For Now and Forever

Emily wasted no time. She slammed the shovel into the wall of snow and ice and began to carve a path out of the house. It was hard going; within a matter of minutes she could feel the sweat dripping down her back, her arms ached, and she was certain that she’d have blisters on her palms once she was done.

After getting through three feet of snow, Emily began to find her rhythm. There was something cathartic about the task, about the momentum needed to shovel the snow. Even the physical unpleasantness seemed to matter less when she could begin to see how her efforts were being rewarded. Back in New York her favorite form of exercise was running on the treadmill, but this was more of a workout than any she’d had before.

Emily managed to carve out a ten-foot-long path through the grounds at the back of the house.

But she looked up in despair to see the pipe outlet was a good forty feet away – and she was already spent.

Trying not to despair too much, she decided to rest for a moment to catch her breath. As she did so, she caught sight of the caretaker’s house farther along the garden, hidden beside evergreens. A small plume of smoke rose from the chimney and warm light spilled from the windows. Emily couldn’t help but think of Daniel inside, drinking his tea, staying toasty warm. He would help her, she had no doubt about that, but she wanted to prove herself. He’d mocked her mercilessly the evening before, and had in all likelihood been the one to call Eric in the first place. He must have perceived her to be a damsel in distress, and Emily didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of being proved right.

But her stomach was complaining again and she was exhausted. Far too exhausted to carry on. Emily stood in the river she’d created, suddenly overwhelmed by her predicament, too proud to call for the help she needed, too weak to do what needed to be done herself. Frustration mounted inside of her until it turned to hot tears. Her tears made her even more angry, angry at herself for being useless. In her frustrated mind, she berated herself and, like a petulant and stubborn child, resolved to return home as soon as the snow had melted.

Discarding the shovel, Emily stomped back into the house, her sneakers soaked through. She kicked them off by the door then went back into the living room to warm up by the fire.

She slumped down onto the dusty couch and grabbed her phone, preparing herself to call Amy and tell her the oh-so-expected news that she’d failed her first and only attempt at being self-sufficient. But the phone was out of battery. Stifling a screech, Emily threw her useless cell back onto the couch, then flopped onto her side, utterly defeated.

Through her sobbing, Emily heard a scraping noise coming from outside. She sat up, dried her eyes, then ran to the window and looked out. Right away she saw that Daniel was there, her discarded shovel in his grasp, digging through the snow and continuing what she had failed to complete. She could hardly believe how quickly he was able to clear the snow, how adept he was, how well suited to the task at hand, like he had been born to work the land. But her admiration was short-lived. Instead of feeling grateful toward Daniel or pleased to see that he had managed to clear a path all the way to the outlet pipe, she felt angry with him, directing her own impotence at him instead of inwardly.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, Emily grabbed her soggy sneakers and heaved them back on. Her mind was racing with thoughts; memories of all her useless ex-boyfriends who hadn’t listened to her, who’d stepped in and tried to “save” her. It wasn’t just Ben; before him had been Adrian, who was so overprotective he was stifling, and then there was Mark before him, who treated her like a fragile ornament. Each of them had learned of her past – her father’s mysterious disappearance being just the tip of the iceberg – and had treated her like something that needed protecting. It was all those men in her past who had made her this way and she wasn’t going to stand for it anymore.

She stormed out into the snow.

“Hey!” she cried. “What are you doing?”

Daniel paused only briefly. He didn’t even look back over his shoulder at her, just kept on shoveling, before calmly saying, “I’m clearing a path.”

“I can see that,” Emily shot back. “What I mean is why, when I told you I didn’t need your help?”

“Because otherwise you’d freeze,” Daniel replied simply, still not looking at her. “And so would the water, now that I’ve turned it on.”

“So?” Emily retorted. “What’s it to you if I freeze? It’s my life. I can freeze if I want to.”

Daniel was in no hurry to interact with Emily, or feed into the argument she was so clearly trying to start. He just kept on shoveling, calmly, methodically, as unrattled by her presence as he would have been if she hadn’t been there at all.

“I’m not prepared to sit back and let you die,” Daniel replied.

Emily folded her arms. “I think that’s a little bit melodramatic, don’t you? There’s a big difference between getting a bit cold and dying!”

Finally, Daniel rammed the shovel into the snow and straightened up. He met her eyes, his expression unreadable. “That snow was piled so high it was covering the exhaust. You manage to get that boiler on, it would go right back into the house. You’d be dead of carbon poisoning in about twenty minutes.” He said it so matter-of-factly it took Emily aback. “If you want to die, do it on your own time. But it’s not happening on my watch.” Then he threw the shovel to the ground and headed back to the carriage house.

Emily stood there, watching him going, feeling her anger melt away only to be replaced with shame. She felt terrible for the way she’d spoken to Daniel. He was only trying to help and she’d thrown it all back in his face like a bratty child.

She was tempted to run to him, to apologize, but at that moment the oil truck appeared at the end of the street. Emily felt her heart soar, surprised at how happy she felt by the mere fact that she was getting oil delivered. Being in the house in Maine was about as different from her life in New York as it could be.

