Aftermath (4 page)

Emma's Story

My room used to be my sanctuary. Now it reminded me of what I lost.

Framed family photos lined my dresser. Ticket stubs from my first Chicago Bulls game were posted on the bulletin board next to my last birthday card from Mom. Brochures from colleges Dad and I toured were scattered on my desk. Printouts of applications and essays rested on top, including the form for Dad’s alma mater. I told him I didn’t want to attend Wisconsin. I wanted to go to Northwestern, like most of my friends.

That seemed trivial now.

When I noticed the flyer for the senior trip at Lake Bell, I remembered the argument with Dad. Tears flowed as I punched the feather pillow on my bed and buried my face in it. I hated this. Why did this happen to me?

Chester nudged my limp arm about an hour later. I must have dozed off. Rolling over, I stared at the ceiling. Chester lay beside me on the bed and rested his head on my stomach. We heard muffled voices coming from downstairs. Neither of us moved.

I glanced at the picture of Dad and me. It was taken on Lake Bell at Aunt Barb’s house earlier that summer. Dad and I went Jet Skiing while Aunt Barb made dinner. It was the first time Dad let me drive a ski myself. Aunt Barb scolded him for being so protective. That was probably the only reason he gave in. I remembered his lecture about not speeding on the lake. I was impatient as he walked me through the instruments and attached the kill switch cord to my wrist.

Now, I’d give anything to have him lecture me again.

The buzz of my phone distracted me. I sat up and read through a handful of texts, most from Melissa.
Where did u go? Were you really talking to the cops? What happened? WHERE R U? Text me back.

The last one was from Matt.
Did you leave?

“Well, Chester… what do I do?” He tilted his head to one side, his dark ears slicked back. “Yeah, you’re right. I need to tell them.” Chester put his head down, letting out a loud sigh.

Formulating the words in my mind was easier than speaking them aloud. I typed,
my dad died
, and hit send.

Aunt Barb knocked gently on the door, opening it before I responded. “Just checking to see how you’re doing.” She looked better than before. Her eyes weren’t as red and puffy.

“I’m okay.”

“Neal and Lisa picked up Chinese. Come downstairs and join us.”

I nodded and followed her to the kitchen. Placemats were already in position on the table. Aunt Barb pulled out plates and silverware, while Lisa filled glasses with wine. Neal waved her off, declining. The three of them interacted, opening boxes of takeout and scattering chopsticks and fortune cookies on the table. A cake sat on the counter, a fruit basket beside it. Things that weren’t there when I left for school suddenly appeared.

For a second, I felt like a visitor in my own home. Anger struck me like a slap to the face. Tears ran down my cheeks without warning as the day’s events sank in.

Lisa saw me first. She pulled me in her arms. “It’s okay,” she whispered through tears of her own. Aunt Barb joined in the waterworks, rubbing my back while I cried. After a few minutes, our tears dried up and we were able to compose ourselves.

Neal made himself scarce until everyone sat down for dinner. They made small talk between bites of Egg Foo Young and Mongolian Beef. I pushed rice around my plate, but no one seemed to notice. Lisa said she would stay with us for a few days, but Neal had to get back to Westport. Dad’s wake was set for Thursday and the funeral for Friday morning. Lisa reported that Father Cornwell agreed to give mass.

“He’s an old family friend,” Aunt Barb said when she saw my glance.

Lisa spoke of Father Cornwell as if he were the Pope. I wanted to yell that he was just a priest from a small, hick Wisconsin town. Aunt Barb seemed pleased and the longer I sat there, the more I didn’t care.

When the doorbell rang, Neal jumped up to answer it.

“Your neighbors have been dropping by all afternoon,” Aunt Barb said.

“They have? Why?”

“It’s what people do… in times like this,” Lisa answered.

Aunt Barb nodded toward the fruit basket I noticed earlier. “They drop off food because they don’t know what else to say, besides
sorry
.” She shrugged as if that was acceptable.

I had no idea what I would say if this happened to someone I knew. Was that what people did when Mom died? I couldn’t remember. I mean, what
did
you say? Sorry certainly wasn’t it. I didn’t want to hear “I’m sorry.”

Sorry wouldn’t bring my dad back, or my mom, for that matter. It wouldn’t reverse the accident that killed Dad or cure the cancer that ended Mom’s life. Sorry didn’t make up for me having to leave my friends and move to Wisconsin. Sorry didn’t dry up my tears or take away the ache in my heart.

Sorry just didn’t cut it.

By the time Neal walked back into the kitchen, I was sick to my stomach with anger. He carried a red box from the Highland Park Bakery.

“Emma, you’ve got a friend here to see you,” he said.

Tears poured out of my eyes when I saw Melissa in the doorway. She gave me a hug and whispered, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Suddenly, that silly little word was comforting.

Ben's Story

In all the years I spent undercover, I was never a high school student.

