Page 45 of The Secrets We Hide
Emmy could still remember the sensation of her heart spinning like a kaleidoscope inside of her chest, and she’d been able to see all the facets of their lives together refracted in vivid color—Myrna reading to her when she was a child, Myrna rushing to pick her up after she fell from her bike, Myrna kneading the muscle spasms in Emmy’s back when she was pregnant with Cole, Myrna lifting her up every time Jonah had knocked her down, Myrna kissing her head and stroking back her hair in the safety of her kitchen.
A sound had broken the moment. As with everything else, Emmy couldn’t recall the stray details. A car door slamming outside. The rumble of the pipes as someone turned on the shower upstairs. They had both pulled away at the same time. And then Myrna had looked at Emmy with alarmed confusion, and instead of a mother seeing her child, Myrna had seen a stranger.
Before Emmy could say anything, her mother had mumbled a faint apology and walked away.
Now, Emmy sat back on her heels. Let herself breathe. Steadied her shaking hands.
She found her phone in her pocket. Dialed the first number she’d dialed in the tenth grade when she was finally allowed to have a cell phone.
Twelve years had passed since Hannah had seen Emmy’s name come up on her caller ID. Her voice was filled with panic when she answered. “What’s wrong?”
Emmy wiped her nose with her sleeve. She’d managed to find some tears after all. “What are you doing?”
Hannah let out a long shush of breath. “Aunt Barb took Dave for the night. I’m in my pajamas listening to my Lilith Fair playlist and eating a leftover fried pork chop sandwich on white bread over the sink.”
Emmy laughed, and the release was like a pressure valve opening inside her chest. “That sounds amazing.”
“What about you?”
She looked around the deserted road. Made herself stand up. “Going for a walk.”
“It’s past midnight.”
“I didn’t have any fried pork chops to make a sandwich.”
“Touché.”
Emmy wiped her nose again. If she went any farther, she’d be at Celia and Tommy’s. She turned, started walking back toward the house. “There’s a reality show about making pottery that I used to watch with Mom. It was soothing, you know? Repetitive. Everybody being kind to everybody.”
“That sounds nice.”
Emmy sniffed. “Couple of months ago, we were watching it on the couch, and out of the blue, Mom looked at me and said, ‘I could never be a nudist. How would I clean my glasses?’”
Hannah laughed. “She was always so funny.”
“I’m sorry I let you go.” Emmy blurted out the words. She had no idea where the thought had come from and no desire to trace it back. “When you told me that I should leave Jonah, I didn’t listen. And when I finally managed to get away, I was embarrassed that I stayed with him for so long. And I blamed you for telling me the truth when I should’ve blamed myself for not listening to you sooner.”
“I know,” Hannah said. “But I’m glad you got away.”
“He never hit me,” Emmy said. “Not with his fists.”
Hannah’s silence had a familiar heaviness. Emmy thought about Allison, all the excuses she had made for Bill. Emmy could say it was different with Jonah—that she’d never been sent to the hospital, that she’d never really feared for her life—but arguing about who had it worse took the focus away from the fact that it never should’ve happened in the first place.
“He slapped me. Always with an open hand so he wouldn’t leave a mark, but he slapped me. Grabbed my arm. Squeezed my wrist so hard I could feel the bones moving. And he pushed me down the stairs when I was pregnant with Cole. I told everybody I tripped, but—”
Emmy touched her fingers to her cheeks. Her skin felt like it was on fire.
“After that, I just complied. I never fought back. I never told him to get the hell out of my house. I had a damn gun on my hip. I could’ve stopped him, but I was scared. And I look at him now and I think, ‘What the hell was wrong with you? No wonder Hannah was so fed up.’”
“Em—”
“He’s nothing. Just a stupid, inconsequential shitstain who showed up at his ex-mother-in-law’s funeral stoned.” Emmy had reached the house. She kept walking toward the other end of the road. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m so damn sorry.”
“Well,” Hannah said. “Neither one of us made good choices, but we each got an amazing son for our foolishness, and that ain’t nothin’.”
Emmy felt her cheeks glowing with shame again. She was in no position to take credit for Cole after the way she’d treated him today. “Jude thinks I have PTSD from taking care of Myrna.”
“Do you think she’s right?”
