When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

51. Emmy

Chapter 51

Emmy

I drive Betty along the winding road away from Harbor’s Edge, past the Pines. The road circles back toward the coast until it runs parallel to the beach, and the aftermath of the storm is everywhere. Trees have been felled alongside one side of the road, their massive trunks scattered like toothpicks, and workmen are busily repairing the grand houses that line the beach on the other side.

The drive passes quickly, my thoughts racing with everything that’s happened, the pain at saying goodbye to Patrick, the fact I won’t be going back to Harbor’s Edge, how I can’t breathe if I think about it for too long. Approaching my parents’ beach home, the towering glass and steel structure comes into view. It’s huge, expensive, and designed to offer a perfect view of the water.

We’ve spent many weekends here when I was growing up, but we never ventured out much past the upscale community that surrounds it, swimming at the beach just outside the house, and eating at the golf club and various restaurants overlooking the ocean close by. I’m only an hour from Harbor’s Edge, but I’d never even been there until I took that job with the O’Connors.

Pulling Betty into the familiar driveway, taking in the sleek cars gleaming under the cold winter sun. We’ve got visitors. A deep sense of dread settles in my stomach, pulling me further down.

I wish I was anywhere else, but for now, I have nowhere to go, and I force myself to get out of the car, leaving my suitcase inside. I’ll get it later. The house, grand and luxurious, looms in front of me.

The housekeeper, Charlotte, lets me in, her uniform neat over her round form, her smile kind—she’s worked for us since I was a kid. Stepping inside, everything is all polished wood, elegant chandeliers, and expensive furnishings.

Mom’s voice is coming from the sitting room, smooth and charming, interwoven with the laughter of our wealthy neighbors. The last thing I want to do is talk to my parents or see company, but I have to walk right past the sitting room to go upstairs to my room.

“Emmy, darling!” my mom calls out as she spots me in the hallway, her eyes intense over her smile. “You remember the Whitakers from down the road. We went skiing with them and their children, gosh—it must have been fifteen years ago. Everyone, this is my other daughter, Emmy.”

“Hello,” I mumble, barely making eye contact. My voice is lost in the sea of conversation that starts up again, and I manage a weak smile before excusing myself.

Making my way upstairs, Mom’s voice reaches me. “I’m sorry, I have to apologize for Emmy. She’s going through a rough patch. You know how young people can be, so self-absorbed with their own problems.”

Their laughter follows me up the stairs, sharp and stinging. I close the bedroom door behind me, the sounds of the guests talking to my parents dulling in the background. Leaning against it for a moment, I catch my breath before turning.

The room is just the same as it was last time I was here, a luxurious but bland space. Beige walls, a pristine white bedspread, and carefully chosen, neutral-toned furniture make it seem more like a hotel room. There are no photos, no posters, no personal touches.

I drop my bag on the bed and move to the window, staring out at the manicured lawn and Betty parked beside the expensive cars. The life downstairs, filled with pretenses and polite facades, is so far removed from the reality I’ve been living in Harbor’s Edge.

The real world, where people like Patrick and Granny Sloane exist, feels more authentic than anything here. I don’t belong in this place. But I can’t go back to Harbor’s Edge, either. Not anymore.

Pulling out my laptop, my fingers trembling as I type an email to my supervisor in Philadelphia, requesting another assignment and explaining that things aren’t working out in Harbor’s Edge. I hesitate for a moment before hitting send, a knot tightening in my stomach, making me feel sick.

Next, I draft an email to Ruby, my eyes blurring as I apologize and tender my resignation. Each keystroke feels like a betrayal, stabbing at my heart, cutting into me. Once I’m done, I pause, reread the email, and then delete it all, the pain in my chest expanding, pressure against my ribs making them feel like they might snap.

The thought of leaving everything behind, of never seeing Patrick again, of giving up on the new life I was building, is too much to bear. I decide to write to Ruby later, when my thoughts are clearer, hoping I can find the right words to explain why I can’t keep working with Granny Sloane.

A muffled conversation drifts through the air conditioning vents, my own name spoken aloud, pulling me out of my thoughts. I recognize the voice immediately—my mother’s polished tone, followed by the laughter of the Whitakers.

“Emmy’s always been a bit… unpredictable. And lately it’s just been one thing after another. To be honest, we’re not sure what to do about her. She was engaged to this great guy and, well, she let the whole thing implode before running away to Harbor’s Edge ju st in time for Hurricane Karen. She refused to evacuate! That’s the kind of thing we have to deal with regularly.”

My stomach twists, a cold knot of dread forming. I strain to hear more.

“Yes, well,” Mrs. Whitaker replies, her voice tinged with faux concern, “I noticed she seemed rather… difficult, even all those years ago.”

My mother sighs. “It’s been hard with her. Emmy’s always struggled to keep herself together. Total opposite of Maddy, by the way. We’ve tried everything, but she has a tendency to spiral.”

The words punch through me. I bite down on my lip, the taste of blood sharp in my mouth. My vision blurs with tears, but I don’t move. I can’t move.

