Chapter 7

It was after eleven by the time the last of the guests took their leave and Emma fell into bed. Karen had checked into a motel in Nappanee, and Andrew had gone home with Adam. Emma felt a hint of nervousness at being alone with Joe.

He sat on the edge of her twin bed, and it creaked under his added weight. “I didn’t see much of you tonight. Are you okay?”

She breathed in his scent, a mixture of toothpaste, aftershave, and a little perspiration. She shifted slightly, away from the weight of his hip. “I guess I am. As well as I expected, anyway.”

He lay down beside her, on top of the sheet, and brushed his fingertips down her shoulder and upper arm. Kissing the back of her head, he murmured against her hair, “Would you like me sleep with you tonight, or maybe hold you for a while?”

She rolled over against the wall and sighed. “No, this bed is way too small. Thank you, but… I think I just need to get some sleep.”

Joe pushed himself up and walked across to his own bed. “You know…” he began, his voice strained. He blew out his breath and tried again in a more patient tone. “You know, I wasn’t trying to… start something.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to comfort you, or at least grieve with you. But how can I do that when you won’t even grieve, yourself?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Have you even cried for her?”

Emma wrapped both arms around herself. She opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn't come.

“You need to let yourself feel something, Emma. Anything.”

“We all grieve in our own way, Joe.” Emma’s voice was as rigid as her back.

Joe sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wish…” His shadow fell over her as he bent down to kiss her cheek. “Good night, then.”

Although her body was completely spent, she was wide awake for a long time, awash in sorrow and anger and guilt. On the edge of sleep, she suddenly remembered the night of her father’s death, when Rachel had crawled into this bed with her and thrown an arm around her shoulder. She could hear Rachel’s words now.

“It’s okay to cry,” Rachel whispered.

“I don’t need to cry.” Emma pressed her lips together to hold back the sobs, her nose burning with unshed tears. She had to be strong for her little sister because she knew their mother was helpless, exhausted from holding their family together during her father’s long battle with lung cancer.

She felt Rachel’s tears soaking the back of her nightgown. “I’ll cry for both of us.”

Now, as then, a single tear rolled down Emma’s cheek and splashed into her ear.

***

As she pulled out of the airport parking lot, Emma relished the morning breeze whipping through the open windows of her mother’s car. Having dropped Ellen off at work and kissed Joe goodbye at the curbside check-in, she was alone for the first time in four days, and it was a relief.

Following the instructions on her navigator unit, she merged onto the bypass. In just a few minutes, she was back out in the country, back to the endless fields and the scent of manure. She took the exit for Nappanee, passed a school and a couple of churches, and drove through the picturesque town square. Just outside town, she turned onto a narrow road populated with small Amish farms and old frame houses.

“Left turn ahead,” said the navigator.

Emma craned her neck but couldn’t spot an intersection. “I don’t know, Jane. All I see is corn,” she said, and then smiled at herself for talking to a computer.

She’d almost passed the gravel road before she spotted it, and she had to stomp hard on the brake.

“In three-quarters of a mile, you have reached your destination,” Jane said pleasantly, not at all perturbed by the sharp turn or the dust that forced Emma to roll up the windows. She jerked the wheel left and then right, trying to avoid the potholes.

When one front tire caught a crater-sized hole, the navigator tumbled out of its suction cup holder and landed on the passenger-side floorboard. “You have reached your destination,” Jane announced, her voice muffled by the floor mat.

“No, I haven’t,” Emma retorted, regarding the perfect rows of young corn on either side of the car. She slid to a stop and clutched the steering wheel as unexpected tears filled her eyes. She was probably on the wrong road, but she couldn’t be sure since she’d never even seen her sister’s house, even though she’d lived there for four years. And there was no one to call because her mom couldn’t take calls at work, and she didn’t have Uncle Robert’s phone number on her. Besides, her cell phone probably had no signal anyway.

She laid her forehead against the steering wheel and told herself there was nothing to cry about; no one was expecting her, so she wasn’t going to be late. In fact, she rather dreaded facing the empty house anyway.

The crunch of wheels on gravel interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see a rusty white pickup approaching from farther down the road. She hastily wiped away her tears and smiled at the older man, who waved. She edged her car almost into the ditch so the truck could pass, but the man stopped beside her and cranked down his window. She rolled hers down too.

“Everything alright, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling brightly.

“I noticed you were stopped here. Thought you might be having car trouble.”

Emma pointed at the floor. “The only thing I’m having trouble with is this navigator. I’m afraid I might be lost.”

“Where you headed?”

“I’m looking for the Marsh house. Do you… did you know the Marshes?”

