WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (48 page)

Truth was, the Hughes and Conway families were now forever linked.
 

Jon and Emma sat across from Cassidy and Viv. Dinner started with nothing but scowls from Vivian, but once Jon managed to keep her laughing through fifteen straight minutes, she lost the flare in her nostrils and settled somewhere between her granddaughter’s glee and her daughter’s cautious affection.
 

“I don’t remember the last time you made anything this delicious for me,” Vivian said, smiling at Cassidy.
 

“That’s not fair,” Cassidy said. “I make you dinner all the time.”

“I never said you didn’t make me dinner. I said it was a long time since you made something this good. Most of the time it’s microwave or nothing, and you know it.”

“That’s not true,” Cassidy’s face started to flush.
 

“Yes, it is!” Vivian howled. “Even on Mother’s Day last year, when it was your turn to take me out somewhere, you said, ‘sorry Ma, I’m broke. It’s Lean Cuisine or nothing. Your sister made pork chops.”

Cassidy stared at her placemat. Jon couldn’t tell if she was smiling or scowling, but he figured it was an even blend of each.
 

“I remember that,” Emma said. “They were good.” She laughed, said, “The other white meat,” then laughed to herself again, as though recalling something funny. Jon exchanged a glance with Cassidy, and felt a sinking in his stomach. He was minutes from telling Emma that he was her father. A million butterflies fluttered in anticipation.

Presenting the award for Best Supporting Actor at the Oscars.

His first red carpet.

His first acceptance of Best Actor — Golden Globes, not Oscar.

Telling Sarah he’d cheated on her while in California.

Nothing compared to the sort of anxiety stirring in his gut as he glanced at his daughter.

Daughter! Me, of all people! I still can’t believe it.

“Who wants ice cream?” Cassidy asked everyone, though her eyes were aimed at Emma.
 

“Me!” Emma yelled.

Vivian said, “As long as it’s not that Moose Tracks crap. Stuff is way too sweet.”

Emma said, “Mom said you shouldn't say crap.”
 

Vivian smiled, “You’re right. Sorry, dear, I meant to say
shit.
”

Emma burst out laughing and the others followed suit until everyone was cracking up.

Cassidy returned with Breyers chocolate chip — Jon’s choice. He preferred ice cream with ingredients you could count on one hand.

They all shoved ice cream into their smiles and let it melt in their mouths as they laughed and shared their favorite and funniest Sarah stories.

“Mom,” Cassidy said, taking bowls to the sink, just as they planned. “Would you mind helping me with the dishes? Jon wants to show Emma a magic trick.”
 

“A magic trick?” she looked up at Cassidy. “What makes you think I don’t want to see the trick?”
 

Cassidy narrowed her eyes in her best
don’t challenge me, Mom
look. Vivian cackled and said “sure thing,” then turned to Emma and added, “Watch his hands. The tricks are always in the hands.”
 

Jon stood, said “Thanks ladies,” and held his hand out to Emma. She took it, smiling as he led her from the kitchen and into the tiny living room.
 

Jon knew some basic magic, taught to him by Jimmy Stardust, an FX guy Jon worked with on the
Eternal
films. He’d already prepped a simpler trick since his aim wasn’t to impress Emma so much as let her figure the trick out for herself.
 

He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, pre-sorted with red and black. Jon had gently bent all the red cards so their faces were slightly concave, and all the blacks so they were slightly convex. He shuffled the deck as Emma kept her eyes on his hands.

He set the pack face down on the table, then looked at Emma and said, “Is the top card going to be red or black?”

She stared at the deck for several seconds. “Red,” she said.

Jon smiled. “Wrong,” he said, turning over the nine of clubs. “How about now?”
 

“Red.”

“Wrong.” Jon showed her the two of spades. She smiled.
 

“How about now?”

“Red.”

“Ooh, I like that,” he said, “sticking to your guns and playing the odds. That worked. This one is red for sure.” He smiled, then flipped over the seven of hearts.
 

Jon wasn’t sure how long the trick would hold Emma’s attention, but he was hoping it would be at least long enough for her to feel the victory of figuring it out before he shifted her world with a sentence or two.

They were halfway through the cards when Emma pointed at the deck and said, “They’re all bendy. That’s how you know, right? Hearts and Diamonds one way, spades and clubs another?”

Jon nodded, smiling. “You’re good at figuring stuff out,” he said. “That’s a great quality to have.”
 

He leaned in closer, making sure Emma was looking into his eyes. “If you can do that, you can figure out most of life.”

“My mom used to say stuff like that.”
 

“Your mom was a smart woman,” Jon said. “I’m not always so good at figuring stuff out, myself. That’s why I loved being with her so much.” He pulled Emma’s right hand into his. She seemed slightly uncomfortable, and like she was going to pull it away, but it was only a moment before she let her five fingers settle into the nest of his palm.
 

“Do you know I loved your mother?” Jon said.

Emma shrugged, then shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “Though I figured you
might
have, and you had to know her pretty well.”
 

“Why did you figure that?”

She shrugged again. “I guess because you’re here. You would have to care a lot since you came to the island. You’re a famous actor and everything, right? Plus I know she used to cry sometimes after she watched your movies, even though she didn’t know I knew.”

Jon said, “You’re better at figuring stuff out than I am.” He winked, then squeezed her hand tighter. “I just figured something out myself a couple of days ago. And it’s something I have to tell you.”
 

