Can't Help Falling (32 page)

Peter's hand found Emelia's, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. She held on to them as if they were a lifeline.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to focus on what she needed to tell him. “But what I was slowly realizing was that we were different. I didn't get invited to other girls' houses on playdates.
The other moms came to help at school. But mine didn't. My mom didn't like having other kids over to play. She said that I saw them all day at school and that she wanted me for herself after. One day, there was a new girl at school. She lived a few doors down from us. I got invited to her house to play and Mom said no. Sulked. She said that I didn't need any other friends as long as I had her. I got mad. Told her I was tired of her stupid Narnia games. That I didn't want to play them anymore.”

She could still see her mom's face as she spat out her defiant, childish words, wanting to hurt her. Not realizing how much power her words had.

“I ran to Claire's house and told her mom that it was okay. That I was allowed to play. I had the best afternoon in the world. Until the sirens started. They got closer and closer. And I knew, I just knew that something had happened to her. And that it was my fault.”

Tears dripped down her cheeks. “There were police and paramedics everywhere. Claire's mom held me as I kicked and screamed and scratched and tried to get to her. She'd taken a huge overdose. She left a note that said she had to find Narnia and this was the only way.”

Emelia didn't even know until years later that the police were there hunting for her. That when her dad had found her mom and hadn't been able to find Emelia, he thought she'd done something to her as well.

“You want to know why I hide in wardrobes? The truth is I don't know. She always told me that if I was ever afraid, the wardrobe would keep me safe. That one day we would find Narnia. And she's right. Every time I crawl into one of those wooden boxes, even as my fingers scrape the back and I know there's no
Narnia today, for a few seconds I still feel peaceful. I feel like I'm home. And I'm so scared but I can't stop. Peter, what if I'm just as crazy as she was?”

P
eter sucked in a breath. Prayed for the right words. Fast. “Emelia, you are not crazy. You are about the least crazy person that I've ever met.” She looked up at him. Even in the fading light he could see her eyes were riddled with fear. If only he could reach in and pull it out. “You're not crazy.” The words came out as a whisper but seemed to have more impact than his adamant ones.

She peered up, cute freckles smattered over her tanned face. “You really think so?”

“I know so. You are the most beautiful, smartest, most organized ninja I've ever met. But you are definitely not crazy.” He cleared his throat. He was a guy. An English one at that. He was not good at this kind of stuff. “C'mon. Let me walk you home.”

She wobbled a smile. “That would be nice. Thanks.”

They walked in silence for a little while. Both deep in their own thoughts. Emelia's hand tucked into his elbow.

“At least now you know the answer to your original question.” She spoke softly.

His original question?

Emelia tugged at the edge of her long-sleeved top and studied the ground. “About whether I'm a Susan or a Lucy.”

Why was she saying it like it was a bad thing? Lucy was great. She never stopped believing. She had the potion that healed people. She could be fierce and compassionate. Just like
Emelia. Susan was great too. She had the magic horn and was an awesome archer. She was brave and resilient. Just like Emelia. Neither option was bad.

“Oh, wow.” Emelia was staring at him like she'd just had a revelation. “You haven't read it, have you?”

Peter attempted to laugh. “What are you talking about?”

Emelia stepped closer, studying him. “It's why you never know what I'm talking about when I refer to Susan. You don't know.”

Peter swallowed.

Emelia's eyes had narrowed. He could practically see the cogs turning in her head. “You've read some of
The Last Battle
though, haven't you? Or have you just heard about it?”

“I've read some of it.” The words seeped out of him. They'd just turned into Emelia's street. Were closing in on her house.

“How far have you read?”

“
If Aslan gave me my choice I would choose no other life than the life I have had and no other death than the one we go to.
” Peter quoted the words of Jewel the unicorn in chapter nine. They were burned into his mind as surely as if they'd been inked into his flesh. The sentence he could never get past.

“The great meeting on Stable Hill.” Emelia said the words quietly, as if to herself. Then she directed a piercing gaze at him. “What happened?”

“What happened?”

“What happened?” She repeated the words again, softly. “You are the only person I've ever met who knows Narnia like I do. That's why none of this made sense. Why I couldn't reconcile you asking me if I was a Susan or a Lucy when we first met. It didn't
make any sense. Except now it does. Something happened and you don't know how it all ended.”

Peter ran his hand through his hair. “My grandfather died.”

“When?”

“When I was nine. Dad was in the army and posted in the Middle East. So my grandparents moved in to help Mum. Every night, he would read me a chapter of Narnia before I went to sleep. That night he stopped on that sentence. Said he needed to get a glass of water. A few minutes later, he had a heart attack. He died on the way to the hospital. I've never been able to read past it.”

“I'm sorry.” Emelia nibbled her bottom lip.

“I know it's crazy. It's just a book. He would have wanted me to keep going. I can't even tell you how many times I've tried. Sat there and tried to force myself to read the next sentence, to keep going. But I just . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. How could he explain that his eyes just refused to read any farther when even he didn't understand it?

Emelia was silent as they walked up the path leading to her front door. No doubt thinking it was one of the stupidest things she'd ever heard. Almost twenty years had gone under the bridge and still he couldn't get past it.

“Do you think he knew?”

“Who?”

“Your grandfather.”

“I don't know.”

“I think he knew. How else would he have left you at such a perfect place? A sentence on either side would have meant little. It's like a message for you.”

“I'd
never thought of it like that.”

“There aren't many people who can say that.
I would choose no other life than the life I have had.
”

“Can you?”

Emelia shook her head. “Most of the time I feel like I would choose any other life than this one. You?”

“If I had any other life but this one, I wouldn't have met you.” The words kind of fell out of his mouth before he'd had a chance to think them through.

