All We Have Is Now

  “I’m so excited,” Kailee says. “We haven’t been here in forever.”

  “It’s been a long time for me, too,” Emerson says.

  “I didn’t even know this place was here,” Vince says as he opens his door. “The way you described it to me, it sounds like a tiny version of Disneyland.”

  When they get out of the car, they look up and take in the whimsical buildings, nestled in front of the lush green forest. “I wouldn’t go that far,” Emerson says. “But it’s cute, in its own charming way. You’ll see.”

  They make their way up to the entrance, Teddy pulling ahead of all of them, on his retractable leash. Emerson finds herself feeling a little envious of the dog’s happiness. Pure bliss.

  After all, he doesn’t know what’s coming later.

  Emerson and Vince walk hand in hand behind the girls, along the trail that takes them to the first “attraction.” It’s cool under the shade of the tall trees. It feels nice.

  Emerson takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh scent of pine and cedar. “You’re not mad, are you?” she asks Vince.

  “Not mad. A little disappointed, maybe. I want to make sure there’s nothing left undone as far as your family goes, that’s all.”

  She squeezes his hand. “I know. You’re a good man, Charlie Brown.”

  He runs his hand down the Charlie Brown shirt and smiles. They come to Storybook Castle, complete with a small bridge that takes you over a moat filled with water and pastel-colored turrets up high. They step onto the bridge and through the door, where a colorful toy soldier painted on the wall greets them.

  They turn the corner as one of the girls up ahead says, “Oh, look. Let’s go down to the dungeon!”

  As they run ahead, Vince stops and turns to face Emerson. “I don’t know. What do you think? You scared of the dungeon?”

  “Are you kidding? Dude, that dungeon is posh compared to how we’ve been living.”

  He takes Emerson’s head in his hands, leans down, and kisses her. Softly. Slowly. When he pulls away, he asks, “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “Easy to say that now,” she says, smiling. “Now that we have a BMW, more cash than we need, and an amusement park all to ourselves. Yes, Vince, it was pretty bad.”

  He takes her hand again and they walk toward the staircase, where the words YE OLDE DUNGEON are written on the wall, along with an arrow pointing down.

  “I guess I didn’t care that much,” he says, stopping again. “I mean, I was with you. Most of the time, that’s all that mattered.”

  “What do you mean, most of the time?”

  “Well, you know. There were those days when all I wanted was a big old cheeseburger, and nothing in the world could make that better.”

  Her stomach rumbles at the thought. “Great. Thanks a lot. Now all I’m going to be able to think about is how much I want a cheeseburger.”

  Vince narrows his eyes and moves in close. Then he pushes her up against the wall, pressing his body close to hers. He kisses her like they’ve been apart for a hundred years. Like time and distance and everything else have disappeared, and all that remains is the two of them. They stay wrapped around each other for a couple of minutes, until they hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

  When he moves away, eyeing the staircase, Emerson stays standing against the wall, her legs like rubber. She takes a moment to catch her breath before she says, “Well, I guess that’s one way to get me to forget about cheeseburgers.”

  THE FOUR of them giggle their way through Storybook Lane. There’s Humpty Dumpty and Little Miss Muffet. There’s the Little Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe with a giant slide they go down again and again. There’s Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and the mine where the Seven Dwarfs go to work every day (presumably singing “hi ho, hi ho”).

  It’s a wonderful afternoon for the six-year-olds inside each of them.

  When they take a seat at a picnic table after they’ve seen everything there is to see, they can’t help but notice a family sitting at a table a few spots over.

  There’s a mom, a dad, a little boy, and a little girl. The little girl says something and they all laugh like it’s the funniest thing ever. The mom reaches over and wipes the boy’s nose with a Kleenex.

  It is that small act of tenderness, of concern, of love that hits Emerson like an arrow to the heart. And she’s not the only one.

  “I think we should go,” Kailee says. “We’ve been gone a while, and if Mom comes home, she’ll worry when we’re not there.”

  “If she comes home,” Kendall says, picking at a piece of chipped paint on the table.

  “She’s gonna come home,” Kailee says. “She has to.”

  “No, actually, she doesn’t,” Kendall says.

  The back-and-forth is familiar to Emerson. One voice inside her head saying it like it is. The other voice telling it the way she wished it would be. It’s reality versus fantasy, and even though you know which one will probably win, you can’t help but root for the underdog.

  Just once, you want the fantasy to come true.

  Just once.

  Up until the day her mom told her she needed to go live with her dad, the voices took turns speaking loudly.

  Voice #1: Your mom will eventually see Kenny for the man he really is. Just hang in there. She’ll kick him out. One day, you’ll come home from school, and he’ll be gone, and life can go back to normal again.

  Voice #2: She loves him more than she loves you. He’ll always win, no matter what. Always.

  The day her life changed forever, her mom had to choose. Kenny made her choose. They’d been waiting up for Emerson, “Worried sick,” her mom had said, after she’d discovered Emerson wasn’t in her bed. When she got home around three a.m., Kenny laid into her. He told her that her life would be nothing but misery until they could trust her again. No cell phone. No computer. No television. She’d take over all the chores and the cooking so her mom could focus on the new baby.

