Chapter 3

Emma rested her forehead against the cool airplane window and willed herself to fall asleep. She’d been awake most of the night, thoughts spinning, while Joe’s even breathing mocked her for hours. She knew she needed a good cry, but all she felt was numb regret.

Now, her eyes burned with exhaustion, the back of her head ached, and her stomach felt uneasy. She was relieved that the family had been unable to get seats together because it meant she wouldn’t have to make conversation with Joe or be cheerful for Andrew. Andrew had been a little alarmed at the separation, but he’d quickly settled in with his Game Boy. Joe was probably sleeping.

To divert her thoughts from what might have been, what should have been, Emma went over the plans for the week. All of Monday's flights had been booked, but with any luck, they’d make it in time for the viewing this evening. They’d arrive at Chicago O’Hare Airport at 3:27 and catch their connecting flight into the South Bend regional airport. Uncle Robert would pick them up around six, and they’d head straight to the viewing. 

After the funeral tomorrow, they’d probably spend one more day with her mom. By Friday, she hoped to be on a flight back home. Melissa, her business partner, had agreed to handle any pressing matters for a few days, but she feared getting too far behind. She’d brought her laptop just in case, though Joe had urged her to leave it at home.

She was still awake when the beverage cart rolled through. She’d been feigning sleep, but her seatmate, a sunny woman on the way to see her first grandbaby, must not have been fooled. She tapped Emma lightly on the shoulder and asked whether she wanted anything.

Emma sighed. “A Diet Coke, please.”

Clearly anxious for company, the woman immediately launched into a description of her daughter’s lovely home in Elk Grove, and her son-in-law’s rising career as a lawyer. All Emma needed to do was smile and nod politely at intervals, which reminded her of her talks with Andrew. It was actually rather pleasant because it was so mindless.

After several minutes, the woman said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve gone on and on, haven’t I?” She picked up the baby blanket she’d been knitting and wrapped a blue thread around her needle, but then set it down on her lap.

Emma leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes again.

“So what brings you to Chicago? Do you have family there?”

Emma opened her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sipped her Coke while she settled on a half truth. “We’re visiting family in Indiana for a few days. We’re staying with my mother.”

“Oh, how nice!”

Before she could ask any more questions, Emma pulled a magazine out of her laptop case and buried her nose in it.

***

The connection at O’Hare was about as stressful as she’d expected. They sat on the runway for 20 minutes waiting for a gate, during which time she graciously admired pictures of her seatmate’s grandson.

By the time she filed off the plane and reunited with Joe and Andrew, they had only 20 minutes to make it to their next flight—in a different terminal. Racing down the endless corridor, they were slowed by Emma’s wheeled laptop case, which alternately ran into her heels and teetered on one wheel. Next they hurried through the long underground tunnel. As always, the combination of the flashing neon lights on the ceiling, the familiar Gershwin music, and the sound of wheeled luggage on the grooved walkways overwhelmed Emma’s senses and gave her a disconcerting sense of déjà vu.

They arrived at their gate completely winded and streaming in sweat, only to learn that their connecting flight had been delayed by at least 30 minutes. Emma started to complain, but Joe pointed out that this gave them time to pick up a snack and hit the restrooms. His reasonableness made her even crabbier, but she kept quiet.

At last they were seated on the small commuter plane. Emma sat next to Andrew, who tried to engage her in conversation about the Pokémon game he was playing, but as usual she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. And as usual, Andrew didn’t seem to notice or care.

Lulled by the low drone of the engines and the vibrations, Emma finally dozed. She dreamed of playing with Rachel on the beach, filling blue plastic pails with wet sand and dumping out little towers that they called castles. Mom and Dad snoozed on towels a few yards away, basking in the afternoon sun. Emma’s body was tiny, but she felt an adult’s joy as she savored the light breeze that lifted the hairs on her arms, and the murmur of the water lapping against the shore.

Without warning, Rachel dipped her pail into the water at their feet and emptied it over Emma’s head. Her body jerked with the shock of the cold. She shrieked and chased Rachel out into the water. They slipped on the algae-covered stones, both laughing breathlessly as they labored to run through the water. When she was in up to her waist, Emma called out to Rachel to stop, but she kept going, her laughter echoing across the water.

A terrible foreboding engulfed Emma, and she cried, “Come back!”

Rachel didn’t listen.

