The Emi Lost & Found Series

  I flip through the pages, recognizing myself in the illustration of the father. The two children look strikingly like Clara and Andrew.

  “This is incredible, Emi,” I laugh. “Wow. I’m in a book!”

  “Yeah, do you like it?”

  “I think it’s... incredible,” I repeat. “But I have to ask. Why is he single?” I ask nervously.

  “Okay, I didn’t write the books. And I’m not sure why he’s single. I don’t think that was ever mentioned. I don’t think it’s relevant to the story.”

  “So this isn’t your fun and creative way of telling me you’re leaving me?”

  She slaps my arm. “No, and it’s not my way of telling you that you have two children, either. But...”

  “But?”

  “He gets a girlfriend in the third book of the series,” she smiles. “The first one, this is the only one that’s finished printing, though. Want a sneak peek of book three?”

  “Of course.”

  She digs further into the box under the tissue paper and pulls out a piece of card stock with a drawing of a woman, who coincidentally looks quite similar to Emi.

  “Very nice,” I laugh. “She’s beautiful. I think he would be quite attracted to her. God, I hope she’s the one...”

  “Well... want another sneak peek?” she teases me.

  “Yes...”

  She takes another card from underneath and shows me a drawing of illustrated “us” in wedding clothes. “They get married in the fifth book.” She bites her bottom lip as her cheeks flush red.

  “That is awesome, Emi,” I laugh. “How did you convince the author to allow the characters to look like us?”

  “She happens to think we’re the perfect couple.”

  “You told her about us?”

  “Not really.” She closes the book and points to the author’s name on the cover. “Teresa wrote them. Her brother is single, raising a son on his own, and she’d noticed a lack of books that addressed that issue. So she set out to write the series.”

  “That’s a departure from her normal work, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, yes. Let’s just say that the kids will have to wait about twenty years before reading any more of her work.”

  “Right. Well, Em, this is... wow. I’m in a book!” I repeat. “I don’t think I could have ever guessed such a thing. This is really cool.”

  “I know it’s not something useful or anything you’ll go bragging to your friends about,” she says, “but I hoped you’d like it.”

  “I do, Em. It’s... something no one else could ever get me. And think how much our nieces and nephews are going to like this. It means a lot.”

  “Well, Merry Christmas.” I lean in to kiss her.

  “Merry Christmas to you. Now open yours.”

  She sighs heavily. “You always spend too much.”

  “Not this time.”

  “Alright.” She unwraps the paper carefully, then opens the small box slowly. “See?” she huffs, frustrated, as she looks at the delicate bracelet inside. It’s silver, feminine, etched with flowers and leaves on both sides of a small metal plate. Small emeralds dot both sides of it, with the letters “E” and “H” engraved in the center.

  “I spent no money on it,” I tell her.

  “Right... you just whittled it with your own two hands.”

  “No, I didn’t do that either,” I say, taking the bracelet out of the box. “This,” I say, clasping it on the wrist of her right hand, “was my grandmother’s. My grandfather bought it for her as a wedding present.” As she holds her hand out in front of her, her smile slowly grows.

  “What was her name?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “And did you search all your life for a woman with a name that started with ‘E?’” she asks. “Is that why we’re meant to be together?” she laughs.

  “Exactly,” I admit in jest.

  “It’s beautiful. It looks brand new.”

  “She only wore it on special occasions. It was a very extravagant gift to her. They didn’t have much money. But she cherished it.”

  “I love it, Jack,” she says. “Are you sure you want to give this to me? It shouldn’t go to someone in your family?”

  “You will be ‘in my family’ in seven days, remember?”

  “I know, but... you know what I mean.”

  “Actually,” I begin, “I didn’t even know about this piece until about a month ago. My father called me one night and told me that Grandma had this bracelet... and he talked to his sisters and brother, and they all agreed that I should give it to you. My aunt had it sitting in her jewelry box all these years. It doesn’t hurt that you’re the first woman since her with the right initials,” I tell her.

  “Lucky me,” she smiles. “God, thank you, Jack. It’s gorgeous.”

  “And now you have your something old...”

  “I do...”

  “And I can help you pick out something blue. I have some ideas,” I whisper in her ear before kissing it.

  “Let’s go back to bed,” she says, taking my hand and leading the way upstairs.

  CHAPTER 12

  I set the spray of flowers next to the headstone as Emi touches the letters in his name, silent. She takes my hand as she sits down on the bench next to his gravesite. I think back to last year when we visited the cemetery together. It was the first time I’d come here with her, but it wasn’t my first visit to the Nate’s final resting place.

  The other time was a few days after Emi had told me about losing their baby in the accident. I didn’t know why I had been drawn to visit the site at the time, but I had been. I knew how sad it made her, but I believed that Nate and their child were together, somewhere. I had taken a small bouquet of pink daisies to honor the little girl that Emi believed they would have had. At the time, I had not known that this child would be the only one Emi would ever be able to conceive.