  Emerson couldn’t stand that he was the one to bring down the punishment. They weren’t related. Hell, he wasn’t even married to her mother. As far as she was concerned, he had no right. “You can’t make me do any of that. If it makes you feel better to believe that you can, then fine. But you can’t. And I won’t.”

  He was furious. Emerson thought he might pop the big blood vessel in the middle of his forehead that stuck out when he got mad. He yelled and screamed, and that made her mom yell and scream. She’d had the baby in her arms, and of course the baby started wailing.

  “I can’t take this,” Kenny yelled when he’d had enough. “It’s me or her, Rhonda. This girl is out of control and I refuse to live here with someone who has such disrespect for me. And for you, too. It’s not right.”

  Her mom tried to sweet-talk him then. She talked to him softly, told him it was all a big misunderstanding, and tried to get him to change his mind. When that didn’t work, she pulled Emerson into the laundry room and told her she’d better go out there and apologize if she knew what was good for her. Tears streaked down her mother’s face as she tried to convince Emerson to “do the right thing.”

  Emerson held her ground. “I’m not apologizing to him. The way he treats me, he should be the one to apologize. He’s not my dad, and he has no right to act like he is.” She should have stopped there. She didn’t take the time to consider what it might do to her mother. It came out almost like a growl. “I hate him.”

  And that’s when her mom snapped. “You know what, Emerson? I can’t deal with your crap anymore, either. It’s too much, on top of the baby. I think you need to go and live with your dad for a while. Maybe he’ll be able to control you better than we can.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely. You act like everything should revolve around you, and I’m tired of it. That is not how the world works. I’ll call your father and tell him to pick you up at four o’clock today. That gives you most of the day to pack.”

  Two v
oices, and one of them had been right.

  For her, the fantasy hadn’t come true. But oh, how she wants it to come true for these girls and their mom.

  Kailee ignores her sister’s less-than-optimistic comment and looks at Vince. “Would you mind taking us home now, please?”

  “You bet,” he replies, standing up and digging the car keys out of his pocket. “We should be heading back to Portland anyway.”

  “It was fun,” Kailee says. “Really fun.”

  “If only today’s story ended happily ever after for us,” Kendall says as she gets to her feet. Everyone else gets up, too. She looks back at the forest. “I hate thinking about what comes next.”

  “Then don’t think about it,” Vince says as they walk down the trail toward the exit. “Stay focused on the right now. Besides, like I was telling Emerson earlier, there’s so much more to a story than just the ending. We still have, what, eight hours left or so? That’s a ton of time.”

  The girls look at him like he’s crazy.

  “Not really a ton, Mr. Look-on-the-Bright-Side,” Emerson says. She turns to the girls. “He’s trying to make us feel better, that’s all.”

  “No, see, you guys are looking at it all wrong,” Vince says. “The amount of time isn’t important. A hundred minutes or a hundred years. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Just make it count.”

  “If only it were that easy,” Kendall says as she kicks a rock from the pathway.

  “Yeah,” Kailee says. “It’s hard not to be mad that we don’t get the hundred years.”

  Vince shrugs. “Well, maybe you need to ask yourself if that’s how you want to spend the rest of your life.”

  The girls are quiet after that. They reach the car, Vince unlocks it, and everyone climbs in. Emerson turns around, and there’s Teddy, wedged between the two girls, with his tongue out as he smiles again.

  Vince glances in the rearview and then nods. “See? Teddy’s got the right attitude. We all need to be like Teddy.”

  The girls exchange a look. And then, like they can read each other’s minds, they stick their tongues out while trying to smile at the same time.

  It is hilarious, and everyone cracks up.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Vince says as they pull onto the freeway.

  Emerson wants to tell him if he’d like to keep her laughing, the last place she should go is home. But she’s guessing Vince would tell her making it count doesn’t mean it’s always easy and fun.

  EVERY WEDNESDAY

  Vince had a ritual.

  He went around

  and checked on people.

  People just like him,

  out on the street,

  doing their best

  to survive.

  “How you doing?”

  “You need anything?”

  “Anyone bothering you?”

  Whatever it was

  that might be a problem

  for someone, he asked.

  Maybe he couldn’t do

  much about it,

  but he showed them

  that he cared.

  He listened.

  And he hugged.

  A lot.

  “Why do you do it?”

  Emerson asked him once.

  “Because it’s terrible

  to feel like you’ve

  been forgotten.

  To feel like you don’t

  matter to anyone.”

  So he helped them

  to feel seen and heard.

  He wanted them

  to know that things

  might be difficult

  but that didn’t mean

  no one cared.

  Some people think

  if you can’t give a lot

  then what’s the point?

  But maybe it’s like chocolate.

  A little bit is better

  than nothing at all.

  CARL HAS done his best to answer all of Rhonda’s questions. He only saw her daughter Emerson for a minute or two, but Rhonda wants to know everything.

