Page 34 of Engulfing Emma

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you back across the street where you can sit down.”

I nod, but when he tries to lead me, my feet won’t move. I can’t force myself to take even one small step. I’m frozen in place, shaking. I am in a full state of panic and feel as if I’m going to faint.

He grips my head in his hands and looks into my eyes, which I’m sure are glazed over. “Emma!”

He talks to me, but my head is spinning, my ears are ringing, and I can’t hear anything he says.

When I don’t respond, he just looks at me. Then, without any exchange of words, he picks me up, cradling me in his arms as he carries me across the street.

When we get to the other side, panic turns to pure mortification. This may be the most embarrassing moment of my life, being hauled across the street like a helpless woman. At the same time, the feeling of being in his arms is unlike anything I’ve experienced. I want him to hold onto me forever. I’ve never felt so protected in my entire life.

He stops walking and just stares at me. I just stare at him. Then I see some passersby looking at us and I think maybe this is getting a little weird.

“We’re at the bench,” I say.

He’s still staring at me, but I’m not sure he hears me.

I nod my head at the sidewalk. “Brett, we’re at the bench. You can put me down now.”

The loud sound of a car horn in the street startles him and he finally breaks his stare. “Oh, yeah, sorry,” he says, embarrassed that he’s still holding me.

He sets me on my feet, and I sit, trying to process what the hell just happened—and I’m not talking about my panic attack.

He sits next to me. “It’s no big deal,” he says, like whatever just happened between us wasn’t the most confusing thing of all time. “Next time I bet we’ll make it all the way through the front doors.”

I don’t miss the way he sayswe’llmake it, like he has something to work through too.

I look back at the school, ashamed that I couldn’t make it all the way there today. Then I glance at the grocery store on the corner, wondering if the Shettlemans are as pathetic as I am, or if they’ve gone back to work. I’ve been stopping there for years for my morning coffee. All the teachers have. The lovely old couple know us all by name. They treat us like family. They must have a soft spot for teachers being that they’re right next to the school.

I sometimes patronize another store closer to my house, but it almost feels like I’m cheating on the Shettlemans. Most days I go out of my way to visit their place.

“Actually, I think I’d like to gothere.”I point to the corner grocery.

He stands, putting himself between me and the school.How does he always manage to do the exact thing I need him to do?He holds out a hand as if he knows I need it to cross the street. “Come on, then.”

I don’t find it hard to walk into the store. My eyes immediately go to the counter, where I see Mr. Shettleman selling a Coke to a teenager. Then I notice Mrs. Shettleman perched in her regular spot, on a chair behind the counter, working the usual crossword puzzle.

It’s like nothing happened. Like they weren’t held at gunpoint and robbed by that maniac.

Mrs. Shettleman looks up from her crossword, drops her newspaper, and comes toward me with her arms out. “My dear Emma.” She wraps me in a hug from which there is no escaping until she decides it’s over. “I was hoping you’d come in. I’m so, so sorry to hear what that man put you through.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Pish. It’s not the first time we’ve been robbed, and it won’t be the last. It goes with the territory. We’ve learned to cooperate so no one gets hurt.”

“But someone did get hurt, Mrs. Shettleman. A man lost his leg.”

Her head bobs up and down, empathy bleeding from her wrinkled face. “I know. And I heard what you did while being locked in that dreadful closet with him for hours on end. You’re a hero, my girl.”

“I’m not the hero,” I say, motioning to Brett. “He is. Mr. and Mrs. Shettleman, meet Lt. Brett Cash. He’s the firefighter who saved Carter’s life and got the rest of us out of there unscathed.”

Mrs. Shettleman’s eyebrows shoot up and then she looks back and forth between Brett and me like she’s watching a tennis match. “Is that so?” she says, taking Brett’s strong hand into her old, weathered one.

“You were right, Mrs. Shettleman. Emma was the hero.”

“Why don’t we just call you both heroes?” she says.

Her husband comes over to shake Brett’s hand. “Thank you for your service, son.”

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