When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

20. Emmy

Chapter 20

Emmy

T he sun dips below the horizon, the amber glow of it painting the street as Ruby and I move the last of her sculptures inside. The glass and ceramic sculptures, each one unique and beautiful, were heavy, my arms aching from the day’s efforts, and Ruby’s overgrown garden, with its chaotic beauty, is strangely forlorn now that it’s empty of her creations.

We set the final sculpture down in the living room, which now looks like a scene straight out of Alice in Wonderland, minus the white rabbit. “Thank you, Emmy.” Ruby’s voice is tired but filled with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

A smile, feeling the weariness seep into my bones. But it’s a good kind of tired, the type that comes after an honest day’s work. “No problem, Ruby. Always happy to help.”

We head back to Granny Sloane’s house, the warmth and light spilling through the door as Ruby pushes it open, a stark contrast to the darkening sky outside. The others—Patrick, Nora, and Liam—are still out, busy with the storm preparations around town.

Granny Sloane is already at the dining table, a crossword puzzle—this time from a small book—in front of her, the dictionary open beside her. She looks up as we enter, her sharp eyes assessing us. “How’s it looking out there?”

“We managed to board up all the windows in both your house and Ruby’s.” I take a seat across from her. “We also helped some of the neighbors. Everything’s as secure as we can make it.”

Ruby nods, adding, “We’ve done all we can for now. The rest is just... waiting. We’ll head into town tomorrow and see what needs to be done. Then the next day, we batten down the hatches.”

Granny Sloane gives a resigned sigh. “I wish the rest of you would evacuate. It’s very annoying that you and the kids aren’t going to the high school. You know Paddy would be angry with me about this. It’s bad enough that Patrick and Emmy are staying. If something happens to any of you, I would never forgive myself. It’s just three more people for me to be worried about.”

Ruby gives her a pointed look. “I could say the same for you, Sloane. If you’re staying, we’re all staying. I already discussed this with Liam and Nora. Paddy would want us to look out for you, too.” She retrieves a casserole from the fridge, looking as tired as I feel. “Let’s get this in the oven.”

“I’m going to take a quick shower if you don’t need me.” The weariness of the day is catching up to me, muscles I didn’t even know I had aching.

“Go, sweetie. You’ve done so much today.”

In the bathroom, the hot water cascades over me, soothing my tired body. I try not to think of Patrick, but the thought of him having stood in this same shower, the water running over his strong, broad shoulders, the masculine bulk of him, his smooth chest and ridged stomach, is hard to shake.

Closing my eyes, willing the thoughts away, focusing instead on staying useful. When I’m in my pink and yellow pajamas, a cotton dressing gown over the top, I return to the kitchen—Granny Sloane and Ruby are already seated at the table, the casserole steaming in the center.

“Dinner’s ready,” Ruby announces with a tired smile. “Thanks to Patrick.”

We eat in comfortable silence at first, the warmth of the food a soothing balm. Then, as we start to relax, conversation flows more freely. We talk about the preparations, the neighbors we helped, and the community’s response to Hurricane Karen. It’s a welcome distraction from thinking about him .

We soon finish the casserole, and Ruby clears the table while I wash the dishes. The familiar ringtone of my phone echoes through the quiet of the house just as I’m nearly done. I dry my hands quickly and excuse myself.

“I’ve got this, Emmy,” Ruby says. “Take your time.”

Heading to my bedroom, my phone buzzes insistently on the nightstand. The screen lights up with my mom’s name, and I hesitate before taking a deep breath, swiping to answer, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Emmy, where are you?” The sharp, demanding edges of her voice cut straight to the point, straight through me. “There’s a hurricane headed right for New Jersey. Are you still in that town?”

“Yes, Mom, I’m still in Harbor’s Edge.”

“You’re still there ? You should have left yesterday.”

“Actually, I’m not leaving.”

“Stop being foolish and get back to Philadelphia. You don’t need to be there.”

Everything tightens. Bracing myself. “I’m staying to do my job. I’m sorry, I won’t be back anytime soon.”

Her response is immediate and furious. “Emmy, this is ridiculous! Why are you always making things difficult? Are you trying to get attention? You’re always looking for ways to cause drama. Just like when you were younger—always needing someone to look at you, to notice you.”

A wince, her words agitating old wounds. “I’m not trying to cause drama, Mom. I’m just trying to do my job. They need me here.” Even though I’m trying to be firm—it’s always best not to show any weakness—the resolve in my voice is wavering.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “They need you? Really, Emmy, that sounds hard to believe. More like you’re just running away from your problems again.”

Fingernails digging into my thighs. “You’re the one who told me to get out of the city for a while.”

“I meant a couple of weeks at our summer home. You’re always trying to play the martyr, making everything about you. What is this really about?”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” I reply quietly, staring at the floor, focusing on the sharp of my nails pressing into my skin.

“You’re not doing anything stupid again, are you?”

