| Chapter Twelve ~ Echoes |

We spent the day of Emma's funeral together. Everyone came to our apartment, and I remember thinking that the last time something similar had happened was when I threw Ethan a surprise party to celebrate him being hired by his firm, almost two years before.

That was a beautiful night, but this? Well, I'm not sure this could even be defined, and if it were, it certainly wouldn't be as such.

For the most part, there were debates. Starting with everyone grilling Noah about the service and how it all went, though Marcy was quick to shut that down.

Then, they started sharing stories about how much they each personally hated Norma. It didn't take long before Emma came up, with everyone trying to remember the last time they saw her, the missing calls, delayed text replies—things like that. After it, came the guesses; theories as to why it happened, why now, and what, if anything, any of us could've done to help not prevent it, but spot it. To notice, as it took place. To see that something wasn't right—that Emma wasn't right. To help. To try.

And when I mention 'them' I truly do mean it, for I found myself mostly observing. My actions limited to squeezing Ethan's hand tighter with every time I had the urge to scream.

Ethan...

After all the scenarios had been played out, discussed, dissected until reaching their inevitable stalemate, they all eventually went quiet.

Noah sat at Oscar's chair with his arms wrapped holding his knees. Jonas held Marcy's hand, focused on her engagement ring. Blake was lying on the couch, her feet on Adam's lap, and her head on Summer's, while Ethan held me close to his chest, stroking my hair with one hand and holding my hand with the other as I clutched to his sweater.

Not long after, the scheming began. The room buzzed with overlapping conversations, the murmur of voices creating a kind of symphony that underscored the heaviness that lingered in the air. I can't claim to know who first suggested it—I was busy focusing on Ethan's heartbeat. But, suddenly, what had begun as a group of people devastated by a loss none could wrap their heads around, quickly turned into a plan, a plot.

Eventually, Summer spoke.

"Should we break in?"

Noah chuckled, and everyone else looked at one another.

"What?" Blake asked.

"Break in where?" Ethan turned to her. "And to do what?"

"Well, since we weren't allowed at the funeral..." she began. "Why not have our own goodbye?"

"What does that have to do with stealing?" Jonas asked her.

"You can't have a service without the—"

She couldn't finish. I'll never forget her face when she stopped talking.

"You want to steal Emma?" Blake asked, with a faint, wicked smile.

"You want to break into someone else's house and steal their daughter's ashes?" Marcy added. "That's badass,"

"We don't need to take all of it. Just...some," Summer explained.

"As in what, exactly? A spoonful? A cup? Do you plan to take a scale of some sort?" Jonas asked.

"We deserve to say goodbye, Jonas," Summer said.

"Sure, but we can do that without getting arrested," Adam told her.

"So, no stealing?" Blake asked, almost disappointed.

"No stealing, guys," Ethan jumped in.

"Well then, what do you think we should do?" Summer asked.

"I have an idea," Blake smiled, excited. "Why don't we all take something that is special; something that she liked, or that reminds us of her, go somewhere and use that instead of, you know, felony?"

"I like that," Noah said.

"Sure, but where can we go?" Summer asked.

"I don't know. The park?" Jonas suggested.

"How about Broadway? She loved the theater," Noah said.

"The house," I quietly spoke.

Ethan squeezed my arm at once, while the others turned to me, but said nothing.

"The lake," I explained. "We can go up there for the weekend,"

"That's brilliant," Jonas said.

"Tom—" Ethan turned to me.

"It's perfect!" Summer said. "Are we all free this weekend?"

"We are for this," Marcy said. "Right?" She amended, intimidating as fuck.

They all nodded.

"Then it's settled," I said, standing up. "You guys can think of the logistics and all that, then let me know. I'm going to bed,"

"It's not even dark out," Marcy said, frowning.

I ignored her, though. I just needed to get out of there.

"Um, Tommy...can I—" Noah began.

"Yes, you can stay. Just don't do anything stupid," I said, already walking down the hall.

I went straight to our bedroom and got under the covers. After everyone went home, the door slowly opened, letting golden light in for a minute before it faded again, and the moon was once again the only source of incandescence.

Ethan got in bed behind me, on his side, then wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed the back of my neck.

"Hi," he said. And I could tell he was smiling.

I didn't answer him, I just grabbed his hands and made sure he held me tighter, making it so he'd be closer.

