The storms arrived almost on cue. For five days, Emma hardly left her darkened bedroom. Nathan called every day. She rejected the first few. When the doorman started calling up, she silenced her phone.
On Wednesday, when Caroline threw open the door, she winced.
“Okay, first of all, how long have you been in bed because your hair looks like birds are nesting in it? Second of all, I know you can’t wash a dish, but the kitchen is spotless, so when did you last eat?”
Emma started to cry. Again. All the color drained from Caroline’s face as she rushed to the bedside.
“Jesus, Em, what the fuck? I know it’s not your dad because he asked me to check on you when I got back.”
“I had a flashback.”
“Oh no. Was it....” she couldn’t finish.
“No, no. Nothing horrible. Just a man grabbing my wrists. It...” she took a breath and steadied herself, “. . . it’s Nathan. He’s triggering memories.”
Understanding dawned. “Oh.”
“I can’t see him anymore. It’s dangerous for me.”
“Are you sure what’s happening to you with him is bad?”
“Yes. I can’t go back to square one, Caroline. I can’t become Emily Webster.”
“But you are Emily Webster. You always have been. You’re Emily Webster to me.”
“That’s not true. You knew the old me, but you are here with Emma Porter now. Your friendship now is with Emma.”
Caroline scooted closer, her eyes filled with worry. Then she grabbed both of Emma’s shoulders and spoke.
“Do you realize that I have never once called you Emma?”
“What?”
“I have always called you Em. When you became Emma, I just kept calling you Em. You have never changed to me. And I think this bizarre compartmentalizing you do where you are two completely different people is way off. You’re one girl. You have always been one girl. The girl who hates peas but loves pea soup, the girl obsessed with thunderstorms and shipwrecks and finding the perfect blueberry muffin....”
Turns out it is possible to laugh and cry at the same time.
“The girl hopelessly in love with Nathan Bishop. Call yourself Lady Fucking Gaga for all I care. You are one person. One person who had something horrible happen, but your life can’t be about that one thing.”
“That isn’t all it’s about. It’s not,” she insisted then relented. “And if it is, that’s because it has to be.”
“I think it’s time to change that.”
“Caroline, I can’t just shed my skin and say to the world Emily Webster is back! God, just thinking about the attention. Plus, it’s not safe.”
“I know, but what I’m talking about is more of a change of attitude.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I think you need to say, ‘fuck it.’”
“Elaborate.”
“I’m not saying to stop being smart or stop being careful, but I think we need to lift this shroud of caution that covers everything you do. Yes, our apartment is owned by a holding company; yes, you have a different name, but you’re the one keeping the Emily Webster that’s in here locked up.”
She touched her chest. Emma blew out a breath.
“Jesus, Em, how long have you been in bed? Cause that is morning, noon, and night breath.”