Emily watched as Eric leapt down from the truck, surprisingly agile for someone so old. He was dressed in oil-stained overalls like a character from a cartoon. His face was weather-beaten but kindly.

“Hi,” he said in the same unsure manner he’d had on the phone.

“I’m Emily,” Emily said, offering her hand to shake his. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Eric just nodded, and got straight to work setting up the oil pump. He clearly wasn’t one for talking, and Emily stood there uncomfortably watching him work, smiling weakly every time she noticed his gaze flick briefly to her as though confused by the fact she was even there.

“Can you show me to the boiler?” he said once everything was in place.

Emily thought of the basement, of her hatred of the huge machines within it that powered the house, of the thousands of spiders who’d strung their webs there throughout the years.

“Yes, this way,” she replied in a small, thin voice.

Eric got out his flashlight and together they went down into the creepy, dark basement. Just like Daniel, Eric seemed to have a skilled hand with the mechanical stuff. Within seconds, the enormous boiler kicked into life. Emily couldn’t help herself; she threw her arms around the elderly man.

“It works! I can’t believe it works!”

Eric stiffened at her touch. “Well, you shouldn’t be messing with an old house like this,” he replied.

Emily loosened her grip. She didn’t even care that yet another person was telling her to stop, to give up, that she wasn’t good enough. The house now had heat along with water, and that meant she didn’t need to return to New York as a failure.

“Here,” Emily said, grabbing her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

Eric just shook his head. “It’s all covered,” he replied.

“Covered by who?” Emily asked.

“Just someone,” Eric replied evasively. He clearly felt uncomfortable being caught up in the unusual situation. Whoever had paid him to come over and stock up her oil supply must have asked him to keep it quiet and the whole situation was making him awkward.

“Well, okay,” Emily said. “If you say so.”

Inwardly she resolved to find out who had done it, and to pay him back.

Eric just nodded once, sharply, then headed back up out of the basement. Emily quickly followed, not wanting to be in the basement alone. As she climbed the steps, she noticed she had a renewed spring in her step.

She showed Eric to the door.

“Thank you, really,” she said as meaningfully as she could.

Eric said nothing, just gave her a parting look, then headed outside to pack up his things.

Emily shut the door. Feeling elated, she rushed upstairs to the master bedroom and put her hand against the radiator. Sure enough, warmth was beginning to spread through the pipes. She was so happy she didn’t even mind the way they banged and clanked, the noise echoing through the house.

*

As the day wore on, Emily reveled in the sensation of being warm. She hadn’t fully realized how uncomfortable she’d been ever since leaving New York, and hoped that some of the crabbiness she’d thrown at Daniel had been in part because of that discomfort.

No longer needing the dusty blanket from the master bedroom for warmth, Emily draped it over the broken window in the pantry before setting about cleaning up the glass fragments. She hung her wet clothes over the radiators, beat the dust out of the rug in the living room, and dusted all the shelves before setting the books up neatly. Already the room felt cozier, and more like the place she remembered. She took down her old, well-read copy of Alice Through The Looking Glass, then set about reading it by the hearth. But she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind continually wandered back to Daniel. She felt so ashamed of the way she’d treated him. Though he acted as though he didn’t care, the way he’d thrown the shovel and stormed back to the house was evidence enough that her words had frustrated him.

The guilt gnawed at her until she couldn’t take it anymore. She abandoned the book, put on her now toasty warm sneakers, and headed out toward the carriage house.

She knocked on the door and waited as the sound of someone moving about came from inside. Then the door swung open and there was Daniel, backlit by the glow of a warm fire. A delicious smell wafted out of the house, reminding Emily again that she hadn’t eaten. She began to salivate.

“What’s up?” Daniel asked, his tone as measured as always.

Emily couldn’t help but peer over his shoulder, taking in the sight of the roaring fire, the varnished floorboards and crammed bookshelves, the guitar propped up beside a piano. She hadn’t known what to expect from Daniel’s home, but it hadn’t been this. The incongruity of the place in which Daniel lived and the person she’d assumed him to be surprised her.

“I was…” she stammered. “Just here to…” Her voice trailed away.

“Here to ask for some soup?” Daniel suggested.

Emily snapped to attention. “No. Why would you think that?”

Daniel gave her a look that was a cross between amused and reproachful. “Because you look half starved.”

“Well, I’m not,” Emily replied brusquely, once again infuriated by Daniel’s assumption that she was weak and unable to care for herself, no matter how right he really was. She hated the way Daniel made her feel, like she was some kind of stupid child. “I was actually here to ask you about the electricity,” she said. It was only a half-lie; she did need electricity at some point.

She wasn’t sure but she thought she saw a flicker of disappointment in Daniel’s eyes.

“I can get that fixed up for you tomorrow,” he said, in a dismissive kind of tone, one that told her he wanted her off his doorstep and out of his hair.

Emily felt suddenly very awkward, and concerned that she’d said something to anger him. “Look, why don’t you come over for some tea?” she said hesitantly. “As a thank-you for the shoveling and the oil delivery. And to apologize for earlier.” She smiled hopefully.