  As Emi sits quietly, her thoughts kept to herself, I wonder what her life would have been like had the child lived. Would she have devoted all of her love to her daughter? Would she have been open to loving me? I still feel confident we would have been together. I would have raised the little girl as my own. A pang of sadness runs through my chest, making it tight. I squeeze Emi’s hand involuntarily. She looks up at me, a faint smile on her face.

  “Love you,” she says. I lean in to kiss her on the cheek. She holds my face to hers, though, and brushes her lips to mine. Slowly, the touch of her soft lips spreads warmth throughout my body on this cold, winter day, the second anniversary of his death.

  “How do you feel?” I ask her.

  “I feel okay,” she says. “I feel like we’re doing the right thing.”

  “Good,” I smile, kissing her a little deeper. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

  “Me neither,” she says. “But I don’t want to go stay with Anna tonight,” she whines. “I just want to be with you.”

  “You’re the one who said it would be bad luck... I’m pretty sure this was your idea.”

  “It was, I know,” she concedes. “I’ll get you for the rest of my life.” She smiles dreamily.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” a voice greets us from behind. Emi stands and blushes, letting go of my hand to meet Donna a few feet away. Nate’s mother carries a bouquet of exotic, mixed flowers.

  “How are you, Donna?” she asks, her voice sympathetic.

  “I’m good, Emi. That arrangement is beautiful,” she adds, setting her bouquet next to the one Emi had selected this morning. I stand to hug her, her embrace lingering. “How are you, Jackson?”

  “I’m fine, Donna, thank you.” We exchange a glance, her presence not a surprise to me. “James didn’t come?” I ask.

  “He thought this was something we should do together, just the three of us,” she answers. I try to inconspicuously shake my head, an effort to let her know that Emi was not aware of our plans.

  “What is?” Emi asks, hearing what was intended to be a private conv
ersation.

  “Um, coming here,” Donna says, catching on too late. “Just remembering him today.”

  “Oh,” Emi says, confused.

  “No, Em,” I admit. “When I said I had something to show you today... it’s really something we both have to show you. It’s something we’ve been working on.”

  “Oh!” Emi repeats, this time with more enthusiasm, but then her confused expression once again comes across her face.

  “I’ll give you two a moment alone while I go heat up the car.” Emi looks back to see that my Volvo is the only car there. “Take as much time as you need.”

  “Okay.”

  I take a deep breath as I start the car. I’m more nervous about this day than I am about the day I proposed– or about tomorrow, the day we are supposed to get married. If she doesn’t like the venue, it will surely put a cloud over what is meant to be the happiest day of our lives.

  A few minutes later, I help Donna and Emi into the warm car.

  “Are you ready?” I ask her.

  “I guess,” she smiles tentatively. “I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on.”

  “Don’t worry,” Donna assures Emi. “You’ll love it.”

  I wish I had as much confidence as she does. A short time later, just before we pull up in front of the building two blocks away from our home, I ask Emi to close her eyes. She shoots me a sideways glance before complying. “I’ll help you out of the car.”

  Donna and I both take an arm and lead Emi into the front door of the first floor of the two story building.

  “Where are we?” Emi asks.

  “We’re at the venue for the reception,” I tell her. “And just so you know, it’s okay to cry.”

  “Jack...” she whines. “Am I not going to like it?”

  “No, that won’t be it... go ahead and open your eyes.”

  I watch Emi’s face carefully as she slowly peels her eyes open. Her head is still as her eyes survey the room slowly, cautiously. She inspects the large open space, the carefully chosen lighting in the room, the colorful illustrations on the wall, once again looking confused.

  “It’s not finished yet,” I tell her.

  “Okay...” she says, unsure. “Where is this place?”

  “Come look around.”

  She turns to glance at another wall, her face perking up when she sees a set of familiar drawings. “Those are mine!” she exclaims, seeing the illustrations she had done for an article last summer. “Why are my illustrations on the wall?” She seems happy...

  “Come look at this one...” I encourage her, taking her by the hand and leading her to Nate’s mom. Donna stands next to a framed print centered in a six-foot space on another wall. The picture is a colorful abstract painting of a boy and his father.

  “I don’t recognize it...” Emi says, her eyes examining it, “but it’s colors are so rich. It’s beautiful... it reminds me of...” She gasps quietly, both hands lifting to cover her mouth. “Nathaniel J. Wilson, 1984,” she says, touching the glass that covers the child-version of his signature. Tears begin to stream quickly as she smiles in awe. “Was that his dad?”

  “It was,” Donna says, taking Emi’s hand in her own. “He painted that when he was six from a picture I took of them. I locked it away a long time ago, when his father died. I couldn’t look at it, seeing them together in the painting, but knowing the loneliness Nathan felt when he died. It brings me comfort now, though. They’re together.”

  “You should keep it,” Emi encourages Nate’s mother.

  “It belongs here now,” she answers.

  “Where is this place?” Emi repeats her original question. “What have you guys done?”

  “Well, Em, since you gave up the loft, your space... I wanted to give you one back. This is just part of it, by the way.”

  “Well, what is it, exactly?”