As always, he knew exactly what to do, and so he let silence take over for the many minutes that followed, waiting.

God, how I needed those minutes.

"Babe?" He eventually said, softly.

"Mm?" I hummed.

"What can I do?"

"This is good," I told him, quietly, and he held me tighter.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" He quietly asked. "Going to the lake? Now?"

I turned to look at him, but realized I couldn't face him, not then. So I was quick to turn my gaze at the ceiling.

"Will you be okay going back for this?"

"You know, after Liam..." I began. "Emma started showing up at the house,"

"Oh?"

"She didn't dare enter," I said. "So, every time we would just sit on the steps outside. We'd remain mostly silent, and for the longest time," I went on. "Sometimes, she'd start talking about him. Or about her parents...college,"

"And you?"

"I listened," I told him. "Back then I was still too mad at him,"

He kissed my neck again, so soft.

"Then, one day, we were sitting there just watching the street and she blurted out that she was pregnant," I said. "Told me she wasn't going to tell her parents and that she needed help. My help,"

"Your help?" He asked.

"She never said with what," I told him. "Just made me promise I would help,"

"And you?"

"I promised, of course. But Noah interrupted us, running past without saying a word, with a black eye and a bloody nose,"

"Damn,"

"That was a constant, back then,"

"And your parents?"

"Mom was in bed. Dad was...working',"

I knew that made him angry, but I just loved how he tried to hide it from me. As if I couldn't feel it, be it by his tone or how it would be imprinted on his face, every time I brought it up.

It was kind of cute.

"Anyway," I took a deep breath, turning to face the ceiling.

He held his head up with the bottom of his hand, and kept one palm on my chest, rubbing it, slowly.

"A few weeks went by, and I was making Noah dinner after school when she called me," I said, frowning as I fought the urge to be transported back to that day and leave him. "She was crying, and wouldn't stop saying that something was wrong and she didn't know what to do,"

He kept looking at me, I could feel it.

"So I ran to her house and found her in the bathroom, bleeding,"

"Jesus, Tom," Ethan said. "What about her parents?"

"I don't remember where they were, but they weren't there," I said. "I got her up and grabbed a cab and took her straight to the ER,"

I turned and grabbed his shirt, like I always did, Making a fist and kind of pulling on it. I don't know why I couldn't look at him.

"As the doctor was working on her, I was asked to leave the room so they could...finish," I said. "We spent most of the day at the hospital, and she stopped speaking once they told her she'd miscarried,"

"How old was she again?"

"Eighteen," I said.

"Damn,"

"I got her back home—her mom was there when we arrived, so Emma pretended she was fine. Even argued with her when she tried to make me leave,"

"God, I hate that woman,"

"You don't even know her," I smiled,

"Doesn't matter," he said. "I still hate her guts,"

I couldn't help but smile.

"Sorry, go on,"

"I got her in bed, stayed until she fell asleep...then I left," I said. "Walking home, I kept thinking how I only knew about it for a few weeks, and she'd been dealing with it for months,"

"I can't even imagine,"

"Days later, when she started talking again, she told me the whole story. Turns out Liam was going to tell me that weekend—it was the main reason they were going away,"

"Wait. They were going to—"

"Keep it? Yeah. Apparently he was super excited,"

He didn't say anything.

"It all made a little more sense to me, you know? Why he was so hyper those last few months. Why he couldn't stop talking about going to California, making all these plans," I said.

"Babe..."

"When he died, and after she first told me about the baby and asked me to help, I thought she meant that she was going to...you know," I said. "We even went to Oakdale,"

"What's Oakdale?"

"Clinic," I said. "She couldn't go through with it, though. It was all she had left, she later told me," before adding: "that's why I took her there and not the ER when she lost the baby,"

"Oh," he sounded so sad.

"That's also when she changed, for good. It was after that day," I told him. "The girl you met? She was not even half of who Emma used to be, especially when Liam was around. Sometimes I think..." I trailed off, consumed in thought.

"What, babe?"

"I think that she might've been okay. After Liam, I mean. If only she hadn't been pregnant. Or if she'd been able to have it,"

"Poor Emma,"

"It wasn't even a week before she left home again and went away. Didn't say goodbye to anyone," I said. "Except to me, who took her to the airport,"

"None of your friends know about this?"

