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Emma
Emma didn’t know where to go. She had nowhere to go. She was too tired to go anywhere. She lay down on her lawn and looked at the sky. The lights from town prevented her from seeing most of the stars, and this made her even angrier. “Why, God? How? How could you let this happen? Are you even real?” She paused, waiting for him to answer, desperate for a sign, any sign, even something that she could pretend was a sign. But there was nothing. “You’re not real, are you? It’s all a lie? The Isabelles of the world are really in charge? And the weak people cluster around wooden crosses and get excited about heaven because this life stinks so bad? Is that the truth of the world?”
She heard a noise and rolled onto her side. Mrs. Patterson’s porch light was on. That hadn’t been on before, had it? Had she ever seen that light on before?
“What’s your name?” a female voice called.
Emma squinted, trying to see its source. “Emma.”
“Come on, Emma. Come on inside.”
It wasn’t until Mrs. Patterson’s door closed that Emma realized it had been open an inch. Mrs. Patterson? She was inviting her into her house? Well, of course she was. This was the strangest evening of her life, so why wouldn’t it get even stranger? She was tempted to accept the invitation, but she couldn’t quite will her legs to work. But then she heard her parents coming—both of them—and she was on her feet and scurrying toward Mrs. Patterson’s door.
When she reached it, there was no one there. She knocked softly.
“Come on in.”
She slowly opened the door and stepped tentatively inside. The kitchen was dimly lit and smelled like molasses. Instantly, Emma felt welcome and safe. She shut the door behind her. “Do you mind if I turn off your porch light? I don’t want my parents to find me.”
A woman stepped out of the shadows. She was remarkably normal looking. She had short, neat hair and wore silky pajamas. She didn’t look like a hermit or a psychopath or a witch. She wasn’t nearly as old as Emma had imagined she would be. She gave Emma a tentative smile and reached past her to flick a switch. “There. You’re hidden away, just like me.”
Emma let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Come on in. Have a seat. Tell me why you’re lying in the middle of the lawn crying.”
Emma followed her into a living room that was so welcoming she almost cried. Mrs. Patterson gestured toward a couch, and Emma gratefully sank into it. “I know you don’t know me, but would you mind if I took a little nap here?”
“Of course not. Can I get you anything to eat or drink first? I’m all out of berry pie,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “but I’ve got some ginger snap cookies.”
Emma hadn’t thought she was hungry, but the mention of ginger snaps made her mouth water. “That would be awesome. Thank you.”
“You want some milk to go with it?”
The mention of milk made Emma miss Mary Sue. She shouldn’t have run off like that. She hoped Mary Sue didn’t think she was mad at her. She hoped when this was all over that they could be real friends.
Would this ever be all over?
“Or hot chocolate?”
Emma realized she hadn’t answered her about the milk.
“Sorry, I’m so tired that my brain’s not really working. I would love some hot chocolate. Thank you.”
“You betcha. Coming right up.”
Emma woke up to the scent of ginger and sat up straight to take the plate from Mrs. Patterson’s hands.
Mrs. Patterson set a steaming mug down on the small coffee table in front of her.
“Thank you for inviting me in. I really needed a place to hide. Things aren’t so good at my house right now.” She stopped talking. All her life she’d been so private about her family life. She’d been trained to be that way. As a pastor’s family, they lived in a fishbowl. They had to keep their boundaries firm. But right now, she cared little about boundaries. Apparently, those had been lies too. She took a bite of cookie. It was delicious and made her feel better from head to toe. As she chewed, she realized that Mrs. Patterson might not know who she was. She swallowed and then hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “I live right next door.”
“I know who you are. I’m not so insulated as people think.”
“Do you ...” She realized she was about to be nosy and stopped herself.
“Go ahead and ask.” Her smile was soft and sincere.
“Do you ever go out?”
She shook her head. “No need to.”
Emma took another bite and then looked around the room. “You have a really nice house. It’s ...” Again, she’d been on the verge of putting her foot in her mouth. She really had to get some sleep.
“You know what? You don’t really know me, and I don’t really know you, but let’s decide right now to be friends. Deal?”
Emma giggled. “Sure.”
“Sure. Good. And now that we’re friends, let me tell you a little something about me. Do you know what pretenses are?”
Emma had heard the word, but she didn’t dare try to define it. She shook her head and polished off the first cookie.
“A pretense is a false showing of something. It’s playing make-believe. It’s essentially lying. People do it all the time, but I don’t. So right now, if you have a question you want to ask, go ahead and ask it. Don’t tiptoe around pretending to be polite. You got something on your mind, just say it.”
Emma was stunned. This was a very different worldview than the one that had been drilled into her head. Everyone is watching. We must always be at the top of our game. We must never offend anyone. Emma swallowed hard. “I had a thought, and at first it was a compliment, but then I realized it kind of wasn’t.”
Mrs. Patterson nodded. “You were going to say that my house is much nicer on the inside than the outside.”
Emma nodded.
“Go ahead and eat your other cookie. You’re absolutely right. It’s hard to keep up with the outside of a house when you never go outside. I pay people to mow, rake, and shovel, but that’s about all I manage for outside maintenance.”
Emma busied herself with her cookie.
“And now you’re wondering why I never go outside?”
Emma gave her a small nod.
“So go ahead and ask.”
She swallowed. “Why don’t you ever go outside?”
“And now I will not worry about offending you and tell you that that is none of your business!” She tittered. “Finish your cookie. You’re welcome to get some sleep, but we should probably tell your parents you’re safe. I’m sure your mother is worried sick.”
Emma didn’t miss the fact that she’d said “your mother,” not “your parents” or “your father.” Was that a coincidence, or did even the recluse neighbor know more about Emma’s life than Emma did? “I don’t want to leave,” Emma said. “If you don’t mind, I feel so safe here. And I am so tired. But you’re right. I don’t want to scare my mother.” She reached for her back pocket, unsure if her phone would still be there. It was. “I’ll call her.”
