She was Emma, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t open her eyes and be Emma, anymore. I stared at her chest, willing it to move with breath, fantasizing that her eyes would open and she would be fine.
Valerie took Emma’s hand in hers and gently lifted it to her mouth to kiss her palm.
“My sweet girl,” Neil murmured against her hair, and he broke down again, weeping and trembling with his head on the pillow beside hers.
This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t in the plan. Emma and I had talked about going to the movies next week, just the two of us. We’d even joked about how easy it would be to get Neil to babysit.
Olivia. She came to mind, again and again. How would Olivia possibly understand where her mother and father had gone? And where would she go? With Michael’s parents? Would we ever see her after this? Should I even be thinking of such a thing, when Emma was laying there, present and gone, at the same time?
I wanted to hug her. I couldn’t. Emma had barely tolerated my hugs when she was alive, and she certainly wouldn’t want my pity hug now that she was dead. But I had to do something. I had to say something to her. I had to acknowledge her.
I stepped up beside Neil and put my arm around his shoulders, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “I love you,” I whispered to her.
I should have said it while she was alive.
* * * *
Neil and Valerie stayed with Emma for a long time. Laurence contacted the funeral home at Neil’s request. I knew he’d asked Laurence because he didn’t want to burden me, but my practical nature kicked in. There were things that had to be done. I didn’t know if Emma and Michael had a will or even if they had a lawyer, so I couldn’t help there, but I definitely could notify people.
I dialed Ian, first. Neil wouldn’t mind me taking the lead on this one. Ian answered the phone, sounding sleepy and sleepless all at once. “Everything’s okay, yeah?”
“No. Everything is…” My throat closed up. I couldn’t breathe, because if I breathed, I would be able to say the words.
“Ah, Christ,” Ian said softly.
I pressed my hand to my chest, certain it had sunken in to touch my spine. Because I suspected she would be with him, I asked, “Can I just talk to Penny, please?”
“Sure thing.” His mumbled, “Wake up, Doll,” was muffled by something. There was a rustling, and Penny answered.
“Hello?”
“Penny, um.” My lower lip trembled. I was so glad she couldn’t see me through the phone. “Neil’s daughter Emma? She…died.”
“Oh, no,” Penny said in a gentle hush. “Is there anything you need me to do?”
Now and then, I forget that Penny is an employee, not a friend. Now that she was dating Ian—I assumed they were back together, since they’d shown up at the hospital together—the line was further blurred. Of course she would assume I was calling as her boss. “No. There’s nothing I need. I just couldn’t tell Ian.”
“Sophie, I’m so sorry. I’ll clear your schedule all week, if you need me to,” she promised.
“I’ll think about that tomorrow,” I told her, and we said goodbye.
I called Mom, but the call went to voicemail like I thought it would. I told her it was important and to call me back. Holli and Deja, I could tell in the morning.
Neil’s brothers and sister, however…
I weighed the importance of waiting to find out if Neil wanted to make the call himself against the likelihood that Neil would be emotionally capable of thinking of such things at all. I didn’t want to step on his toes, but I didn’t know if any of this would make the papers. They couldn’t find out that way.
They all went the same way. I apologized for calling at such an early hour. Then, I blurted, “There’s been an accident, and Emma and Michael were killed,” because there was no way to gently ease into something like that, and it somehow got easier when I could robotically repeat the same thing over and over. The reactions were mixed; Fiona dropped the phone. Runólf’s wife, Kristine, just said a sad little, “Oh, no,” and promised she would tell her husband as soon as he woke. Geir wept openly and begged for details. They all asked when the funeral would be—something I hadn’t even considered, yet—and how Neil was handling things. Did we need anything? And, the most heartbreaking, had Olivia been hurt?
By the time I was finished, there wasn’t an ounce of anything left inside me. I was just a vessel for bad news. I couldn’t cry, or even feel sad, really. All I felt was worried, because Neil was still in that room with his dead daughter, and I couldn’t fix anything.
My phone rang, and Tony’s cell number lit up the screen.
“H-hello?” My stomach jumped up to my throat. Nope, it was just bile. I swallowed back my heartburn.
Mom’s voice came on the line. “I saw you called, but my phone is dead.”
I winced at the word choice. “Uh huh.”