“Peter, we—” Whatever Emelia was about to say, she cut herself off. “It's been a big day. For both of us. I should go.”

“M
ORNING
.” E
MELIA OPENED HER EYES
to find Allie perched on the end of her bed, a steaming mug in her hand. She was still in her pajamas, her hair mussed from sleeping.

“Hi.” What time was it? What day was it? Emelia's eyes felt puffy, her throat scratchy. After she'd revealed her twisted past on a street corner, Peter had held her, told her she wasn't crazy, walked her home, and handed her over to Allie. Who had taken one look at her face and given Peter a fierce glare that would have frozen lava. Poor guy. Emelia had tried to explain her state wasn't his fault. Well, not in the way Allie clearly thought it was. Then she'd taken herself to bed and given in to exhaustion. She'd probably have stayed in it all day if not for her roommate perched at her feet like a bird.

“Want to come to church?” It was the first time Allie had straight-out asked her.

Emelia pulled herself up to sitting and rubbed her eyes. “I don't do church.”

“Can I ask why not?” Allie sounded more curious than judgy.

Emelia sighed. Since she was apparently on an honesty streak, she might as well keep going. “The last time I voluntarily went to church, I was sixteen. A friend took me. I thought I'd give it a shot. Why not? It wasn't like I had anything to lose.
Then the preacher got up and thundered about how people who commit suicide go straight to hell. I've avoided them as much as possible ever since.”

Allie peered at her across the top of her cup. Her eyes were troubled, full of questions.

“My mom killed herself when I was six.” It had been years since Emelia had said it out loud. Now she'd said it twice in twelve hours.

Allie closed her eyes for a second and drew in a deep breath. “I'm sorry.”

“Me too.”

Allie didn't say anything. Emelia grew disconcerted. Shouldn't she have been jumping in with some kind of theological discourse? But then, that wasn't Allie's style.

Up until six months ago, Emelia had thought she needed religion about as much as she needed to ride a three-legged camel through the Sahara. It had been easy to jam Christians into the fundamentalist, judgmental box and close the lid.

Then she'd met Allie, Jackson, and Peter. And they'd refused to fit into her nice box of stereotypes. Now a tiny part of her wondered if she might be missing out on something real. If maybe there was a God who could transcend everything the worst of His believers made you think of Him. And then she wondered if maybe she was just grasping at straws because of how she felt about Peter.

“Where do you think my mom is?”

Allie lifted one shoulder. “I don't know.”

Emelia blinked. She hadn't been expecting that. Wasn't the point of being religious that you had all the answers? And then you painted them on placards and marched around DC waving them?

“That
man had no idea what he was talking about. The only one who knows what happens when someone dies is God. He knows every single one of us. Everything we've done, everything we haven't. Every good and bad decision we've made. What happened in our last moments. He makes the call. Not some guy in a flashy suit.”

“You really believe that? That He cares about you? Me?”

“I know it.”

“How?”

Allie took a sip of her drink, traced a pattern with her finger on Emelia's comforter, actually looked like she was thinking about the question. It made Emelia feel she could trust whatever she was about to say more than if she'd just launched into a prepared spiel. “Do you remember the day you asked me about my spare room?”

“Sure.”

“Did you notice that I looked a little startled when I walked into the office and you had that card in your hand?”

“Sort of.” Emelia remembered thinking something at the time, but it obviously hadn't made a huge impression.

Allie pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I never put that card up on the notice board.”

“I don't understand.” Emelia blinked at her, trying to process what she was saying. “But it's in your handwriting.”

“I made the card. A couple of them. I had meant to put one up there. But I never got 'round to it. To be honest, I was a bit uncertain if I wanted a flatmate, so I'd procrastinated. Left them in my bag.”

Emelia's eyes felt like they were about to pop out of her head. “But if you didn't put it up, how did it get there?”

Allie shrugged. “No idea. Maybe it fell out of my bag and
someone saw it and put it up? All I know is that to me you can't explain it away as coincidence. It has to be more. It has to be bigger.”

Emelia sucked in a breath. Well, she could see that. But then, if there was a God, of course He'd be interested in Allie. She was sweet, and kind, and funny. A much better person than she was.

“It wasn't about me.”

Emelia didn't know if she'd spoken her thoughts out loud or if Allie had read her mind.

“It wasn't about me.” Allie leaned forward as she repeated herself. “It was about you.”

Emelia shook her head. Her fingers twisted around themselves as she tried to process what Allie was saying. Claiming. It sounded too much like a fairy tale, from a land where the story started with “Once upon a time” . . . That had never been her story.

“That first time we met? Over the photocopier? Didn't that ever strike you as strange? That someone you'd never met would invite you to a house party?”

It had. A little. But she'd been so desperate to get out of the horrid B and B, she hadn't wanted to question it too much. “I just thought you were one of those super-friendly people who invites everyone you meet to things like that.”

Allie laughed and fished a half-dissolved marshmallow out of her mug, popping it in her mouth. “I wasn't even meant to be in that morning but my first lecture got canceled because of the weather. And I was only photocopying because my first set had landed in a puddle. And I really don't randomly invite strangers 'round. But for some reason I invited you.

“You know, the truth is that sometimes when people ask how you
know
that God exists, it's hard to come up with one compelling reason. It's often such a conglomeration of so many things that, put together, create the proof that you need. But watching all the things He's put in play the last few months around you, that's all the proof I need.”

Emelia shook her head, trying to absorb it all. It was all too big. Too crazy. Too overwhelming. To even consider for a second there might be an omniscient being who had made so many things happen for her. Because of her.

And if it was true, why now? Why didn't He step in and save her mom? Or Anita? Had she finally had enough bad stuff happen to her to get His attention?