Page 23 of Engulfing Emma

Not today either.

~ ~ ~

I sit on the bottom step in front of my house, where I’ve been holed up for six days, watching people stroll by. Wondering which of them could be potential threats. I can’t seem to go any farther. My goal is to make it to the school.

School. It was my favorite place on earth. But I’m afraid I’ll never be able to go inside that building again. Maybe I could work at a different school. Would that help? No. I have to go back. I love it there. My students. My coworkers.

As if Becca heard me thinking of her, my phone rings.

“Hey,” I answer, in a more melancholy tone than I meant to.

“Did you leave the house yet?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great, Emma. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m sitting on the front steps.”

“Oh.” There is a long pause. “I guess that’s progress.”

Becca seemed to be equally traumatized by the incident, yet she was not only able to leave her apartment the next day, she went back to school and picked up her things. She picked up mine, too, delivering them to me here. Like Mom and Lisa, she’s tried every day to get me to leave the house.

“It’snotprogress,” I say. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you. People deal with traumatic events differently, that’s all. I’m sure you’ll be back to your regular self in no time. I mean, what is Taco Tuesday without Emma Lockhart?”

I laugh. “I could use a margarita.”

“So why don’t you make it your goal to come to the next one? That gives you five days to work up the courage to get back on the subway. I’ll come by beforehand, and we’ll do it together.”

“That sounds good, actually.”

“It’s a date then. You know you can call me anytime. I’m here for you, Emma.”

“I know. Thank you.”

I end the call and walk back up the steps to my house.

~ ~ ~

My heart pounds as I sit on the bench next to the park on the corner. I used to bring Evelyn here when she was little. What if the gunman had robbed the store next to the park and taken kids hostage? What if a young child had been shot? I go crazy, thinking of all the things that can go wrong. I feel myself panicking. Then I start to breathe and count like Brett taught me. I’ve had to do that more than a few times over the past eight days.

I think of him and how calm he seemed in the face of danger. He confronted the maniac with the gun—a man who’d already shot one person. He did that to save Carter. How can someone like that face those kinds of odds and come out unscathed, and someone like me can’t even walk to the school four blocks away?

I pick up the bag full of banana nut muffins I made for the guys at the firehouse. The station is only one block away—halfway to the school. But I know they won’t be getting the muffins today.

I walk back to my house, feeling like a failure for the umpteenth time in the past week.

Maybe tomorrow.

Chapter Nine

Brett

This week at work hasn’t been nearly as exciting as last week. No hostage situations. Just run-of-the-mill traffic accidents, a few dumpster fires, and a woman threatening to jump off the bridge.

We’re killing time doing inventory on the rigs this morning as we wait for the next shift to come in.

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