
“I love you, Em. I’ll always love you.”
“I know.”
His eyes are mossy green, and for a minute, for just a minute, I want to lose myself in his arms, to forget my pain. I know those arms. I know the heat from his chest, the shape of his biceps, the beat of his heart. But taking comfort in him tonight won’t help anything. Not really. It wouldn’t bring Leah back, and in fact, it would only make things worse.
I shake my head, as though I’m shaking that option away. It’s not an option. It will never be an option.
“Emmy,” he says quietly. “Our daughter drowned.”
My heart squeezes, and tears fill my eyes.
“She’s gone,” he continues. “But she died in the ocean that she loved. That’s some consolation. It’s small, but it’s something.”
“We don’t know that,” I insist. “Not for sure.”
He’s silent, and nods slightly. “We do, though.”
“I’m gonna turn in,” I say shortly. “I’ll make you breakfast before you go.”
“No, that’s okay. I still don’t like to eat that early.” His smile is wry and I should’ve remembered that. But my brain is foggy still...cloudy with grief. I don’t know when it will fade, when I’ll be able to think straight once again. Because my daughter is dead. My heart knows it, even if my lips can’t say it.
“Okay. Good night, Nate.”
I pull my hand gently from his grasp and walk up to my owner’s apartment, the one we used to live in as a family. It looms dark and lonely at the top of three flights of stairs, and I know that once Nate leaves, I’ll probably start sleeping in an empty guest room. It’s too lonely in my apartment without Leah. It feels too wrong to be here without her.
But then again, everything feels wrong without Leah.
I make myself a cup of chamomile tea, careful to move around the half-empty glass of water sitting on the counter. Leah had put it there a week ago, an hour before she’d gone out to paddleboard. Her hand had been on the glass, her lips on the rim, and I feel if I move it now, it will propel her memory even further away, or diminish her somehow. Right now, I still have things that she touched. If I don’t move them, she will stay nearer to me. I can even pretend that she’s coming back, that she’ll just be gone for a while.
I know how illogical that is, and I ponder it as I sit in a chair by the window. There’s a big difference between knowing and caring.
Across the room, her unused guitar still sits where she had it last, leaning against the wall. The rich brown wood gleams in the lamplight, and I remember when she sang and laughed as she played. She wasn’t particularly good, but she didn’t care and neither did I. We sang anyway.
It sits silent now.
Time was an enemy I hadn’t expected. It raised its head and robbed me of my daughter. I only had fifteen years with her.
It wasn’t enough.
If I’d known, I would’ve sang more songs, taken more walks, taken more time off work, made more breakfasts. I left her alone a lot because of my job, because that was what I thought was important. I wanted to leave her a legacy, and now there’s no one to leave that legacy to.
I lived in a castle of glass and in one moment it all shattered.
I’m the queen of nothing, an empire without an heir.
Damn it.
I drop my head against the back of the chair.
If I close my eyes, I can remember the sound of her voice, the soft timbre, the melodious laugh. It seems to echo through the empty rooms. How long will that last? How long until I forget?
The idea of that, of forgetting, sets me into a panic. I jump to my feet and pace. I can’t forget. Not anything.
As I walk to and fro, I pull out my phone and listen to the last voice mail I had from my daughter. Hey, Mom. I’m stopping at Skye’s for a while on my way home. I’ll see you in a bit. Love you!
I listen to it again, then again, then again a fourth time before I take a shaky breath and slide my phone back into my pocket.