All We Have Is Now

  “But, Mama, I want to see the kitties,” Inika says. “Please? I won’t ask to take one home, I promise.”

  “No,” she says, more firmly this time. “It’s the middle of the night and the kitties are asleep. Now, come along. Let’s go use the restroom and then it’s back to sleep for us as well.”

  Inika starts to cry, and it’s like a stab to Emerson’s chest.

  “See? You’re tired.” Rima grabs her daughter’s hand as she says, “Good luck to both of you.” And then she hurries off, practically dragging Inika behind her.

  “Oh my God,” Emerson says. “I’m the worst person in the world. I broke that poor girl’s heart.”

  “No,” Vince says, shaking his head. “You didn’t break her heart. Her mother did.”

  “But if I hadn’t mentioned—”

  “Come on,” he says as he turns around. “Don’t waste another minute worrying about it. If she wants to be safe, which is so ironic right now it’s not even funny, then let her. There are plenty of other people out there who will be thrilled to let us help them.”

  Emerson follows him toward the door. But she can’t shake the funny feeling in her stomach. Like she’s done something terribly, terribly wrong.

  “I HATE him.”

  Him being Kenny,

  her mother’s boyfriend.

  After she said

  those three little words,

  they hung there,

  forming a noose that

  eventually ended

  Emerson’s life

  as she knew it.

  But she couldn’t

  do it anymore.

  Couldn’t pretend

  that everything was

  fine when it wasn’t.

  She thought Kenny was rude

  and arrogant.

  He thought Emerson was

  obnoxious and selfish.

  Not everyone

  likes the same books,

  the same movies,

  the same foods.

  And so it is

  with people.

  She couldn’t make

  herself like him

  any more than she

  could make herself

  like The Catcher in the Rye.

  The struggle

  between mothers and daughters

  was something Emerson

  knew all too well.

  But as she thinks

  about Inika, and

  Rima’s seemingly

  coldhearted ways,

  she realizes one thing.

  In the end,

  it’s Rima and her daughter,

  together.

  Not everyone

  is so lucky.

  EVENTUALLY, CARL pulls himself together. Under normal circumstances, he’d make calls. Or at least one call, to the police, letting them know someone has died.

  But these aren’t normal circumstances. Besides, the phone lines aren’t even working. So although it seems completely wrong, there’s really nothing to do but leave.

  First, though, he reaches into Jerry’s pocket and retrieves his key chain.

  “Thank you,” Carl whispers, as if Jerry’s simply sleeping and he doesn’t want to wake him.

  Carl makes his way through the bakery and out the front door. Once outside, he leans against the front door and lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He takes a minute to compose himself, then turns and locks the front door. Jerry had used a key his wife still had for the bakery. Carl hopes that by locking it up tight, no one will try to get in.

  Rest in peace, Jerry.

  With that done, he turns and scans the street, looking for Jerry’s car. There are only two choices: a Subaru wagon on this side of the street and a Chrysler sedan on the other.

  A streetlamp gives off just enough light for him to check the keys. There’s a remote lock with the Chrysler logo on it. He almost can’t believe his luck. Thanks to Jerry, he now has a car. A way to get back.

  In twenty minutes, he’ll be home.

  Home.

  With Trinity.

  The woman he loves.

  They’ll have an entire day together, and although it’s not much, it’s more than what he’d previously thought they’d have.

  He crosses the street, unlocking the car with the remote as he goes. It beeps, letting him know it’s worked. The doors are open.

  He smiles.

  Just as he’s about to reach for the car door handle, there is an intense pain in his head. He doesn’t have time to think, to try to figure out what it could be, to comprehend the fact that someone has hit him in the head from behind with something very, very hard.

  He falls to the ground, dropping the keys as he goes.

  VINCE IS driving. Hasn’t said where they’re going. Emerson kind of wonders, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she stays lost in her thoughts.

  Of the past.

  Of all the things that went wrong.

  Of home. Or, what used to be home.

  “What if they’re wrong?” Vince asks, snapping Emerson back to reality.

  “Who?”

  “The so-called experts. What if it doesn’t happen later today like they think? Or they find a way to prevent it? What if everything is going to be okay after all?”

  “Vince, maybe you like pretending you’re a fairy godmother, but in reality, this is not a freaking fairy tale.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes before she says in a soft voice, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we should delude ourselves.”

  “It’s just, the way that lady talked. Rima. She sounded so sure.”

  “Because it’s what she wants to believe. Doesn’t mean she’s right, you know?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  Emerson looks out the window. They’re somewhere in the West Hills. The road is dark, with lots of curves. Vince is driving slowly, though they haven’t passed a single car. She decides to ask now. “So, you want to tell me where we’re headed?”

  “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

  “Cool. I like surprises.”

  “I know. We talked about this once before, remember?”