  “Did she look healthy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not too skinny, then?”

  “No. She looked average, I’d say.”

  “What was she wearing?”

  “Shorts and a T-shirt.”

  “Was her hair long or short?”

  “Long.”

  “Did she look miserable or happy?”

  “Fairly happy.”

  “Who was she with?”

  “A guy, about her age. Maybe older. I don’t know.”

  “What was he like?”

  “He had on a Charlie Brown T-shirt. He was nice. Nothing concerning about him at all.”

  “Did they look like they’re in love?”

  “Uh … I have no idea. How do you tell?”

  It was exhausting, but she had done so much for him. He knew he needed to tell her everything he could to put her mind at ease.

  Now, after they’ve shared some leftover chicken noodle soup, they’re waiting for Frankie to come back. Carl can’t help but wonder why she let Frankie go in the first place. Why couldn’t her dad come here instead?

  Maybe Rhonda just didn’t think it through all the way. It happens. Decisions have to be made, sometimes with very little time, and so, you decide. It’s one of the downfalls of being an adult: so many decisions to make.

  As the minutes continue to pass, Rhonda paces in front of the sofa. She hasn’t said anything in a while. Carl searches the room for a clock, and when he finally spots it, he’s surprised by how late it is. All this time, wasted. So many things he’d rather be doing than sitting here, feeling awful, and waiting.

  Rhonda stops pacing and looks at Carl. “You said you saw them on a bridge. But you didn’t tell me why you were there. Which bridge?”

  He swallows hard. “Vista.”

  She narrows her eyes. “What were you doing up there?”

  “It’s a long story,” he says. “And I’d rather not go into it, if it’s all right with you.”

  “What were they doing up there? Emerson and her friend? Do you know?”

  “I don’t,” he tells her. “But like I told you before, I gave them my wallet when the kid said that’s what he wanted most. To have some spending money. Then they turned around and left.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks. “That they really left, I mean?”

  “As far as I know.” He rubs his face with his hands. “Shouldn’t your daughter be back by now? I really need to get home.”

  She glances at the clock. “I know. I’m not sure what’s taking so long. Maybe she’s having a hard time saying good-bye. It can’t be easy, right?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “She’ll be here soon,” she says. “I could put in a movie if you want. That would kill some time.”

  The phrase makes him shudder. Who came up with that idiotic saying? Right now that’s the last thing he wants to do. Stop time, yes. Savor it, of course. But kill it? No. No way.

  Suddenly, he longs to be outside. To feel the sun on his face. To see the sky. The clouds. The trees. Everything.

  Anything.

  He slowly gets to his feet, for the first time since arriving at Rhonda’s.

  “Actually, I’d like to see your backyard, if you don’t mind,” Carl tells her.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”

  His head still hurts, but he doesn’t tell her that. After he stands there for a moment and is fairly certain he’s not going to topple over, he says, “Yes, I’m positive.”

  She points to the back door. “Go ahead and take a seat on the deck. I’ll get us something to drink. Something cold. Refreshing. Yes, that’s what we need. No more coffee. I’ve had way too much today.”

  He walks toward the door and then stops. “You don’t happen to have any cookies, do you? I could really go for some cookies right now.”

  “All I have are Nilla Wafers. Paige loves them. Would you like some?”

/>   How long has it been since he’s had the little, round, buttery cookies? He thinks it must be decades. And now that she’s mentioned them, nothing sounds better.

  “Yes, please. I’d love some.”

  Outside it’s warm. Pleasant. He takes a seat in a patio chair, which is surprisingly comfortable. He looks around at the backyard. It’s nothing special—just a lawn, a few rhododendron and azalea bushes, and a couple of trees.

  But then he sees them. Apples. Small green apples, hanging on one of the trees, and quite a few lying on the ground as well.

  He gets up and goes to the tree. He searches until he finds an apple on the ground that isn’t too badly bruised, and picks it up. When he takes a bite, it’s the kind of tart that makes your lips pucker just a little bit and your heart sigh with joy.

  While he takes another bite, he stands there, looking at the tree, thinking about how much he’s taken for granted. How many apples has he eaten in a rush, with no regard to the delight of it all?

  Too many times.

  He takes another bite, but this time, all he can taste is regret.

  When Rhonda comes outside, she says, “Oh, good, you’ve found the apples.”

  Yes. He wishes he could take them home. Have another apple tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. Maybe bake a pie out of them, to enjoy with some vanilla ice cream.

  He’s found the apples. But it just doesn’t seem fair that, soon, he has to let them go.

  WHEN THEY turn the corner, onto Thirty-Third Avenue where the twins live, Emerson looks for a car in the driveway.

  But there isn’t one.

  Her heart sinks. “Oh no. I think we made a mistake.”

  “What do you mean?” Vince asks as he parks along the curb.

  “I mean, maybe we should have stayed with them at the store. Waited for her to come back. What if she’s looking all over Portland for them? She might not have seen the note. Someone could have taken it, you know? God, I swear, I’m dumber than a rock sometimes.”