Hey, you structured this cover.
Molly’s voice rang in my head, as I followed the flow of annoying adolescents in the hallways of Westport High.
You could have waited to meet Emma when she was in college, or working her first job. Instead, you decided seventeen was the right age to introduce yourself.

It wasn’t her age. I timed it in the aftermath of her dad’s transition,
I responded in defense. I took a seat near the window in calculus. It was my first period of the first day of school.

Yes, yes, whatever! You dragged me along into this assignment,
she muttered.
And I’m not any happier than you are, sitting through the secondary education system.

You volunteered,
I rebutted.
Remember?
‘I could use a bit of down time, Commander’.
I mimicked her meeting with our leader when I came up with the idea several years earlier.

Molly sighed in defeat. I acknowledged Drew Davis. He took the seat behind me. Mr. Vieth called us to attention. Molly was greeted by her Spanish teacher in another classroom.

Are you two done bickering?
Pete Jorgenson’s voice interrupted Vieth’s roll call.

We don’t bicker,
Molly replied.

Jorgenson knew better. As our handler, he was privy to every thought, comment, action, even feeling, our human disguises encountered on earth. It was part of our contract, succumbing to the tether, the bond between our world and an agent on assignment. It was an invisible leash that allowed him to keep tabs on our whereabouts at all times.

Right. And you were Mother Theresa in your last life, too,
Jorgenson joked.

Ever since the pioneer field agent Victor Nicklas went rogue over a century ago, the tether was required. It didn’t bother me.

Good luck in your senior year of high school.
Jorgenson’s chuckle echoed in my mind as Vieth called my name. I raised my hand, acknowledging my attendance.

Thanks.

And, stay out of trouble this time,
Jorgenson curtly added.
I don’t particularly like explaining your stupidity to the commander. It makes
me
look bad.

What trouble?

Molly snickered.

Well, for starters, your compulsion of the garage attendant wasn’t for the betterment of the case. And while we’re on the subject, this assignment is a vacation for you. In other words, behave. I’d hate for Emma to get a bad impression of you.

I wanted to laugh, but I kept my composure.
Okay, okay. I’ll make you proud.

I’ll check in on you later,
Jorgenson said and signed off.

Even though Jorgenson closed the communication line, it was only in a hibernated state. He could still listen in. If I really wanted privacy, I’d have to break free of the tether. My rank gave me top-level security clearance and, with the skills developed over the years, I could easily do it. Of course, going off grid like that could only happen for a short period before a search team would be deployed.

Mr. Vieth began his first-day-of-school lecture. It consisted of the welcome-back, here’s-who-I-am and here’s-what-we-need-to-do-this-year speech. I already knew the ins and outs of calculus and of Vieth. I read his file weeks earlier when my schedule was posted. Born and raised in Westport, he was the son of two teachers, the great-grandson of Henry Nichols of the Nichols farm on Summit Road, where I worked back in the 1930s. Vieth was thirty-six years old, married, and a father of two. He had a dog, a cat, and a hefty mortgage.

Doing the math, I guessed old-Henry had to have transitioned by now. I rarely kept track of any humans I knew back then. Most immortals only monitored their loved ones until the last one passed. Very few lingered beyond one generation, the way Molly and I did. Molly was a career-agent. She enjoyed the excitement of being undercover more than experiencing life firsthand.

I, on the other hand, waited for Elizabeth.

Emma's Story

The next few days were a blur.

Aunt Barb pulled out old albums and spread pictures all over the kitchen table. At first, my eyes started to water, but when she told stories about each photo, my tears dried up.

People continued to stop by as the news spread. Platters of food, baskets of fruit, and boxes of pastries filled the counters and refrigerator in our small house. Aunt Barb was right. No one knew what to say, even though the phone rang off the hook. Instead, most people just dropped off stuff.

Matt stopped by after football practice, but he didn’t stay long.

Neal came back the day of the wake. I heard his footsteps as I sat on the couch, wishing this were all a dream.

“She’s upstairs.” I assumed he was looking for my aunt.

He paused for a minute. I could tell he wanted to say something.

“Emma, I want you to know how sorry I am. To have been the one to break the news.” He hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued. “Your aunt wasn’t ready to talk, that day.” He looked sincere, and it dawned on me how much he must care for her.

“It’s okay. Someone had to tell me.”

“Well, what happened is not okay.” Neal sat down on the edge of the cushion next to me. “What you’ve experienced is… well, it’s unimaginable. Unfortunately, none of us have control over that. We can only pick up the pieces and try to put them back in some semblance of order.”

He looked me in the eyes and I saw concern, like the look my dad used to give me. The thought brought tears to my eyes. “I don’t know if Barb tells you this enough, but she loves you. I mean, she really loves you. You’re like a daughter to her. She talks about you all the time—about your soccer games, about how well you’re doing in school. She’s really proud of you. Did you know that?”

I shrugged.

“Well, she is.”

The silence that followed made me realize he was human, just like me. He wasn’t the intimidating police officer I expected him to be. He attempted a weak smile. “I didn’t know she talked about me… to you.”

