Buried in Sunshine (7 page)

“Just rest,” Emma replies.

“You’re going into city now.”

“I planned on it,” Emma says as she sits at the
edge of the bed and looks to Elizabeth. There is some kind of
connection, despite the obvious, she almost feels sisterly to the
being. “I can stay here for a bit though, if you like.”

“You need to go,” Elizabeth weakly replies as
she turns away and faces the window, another group of clouds are
approaching from the distance. “This is my purpose.”

“I don’t understand,” Emma says as she places
her hand upon Elizabeth’s, it is growing cold to the touch. “Why do
something if it brings you such pain?”

“Take Pennsylvania Street—to get to the store,”
Elizabeth whispers as she watches the sky in apprehensive
nervousness.

“Do you need anything?”

“Have a good time.”

“Is there anything that I can do—this just
seems…unfair,” Emma says as she begins to head towards the door.
“You shouldn’t be suffering while I’m out.”

“You shouldn’t care so much about me. Don’t
forget who sent me.”

“Did you ever hear the expression don’t shoot
the messenger?” Emma whispers as she stands by the doorway and
looks to the tortured form. In some strange way and despite the
knowledge to the contrary, Emma still partially views Elizabeth as
her sister.

“I never have,” Elizabeth whispers in reply. “A
laptop—“

“You want a laptop?”

“For you,” Elizabeth says as she begins to
shudder slightly. “Get internet—and whatever else makes you happy.
Get something that makes you happy.”

“About the basement…”

“That will work itself out,” Elizabeth
interrupts.

“Right,” Emma says as she nods, she lingers for
a moment longer. She does understand the horrible circumstances for
which Elizabeth is here—however, she cannot hate her for it.
Especially after seeing Elizabeth endure such terrible pain, she
seemed like a lost soul. Perhaps the old Emma could be uncaring,
however this new version, this more complete person that Emma has
become—this Emma could not be apathetic.

“Go…”

*

As Emma approaches the city she detours from her
familiar route and makes her way down Sixth Street so that she
would eventually cross Pennsylvania. As she approaches the road she
turns and drives a short distance down the street. This route is a
little out of the way—however, she feels that there has to be a
reason. As she passes the second set of traffic lights, she spots
the back of a girl walking barefoot on the sidewalk. She is dressed
in the familiar, bright white, short flowing dress and has blond
hair.

“Elizabeth?” Emma whispers as she begins to
slowly tail the mysterious girl as she walks down the street. A
horn resounds from behind her as a car passes her and the
passenger, a non-descript male, gives her the finger. Emma ignores
the gesture and keeps her focus on Elizabeth. The girl stops in
front of a building, and after a brief pause, she enters. Emma
pulls her car over to the closest available spot. She digs through
her purse for some change and feeds the meter a few quarters. She
rushes down the sidewalk and enters the doorway—however, to her
surprise; the girl is nowhere to be found. Instead she finds
herself in a familiar office. Realizing where she is, she quickly
turns. However, it is far too late for that.

“Emma Corbeau?” A man’s voice speaks from behind
her. “Is that you?”

“I’m sorry,” Emma says as she turns to face
Brian Metcalfe.

“No need for apologies,” Brian says as he gets
up from behind his desk and hurries over to greet Emma. “I haven’t
seen you in a long time—At least, not under any kind of… good
circumstance.”

“I just wanted to come and thank you for all of
your help,” Emma says as she attempts to come up with a viable
excuse for her coming here. She did intend to thank the tall, large
kind man—however, her former self was always too afraid, too self
conscious to actually come here and do so in a proper manner. “I…
You helped me a lot when I needed it. I just wanted to let you know
that I don’t think I could have made it through my mother’s
funeral, or all the paperwork, or any of that—without your
help.”

“Your mother was a great woman,” Brian Metcalfe
says as he lets out a heavy sign and rests his heavy set frame
against an old oak desk. “Not just a great worker, but just
wonderful to be around—always kind...”

“She was very kind,” Emma agrees. “I had a lot
to work out. I don’t know if she told you that I had…issues?”

“She said you had been through a lot—regarding
an accident of a friend. I understand though. I expected that you
might never come here, or see me, with your mother’s death--I had
imagined that I would just bring back bad memories.”