Moments later, she saw Rachel vanish. For several pounding heartbeats, she stood frozen in panic. She opened her mouth to scream for her parents, but no sound came out. Tears streaming, she strained against the water, thrashing her way to the spot where Rachel had slipped under. She groped blindly in the murky water, but there was no sign of her little sister.

She took one more step away from the shore and then abruptly plunged under the water. She flailed desperately, lungs burning, but she couldn’t keep her head above the surface.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked forcefully.

“Mom, wake up! You’re having a dream,” Andrew said, shaking her arm gently.

She stared at him in confusion, and then relief. She drew a deep breath and stretched, trying to shake off the sensation of the water swallowing her. “Did I scream?”

“No, but you were sort of jerking and whining. What did you dream?”

“I dreamed about Aunt Rachel. I think it was a trip we took to the dunes in Michigan before your grandpa died.”

“We’ve been to the dunes!” Andrew interjected.

“Yes, we have. A couple of times. In my dream, Rachel ran out into the water and stepped off a drop-off.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t save her. And then I was drowning, too. But then you saved me.” She tousled his hair, and he grinned broadly.

Just then, the little plane bounced violently as it touched down, lurching from side to side. The sense of foreboding from the dream returned, and Emma’s chest felt heavy with anxiety. 

***

Uncle Robert was waiting by the baggage claim when they landed. Emma was comforted by his sameness: the thin, almost spindly legs, the slight potbelly, the gray hair surrounding a bald crown. He enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug and then squeezed Andrew’s shoulders. He shook Joe’s hand but then pulled him into a hug, too. “Oh, it’s good to see you guys,” he said.

“You, too!” Emma and Joe chorused.

Andrew looked around and asked, “Did Adam come along?” Adam was Robert’s 11-year-old grandson, the son of her cousin Brian.

“No, but he can’t wait to see you. It’s too crowded in the car with all of you and the luggage. Don’t you worry. I’m sure you two will be spending all week together.”

Emma didn’t think they’d be here that long, but she didn’t correct his assumption.

It was a 40-minute drive to the funeral home in Goshen, so it was nearly 7:30 when they got to the viewing. Despite his previous fascination with his aunt’s and uncle’s deaths, Andrew was afraid to go near the bodies. Having paid his respects earlier in the day, Robert offered to walk around the grounds with him.

Emma felt afraid also—not so much of the bodies as of her possible reaction. She was always uncomfortable with anyone’s display of grief, especially her own. When Joe offered his hand, she reached for it gratefully.

A pretty young Hispanic woman stepped out the front door as they were going in. She stopped short when she saw Emma, and smiled in recognition. Emma surveyed her olive skin, curvy figure, and glossy black curls but couldn’t place her.

“You’ve got to be Emma!” the girl exclaimed. “You look just like Mrs. Marsh.” It took Emma a second to realize she was referring to Rachel; this must have been one of her students, though she looked far too old for junior high.

“Yes, I’m Emma,” she said hesitantly. “And this is my husband Joe.”

“I’m so happy to meet you. I’m Ana. Mrs. Marsh was my eighth-grade teacher, but since then she’s been… she was… my mentor.” Her dark eyes filled with tears. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Emma cleared her throat and looked away. “It was nice to meet you. Thank you.” This was exactly the sort of interchange she’d been dreading.

Joe held out his hand, and Ana shook it awkwardly. “Nice meeting you,” he said, his tone much warmer than Emma’s.

Emma was reaching for the door when Ana cried, “Wait!” She stepped closer—close enough for Emma to see the tears clinging to her lashes—and clasped Emma’s free hand between both of her own. With tears slipping down her cheeks, she looked in Emma’s eyes and murmured, “Your sister loved you so much!”

Emma stared at her wordlessly.

“I just… wanted you to know that,” Ana said, her voice barely over a whisper. She let go of Emma’s hand and walked away without glancing back.

Emma watched her all the way to the parking lot. Part of her was offended by the girl’s presumption, but another part of her wanted to chase her down and ask her what she’d meant.

After Ana had climbed into a rusted-out Ford Escort with a long-haired young man at the wheel, Emma asked Joe what he thought about the conversation.

“Can you believe how forward she was?”

“I think she was very sweet,” he replied.

Why could he never just agree with her? He always had to take the other side.

“When I was young, we didn’t… Oh, never mind.” She clenched and released her fist, swallowing her irritation. Now wasn’t the time for arguing. It was time to get this over with.

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