Emma’s eyes looked up to Jon, waiting.

Jon sighed into a long, lingering, and nearly endless silence. Finally, he ripped off the Band-Aid.

“I’m your father.”

Emma said nothing, only nodded. After a minute of silence, Jon said, “Do you understand?”

Of course she understands. Asshole.
 

Emma nodded. “How come you didn’t know before?”

The last thing Jon wanted to do was condemn Sarah for never telling her daughter, but he was staring at a truth he’d never shaded before. “I just didn’t,” he shook his head. “I left the island before I found out, and didn’t know until I came back.”
 

“How come you know now?”

Jon leaned against the cushion and sighed. “Well, I guess I first knew when I saw the way you wrinkled your nose while you were stashing your cookies. But that was just a guess. I knew for sure once I started asking questions.”

Emma’s face changed. She looked like she might cry. “Did Cassidy know?”

Jon nodded.
 

“How about Nana?”
 

Jon nodded again, then said, “But they weren’t doing anything wrong by not telling you. It wasn’t like I was here and they were keeping it from you. I didn’t know, and I’m sure your mom would have told you the truth when the time was right.”
 

Awkward silence buttered the air. Dishes clattering in the kitchen were practically thunder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said. “Not that I’m your dad, I’m
thrilled
about that.” The thin smile felt foreign on his face. “But I’m sorry you didn’t know, and that you had to find out this way, so soon after everything that’s happened.”
 

He squeezed her hand.

Emma squeezed back, then said, “So what happens now? Am I still going to stay with Aunt Cassidy?”
 

Jon shrugged. “I’m not sure. This is all new to me. I think we should do what’s best, and what’s best for all of us is what’s best for you.”
 

Goddammit Jon. Don’t do it. Give the girl time to process.

He ignored the voice inside him.
 
“Do you know what you might want?”

“Could I live with you if I wanted?”
 

Jon nodded. “Yes.”

“Would I have to leave the island?” A tear painted her right cheek.

“Yes.”

“Would Cassidy stay here?”

“Probably.”

“How about Nana.”

“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
 

“Why can’t you and Cassidy and me live together? You already like each other, don’t you? Can’t you just do that?”

Jon bit his lip to keep from losing it completely. “That’s not up to me, Emma,” he said. “It’s complicated. That might not be what’s best for me,
or
for your Aunt Cassidy. And if it isn’t best for us, it won’t be best for you.”

Emma’s face held its expression for several seconds before it began twitching, hanging at the lip of collapse for a full minute before finally spilling into a sea of sudden tears.
 

Emma sobbed into her father’s chest, trying to push words from her throat that Jon couldn't understand. When she was finally breathing regularly enough to get her words out in a clear and unbroken string, Jon was chilled by their clarity.
 

“Why did my mother have to die?” Emma sobbed.
 

Jon pulled her tighter and whispered, “I don’t know, sweetie, I don’t know.”
 

He stroked her hair, staring at a small living room table and the well lit photo of Sarah and Emma together, probably the Easter before, with Emma wearing bunny ears and hugging a big basket of brightly colored eggs.

Jon closed his eyes, aching at the everything he would never have.
 

That they would never have.

CHAPTER 9 — Sarah Hughes Part 2

Hamilton Island, Washington

Friday

September 1 (the day of the shooting)

morning

The unmistakable — and unforgettable — thunder of gunshots crashed through the walls.

What the . . .?

“Oh God, someone has a gun!” Sarah said into the phone, loud enough for every ear in class to hear it. Then, even louder, “I think Mr. Heller has a gun!”

“What?” Nancy said as Sarah’s students started to scream, scatter, and run toward the door.

More shots, then a sharp pain split through the center of Sarah’s chest as her body slammed against the wall.

 
She looked down, stunned to see the small sea of crimson quickly spreading to ocean across the front of her aqua blue blouse.

Oh God.

I’m going to die today.

As Sarah’s world blurred at its edges, she thought of Emma sitting in her classroom.
 

Emma and her little crush.

Oh God, please keep her safe . . .

Sarah’s lids fell closed.
 

Everything went black.

Sarah woke in darkness, in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room.

The room was cold, and hummed with the sound of circulated air.
 

A soft blue light above and behind her bed killed just enough of the surrounding black for Sarah to see the raw outline of a few blurry shapes: the bed, a chair and small table, and curtains. Two doors, one which presumably led to a bathroom. The other likely led to a hallway.

How did I get in a hotel room?

Where’s Emma?

Her head was foggy, as if she’d been sleeping forever. She felt like she’d been drugged or something.

Oh God, did someone drug and rape me?

Sarah sat up in the bed, searching the room for a sign of whoever the hell had brought her there. But she was alone. She didn’t feel like she’d had sex, willing or otherwise. Nor did she feel any pain, other than a dull ache in her bones.

It was then that Sarah remembered Roger Heller and the bullet which pierced her chest.

She looked down, and realized that the shirt she was wearing wasn’t hers. It was silky, and long like a gown, all one piece, ending at her knees. Sarah pulled the neck of the gown down enough to see that the flesh of her chest was perfectly pale and smooth, no wounds. Not even a scar.

Am I in a hospital?

She stood, wobbly, bracing herself against the bed to find her balance. She wanted to cry, “Hello” but didn’t. Almost
couldn’t.
Something in the back of her mind warned her to stay silent.