I know instantly what she’s talking about, and can feel myself shutting down, my fingernails releasing, the hand unconsciously skimming the small scars on the inside of my thigh, visible if I pull up the hem of my pajama shorts.

“I’m staying, Mom.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “I can’t have this conversation anymore.”

Before she can respond, I end the call, my hands shaking a little as I set the phone down. The familiar numbness begins to settle over me, a protective shield against her relentlessness.

Subconsciously, my hand slides my shorts further up my legs, and the neat row of small scars stares at me. The ridged white of them sends spirals of shame through the cold of my chest. Sometimes it’s hard to resist the urge to open them up again, to feel the welcome sting of pain that lets me easily shut out all the other noise.

But therapy helped a lot, giving me tools to get through the urges, even though I was reluctant at first because it was Mom’s idea. It’s been years since I’ve done it, and I sit on the edge of the bed, beginning the 5-4-3-2-1 technique Kathy, my therapist, taught me.

Five things I can see: the soft, worn quilt on my bed, the nightstand, the book I've been reading, the vase of fresh flowers on the small desk, and the soft glow of the lamp in the corner.

Next are four things I can touch, three things I can hear, two things I can smell, and finally one thing I can taste. Slowly, the tension eases from my body, my mind grounding itself in the present moment. Taking a few deep breaths to steady myself until the urge fades, and my pajama shorts are pulled back down.

The room feels too small, too confining, and I want to push myself up and head back to the kitchen, to be in Ruby’s gentle presence and Granny Sloane’s steadfastness, but I don’t trust myself not to break right now. They don’t need my issues thrust in their face, don’t need my dramas. They’re good and kind and I won’t poison them.

It’s not like I’ve got anything to complain about. I had every opportunity life could give me, but trouble seems to follow me wherever I go. The small voice that knows she is right gets a little louder. But what can I do? Keep moving forward, keep my head down, do my best to stay away from dramas.

I think I need to reach out to Kathy. I haven’t talked to her in a while, but we have a session a couple of times a year. She always knows how to help me navigate these dark moments. I pull out my phone and draft a text, my fingers trembling slightly.

“Hi Kathy, it’s Emmy. I’ve just started a new job in Harbor’s Edge. Things have been going well, but I’m feeling that urge again. I won’t do it, but I need to talk.”

I hit send, feeling a small wave of relief wash over me. Within minutes, my phone buzzes with her reply.

“Hi Emmy, I’m glad you reached out. Remember, you’re stronger than the urges. Let’s schedule a session to talk through this. Let me know when you’re free. You’re not alone.”

Kathy’s words always have a way of making me feel supported. Another breath, and I’m ready to at least say goodnight.

Ruby and Granny Sloane are still chatting in the kitchen, but my mind feels miles away from this world. I head down the hall and stand in the doorway, trying to keep my voice steady, a tight smile on my face.

“Granny Sloane, do you need anything else from me tonight?” She’s already had her medication, and I helped her wash before Ruby and I moved the last of the sculptures.

“I’m fine, dear.” She looks at me for a long moment. I wonder how much of the conversation with my mom they overheard.

“Okay, in that case, I think I’m going to head to bed. I’m pretty tired. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Ruby looks up from the dishes she’s drying and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Goodnight, Emmy. Get some rest.”

Granny Sloane nods in agreement. “Goodnight. You’ve done more than your fair share today. We’ll see you in the morning.”

I head to the bathroom, brushing my teeth mechanically and applying face cream, the routine actions a small comfort. Ruby helps Granny Sloane into bed and calls out goodbye just as I’m finally climbing into bed. I try to read, but my thoughts keep drifting—although it’s not my mom I’m thinking about.

Maddy’s face looms in my mind, her bright smile, the way she always seems to come out on top, unscathed by life’s trials, by our parents’ unrelenting judgments and pressure. How does she do it? How does she manage to win at everything while I’m left picking up the pieces?

I try to summon the intense anger I should feel toward her for sleeping with Travis, for betraying me in the worst possible way. But tonight it doesn’t come. No matter what Maddy does, I can’t bring myself to hate her. She’s my sister, and part of me will always love her.

The front door opens and closes softly, followed by the sound of Patrick’s footsteps in the quiet house. My heart rate quickens as I listen to the familiar routine of him getting ready for bed. The shower starts, and a shiver runs through me. A moment later, his bare feet are padding quietly down the hallway.

He pauses outside my room and my breath catches, but then he moves on to his own room. The creak of his bed as he lays down the only sound in the still house. Even though we’ve talked about that kiss and agreed to forget about it, I’m wired just at the thought of him lying such a short distance away, skin flushed from the shower, dark hair tousled and wet. I can’t help it.

For a long time, the dark ceiling captivates my attention as I work hard to push all other thoughts away, practicing some of the relaxation techniques I learned for when sleep evades me.

I’m about to drift off to sleep when Patrick calls out something indecipherable from the next room. The tone of his voice is panicked, sending a jolt of adrenaline through me, and before I know what I’m doing, the comforter has been cast aside and I’m walking through the darkness and shadows to his bedroom.