Chapter 14: Emma

Emma stood on the porch looking to the barn. She walked across the lot, and as she stepped inside, she looked up at the timbers that lined the roof. She could see beams of light shining through the cracks and nail holes, illuminating the dust in the air. She wondered when the last time was anyone had been in the old barn. She stood looking at the door to her father's darkroom. This was her father's most sacred place. The place he had taught her how to make what he called "real pictures" and not those click-and-print digital pictures that he had begun to see more of.

Emma started toward the door, but when she reached for the handle, she hesitated. She bit her lip as she contemplated going back into the house, but without thinking, she opened it. She reached around the corner and ran her hand up the wall, feeling for the light. As she clicked the switch the lights flickered to life. When she stepped through the door, she looked around the space, she could see many of the old sunrise photos her father described in his notes. She walked around, looking at various shots and instantly missed him more than ever.

She sighed heavily and then looked over to her father's work area. She could almost see him there working away on his photos. As she turned her attention back to his photos on the wall, she found several there that had gained him notoriety over the years and then she came to a picture of her and her father. It had been taken when she was about ten at the state fair. She reached up, wiping dust from the glass, and in the reflection, she saw her father's enlarger sitting on the counter. He had held out to the very end with his photo work.

He had upgraded his equipment, but he never did switch over to digital. Emma figured it was the fear of change, but as she looked at his pictures there on the wall, she realized that the shots somehow felt different from the others she often saw at the magazine. She felt a closeness to them, something that was really connected-ªnot just to her father, but to the artist who made them.

As Emma stood there studying his work, the phone in her pocket began to vibrate. It buzzed only about three times and, much to her relief, stopped. She moved over to another picture and examined it, and then the phone began vibrating again. She pulled it out and looked at it; it was Steven. She placed the phone on the counter, watching as it vibrated, and then she was startled by a voice from behind her.

"You know you're going to have to face whatever it is you're hiding from on the other end of that phone."

Emma didn't immediately turn toward the sound of her mother's voice. She continued to watch the phone as it vibrated and then she let out a huff.

"Mom, I'm not hiding." She shook her head and shrugged. "I just don't want to deal with New York right now."

Her mother cleared her throat. "Is it New York or Steven?"

Emma turned to face her mother. She had avoided the conversation, and she didn't think it would come up. But her mother knew there was a lot bothering her daughter and not just the passing of her father. Emma cleared her throat and threw her hands up.

"It's both, alright? We just need some time apart, so I asked him not to make this trip- ok?" She glared at her mother. "But I'm not hiding!"

Elizabeth pursed her lips. She studied her daughter's eyes and then turned her attention to the pictures on the wall.

"You know, I think your father would have lived in here if I had let him. This is where he hid from the world too."

Emma scowled at her. "Nice, Mom, nice. I'm not hiding from anything, I'm just here, ok?"

Elizabeth scoffed.

"Just keep telling yourself that, Em."

Elizabeth turned from her and headed back toward the door. As she was about to leave, she found one of her husband's notepads on the counter. She stopped and rested her hand on it, then turned to Emma with tears in her eyes.

"Emma, you're going to have to face your problems sooner or later. If you never listen to me on anything again, you should make sure you don't leave anything unfinished. You never know when it's going to be too late." She looked into her daughters' eyes; Emma didn't say anything she only looked away.

Elizabeth sighed, I'll leave you to your thoughts," she turned and walked away.