  “Right. You don’t like surprises,” Emerson says, recalling the conversation. “In fact, you dislike them so much, you read the end of the book first. You’re the guy authors love to hate.”

  “Nah. I don’t think that’s true. They just want readers. It doesn’t matter how they read. At least, it shouldn’t.”

  “Well, I don’t get it,” Emerson says. “What’s the point of reading the book, then?”

  “There’s more to a book than the ending, right? Just ask my old English teacher, Mr. Weir. He’d tell you there’s way more. Like, the setting, the characters, and the obstacles those characters face.”

  Emerson sighs. “Sorry. I still don’t get it.”

  “What about the asteroid?” Vince asks. “Would you have rather not known? Been surprised?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Girl, not me. I’m glad we know. Look at all the fun we’re having because we know.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not all there is. There’s also fear. Grief.” She pauses. “Regret.”

  Vince is quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “Do you regret leaving home?”

  Emerson leans her head on the cool glass window. “Maybe a little bit. I don’t know.”

  “The thing is, Em, regret is not really helpful right now. Because you can’t go back in time and change things. So why think that way?”

  “Maybe because my brain is a big, sloppy mess, knowing we are going to die soon?”

  Vince laughs. “Okay, okay. So maybe a little bit of that is normal.” He glances at her briefly. “But can you try to remember the happy times?”

  “Like the time I dove in that dumpster behind Rose’s Deli and found not one, but two perfectly good cinnamon rolls? And then, on the way out, I found a needle someone had thrown in there and I was scared to death for days it had pricked me and I’d die of AIDS?
Yeah, we’ve had some good times all right, Vince.”

  “You gotta admit, those cinnamon rolls were sweet.”

  Emerson smiles at the pun. “Yep. Sweet.”

  It’s quiet for a few minutes. Then Vince says, “I don’t regret any of it. Not one minute I spent with you. You know why?”

  “No.”

  “Because you gave me a reason to get up every morning. A reason to fight to stay alive. Because some days, we had to fight hard.”

  “Harder than a mother-trucking prizefighter.”

  “But it was easier, with you there. It was easier, because we were together. You get that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  He reaches over and sets his hand on hers. He gently squeezes it, and then lets go. Part of her, the part that’s said no for so long, is glad. But the other part of her, the part that keeps screaming at her that it doesn’t matter anymore, is sad. Now, more than ever, she wants someone to touch her. To hold her and protect her.

  To love her.

  But if she lets him in like that, it just seems like it will hurt even more. Like, hurt in a whole new way to have to say good-bye. And she’s not sure she can handle any more pain right now.

  Maybe Rima had it right, after all. Maybe it’s easier, better even, to play it nice and safe.

  “WHERE IS it?” Vince mutters, breaking the silence.

  Emerson sits up straight, looking out the front window. They’re passing some really nice houses. “If you tell me where we’re going, maybe I can help.”

  “Ah, here we go,” he says as he turns right. “Good. The gate’s open.”

  “I’m curious,” she says. “Had you even driven a car before tonight?”

  “You know, I think that qualifies as one of those it’s-best-to-leave-the-past-in-the-past questions.”

  She turns and stares at him. “Are you serious right now? I’m asking about your driving skills, not whether you were abused as a child.”

  He veers over to the side of the road and slams on the brakes. The seat belt tightens up around Emerson and, for a second, she can’t breathe as the force of the stop pushes her forward while the seat belt holds her back.

  “Whoa,” she says. “What are you—”

  He doesn’t let her finish. When he turns and looks at her, the dashboard lights are bright enough for her to see his eyes. He looks like a soldier at war. Fierce. Powerful. And a little bit dangerous. “Don’t ever joke about it, Emerson. Ever. You hear me?”

  “Okay, okay. I hear you. I’m sorry.” She bites her lip as she tries to figure out what she can do to calm him down. “It was a mistake, and you’re right. I shouldn’t joke about that.”

  He takes a deep breath and relaxes a little bit, leaning back in his seat. Emerson isn’t sure she should say anything else, so she waits.

  Finally, he talks, his voice softer now. “I had this one foster mom who taught me how to drive when I was fourteen. The one I lived with before I ran. Once I knew how, she used to make me drive her around at night. She had trouble sleeping, so she’d crawl in the back of her beat-up Ford Escort, with a fifth of tequila, and I’d drive until she fell asleep. That’s how I got to know the Portland area so well.”

  She has more questions she wants to ask him. Were there other kids in this woman’s care? If so, what’d they do while you drove Mother Tequila around the city? Once you got home, how’d you get her inside? Did it ever scare you to be driving without a license?

  But she doesn’t ask. Because she knows that whatever she went through with her parents, it was nothing compared to what Vince went through in foster care. Even though he’s told her very little, she knows this like she knows her own name. While there’s a part of Vince that is kindhearted and strong, there’s also a part that is sad and bitter. He just does a good job of hiding it most of the time. While she considers what he told her, she suspects this story is one of the more tame ones.

