Buried in Sunshine (9 page)

“Thank you,” Justine says as she pulled the
painting from the wall and handed it to Emma.

“Charlotte’s Feathers,” Emma says as she reads
the title of the painting from the back.

“She looks like a Charlotte.”

“My room is lacking of any art—in a fit similar
to yours I tore down all of my pictures. I don’t remember it too
well,” Emma admits as she takes the painting and carefully places
it beneath her arm.”

“I have a box for the necklace,” Justine says a
she roots through a box behind the counter. “Here it is.”

“Thank you,” Emma says as she takes the boxed
necklace in her free hand.

“No really, thank you,” Justine says with a
smile. “If you need any more art you know where to find me—although
I might not be here. The weather is supposed to get crazy hot after
this storm passes. They say in a few days we will be well over a
hundred degrees. Really unusual given our location…”

“Yeah…” Emma whispers in a half awake state as
the realization washes over her that she is the cause. Hearing it
from someone else—that this heat, obviously from the sun coming
nearer to Earth was entirely her doing, made it all seem suddenly
more real.

“….you alright there?”

“Of course,” Emma says as she nodded.

“Here’s my card,” Justine says as she hands a
light blue business card to Emma and slides it between her fingers
and the jewelry box. “I live in an apartment close to here—so if
you need any more art, or need someone to talk to about the
journey
…you’ll know where to find me.

“Thank you so much,” Emma says as she nods once
more. “I’ll definitely try and be in touch.”

“Have a good one—better get to your car before
the rain does.”

“Of course,” Emma says as she attempts to smile
as she heads out the door.

Emma makes it to her car and loads up the back
just in time—a cascade of large raindrops fill the sky as the smell
of rain overtakes the humid air. Emma rushes to the driver’s side
door—feebly attempting to shield her body from the rain with
outstretched hands. She pauses for a split second to look to the
pier—it is empty. She climbs into her car. The sound of the rain
against her roof is loud and constant, like a frantic drumbeat.

Emma takes out her phone; she uses a dry spot on
her soft grey shirt to wipe away the moisture from her screen as
she types in Justine’s contact info. Three contacts in one
day—despite the fact that one of them is her therapist, she still
considers it a success. There was a familiarity to Justine…not in
the same way as Elizabeth or Hope, but still—Justine was someone
that reminded Emma of herself…both her old self, and her new self,
a kindred spirit… so to speak. Even if she was a bit odd and quirky
with her love of colors, she was definitely talented.

*

Emma pulls the car as close to the door as she
can manage without risking damage to either the porch or the
vehicle. She tucks the painting beneath her shirt, thankful that
she wore an abnormally large one this day. The sky is completely
black overhead and the sound of thunder shakes the ground beneath
her feet like an earthquake as she makes a mad rush for the door.
She fumbles for a second with her keys and throws the door open,
nearly stumbling upon the slick surface of the hardwood floors.
Luckily, she did not fall—there was no Elizabeth to catch her if
she did so this time.

“Anyone home…?” Emma loudly shouts. No reply is
offered. “Well was worth a try…”

Emma sets the painting down at the edge of the
spiral staircase and heads to the kitchen. She finds a folded note
on the table that bears her name upon it.

“What’s this now?” Emma says aloud to
herself.

‘Dinner is in the fridge—Elizabeth.”

“You’re kidding right?”

Emma opens up the fridge to find a Tupperware
container full of lasagna. Emma did not even realize she had the
materials necessary to create such a meal. A single yellow
sticky-note reads ‘2 minutes, microwave.’

Emma laughs as she does as the note instructs.
She sets the jewelry box on the table and patiently waits by the
microwave for the food to cook—she is rather hungry after all. A
moment of sadness takes over as she realizes that her mother is not
there to yell at her for standing so close to the microwave. Her
mother used to believe that it caused cancer—Emma would do it
anyway. It seems rather trivial now. However, it did not mean she
misses those moments any less.

