I SLIPPED THE BLACK dress I had borrowed from Emma over my head. Dawson’s father was being laid to rest today. Traditional funerals terrified me. I’d only been to one in my life, but one was enough to assure me the fear I felt toward them was deep rooted. Maybe it was the product of watching one too many scary movies, or the simple fact I would be close to someone who had recently crossed over. Either way, my limbs trembled as I bent to retrieve the pair of black heels I’d set out earlier. I sat at the edge of my bed and slipped them on.
A banging in the hall caught my attention. I scurried to my feet, wondering if it was Emma. She wasn’t in the best of moods today. I wasn’t sure if it was because dealing with the emotions that had surfaced in the wake of Dawson’s father’s death were straining her already fragile nerves, or if she was still upset and frustrated from having me help her slip into her dress and shoes.
Another loud noise sounded from the hall. I buckled the clasp on my shoe, and started toward the door to make sure she was okay. Lately, she had been falling from her chair, which scared the crap out of me. I was afraid she would hurt herself.
I slung my door open, and spotted her lying on her stomach in the doorway to her bedroom. “Are you okay?” Panic hung in my words.
“I’m fine,” she grunted as she hoisted herself up onto the palms of her hands.
“What happened?” I darted to her, wanting to make sure she was okay.
“I fell.” Her tone was flat and irritated.
As I moved to grip her shoulders and help shift her into a sitting position, Emma slapped at me and fell forward again. I jerked back, realizing what I had done. It wasn’t that I didn’t think she was capable of maneuvering herself; it was that I wanted to help. Seeing her struggle hurt my heart.
“What did I tell you last time?” she snapped. Her cheeks were flushed, and her dark hair had fallen into her eyes. “I don’t need your help. I can do this on my own.”
I held my palms up, facing her. “I’m sorry. I know you can.” The look in her hazel eyes killed me. Frustration darkened them, while embarrassment swirled through, creating a marble of emotions rolling through her narrowed eyes.
I straightened myself, curling my fingers into my palms, and forced my hands away. She could do this on her own, but the desire to remind her she didn’t have to rested on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I stepped back and watched her figure it out. It didn’t take her long. Charity had been practicing this with her for the past couple weeks. Either Emma had mentioned to her she was having issues with falling or Charity knew.
“See, I told you I could do it alone,” Emma muttered as she wheeled past me and down the hall.
I chewed my bottom lip, hating how debilitating things were for my sister as I followed after her.
It seemed as though the entire town was here, each person dressed in black. Some of the older ladies cried into the shirtsleeves of their husband’s shirts or tissues. Out of all of them, I knew Mrs. Nelson’s were the only tears that were genuinely felt. The others were mostly for show, a way to gain sympathy from those around them. They would later sit around steaming cups of coffee or tea and discuss how hard it had been to come for the service, how much they had cried.
I hated those women.
They were the town gossipers. The ones who loved to talk about how selfish I was for leaving Emma when our mom had first gotten sick.
My eyes moved down the line of people giving their condolences to Dawson and Emma. I wondered if, when they took Emma’s hand, their ‘I’m sorry’ held a double meaning. I wondered if they meant it not only for the loss of Dawson’s father, but also for her accident as well. It was the first time my sister had been in the public eye since the accident.
Unease pricked along my skin. I wanted this moment to be over with. I couldn’t stand being in this room, drowning in a sea of black clothes and sad faces, for a second longer. My eyes shifted to Dawson, and my heart seized. His anguish was palpable. It drooped his shoulders, and forced his lips into a tight frown. Bags and dark circles rimmed his eyes, making them look like those of a stranger’s. It hurt me to see him this way.
I realized then, it must hurt Emma as well, because she had reached out at some point and clasped Dawson’s hand in hers. My eyes zeroed in on their fingers woven into one another’s for comfort. Warmth slipped through me, causing my throat to burn with the promise of tears. I had hoped Emma would comfort Dawson, but feared she would remain cold and closed off.
She had surprised me, and I was glad.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” A familiar voice brought me back to the present.
Millie Green stood in front of Dawson. Her hair had been spun into an elegant bun on top of her head, and her makeup was done to perfection. There wasn’t a single tear in her eyes, which made me wonder if her words held any truth. She shifted her little boy higher on her hip, and gestured her daughter to move on to Emma. Her husband, Miles, was behind her. He was still as tall as I remembered him being, and his shoulders had grown wider and muscular. Apparently, Miles was one of those rare guys who looked even better than they did while in high school.
“And you,” Millie addressed Emma with a little more sugar in her voice than necessary. If I hadn’t seen her looking at Emma, I would have thought she was speaking to one of her kids. “Goodness, I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through recently.” She put a heavy emphasis on the word everything that made me want to slap her.
“Thank you.” Emma’s voice was low, but still somehow sweet and polite. She was so good at this, at pretending to be okay for the sake of being polite. Again, I thought of my sister as a superhero.
“Honestly, I don’t know how you have managed to pull through all this. I know I wouldn’t be able to.” Millie shook her head. She brought a hand to her chest, and inhaled a deep breath. “I just couldn’t. You are so strong, Emma. You inspire me.”
I pursed my lips together as I continued to watch her act. My stomach burned with fury toward the condescending bitch.
When Millie shooed her daughter toward me, finally giving the theatrics a break, her sudden teary-eyed scene ended. “I’m glad to see you here, Charlotte. Nice to see you finally stepping up to help out your family for once.”
That was all I got. Millie moved right along.
Anger burned through me. It died out at the sound of sobs coming from beside me. Emma was crying. Millie had made Emma cry.
“Charlotte, can you get me out of here? I think I need some air.”
I maneuvered behind Emma and gripped the handles on her chair. “Absolutely.” Alarm pumped through me steady and strong. Emma was breaking down. In front of everyone. I was reminded then how my sister was no longer the superhero I had always made her out to be in my head.
Once I got us around to the back of the building, where we were free from prying eyes, Emma lost it. She buried her face in her hands, and large sobs shook her frail body with a force I didn’t know was possible.
“What’s wrong?” My voice trembled as I spoke. I wasn’t used to seeing her this way. She had her fair share of bad days lately, but nothing like this.
“I can’t do this,” she sobbed. “I can’t be there for him like he needs. I just can’t.”
Her words shocked me. It was rare to hear Emma say she couldn’t do something, especially when it came to helping someone else. She was always thoughtful, caring, and compassionate. The version of my sister sitting in front of me was not the girl I had known since birth.
“But you did,” I said. My hand reached out to console her, rubbing her shoulder. “You are.”
She shrugged off my touch. “I tried, that’s all I did.”
“That’s all that matters to Dawson though,” I insisted, knowing it was the truth. “He only wanted you here with him, for him. That’s all he wanted you to do.”