Page 11 of Engulfing Emma

“Aside from Carter and me, three others, but I don’t know their names except for the teacher. Her name is Becca Jamison, but don’t call her family. They would be devastated. You can’t let them call, okay, Brett? I know all too well what that feels like. Please don’t let them call.”

My pulse races as I remember when my mother got the call that the World Trade Center was attacked, and my father’s company had gone to help.

“How do you know what it feels like?” he asks.

I close my eyes. I’ve thought about my dad a lot today. I’ve also thought about my mom and Evelyn, and what losing me would do to them. “I lost my father on 9/11.”

“You—”

He stops talking, and I think maybe we lost the connection. “Brett, are you there?”

“I’m here,” he says. “I lost my mother that day.”

“Oh, no. Really?”

“She was a nurse who ran in to help. How about your dad?”

“A firefighter. A lieutenant here in Brooklyn.”

“Damn. I’m sorry,” he says, emotion bleeding from his voice.

“I’m sorry for your loss too.”

“This is going to turn out differently. Evelyn is not losing her mother today. How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

“I have a child too. A son. He’s two.”

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Leo.”

“I like that name.”

“Is there anyone you’d like me to call for you, Emma?”

My heart pounds, and I feel the walls closing in on me. “I don’t want you to hang up.”

“I won’t. I promise. I can use someone else’s phone. Can I call your husband for you? Maybe even patch you through?”

“I’m not married. It’s just Evelyn and me. And my mom. It’s always just been the three of us.”

“Your mom never remarried?” he asks.

“No.”

“Neither did my dad. He moved to Florida when my younger sister graduated high school four years ago.”

“Florida’s nice.”

“You’ve been?”

“No. I just assume it’s nice. And I think maybe I’m rambling to keep you on the phone, because I’m feeling claustrophobic in this closet. How long do you think he’ll keep us in here?”

“You don’t have to worry about keeping me on the phone. I’m not going anywhere. Even if you don’t want to talk, I’m here. The police are still trying to contact the gunman, but he won’t answer the phone in the office. They don’t know what he wants.”

“I don’t know either,” I say. “I mean, except that he wanted money. That’s why he robbed Shettleman’s. I assume he wants this finished as much as we do, but he’s probably scared. He didn’t mean to shoot Carter. But the fact that he hasn’t let us go is very upsetting.”

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