Emma eats her meal accompanied only by the sound
of the falling rain hitting heavily against the windows and the
occasional low rumble of thunder. The lasagna is cooked perfectly,
soft noodles, not too sweet. It is almost as though Elizabeth knows
exactly what Emma wants—then again, in a way, Elizabeth is Emma.
Emma attempts to wrap her mind around that concept as she places
the plastic container into the sink and runs some water into the
bowl so that it does not stain red. She comes to the conclusion
that there is no way that these other versions of her are not real.
Despite the fact that Justine from the shop did not see Hope or
that Brian Metcalfe did not see the other one—they still are
capable of doing things like cooking meals and interacting with
her. If it they were mere hallucinations then they would probably
be not able to touch her or interact with her, they would
definitely not be able to cook for her. At least, Emma figures that
is how it has to work. She is no professional psychologist though,
hardly even an amateur one. It comes to Emma’s mind that she should
perhaps mention these others; however, she does not know how Dr.
Riley would respond to something that even Emma, herself, thinks
mad.

After dinner, armed with a hammer and a nail,
Emma walks the painting of the woman up to her room and finds a
spot beside her bed. She strikes the large nail into the wall with
a few well placed hits. Emma pulls down against the nail to ensure
that it is secure. She then runs the wire on the back until it
rests against the center. Emma nods with a sense of accomplishment
as she steps back and admires the painting. For a moment her mind
flashes to a memory of a wall full of photos—a familiar face
appears in most of them, that young man, Aaron Chase. Though the
memory is old, it still instills in her heart a large fleeting
feeling of loss. She turns to face the photo on the dresser. She
wonders how this one survived when so many of the others did not.
The memory of photographs burning in a metal drum invades her mind
as though it has come to answer her question.

In an attempt to place her mind somewhere else,
Emma pulls out her cell and begins to thumb through the three
contacts she has added. She stops on Ethan, she hesitates for a
moment, it is a little past eight. She wonders if he would come and
check on the wall if she called. Her finger hovers over the call
button. She sits down at the edge of her bed. With a heavy sigh she
realizes that she is being silly and finally hits the button.

After a few rings the Ethan answers,
“Hello?”

“Hi,” Emma fumbles as though she is unable to
keep words from stumbling out of her mouth. “I was wondering if you
were busy. I thought if you had some time tonight you could help me
with that wall I wanted knocked down.”

“Is this…” Ethan replies, sounding slightly
confused. “Emma?”

“Yes,” Emma replies as she places her free hand
against her forehead and slaps herself a few times lightly. “I’m
sorry—I just assumed. I can pay. I mean, if you can help me
out.”

“I’m pretty sure I can at least take a look at
any renovations that you want to do,” Ethan replies.

“Tonight…?”

“Yeah,” Ethan says as though that was implied.
“I have to be up early, but I can at least give you an
estimate.”

“Do you have the address?”

“Still in that large house surrounded by trees
on Old Pine Hollow Road, right?”

“That would be it.”

“I can be there in about, twenty minutes.”

“That would be perfect,” Emma says as she
abruptly hangs up the phone. She then realizes that it would have
been more formal, or less rude, to have said goodbye. Then again,
she remembers that she is still somewhat new to this—she only hopes
that Ethan realizes that as well and that she meant no disrespect.
Her mind begins to over-analyze the situation. Will he think she is
some kind of crazy person? Does he already? She meant to correct
him that it would not be a renovation, that it would be more of a
deconstruction.

Emma rushes to the bathroom and washes her face.
She checks herself over and fixes her hair a bit. She looks at the
long worn grey gym shirt in disgust and hurries to her attic room
and changes into a slimmer pink t-shirt with a yellow sunflower
emblem on it.

Emma hesitates as a knock comes upon her front
door. She knows who it is. Still, there is that moment of
uncertainty. After all, Ethan was kind of a stranger. A second
knock comes as Emma realizes that it is still raining. She opens up
the door and allows Ethan in.

“Sorry about the rain,” Emma says as she shuts
the door behind Ethan.

“If you’re in control of it,” Ethan begins with
a laugh, “we could really use more of it this summer. My lawn has
been dead for weeks.”