I shook my head. "Just me," I told him. "And now, you,"

He ran his hand on my cheek, so gentle.

"You think that's...that it could have had something to do with—"

"I dunno," I frowned. "Maybe? I mean, the timing fits,"

"It does?"

"He would've been ten, I think,"

Ethan widened his eyes. "He? Oh my god,"

"Whatever, I don't know, do I? It's not like I know what happened. Or as if I read a letter,"

"Babe, don't be angry about that. You said it yourself, she'd never let her folks know these things,"

"I'm not angry, Ethan," I truthfully said. "If this letter really does exist, that means she read it. Norma. And if it really was meant for me, then she knows things Emma never wanted her to find out. And it'll all be out of context and only part of it, so it'll become a story that her mom will distort and definitely find a way for people to know, and it won't be truth," I continued. "It doesn't make me angry, honest. It's just not something she deserved. And I'm...sad,"

"Come here," he pulled me so I'd be ion top of him and made us face each other. "What about if I stay home tomorrow? We can call in sick, and we'll do whatever you like,"

"You work 35 hours a day, baby,"

"But I want to be with you," he said, with such warmth.

"Yeah?"

"Of course,"

"Then that's enough," I said. "But, you can't. You're up for a promotion, there's that huge case coming up..."

"But I—"

"And I have Lott,"

"I can take you. I'll wait, I'll—"

I smiled.

"What?"

"You're way too good, Cooper," I said, and he tried to smile, but the expression etched across his face was that of sheer concern. "I'll make you a deal," I then said. "My next session. If you can, you can take me to that one,"

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," I said. "I would like it if you did,"

"Say no more," he smiled, finally. "But..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to press," he said. "It's just that you've always said that, after the day you took me to the lake house you wanted to make sure you could make good memories there," he stopped for a moment. Then, he added: "this idea of going back for this..."

I just looked at him until he finally continued, carefully expressing, "There's already such pain associated with that house."

"It's the least I can do for her," I told him.

He frowned.

"What?"

"That's such a Thomas Hart thing to say," he said. "And, it's beautiful—"

"But?"

"There's so much I can't help you with already," he confessed, looking at me in a way that made it impossible for me to break eye contact. "And this is just another; one more thing that's sad and hurts you and that I can't do anything about,"

"Do you seriously believe that?" I pulled away, sitting up.

He barely moved.

"Ethan, why do you think I go back there?" I asked him. "Why do you think I've been able to keep going back, all this time?"

One of my biggest fears had always been repeating what was done to me, but with someone else. Something I knew I would never be able to forgive myself for would be if I were to ever treat him like they treated me; when it was assumed that just because I didn't say I wasn't okay, it meant the opposite was true. How no one saw the sad, or hurt, or...how scared I was. I wouldn't bear it if I were to ever do or say anything that would make for him to feel a tenth of what I did, back then.

"Look, this is not going to be a good memory," I shook my head. "Going back for this will be horrible, and I'll probably relive every second I've ever spent with her in that place. I'll see Liam everywhere, too, and go through that night in my head, for the millionth time, and it will not be okay,"

"Exactly," he said, taking hold of my hand and looking so concerned.

"But I can do it. I can afford a terrible memory, because I've had years of beautiful ones you're mostly responsible for, and that I can go back to after," I said. "And I know that doing this will not be enough to erase all the others I am able to link to that house now, because of you," I said.

"Tom..."

"You help, Ethan," I said, pressing his hand as hard as I could.

"Not enough, though."

"Yes, enough. You'll be there," I told him. "Even if you're not actually there, you're already part of it, so you're also linked to that house. That's why I can do it," I said.

He started looking at our hands, locking and unlocking our fingers together.

"Ethan,"

"I don't...I just really hate it when you get sad,"

"Right now you look sadder than me, and it feels fucking awful,"

He at least tried to smile.

"I just—"

"Worry?" I finished his sentence.

"Yeah."

"I know you do," I said. "But guess what? I worry about you, too. All the time. Right now, though, I just need you to believe me,"

"Okay." he quietly said.

"Ethan."

"I believe you, Tom," he said. And as he did, he pulled me close so he could hug me.

"Promise?"

He chuckled. "Promise,"

I kissed the nape of his neck.

"Did I make this all about me?" He asked.

"It is about you." I told him.