Page 41 of No Such Thing as Serendipity

She stopped, turned back to me, and then took a deep breath.

Was she going to do a Dirty Dancing move and run toward me, expecting me to catch her? I held back my smile, thinking of the disastrous consequences of such a move.

Focus. I needed to pay attention, so I locked my gaze on Emma.

In front of my eyes, she transformed. She stood up taller and thrust out her chest. She held her head high and leaned back. There was something familiar in her posture, but I couldn’t place it.

Next, she began walking toward me with a confident stride, almost a strut. My mind scrambled, and my heart rate increased. Surely, I was misinterpreting what she was doing.

I stared as she approached and stopped about five yards from me. She reached out her hand and twisted her wrist as if opening a door before she stepped inside. After she turned and shut the imaginary door, she cupped her hand next to her mouth, leaned her head back, and pretended to yell.

My blood ran cold. She couldn’t be doing this.

Then she reached toward her head and removed an invisible baseball cap.

She was doing it. My legs quivered and my breath caught.

Our eyes met, and I understood she knew I’d recognized her gestures.

Auntie Bess. It couldn’t have been clearer if she wore a neon sign, but why was she bringing her up here?

Emma moved toward me, this time walking with her familiar gait, telling me I was interacting with her, not Auntie Bess.

She narrowed her eyes, and a deep trench appeared on her forehead. Then she pointed at me and back at herself, though she stood up taller and thrust out her chest.

This was weird, but I knew she’d become Auntie Bess again.

Emma motioned her hand between the two of us, well, between me and Auntie Bess. Then she smiled, pointed at me, and danced around the stage. She put her head back and mimicked a laugh and threw her hands over her head, shaking her fingers, doing jazz hands.

I bet everyone in the audience could feel the euphoria. I couldn’t help but smile at her antics.

Then she stopped and walked back toward me with her own gait. Her eyes were full of sadness—angst. Emma pointed at me and then pointed to where she had been dancing. She smiled, but her eyes were sad. She kept pointing between me and where she’d been dancing.

I realized she wanted confirmation that I understood she’d been portraying the joy Auntie Bess brought to our lives, so I nodded.

She smiled at me and moved closer. The sadness in her eyes tore at my heart. But where was she going with this? Surely, she wouldn’t relive Auntie Bess’s death.

Then she put her hands over her face, and her shoulders shook. When she removed her hands from her face, she looked to the ceiling, and her mouth opened as if she were screaming.

What the fuck? She was going there. But why? I looked on helplessly at the anguish and pain on my sister’s face. Then she did something else I wasn’t prepared for.

She ran her hands down the side of her head. When she reached the bottom of her hair, she flipped her hands out as if showing an up flip at the ends.

No!

Then she put her hands on her stomach and pretended to tie something.

Mama. And that stupid apron she had until the day she died.

Emma met my gaze, and my eyes must have told her I understood because she dropped to her knees and repeated the gesture she’d done earlier as herself.

As Mama, she raised her fist toward the heavens and shook it. I’d never recognized how much Emma resembled our mom until this moment.

I struggled to catch my breath as I watched her anguish.

It felt as if Emma had stayed on the floor for minutes, but it was likely only seconds before she rose to her feet.

My mind flashed back to the day Auntie Bess died. My mom, who’d always been the strongest woman I knew, fell apart. While she continued living, she was never the same. Or maybe it was me who wasn’t the same. I could never unsee her abject grief. Had my childhood innocence died that day?

Back on her feet, Emma reached her hand down as if putting it on our mother’s shoulder. She pretended to cry, to grieve, but the tears welling in her eyes were real.

A knife twisted in my heart as I gaped at Emma.

She pointed at me and shook her head. Her jaw tightened and eyes hardened. She gestured toward me again. Then she widened her stance, put her chin up, and placed her hands on her hips as if she were a superhero. Then she pounded on her chest while maintaining her stoic expression.

Was that how she saw me? Cold and unfeeling? Didn’t she understand someone had to hold it together for her and Mama? She heard Auntie Bess tell me to take care of the family. Auntie Bess said I was the strong one, even though I was the youngest.

I couldn’t just stand and stare any longer. I had to make Emma understand.

With a determined set to my jaw, I stepped toward Emma and waved my arms, indicating I wanted her to stop.

She dropped her hands to her sides and looked into my eyes.

Several times, I jabbed my finger into my chest hard enough to leave a bruise, but I didn’t flinch. Then I spread my arms as if scooping Emma and Mama up in my embrace. I pretended to hold them, comfort them, as Emma watched.

Her eyes softened as understanding registered.

I mimicked putting a baseball cap on, as Emma had to represent Auntie Bess. Then I pointed at my chest and then put my hand out and lowered it, trying to get Emma to understand I was Auntie Bess talking to my younger self.