“I’m not,” Emma says flatly and ends up
instantly regretting it. It is not that she did missed the joke, it
was just her awkwardness getting in the way again. “I mean, I hear
it is going to get worse this year.”

“All hundreds for the next week, maybe even on
after that.”

“Or hotter,” Emma slips, however, it goes
unnoticed.

“Let’s hope not,” Ethan says as he wipes his
black boots against the doormat. “So what kind of work are you
looking at doing here—which one of these walls are you hoping to
knock out?”

“Do you have a sledgehammer?”

“Well in the truck,” Ethan says as he looks
curiously at Emma as though he does not quite understand. “But we
can’t just go knocking down a wall. There is a lot of logistics
going on, I mean you knock down the wrong wall and it can weaken
the foundation of the home.”

“Can you get it?” Emma asks as she ignores the
last bit of what Ethan has said. “It’s more for something in the
basement.”

“I can get it,” Ethan says as he nods. He looks
even more confused, but he nods none-the-less.

“Okay,” Emma says as she stands by the door.

“Right now…?”

“If you would that would be great,” Emma says as
she opens the door.

“I will be right back then,” Ethan says as he
heads off into the rain and darkness. Another loud crash of thunder
resounds as the sky is filled with purple streaks of
lightening.

Ethan runs back into the house, a large red
handled sledgehammer in hand. He shuts the door behind him and rubs
his black boots against the dirty doormat once more. “Okay so
basement?”

Emma leads the way through the kitchen and to
the stairwell. She pauses as she places her hand on the door. She
swallows hard and opens up the door with a large amount of
trepidation. “Could you go down first?”

“Sure,” Ethan says. “Don’t like basements?”

“Never been found of them,” Emma replies as she
follows Ethan down each step.

“I don’t do a lot of basement work,” Ethan
admits. “Mostly I replace cabinets, or countertops—I do some
bathroom remodeling. I’ve installed carpets…tore out old carpets
and worked on hardwood floors.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Emma says, not
really knowing what to say or how to interact in a more proper
manner.

“Learned a lot of it from my dad,” Ethan says as
he leads the way. “I think he did some of the work on this house a
little over a decade ago—for your mom. He used to work in home
improvement as well before he injured his back and now he sells
insurance…just straight ahead?”

“Yes,” Emma says as she looks to the creepy room
with the stone slab. Her mind flashes her false images of animals
being slaughters once more, the blood dripping down from the table
and flowing into the drain to be carried away. “What work did your
dad do on this house?”

“I believe he totally redid a green house on the
property or something like that,” Ethan says as he continues
onward. “It’s like a little maze in here with all these different
rooms and twists and turns. I couldn’t imagine growing up here. I
think it would bother me as well.”

As they reach the far wall at the very edge of
the long basement. Emma points to the wall with the rude chalk
drawing of the sun upon it. “You see the marks?”

“The marks…?”

“The sun mark here?”

“Oh,” Ethan says as he places his hand against
the rough brick wall. “I can kind of see how it looks like a
sun.”

All at once, Emma realizes that Ethan cannot see
the chalk drawing—perhaps he is just humoring her, she realizes how
crazy the statement must seem to him as an outsider. “Yeah, I mean
how it looks different here—the bricks don’t quite match and
they’re a slightly different color.”

“I do see that,” Ethan says as he nods. “I’m
surprised you noticed—you’ve got a good eye. You think there is
something behind it?”

“It’s hollow,” Emma replies as she points out a
chip in the brick. “I hit it here and it echoed.”

“It could be nothing,” Ethan says as he raises
the tip of his sledgehammer and softly strikes it against the
brick. “I’d hate to make a mess—but I could understand the
curiosity.”

“You have my complete permission to make a
mess.”

“Well, let’s just make sure,” Ethan says as he
places an ear against the wall. He gestures to Emma who places her
head against the wall. Ethan raises the tip of the sledge hammer
once more and strikes it a bit harder this time. The sound of the
strike echoes as though some kind of room or hallway exists behind
the bricked wall. “Did you hear it?”