“These days I feel better.”

“That is so good to hear Emma,” Brian says as he
nodded. “I know it must have taken you a great deal of courage to
come to your mother’s workplace—it looks like you’ve really made a
lot of good steps.”

“Yeah,” Emma says quietly. The truth is much
farther than Brain can possibly even imagine. Just being in the
spot—the same building even where her mother died…instantly, brings
so much terror to Emma that it takes all she has inside of her to
hide her true feelings. “You didn’t see anyone come in? …by the
way?”

“Nope, it’s been a slow day,” Brian says as he
knocks against the oak desk with his knuckles. “Hopefully it will
remain so—I’d like to get out of here early today, the wife has
dinner plans for us and they involve driving two hours north.”

“Sounds like fun,” Emma says, despite the fact
that she was only half paying attention to anything that he was
saying. “I should go—“

“If there is anything else you need, in the
future,” Brian says as he smiles and nods to Emma. “There was never
any need to come and thank me, it was my honor to help in any way
that I could.”

“Of course,” Emma whispers as she turns towards
the door. Through the glass she makes out a truck that pulls up
right in front of the building. Emma pauses as a young man steps
out of the white construction truck and makes his way towards the
office. He is of average height, his hair is black and slightly
messed up from both work and wind, perhaps a bit of
neglect—however, it makes him look slightly edgy. His skin is dark,
most likely from working outdoors. He is wearing a grey t-shirt and
dirty tan cargo pants. As the young man approaches, Emma can make
out his face more clearly. He has a kind look to his eyes—a pale
citrine green. His face is rough, almost as though he has gone a
few days without shaving. As he passes into the building a wide
magnificent smile spreads across his face.

“Hey dad,” the attractive, Emma realizes—for the
first time in a long time that yes, she finds someone attractive,
the young man says as he passes Emma. “Are we still good for lunch
today?”

“Of course,” Brian Metcalfe says as he relieves
his weight against the oak table as it creaks quietly almost as a
sigh of relief. “I was just talking to Emma here, you met her
mother—Susan Corbeau.”

“Right…!” The man says as he turns his attention
to Emma. “I’m… I’m really sorry for your loss. I talked to your
mother almost every day when I’d come in to steal my dad away for
lunch—she was, she was really nice. I saw you at the funeral, I
wanted to say something—but I couldn’t think of anything to say. So
I’m sorry we never met, properly.”

“Thank you,” Emma says as she nods and nervously
fidgets her fingertips against the seams of the legs of her jeans.
“It’s fine.”

“Ethan,” The young man says as he wipes away his
dirty hand against his already dirty pants and extends a handshake
to Emma. “I’m sorry I should have mentioned that earlier.”

“Emma,” Emma says as she takes the handshake.
His hand is warm to the touch, Emma beings to wonder why she would
even think it would not be—then again given the circumstances, she
supposed that anything was possible.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” Brain
proposes.

“Yeah,” Ethan quickly agrees. “We would be glad
to have you join us—“

“I would like to,” Emma lies. The prospect of
being around the attractive man does sound rather alluring.
However, Brian does bring back too many bad memories. She is not
ready to deal with the both of them, at least, not at the moment.
“I have to pick up my new cell phone today—I was on my way right
now. I would… by the way do you do… what kind of construction do
you do?”

“Oh,” Ethan says as he reaches in his pocket and
pulls out a card. “It’s mostly home improvement.”

“Could you knock down a wall? Would that be in
your capabilities?” Emma asks. She begins to realize that perhaps
there truly was a reason coming here beyond an unpleasant memory
and some rather attractive eye candy.

“Yes,” Ethan says as he looks puzzled for a
moment. “That would be a pretty easy task.”

“Great,” Emma says as she begins to head towards
the door. “It was great seeing you again Brian—I’m glad I got a
chance to thank you for all the help with my mom. It was really
great meeting you Ethan. I am definitely going to give you a call,
once I get my cell—and maybe you can come and knock down a wall for
me?”

“Yes, of course,” Ethan says as he continues to
keep that slightly puzzled look upon his face. He hands Emma a card
for his home improvement business. “Feel free to call me anytime,
my days are pretty busy but any evening I’m free. I mean pretty
much every evening I’m free.”