I could see the young confused me when I glanced down as Auntie Bess. I was thirteen, and I needed her. She was my hero, and then she was gone. Mama harped on her all the time to stop smoking. That it would kill her. And then it did. Then she was gone, and we were left to go on without her.

I pointed down at my younger self and pretended to lecture her. Telling her she needed to take Auntie Bess’s place, taking care of Mama and Emma.

And that’s what I fucking did. I took care of them.

When I looked at Emma, surprise etched her face. Had she not known?

She crossed her hands over her chest and squeezed them against her as if giving herself a big hug, but I suspected the hug was for me.

Then her expression changed. She clenched her fists in front of her and shook them as if pleading with me. She held her hands out toward me, palms up, and then moved them toward her and placed them over her heart as her eyes softened.

I stood, not moving, not reacting.

She repeated the gesture. I crossed my arms over my chest, protecting my heart.

Emma shook her head before she repeated the same gesture.

I averted my gaze, unable to take the pleading look in her eyes.

She stomped her foot to get my attention.

I looked back at her.

Anger flashed in her eyes, and she pointed at me, and then she threw her hand out as if she wanted me to leave.

Did she want me to go? To disappear?

She shook her head and pointed at her own face.

I stared as she put on the imaginary baseball cap and then thrust her hand again. Next, she pretended to tie the apron before she made the same gesture. Then she pointed at me and repeated the gesture.

My legs weakened under me. Was she accusing me of leaving like Auntie Bess and Mama did? What the hell was she talking about? I didn’t leave. Everything I did, I did for them.

Emma took a step toward me and held her hands together in front of her and then opened them.

She closed them and opened them several times until she must have seen the realization on my face.

She was miming a book, and then she pretended to write.

Her eyes flashed with anger as she continued scrawling invisible text in the book.

She gestured to me and then pulled the imaginary book to her chest, clutching it as if she wouldn’t let it go.

An expression of distaste settled on her face. She held out the notebook and sneered at it before she pretended to rip it up and toss it aside.

I gaped at her. Was that my notebook? I wasn’t sure if she noted my incredulity since her demeanor held so much rage. For good measure, she stomped in the direction she’d thrown the book and stomped her foot on it several times.

Anger bubbled inside me. I never knew how much resentment Emma held for me.

Then she did something I wasn’t expecting. She put her hands in front of her as if in prayer. Pain replaced the anger in her eyes.

I looked away. My mind raced as I tried to contain my anger.

Emma was the only person I had left, and here she was telling me I fucked everything up.

She thought I’d deserted her. How the hell did she think something like that?

I did everything I could to help them recover while my heart was just as broken as theirs. How could she not see that?

Emma was waving her arm, trying to get my attention. I ignored her for several beats before I looked in her direction. She gestured toward me and then looked up and pretended to scream. She reached up as if pulling everything back. Then motioned as if she were shoving it inside of her.

So what? Yes, I’d shoved everything down. Someone had to be strong.

She pointed at me again and then wiggled her fingers in front of her eyes and trailed them down her cheeks.

I vehemently shook my head. No, I hadn’t cried when Auntie Bess died or when Mama died. Tears wouldn’t bring them back. Nothing would.

She put her hands together as if in prayer.

I continued to shake my head.

Emma placed her hands in front of her stomach with her fingers open. Then she threw her hands up as if everything was erupting from inside her.

I wanted her to stop, so I put my hands over my ears as I continued shaking my head. Auntie Bess and Mama were gone. Why did Emma have to bring them up now—here? I’d been doing well here, being open, but she couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Pressure built in my chest. It hurt. It was the worst pain I’d ever felt. Was I having a heart attack?

Emma walked toward me with a concerned look on her face.

I felt caged, desperate for freedom.

She stopped a few feet in front of me and held out her hand. I took a step back and almost tripped over my own feet.

Emma was at my side, putting a steadying hand on my arm.

I recoiled, and in a voice I didn’t recognize as my own, I screamed, “Leave me alone! I did the fucking best that I could. I did the fucking—” My sobs cut off the rest of my words.

I was unclear about what happened next.

There was a frenzy of activity.

I crumpled to the stage floor.

Someone yelled for the curtain to be closed.

I put my arms over my face, trying to block out the world.

Hands touched me.

Emma?

No. There were too many hands.

I peeked between my arms.

Robyn’s concerned face.

They helped me to my feet.

Annie. Katlynn. Helena. They surrounded me.

A pale Emma with tears streaming down her face.

Tears rolling down Robyn’s cheeks.

Sobs that sounded more animal than human escaped me.

My feet shuffled as they led me from the stage.

My knees buckled.

Robyn was there to hold me up. All of them were.