  Which is exactly why he went ahead and told her.

  “Vince, I don’t know what to say. Except I’m sorry.” And she really means it.

  “I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry for going off the rails.” He looks at her. “Are we okay?”

  “Yes. Of course. We’re always okay. No matter what.”

  He nods and puts the car into drive again. “Good.” They go up a slight hill and around a corner, to an empty parking lot. “We’re here.”

  It’s pitch-black, so Emerson can’t see much. “Where is here, exactly?”

  “Hold on a minute. You’ll find out soon enough.” Vince opens his door so the dome lights come on. Then he reaches over and pops open the glove box. “Can you see if there’s a flashlight in there? I’ll check the trunk.”

  Emerson digs around, but all she finds are napkins, a car manual, and receipts.

  “Got it,” Vince yells, walking back around to the open door, now carrying a small flashlight. “She has an emergency road kit back there. Smart lady.”

  Emerson gets out and they walk across the parking lot, the flashlight shining in front of them.

  “I have to pee,” Emerson says.

  “Yeah, me too,” Vince replies. “They have bathrooms up here. We’ll see if they’re open.”

  “And if they’re not?”

  “You know the answer to that. We’ll improvise. Like we’ve done every day for the past year and a half.”

  “Stupid improvising,” Emerson says as she crosses her arms and holds them tightly against her chest. The temperature’s dropped and she’s cold. “I just want to sit on a toilet and pee.”

  When they come to a small building on their left, Vince stops. He shines the flashlight up ahead and even though there are lots of bushes and trees, Emerson can see there’s a huge house there.

  “Pittock Mansion,” Vince says before she has the chance to ask him once again where they are. “You’ve heard of it, right?”

  “No. Do people live here?”

  “Not anymore. A wealthy couple, the Pittocks obviously, had it built in the early nineteen hundreds. Years later, after they died, the city of Portland bought it and had it restored. It’s been a famous Portland landmark ever since.”

  “Huh,” Emerson says. “Are we going inside?”

  “I don’t know if we can get in. The house isn’t actually why I brought you here.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “And that’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  He gives her a little nudge with his elbow. “You love surprises, remember?” He turns toward the little building. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get in to use the bathroom.”

  Vince tries the door, and thankfully, it’s open. “It’s like they knew we were coming,” he says. “Left the gate open. The bathrooms are unlocked. Maybe we’ll be able to get into the house, after all.”

  Emerson steps through the door that Vince is holding open. He shines the flashlight in so she can find the door marked WOMEN.

  “Here,” he says as he hands her the flashlight. “We can take turns, since we only have one light.”

  As she sets the flashlight on the sink, standing on end so the ceiling lights up, Emerson wonders what Vince has planned.

  She’s not even going to try to guess. Because she always seems to guess wrong.

  IT WAS cold.

  The kind of cold

  that makes your

  fingers and toes ache.

  The kind of cold

  that makes you want

  to curl your hands

  around a big mug

  of hot chocolate

  and never let go.

  The kind of cold

  that made her

  think about giving up

  and going home.

  They shared a cup

  of coffee at a café until

  closing time.

  The shelters were full.

  Their options were limited.

  “I have an idea,” Vince told her.

 
“Stay here,

  while I see what I can do.”

  He came back a long while later

  with a big smile on his face.

  “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  She thought he’d found

  room at a shelter,

  or an all-night restaurant

  that would allow them to sit there,

  drinking nothing but water.

  Instead,

  he took her to a small

  motel where he had a key

  to a room with two double beds,

  a small television set with cable,

  and, most importantly,

  warm, glorious, much-needed heat.

  “How’d you do it?” she asked him.

  He turned on the television

  and plopped down on one of the beds.

  He smiled at her.

  “That’s not the right thing to say

  when you get a gift, Em.”

  She walked over and

  sat down next to him.

  Put her head on his shoulder.

  “I love my surprise.

  Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He never did tell her how he did it.

  She decided maybe it was best

  if she didn’t know.

  They had a fabulous night

  of cleaning themselves up,

  watching TV,

  talking and laughing,

  and, finally, sleeping.

  The next morning, they got up early

  and snagged spots at a shelter

  until the cold snap passed.

  They lived a life with

  a lot of uncertainty.

  But one thing was for sure.

  Vince was good at surprises.

  THERE’S SOME tugging.

  Lifting.

  A lot of grunting.

  Carl feels it all, but his head hurts so much, he keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t fight it. Whoever it is seems to be trying to help him.

  At least, he hopes that’s what’s happening.

  He tries to form the word. To say where he wants to go. Where he needs to go. He tries and tries to open his mouth and say, “Home.”

  But he can’t do it.

  A door slams. And then, another one.

  They’re moving.