“You know,” my mother continues, her voice lowering conspiratorially, “there was a time when we thought she’d end up in a facility. Her episodes were that bad. I fear this little stint in Harbor’s Edge is just another one of her phases. She’s not stable enough to handle real life.”

Mrs. Whitaker murmurs something sympathetic, but I can’t make it out. Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out everything else, the walls closing in, the air growing thin. My mother’s words echo, each one a knife twisting deeper into my soul, the pressure inside growing, pressing against my ribs.

Spiraling. Unstable. Episodes. Phases. The labels she’s put on me, the way she’s dismissed every hard thing I’ve ever been through—to say nothing of the fact that she’s totally rewritten history when it comes to Travis—it’s all too much. I was right to dread coming here. All I’ve found is more pain.

Tears stream down my face, and I wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth, trying to hold myself together. But the cracks are widening, the pain slipping out from the dark places, expanding, strangling.

The impossible hurt of it all lances across my heart, when a sudden urge to open up the scars races through me. A scream is building in my belly. It’s loud and tears at my insides. It’s calling Patrick’s name, expanding until it fills my lungs, swelling over my tongue, and all I want to do is open my mouth and let it out until it drowns out everything else.

It’s like all my old pain has come rushing back like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me, time becoming a fluid thing, bending back in on itself. I’m that scared kid again, the one whose own mother wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell the truth about what happened with my talent coach.

The walls close in, and there’s no way out, no light at all. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but it’s impossible. I miss Patrick so badly I can hardly draw a breath, the darkness inside expanding with every passing second, swallowing me whole.

Laughter comes from downstairs, but it feels a million miles away, as if it belongs to a different world entirely. On automatic, I head for the ensuite and open the cupboards under the sink, the scars on my legs burning.

It’s there, right where I left it. A small packet of blades taped to the underside of the bottom shelf. The tape snags, tears as I try to pull it off. It’s been there for so long.

Standing, staring at myself in the mirror. Exhausted shadows darken my eyes. The blades go beside me on the vanity. A splash of water over my face, trying in vain to ground myself, to find the five things I need to focus on, but all I can feel is the pain surging inside me, consuming me. And I need to let it out.

The door opens: it’s Maddy. This is the first time we’ve been alone since I found her fucking Travis, and the scream is so loud I cover my ears, remembering too late that the blades are sitting out in plain sight beside the sink.

Maddy walks closer, looking at the blades, and then at me. The silence lengthens, each of us watching the other in the mirror, the reflection between us somehow making it easier to hold her gaze. Everything burns .

Maddy sucks in a breath, holds it. “Are you okay?”

“I want you to leave me alone.” My hands move to the edge of the sink, gripping so tightly my knuckles are white. My breath is shallow and quick, and the scream is so loud it’s like a roaring hurricane in my ears. The laughter and conversation from downstairs barely penetrate the sound, my eyes locked on the blades.

“Emmy,” she says softly. “I want to say I’m sorry. Please don’t do that. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Go away, Maddy,” I manage to say through clenched teeth.

She doesn’t go. Instead, she steps closer, still looking at me in the mirror. “I’m sorry about what happened with Travis. But everything’s going to be okay.”

I can’t hold it in any longer. The scream erupts. I spin around, my voice echoing off the tiled walls, all my anger focused on her. Shouting, gaze burning: “How dare you come in here and act like it was nothing! How dare you! I’ve lost everything. Everything. You and Mom and Dad should never have come to Harbor’s Edge. Were you planning on making a move on Patrick, too?”

Maddy looks shocked. Completely, utterly shocked at my outburst, at the fact I’m shouting at her, blaming her when she’s always the one who gets away with everything, while I sit there, passive and quiet, taking all her shit, all the shit from Mom and Dad.

Her face crumples, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know who Patrick is, and I know it wasn’t nothing. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m so sorry.”

Her words do nothing to quell the storm inside me. I’m shouting again, words echoing off the bathroom’s hard edges, all my pain about Patrick bubbling up and mixing with my anger at her betrayal until they’re one and the same.

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t fix anything. I don’t give a shit about Travis. Not anymore. But you’re my sister. How could you do that to me? How can I ever trust you again?”

Downstairs, the chatter has stopped. The silence is deafening—the guests can hear us. But I don’t care. I can’t hold back anymore. My anger, my hurt, the expanding pain inside, it all comes pouring out of my vicious mouth.

And Maddy stands there, the roll of her shoulders shuddering in time with her cries, looking at me like she’s never seen me before. Like she has no idea who this person is in front of her who looks like her sister but acts like someone else entirely. She scrubs at her eyes, her sobs ugly and heaving.

“Please, Emmy, please forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to forgive me.”

“I can’t just forgive you,” I shout. “You did the worst thing imaginable to me. The worst!”

She drops to her knees on the mat on the cold tiled floor, breaking, folding in on herself, tears and snot dripping down her pretty face, mixing with the dark streaks of mascara running down the round of her cheeks.

“Please, Emmy,” she whispers.

And for a long moment, there’s just the sound of her shuddering breaths.