A dozen times a day, she clutched her mother’s St. Agatha medal to remind herself that Jeremy had found it when she couldn’t. Physical proof of his abilities, yet she still struggled to believe that her sister, presumed dead for twenty years, was out there somewhere, alive.
She didn’t know what to do with herself while waiting for the call except pack. But what to pack? When she’d asked Jeremy what she should take, he’d given her a cryptic and somewhat terrifying reply.
“Imagine your house is on fire. Take only what you’d save.”
Then he’d driven off after promising to call her when he had news.
What would she save in a fire?
Pictures of her mother, of course. She had a thousand pictures of her and her mother on her phone, but her favorites were the framed photographs from her childhood, which hung on the walls and sat on the mantels all over the house. She chose two photos. The first one of her mother, a youthful-looking forty-nine, holding screaming baby Emilie on the day of her adoption. Emilie might have been crying in the photo, but her mother’s smile was radiant.
The other picture she chose was from her elementary school’s annual Fall Festival. Emilie had been in the fifth grade, and she and her mother dressed up as “Identical Twins” for the school’s Halloween contest. Matching pink dresses. Matching pigtails with pink bows. Matching smiles. They’d only won third prize, but the real prize was hearing so many people tell them how much they looked alike even though Emilie was a pale blonde and her mother a brunette.
Yes, those were the two photos she’d save in a fire. The only other things she put in her backpack were a change of clothes, a toothbrush, her makeup bag, and everything she could fit that had belonged to her sister. Shannon’s old books, her poem, her little toy knight, her moonstone in the velvet bag.
And, of course, she would take Fritz with her.
Finally, on the afternoon of the second day of waiting, Jeremy called.
“Hey, any news?” She knew she should’ve eased in before asking him straight out, but she couldn’t wait another second.
“Time to go.”
“What? Did Rafe say he’d help?”
“No, he didn’t. But he’ll change his mind. He already has. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“It means it’s time to get in your cute little Prius and drive to Rafe’s house. We’ll meet him there.”
Emilie looked at her bag. This was nuts. She was going to go into the woods with not one but two very strange men to find a girl who disappeared twenty years ago? A girl who the police said was dead.
“Are you sure it was my sister you saw? Shannon Yates? That’s what she said her name was?”
“Well, no, she went by another name.”
“So maybe it wasn’t her?”
“It was her.”
She walked into the living room and knelt in front of Fritz’s cage. He was sound asleep in his favorite tunnel. Looking at him gave her the smallest shot of courage. She had saved his little life. Not as impressive as saving all the girls Jeremy had, but Fritz was alive because of her, and only her, and that was something
“I looked you two up on Reddit, and they say Rafe has PTSD and a lot of mental problems.”
“Reddit says a lot of things, including but not limited to the theory that we were abducted by the Mothman, sex traffickers, and/or Scientologists. What happened to all your books on courage? Did you return them to the library?”
“I want to be courageous, I swear. I just would prefer to be courageous inside my house.”
Fritz came out of his nest and trundled up a ramp to her, gave her fingertips a love bite. She slipped him a chew stick, and he happily munched away. It must’ve been so strange for him being picked up and carried out of his old life and then finding himself in her house with no explanation. Must have felt like Dorothy being caught in a Kansas tornado and landing in Oz. Except he was much better off in Oz than in Kansas.
“I’m doing it. I’m doing it,” she said.
“You’re being very brave. Good job.”
“I’m not brave. I’m just very susceptible to peer pressure.”
“Either way, I’m proud of you.”
She sighed heavily and rubbed her forehead. “What do I do?”
“I’ll give you directions—”
“I have Google Maps—”
“Rafe’s place is off the map. I’ll text you the directions. Print them out. When you get lost, just wait. I’ll find you.”
“Okay,” she said. “Wait. When I get lost?”
But he’d already hung up.
Emilie dressed for hiking—boots, leggings, sweater, hoodie, beanie hat with a pom-pom because at least she’d look cute when she died of exposure, she told Fritz. She put her bag in the car and Fritz into his carrier. She looked at her house one more time. How easy it would be to call this whole thing off…She could send Jeremy a text that said, Never mind. If my sister is alive, she can find me. Thanks, but no thanks. Then she’d go back in the house, unpack, and get into bed to sleep for a few days or weeks.
Sounded nice. Until she woke up and realized she was all alone in the house with only a rat to talk to. If her mom were here, she knew what she’d say…
“Mom, I’m scared.”
“I know, Emmielou. But scared is a feeling, not an excuse.”