“Thanks again,” Emma says as she places his card
in her pocket and leaves the building in a hurry.

Her cheeks glow a deep red as Emma returns to
her car. She does not know whether she should be angry at Elizabeth
for leading her back to that office, or thankful that she had
inadvertently introduced her to Ethan. Or perhaps it wasn’t
happenstance, but planned. As Emma drives away, she waves to both
Brian and Ethan; who both wave in return. Her last vision of Ethan
is of that wonderful smile, Emma is glad that he no longer appears
puzzled. Perhaps he still is—as Emma runs over the conversation in
her mind it seems a bit mad. However, given her newly reacquired
social skills, she feels that she fared fairly well.

*

“I don’t know,” Emma says as she looks at the
array of phones that are spread out before her. An entire buffet of
technology that she has not been keeping up on for two years is
laid out like some gluttonous feast. “What’s popular?”

“The latest Iphone is always a popular choice,”
The representative whose nametag reads Michael says as leads Emma
to a small selection of square phones. “The newest one you can ask
questions, tell it to set up important dates, and look up
directions--all by voice.”

“So I can talk to it?”

“You haven’t seen the commercials?”

“I haven’t been keeping up with TV stuff,” Emma
admits as she picks up the tethered display model.

“Have you ever had an iPod touch? Michael the
salesman asks.

Emma thinks back. She had something similar two
years ago—perhaps an earlier version. She recalls throwing
something in a fit of rage and the glass breaking against the end
of the kitchen table…that would account for the small dent that she
has noticed over the years. “Yeah… I believe I had one of
those.”

“It’s just like that, only a phone as well.”

“So I’d be familiar with it,” Emma guesses.

“Yep, only with the added voice control you can
ask it things.”

“I have enough strange things talking or
interacting with me,” Emma says as she realizes how absurd and
crazy that statement must sound. She shrugs it off; after all, she
is buying a phone—not being psychologically evaluated. “I’ll take
one that isn’t sentient.”

“Do you want the warranty? You know, in case
anything happens with the phone you can have it replaced for a
small fee—instead of paying the full price?”

“In like six days…” Emma begins, and then stops
herself. “Let’s just go with no.”

*

Emma tosses the box for her new phone into the
backseat of her car. She powers on the device as she pulls Dr.
Riley’s phone number from the glove box and punches it into her
contacts. She then digs through her pocket and adds Ethan as well.
There is a sense of familiarity in the whole phone process—Emma
must have owned one in the past, where it was now, is anyone’s
guess. She has a faint memory that it was her mother that was
technologically simplistic, not Emma. Bits of a conversation come
to mind of Emma attempting to convince her mother to at least go
wireless and ditch the antiquated twisted cord wall-phone, to
obviously no success.

Emma dials Dr. Riley’s number—she is making her
first call in at least two years. She feels nervous as the phone
rings.

“Hello?”

“This is Emma,” Emma states simply.

“Oh, of course,” Dr. Riley responds as her tone
lightens. “Is this your new number?”

“Yep,” Emma replies as she attempts to say
something more but feels somewhat uncomfortable speaking over the
phone.

“Are you still coming in for tomorrow’s
session?”

“At three o’clock?”

“Yes, that’s what I have you down for.”

“I’ll be there…,” Emma says as she attempts to
end the conversation but is cut off.

“So how are things going, how are you feeling
today?”

“I’m good,” Emma answers in a rushed voice.
“Going to go and get a few things today—then going to call someone
to have some work done at the house. I met someone, seems nice,
hopefully a good friend at least.”

“That’s great Emma,” Dr. Riley says in a
cheerful tone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Emma says as she pauses
for a slight moment and then blurts, “Goodbye—“

“Goodbye Emma, take care.”

Emma presses the ‘end call’ button on the phone
and slips it into her pocket. She has no idea why she feels so
nervous and awkward while speaking over the phone, especially to
someone who is already familiar to her. Maybe it has something to
do with the past—receiving that fateful phone call that her mother
had died. That event was so…unexpected and traumatic. Emma felt
regretful that her mother could not be here to see that she had
accepted her true self. She would have liked to talk to her one
last time, at least, in her renewed form.