Page 154 of Engulfing Emma

I’m nervous. I haven’t been here in years. Even then, I wasn’t here forhim. My mom dragged me.

“I don’t remember where it is,” I say.

“That’s okay. I know,” Brett says, holding my hand.

“You do?”

He nods. “I might have said hi to your dad on a few occasions.”

“Really?” I smile. “Thank you.”

“He’s right around the corner from my mom.”

“Can we stop and see her too?”

“She’s right up here.”

We stand in front of the parapet that holds his mom’s name, and I think of how much I would have liked to know her and how proud she would have been of her son.

I look around at all the people here, paying their respects. I know most of them are tourists. It makes me feel guilty that people who don’t even know any of the fallen have come here to honor them when I haven’t even made an effort.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

I thread my fingers through his. “Yes.”

We walk along the wall, looking at the names. There are so many. Three hundred and forty-three firefighters lost their lives that day, but thousands more died as well. Thousands who, like Jordan did a few weeks ago, simply got up one morning and went to work like it was any other day. Thousands who had no idea it was the last morning with their husbands, wives, or children. Thousands who had jobs like bankers, lawyers, and insurance agents. Safe jobs, yet they died anyway. Just like Jordan. And I wonder if any of them had daughters like me who blamed them for leaving.

“Here we are,” he says. He studies the single white rose wedged into my father’s engraved name. “You didn’t tell me today was his birthday.”

Even though I haven’t been here since the dedication, I’m aware of the white roses. Several years ago, a memorial worker started putting the flowers in the names of people who had birthdays that day. It was one more way to honor them.

“Why do you think I wanted to come today?” I ask.

“I was wondering why you wanted to wait a few weeks.”

“I wanted to do it right. Give him a real birthday present.”

“I have a feeling that getting your forgiveness is better than every Christmas and birthday present he’d ever gotten in his entire life.”

I run my hand across his name, tracing every letter with my finger. “Do you think he knows I’m here?”

“I like to believe he does.”

Tears flow down my face. “If he knows I’m here, he also knows I haven’t been here for many years before now.”

“I’m sure he understands, Emma.” He drops my hand and backs away. “I’ll sit on that bench and give you a minute.”

I touch his name again. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I thought I was coming here to forgive you for leaving me. But there is nothing to forgive. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m here because I needyouto forgiveme. Forgive me for blaming you all these years.” I glance around at the vast memorial. “If it weren’t for you, there would be a lot more names here. Because of you, a woman might be giving birth to her first child she never would have had, a couple might be celebrating an anniversary that never would have come, a father might be walking his daughter down the aisle at a wedding that never would have happened. Because of you, many people got to live. How can I be mad at you for that?”

I look over my shoulder at Brett, who gives me an encouraging smile. “I almost threw away one of the best things that ever happened to me. If you know everything, you know about Jordan. Becca told me last week that she wouldn’t have given up a moment with him, even if she’d known what was going to happen. Mom says the same thing about you. I love him, Daddy. I’m scared, but I love him. If anything happens to him”—hot tears fall from my lower lashes—“maybe you could take care of him for me.”

I stand here, letting the tears fall until I find my voice again. “Brett once told me that Evelyn is here because you’re not. Do you think that’s true? I wish you could meet her. She’s just like you. Strong and feisty. You should have seen her in Germany. I’ve never been more proud.”

I touch the soft petals of the rose. “Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you. And I hope you can forgive me. Do you forgive me?”

A gust of wind comes out of nowhere, blowing hair across my face.Was that …?

I turn around to see if Brett felt it, too. But he’s no longer sitting on the bench. He’s down on a knee looking up at me.

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