“Oh, of course—you must be Rachel’s sister. Your mom said you might be coming out this week. I’m surprised I didn’t recognize you. You favor her, you know.”

“So this is the right road?”

“Yes. You just didn’t go far enough. It’s the next house on your right, about a quarter mile down. I live just across the road, by the way. Name’s Matthew.”

“Nice to meet you, Matthew. I’m Emma.”

“You’ll want to watch out for the dog penned in the yard. Trixie’s a little rambunctious, but she’s a good dog. Just a little young yet. I’ve already fed her today, and I’ll keep feeding her until you decide what to do with her.”

Emma wondered why it should fall to her to decide Trixie’s fate, but she thanked Matthew anyway. He drove on past her then, calling out that she should ask his wife for help should she need anything.

The small one-story house stood at the back of a half-acre wooded lot which seemed enormous compared to the yards in Emma’s neighborhood. She steered into the deep ruts of the dirt driveway and parked in front of the detached garage to the right of the house. A wire cage extended from the side of the garage nearest the house, and a rather large black dog stood tall against the side of the pen. It barked frantically, but she noticed its tail was wagging.

She climbed out of the car and slowly approached the cage. “Hello, Trixie. It’s only me, Emma. You’re okay. You're okay.”

Trixie whined, dropping her front legs and pressing her flank against the chain-link fence. Though she’d never been fond of dogs, Emma was gratified that Rachel’s dog seemed to trust her. She patted her head awkwardly through the fence, and Trixie immediately nuzzled her hand, and then licked it.

Emma jerked her hand back and grimaced as she wiped slobber onto her track pants. “Nice meeting you, Trixie, but I need to go into the house and get this over with.”

Ignoring Trixie’s whining, she turned to survey the house. It was a perfect rectangle, raised on a cement slab which formed a porch that ran the length of the house. A white tin awning shaded the porch, and pale yellow aluminum siding covered the walls. The front door stood exactly in the center, with square windows on each side.

She clutched the iron railing as she climbed the four steep steps onto the porch. Having forgotten which key her mother had pointed out an hour earlier, she fumbled with the key ring and finally began to try them all. To her relief, the third key fit the lock. She opened the door and stepped into the living room.

The air was stale and sticky, and she covered her nostrils to blunt the stink of rotting trash. She scanned the walls of the living room and then the hall, but there was no sign of a thermostat. The only air conditioner was a window unit in the master bedroom, but she did find a louvered attic fan in the hall.

After she’d opened all the windows and turned on the fan, she began examining the house, starting with the living room. The hardwood floor was worn, but still in decent shape even though it had to be decades old. Paperback books lined two walls from floor to ceiling; she smiled as she ran her fingers over several of the spines. She recognized some of the titles as classics she’d suffered through during high school—the same books Rachel had loved.

When she spotted Anne of Green Gables, she gasped. Was this the same book both of them had read until it fell apart? She slid the book out and cradled it reverently. The glued binding had long since disintegrated, and the battered edges of a few loose pages protruded from the velvety page ends.

Closing her eyes and bringing the book to her nose, she let the musty scent carry her back to the room she’d shared with Rachel, the room where they’d spent hours flopped on their beds reading to each other. A sob caught in her throat, and she pressed one fist against her trembling lips.

Opening her eyes, she set the book firmly back in its place. Hands on hips, she assessed the room. No sense forgetting why she’d come here.

To start, she gathered up four empty glasses and a couple of bowls that still had popcorn in them. Clearly Rachel hadn’t changed in all these years. She laughed about it now, but her sister’s chronic sloppiness had ignited many arguments when they’d been roommates.

The kitchen was no laughing matter. The sink overflowed with dishes, many encrusted with moldy food. She gagged at the stench, bringing her arm up over her nose and flinging open the back door. After a few breaths of clean air, she propped the door open with a cinder block she found on the steps.

A quick search of the cabinets under the sink netted her a pair of rubber gloves and a jug of bleach. Retrieving her phone from her purse, she put on her usual cleaning playlist, a compilation of 90s dance music. She scraped most of the rancid food into the garbage can, which smelled about as bad as the sink, and then set the can outside.

Next she stacked all the dishes on the countertop and filled the sink with soapy water, adding a splash of bleach for good measure. Head bobbing to the beat, she plunged her hands into the warm suds and started scrubbing.

When the drying rack was full of sparkling dishes, she sighed with contentment. Even though Rachel would never know about it, doing this little thing for her felt good.

Trixie’s frenzied barking cut into her musing. Frowning and pulling out her earbuds, she started toward the back door to see what had riled up the dog, but froze when she heard the click of a key unlocking the front door. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, her eyes darting around the kitchen for anything that might serve as a weapon. She dismissed the dull steak knives and grabbed a broom instead.

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