  “It’s Nate’s Art Room,” I smile. “This is a non-profit that we founded, in his name. We used some of the money you put aside from the sale of the loft for it.”

  “Nate’s Art Room,” Emi repeats, backing away from Nate’s artwork and looking at the rest of the room. In the corner, a small child’s table is set up with four chairs, the only furniture in the room.

  “Yes,” Donna says. “It’s a place where school-aged kids can come to be creative... it will be staffed like a day care, but it will have enrollment criteria for underprivileged kids who are artistically gifted.”

  “We’ll supply all the tools, and a safe and quiet place to go... so they can just create,” I add.

  She looks at me, eyes wide.

  “There’s a secluded outdoor space down that hallway, too. We’ll start landscaping it as it gets closer to spring, but it already has a huge oak tree in one corner.”

  “What a beautiful idea...”

  “We’re working with other local artists,” I tell her. “In fact, they helped decorate the place. And they’ll be coming down monthly to volunteer their time with the kids.”

  “He would really like this.” Emi’s voice is quiet.

  “Yes, he would,” Donna confirms. “But do you like it?”

  “I do!” Emi exclaims. “And this is my space?” she asks us.

  “Well, technically, yes, it’s all yours... but you have your own space upstairs to work. We’ll get to that.”

  “There’s an upstairs?” She looks around for a stairway, peeking down the hallway.

  “The stairs are outside. Did you want to go up and see?”

  “In just a second,” she says, pulling me to the corner with the kid’s table. “I love this, I do... but um... what does this have to do with the reception?” she asks, a little nervous, as I thought she might be.

  “We’re having the reception here,” I explain. “Don’t worry, there are decorators coming tonight to hang fabric around the walls, and install some additional lighting. Anna’s been very involved, making your ideas come to life. The drawings will be hidden for the ceremony.”

  “And this table?” she asks.

  “Well, there will be kids at the reception, so it will likely stay. But we’ll have adult tables, just like the ones you wanted.”

  “Okay,” she sighs, relieved. “So are we getting married outside then?” she asks.

  “No. Come with me.” I open the front door for her, where Donna had exited a few minutes before us. Emi walks toward the car. “Over here, Em.” I motion toward an iron staircase on the side of the building, hoping she doesn’t glance up to notice the lettering– NATHANIEL J. WILSON GALLERY– that was installed above the windows.

  “Second floor?”

  “After you...”

  Emi gasps and stumbles back into my waiting arms when she opens the door. “That’s his painting... from LA... on that wall...”

  “It’s on loan from the restaurant owner,” I tell her. “Does it bother you that it’s here?”

  She walks in slowly, approaching the large mural. “Wow, it matches your hair,” I say, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of me at the realization.

  “It makes me sad,” she admits. “It made me sad when I first saw it. I know his style. I knew the emotions he put into his paintings.”

  She’s quiet as she touches the paint.

  “It matches my hair because it was painted for me,” she explains. “He told me he was imagining what his life would be like without me in it... when he painted it.” Emi tries to hide her tears from me, but I immediately walk to her, taking her into my arms and holding her. She grips me tightly.

  “Why is it here?” she whispers. The large mural had been such a distraction, she didn’t even see the other paintings and prints that hung on the walls and display spaces.

  “Well... the artwork you and Donna have shouldn’t be hidden away in some basement... or in Kate’s warehouse... or even in our homes. This is a gallery we opened, to showcase his work... and it will host shows for other artists, too.” I hand her the handkerchief I had brought with me, knowing I woul
d need it at some point today.

  “We’re getting married here?” she asks.

  “I hope so.”

  She begins to walk away from me, looking around the gallery, still sniffling, her heels clicking lightly on the hardwood floor. She finally begins to see the other pieces of art around the room.

  “It is very pretty here... and probably just the right size...”

  “So...” I wait for her consent.

  “Where did these come from?” she asks, continuing her discovery of the large room.

  “On loan from other galleries and artists, for the wedding. Anna, Jen and Kelly scoured the city and found the most beautiful pieces around... and we made arrangements to have shows for them in return.”

  “They are gorgeous. This one is spectacular,” she says, eyeing a large painting secured to a wall all by itself, a bold close-up of three daisies.

  “Now, that one,” I tell her, walking up behind her, “I had commissioned for you. That’s for you.” I put my arms around her and kiss her temple, glancing at her reaction. A smile returns to her face. “It fits perfectly over the bed,” I continue.

  “You give me too much,” she admonishes.

  “You deserve so much more,” I argue. She shakes her head. “So, right there,” I say, pointing to the corner between her painting and the window, “that’s where we’ll exchange our vows. And outside that window, you see that park?”

  She nods.

  “It will create a beautiful backdrop for our wedding.”

  “It doesn’t look like much right now,” she says, her eyes a little distant, but pointed in the direction of the barren trees.

  “Just trust,” I urge her. “Anna has planned every detail to make this a perfect wedding. She’s listened to everything you’ve asked for, and I know it will be the wedding of your dreams.”