Chapter 6: What Emily Was Afraid Of
Emily's sister lived in a narrow house in the Outer Sunset, three blocks from the ocean.
I found the address through a mutual contact and sat outside in the car for ten minutes before I texted.
*I'm outside.
I'm not here to pressure you.
I just need to finish the conversation.*
Three minutes passed.
Then the porch light came on.
Emily opened the door wearing a gray sweater and the expression of someone who had not slept.
She stepped onto the porch and pulled the door mostly closed behind her.
"Mia's asleep," she said.
"I won't be long."
She crossed her arms.
Not hostile.
Protective.
"How did you find this address?"
"James Whitfield.
He worked with your sister at SF General.
We went to school together."
"Of course." A short breath.
"You know everyone."
"Emily—"
"I know why you're here." She looked at the street rather than at me.
"You want answers.
You want a timeline.
You want to know if she's yours and you want it confirmed officially and you want to know what happens next." She turned back to face me.
"I understand that.
I do.
But I need you to understand something first."
"Tell me."
"I was alone for the entire pregnancy.
I worked until thirty-six weeks.
I moved in here with my sister because I couldn't afford the apartment we'd been renting, and I couldn't tell my parents why I was suddenly on my own because I didn't want them to hate you." Her voice stayed even.
Controlled.
"And then Mia arrived and she was early and she was small and for about forty-eight hours I didn't know if she was going to be all right."
I didn't speak.
"I sat in that NICU and I thought about calling you.
I had your number.
I'd never deleted it." She paused.
"But I had that letter.
And I had the photograph.
And I had a memory of calling your office and being told you were unavailable.
And I was twenty-nine years old and exhausted and terrified, and I made a decision to protect my daughter from a man I wasn't sure wanted her."
"I would have wanted her."
"I didn't know that."
"You could have—"
"I know." Her voice broke slightly on those two words.
Just slightly.
She pulled it back.
"I know I could have tried harder.
I know I should have tried again.
But I was surviving, Daniel.
I was just trying to survive."
I looked at her.
I thought about saying that it wasn't enough.
That she should have found a way.
That nearly two years had passed and Mia had grown and walked and learned to say "uh-oh" and I had missed all of it.
I thought about saying all of that.
Instead I reached into my jacket and took out the bracelet.
Emily stared at it.
"Claire took it from the estate," I said.
"She wore it at the gala.
The photograph you saw — she staged that.
Not entirely.
I was there.
But the bracelet was deliberate." I held it out.
"She also answered your call.
She wrote that letter."
Emily didn't take the bracelet immediately.
She looked at it for a long moment.
"She did all of that," Emily said slowly, "and you were going to propose to her tonight."
"I didn't know."
"I know you didn't." She finally took the bracelet.
Turned it over in her fingers.
"That doesn't make it less."
"No," I said.
"It doesn't."
We stood on the porch in the cold air from the ocean.
"I want to meet her properly," I said.
"Not as a surprise.
Not under pressure.
I want you to introduce us when you're ready and when you think she's ready."
Emily looked up.
"And if I'm not ready for a while?"
"Then I'll wait."
"You're not someone who waits."
"I'm learning."
She looked at me for a long time.
Reading something in my face that I couldn't see myself.
"She asked about you," Emily said quietly.
"She doesn't know who you are.
But on the flight, after you gave her the cracker — she kept looking back at your seat."
Something moved through my chest that I had no name for.
"She asked me who the man was," Emily continued.
"I told her you were someone Mommy used to know." A pause.
"She said you had nice eyes."
I had to look away.
Down the street.
At the fog moving in from the water.
When I looked back, Emily's expression had changed.
The caution was still there.
But underneath it, something older.
Something that had been there before the caution.
"I'll call you tomorrow," she said.
"We'll figure out the next step."
"Okay."
She turned toward the door.
"Emily."
She stopped.
"I'm sorry I didn't stop you from leaving.
That night.
I'm sorry I let pride do the rest."
She was quiet for a moment with her hand on the door.
"I'm sorry I didn't try harder to reach you," she said.
"We were both so good at walking away."
May you like
She went inside.
The porch light stayed on until I reached my car.
