Page 119 of All the Missing Pieces

I decided to leave them in their stare-off and focused on Emerson as I sat. “How are you feeling?”

She swallowed, then picked up the glass of water and took a sip. “I’m okay.”

“If at any time you want to stop, just say the word. You also get final say on what makes it into the episode. I’ll give you a cut before we release it, and if there’s anything you want out, we take it out. No questions asked.”

Trey took a step forward, reaching out to squeeze Emerson’s shoulder. “You’ve got this, Emmie. We’re right here with you.”

Colt didn’t say a word.

I didn’t search out his eyes this time. I had to let him deal with the onslaught of memories however he needed to. Instead, I kept my focus on Emerson as I hit record. “Go ahead and talk normally so I can test the levels.”

She glanced down at the microphone like it was some sort of two-headed snake, and I didn’t blame her. “I don’t have to lean closer or anything?” Emerson asked.

I shook my head as I watched the levels on the screen. “These are good at picking up voices as long as there isn’t a lot of ambient noise.” I slid her mic back a fraction. “Try one more time.”

“Testing one, two, three.” Emerson sent me a wobbly smile. “Isn’t that what all the professionals say?”

I chuckled, even though it was forced. “You’re hired.”

Her smile got wider, a little steadier. “Let’s do this.”

I reached across the table and squeezed Emerson’s hand. I wanted to give her that same touch point Trey had, to let her know that I’d be with her every step of the way. She wasn’t alone. “Would you mind telling the listeners your name?”

“H-hi. I’m Emerson Sinclair.”

I let out a breath as I released her hand and sat back. “Thanks for talking to me today.” My gaze shifted so she hopefully didn’t feel as much pressure. “I’ve had the privilege of getting to know Emerson over the last several weeks, and I can tell you a few things about her. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met and an incredibly talented artist; she makes one hell of an amazing fried chicken lunch, and she has some of the cutest dogs on the planet.”

A laugh startled out of Emerson. “This one here is definitely the most ferocious.”

I grinned back at her. “How could I forget Saber’s vicious snaggletooth?”

“He’s wondering that right about now.”

“Apologies to Saber the ferocious Yorkie.” But there was only so long I could talk about adorable dogs and amazing paintings. At some point we’d have to go to the hard places, and it was better to get it done. “Emerson, can you tell me what life was like when you were sixteen?”

Her fingers dug into the arms of the chair in a way that would leave permanent marks behind. “I think it was a pretty stereotypical teenage existence in a small town. I went to school, played sports, had an after-school job. I really wanted to save up for a car, so I didn’t have to bum rides from my big brother all the time.”

Emerson’s gaze moved to Colt, and I couldn’t help but follow. His smile was strained, so much pain and pride in his eyes.

“I don’t know if you were exactly stereotypical. You were in the National Honor Society and a state champion tennis player,” I continued.

Her cheeks pinked. “It feels like a million years ago, but I tried my best at school, even those pesky science classes I hated. But I—I loved tennis.”

Emerson’s voice hitched as she spoke about the sport. She went on to share how she'd joined the team on a whim in middle school and caught the bug. How she’d worked year-round to improve, making varsity her freshman year of high school.

My fingers tightened on my knees as I prepared to dive in, knowing it would hurt Em and that I’d feel it all with her. “Was it that dedication to improvement that had you practicing late on the night of May twenty-third?”

Emerson’s hand trembled as she grabbed for her water and took another sip, but I gave no signs of rushing her. This was at her pace or not at all. “I practiced late every night,” she said. “I did every camp and special clinic, anything to improve.”

“Can you walk me through that night in particular?” I asked gently.

Emerson nodded, but it took her a moment to speak. “I hit balls for about an hour after practice ended. The lights on the courts were always pretty decent, so it didn’t matter that it had gotten dark.”

The tremor was back, but it had spread through Emerson now, taking root in her muscles. “Coach gave me an extra key to the equipment room, so I could put the ball machine away when I was done. I didn’t see anyone when I did, didn’t hear anything out of place. There was no part of me that was on alert. Maybe because Shady Cove had always been such a safe place, somewhere we could walk to school without a parent and ride our bikes like little terrors.”

Emerson licked her lips as tears filled her eyes. “But it wasn’t safe that day.”

I still didn’t rush her. I waited until she was ready to keep going, trying to assure her that I was right there with her.

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