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The sheets twist around my legs, scorchingly hot and too cold as I roll over. I have been stuck in that space between sleep and wake. Every time I drift, deeper, cold dreams come, rousing me even as my body demands I rest.
I can hear my mom crying in Emma’s room, and the thump, thump, thump of Alex’s crutches as he paces back and forth, no doubt at a loss about what to do.
Sleep, I urge myself. But my body continues to rebel. I'm too cold with the blankets off and too hot with them on. Awful dreams chase me out of restful sleep. Exhaustion won't allow me to completely wake up. And the dreadful cycle continues no matter what I do.
Outside my door, I can still hear Alex pacing. The sound of my mom crying doesn’t ease.
I drift off, but slumber brings no peace. Dreams about Emma lost, alone, in danger flood my sleeping mind in the form of nightmares and what ifs. What if someone had kidnapped her? What if she'd been crossing railroad tracks and got hit by a train? What if she’d walked through a wooded area and was lost and hurt?
I jerk awake after a particularly horrifying nightmare and sit up, drenched in sweat as my heart hammers my ribs with enough force to take my breath away.
“Dinner,” Alex says, peeking his head into my room. He hesitates, then comes in, opening his arms to me. I move into his hug, grateful for the love and comfort. “We’ll find her.” He strokes my hair with one hand before squeezing me and letting go.
“I know,” I say, my voice betraying my bone-tired weariness.
I follow him out into the kitchen, where mom seems to just be going through the motions, her red, puffy eyes empty. Her pale skin and the pain in her face leave me aching.
I hug her, holding her close for a moment. “I love you,” I whisper, kissing her temple. Without a word, I let her go and help set the table, struggling when I get to Emma’s place. Do I set a spot for her? Or leave it empty?
I finally decide to set her place in case she comes home. As we settle down to eat, her empty chair seems to be screaming at us, demanding our attention. I feel helpless as I take bite after tasteless bite, unaware of what we’re even eating. I try not to stare at Emma’s place, but I can’t help myself.
I glance at Alex, who’s staring down at his food with a miserable look on his face. Mom seems to be staring off into space, her ashen skin making me worry more about her.
“Thank you for dinner, Mom,” I whisper, trying to bring her out of it and bring some sense of normalcy to the moment.
“It’s Emma’s favorite,” she says, her gaze still focused on something I can’t see. It hits me then that she made Emma’s favorite meal in hopes she’d return. My throat closes and I can’t swallow. Reaching for my glass, I wonder why we’re not having wine with dinner instead. We could use the relaxation.
Alex pushes his food around his plate as if he forgot why we’re here. Then he takes a bite and chews with no expression. I pull my phone out of my pocket and place it next to my plate, fully aware I’m violating mom’s “no phone at the table” rule. I have a feeling she’s okay with it this one time.
Putting the device screen down, I try to focus on food, but every bite is like ash on my tongue and a bowling ball in my belly.
Staring at my phone, I have the overwhelming urge to send Emma a message, to reach out to Fredrick, to learn something, anything. The silence is swallowing me whole, and I can’t stand it.
Picking up my phone, I feel my brother’s attention snap to me. I type out a text to Emma, then take a picture of dinner. Mom made your favorite. We’re missing you.
Next, I message Fredrick. Any updates? I’m really grateful for your help. I don’t know how I’d do this without you. Send. It feels wrong to sit and eat while he’s out searching for my sister.
I don’t have to wait long for his response. I’m still looking.
“Fredrick is still looking for her,” I say, hoping the words will bring them some comfort.
“Any news?” Alex asks, his expression filling with hope as he glances at me.
“Not yet.” I wish I had better news, but I’m not going to lie to them and plant false hope in their heads.
“Maybe we should-” Alex's voice falters, as if afraid to voice his thought.
I'm curious and gently persuade him to continue. “Maybe we should what?” I ask in a gentle tone as mom ignores both of us, instead staring off into the distance as shadows dance in her eyes.
Alex won't even look at me. Instead, he continues pushing food around his plate with his fork. “Maybe we should let her go. She is eighteen, after all.”
Mom’s fork lets out a deafening shriek as it drags across her plate. My brother and I glance at her as the sound sends a tickle of disgust up my spine.
Mom doesn't say a word, and Alex and I continue to study her, worried about the pain and fear in her eyes.
Alex finally gathers his courage enough to speak. “We need to think about the future.” The words he leaves unsaid are that she might not be a part of that future.
And for the first time, I wrestle with the thought that maybe this is exactly what she wants. Maybe she wanted to leave.