“Not just to me—to Lisa, to her friends. You’re a big part of her life.”

I guessed I already knew that.

“You know, Westport isn’t that bad of a town to live in. It’s smaller than what you’re used to, but I think you’ll like it.” He grinned. “I hope so, anyway.”

***

Zimmerman Funeral Home looked the same as it did when Mom died. The deep red carpet with gold pattern made me nauseous. I remembered it from being there six years earlier.

I made my way to the same chenille wing chair and sat down. Aunt Barb spoke to the sad-looking, heavyset funeral director. He wore a dark suit and looked vaguely familiar.

Neal sat in the matching chair beside me. We were separated by a small, round, marble-top table with a tall lamp, and prayer cards fanned out in a perfect semi-circle. I looked at the rich colors of the saint pictured on the cards, but I didn’t dare touch them. Neal must have sensed my stare. He picked one up and told me what I already knew. “There’s a prayer on the back, for your dad. See?” He flipped over the card and showed me the written confirmation of why we were there.

When the funeral director opened the double doors, it was time. Aunt Barb nodded to me, “Ready?” 

Ready was far from my state of preparedness.

My stomach started to ache. I crossed the threshold and saw Dad’s casket at the back of the room. It was surrounded by plants and flowers of all sizes and colors. They were everywhere—on the casket, on the floor, and on stands that lined the walls of the room. The mixed floral scents stopped me for a moment. My nausea returned, and I contemplated turning around and running away. When my knees started to buckle, I was suddenly happy Aunt Barb talked me into low heels instead of the strappy, black sandals with four-inch spikes I wanted.

“It’ll be okay,” Neal spoke softly behind me, while Aunt Barb proceeded ahead of us. I felt his hand on the back of my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

My body began to shake, and I couldn’t stop it. I turned quickly, hoping to escape to the safety of the foyer. Instead, I ran straight into Neal’s chest. He smelled of cologne. A different scent than my dad wore, but a nice, comforting smell that I breathed in deeply. “It’s okay.” Neal held me until my shaking stopped.

Aunt Barb and Neal waited patiently for me to pull myself together.

Dad’s casket was beige with small flower accents carved into the corners. It was the same casket Dad picked out for Mom.

It was like time stood still.

The room was absolutely quiet. No music, no hum from a fan, no voice from a soul. 

I focused on the shiny finish of the casket and the bouquet of red flowers that rested on it. I refused to look at him. Like a Ping-Pong match, my eyes scanned back and forth, but never settled on Dad. I noticed the photo collages Lisa helped us make, the gold drapes that matched the chairs in the room, and the cards attached to each plant nearby. But when Aunt Barb touched Dad’s hand, I was finally forced to look at him.

Dad doesn’t look like Dad
, I thought. His skin was discolored and thick, like candle wax. He had wrinkles I never saw before. His hair was combed back and gelled in perfect lines—not the way he usually wore it, messy with a few strands off to the side.

I looked at Aunt Barb in hopes my glare would convey my concern that this wasn’t my dad. This body wasn’t her brother, Brian Bennett.

Instead, her tearful eyes told me I was wrong.

***

Father Cornwell was the first guest to arrive and the most talkative. He held my hand the entire time he recited stories from when I was little. As much as I didn’t want to listen, I had no choice. When he finally moved on, a surge of strength came over me.

Odd, but for a split second, things didn’t seem that bad.

The Lamberts were next. Having spent a few days with Lisa, I was happy to see her again. She gave me a tight hug and whispered kind words in my ear. Tom, her husband, did the same.

When TJ Lambert came through the line, I didn’t recognize him. He was taller than the last time I saw him and offered condolences in a deep man’s voice. He was the opposite of the skinny boy I kissed all those years ago.

TJ’s sister, Hannah, stood a few inches shorter than her mom did, but she had the same blonde highlights and bubbly personality. She practically bounced in place while waiting her turn. If she wasn’t a cheerleader, she missed her calling. She gave me a huge hug, like we were long-lost friends. Then again, we were friends all those summers ago on the lake—TJ, Hannah, and me—but with time and distance, those friendships faded, and now they seemed like strangers.

Keep them moving,
a voice in my head said.
Just keep them moving and you’ll be fine.
  I nodded, responding to my own thoughts.

People came and went for hours. Melissa came with her mom, other friends showed up in a group, and distant cousins strolled through. It was tiring.

When visitation was almost over and the line was winding down, I saw Matt. I lost it the minute our eyes met. Tears flowed in a constant stream. Like everyone else in line, Matt offered sympathy but, instead of a handshake, he pulled me into his arms and let me cry. I buried my face in his chest and concentrated on not hyperventilating. Breathing in his fresh scent slowly, I tried to calm myself while he held me.

“Hey,” he whispered. “It’ll be alright.”

Matt hugged me twice as long as anyone else did and when he was ready to move on, I still wasn’t.