But Daniel wasn’t budging. He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to want to hang out at your place? What, because your house is bigger so you think everyone wants to be there?”

Emily grimaced, confusion bubbling inside of her. She didn’t know what she’d said to warrant Daniel’s response, but she wasn’t prepared to get into another vexing conversation with him. “Forget it,” she mumbled.

She turned on her heel and stomped away, as annoyed with herself and her behavior as she was with Daniel.

But just a few moments later as she slumped beside the fireplace, her stomach growling with hunger, she heard a scratching sound coming from the front door. It was instantly familiar to her – the same sound that she’d heard last night – and she knew that meant Daniel had left another gift for her.

She raced to the door, heart pounding, and flung it open. Daniel had already disappeared. Emily looked down and saw on the doorstep was a thermos flask. She picked it up, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed. Immediately she smelled the same delicious aroma that had been coming from Daniel’s house. He had left some soup for her.

Unable to turn down the demands of her stomach, Emily grabbed the soup and began devouring it. It tasted amazing, like nothing she’d ever had before. Daniel must be an incredible cook, another skill to add to the plethora of them. A musician, avid reader, cook, and handyman – not to mention tasteful interior designer – Daniel’s talents were really starting to stack up.

*

That night, Emily curled up in the master bed, more comfortable than she had been last night. She’d cleaned the covers and dusted every inch of the room, ridding the place of the smell of abandonment. It felt good to have the house in some kind of livable condition – even if some of the radiators were still not really working fully. But knowing she’d achieved something, had stood on her own two feet for the first time in seven years, really made her proud. If only Ben could see her now! She already felt so different from the woman she’d been when she was with him.

For the first time in a long time, Emily felt herself looking forward to the next day and what it would bring: specifically, electricity. If she had a working fridge and oven she could finally cook some food. Maybe even repay the favors that Daniel had been doing for her by making him a meal. She wanted to make things right with him before she left at the very least, since she had pretty much descended on his life and caused chaos.

The more Emily thought about the prospect of returning home, the more she realized she didn’t want to. Despite the trials and tribulations she’d already experienced over the last two days in the house, she felt a sense of purpose here that she hadn’t felt for years.

What exactly did she have back in New York worth returning for anyway? There was Amy, of course, but she had her own life and wasn’t exactly available often. Emily thought then that maybe it would be a good idea to extend her vacation a little. A long weekend in the house was hardly enough to sort out anything, and it would be a waste of effort to get the electricity working if she was just going to pack up and leave again so soon after. A week would be a better amount of time. Then she’d really get to experience the house and Maine, really recharge her batteries and give herself some time to work out what it was she truly wanted.

Being in her parents’ old room was cozy and comforting, and Emily was struck by a sudden memory of coming in here as a very young girl, snuggling up between them and listening to her father read her stories. It was something that became a habit, a way for her to be close to parents who seemed, to her young mind, preoccupied with her new baby sister, Charlotte. It was only through the lens of Emily’s adult eyes that she realized it was less that they were preoccupied with Charlotte, and more that they were avoiding their doomed marriage.

Emily shook her head, not wanting to remember, not wanting to relive those memories she had spent so many years banishing. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop them flooding her mind. The room, the house, the little trinkets here and there that reminded her of her father, all of them were culminating in her mind, bringing back to her the terrible memories she’d tried so hard to forget.

Memories of how the stories in the large master bed had stopped abruptly one tragic day; the day Emily’s life had changed forever, the day her parents’ marriage had been dealt its final, undefeatable blow.

The day her sister died.

Chapter Five

After a night of deep, dream-filled sleep, Emily woke to the sensation of warmth on her skin. It was so unfamiliar to her now to not feel cold that she sat bolt upright, suddenly alert, and discovered a shard of bright sunlight streaming in through a gap in the curtains. She shielded her eyes as she pulled herself out of bed and went over to the window. Drawing back the curtain, Emily reveled in the sight that opened up before her. The sun was out, reflecting brilliantly off the snow, which was melting fast. On the branches of the trees beside her window, Emily saw water droplets trickling down from the icicles, the sunlight turning them into drops of rainbows. The sight made her breath catch. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

The snow had melted enough for Emily to decide it was possible to now venture into town. She was so hungry, as though Daniel’s soup delivery the day before had reawakened the appetite she’d lost after the drama of breaking up with Ben and quitting her job. She dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, then put her suit jacket over the top because it was the only thing she had that even semi resembled a coat. She looked a little strange in the ensemble, but figured most people would be staring at the stranger with the beat-up car squatting in front of the abandoned house anyway, so her outfit was the least of her concerns.

Emily trotted down the steps into the hallway, then opened the front door to the world. Warmth kissed her skin and she smiled to herself, feeling a surge of happiness.

She followed the trench that Daniel had dug along the pathway and followed the road toward the ocean where she remembered the shops to be.

As she strolled along, it felt a little bit like she was walking back in time. The place was completely unchanged, the same stores that had been there twenty years previously still standing proud. The butcher shop, the bakery, it was all as she remembered. Time had changed them, but only in small ways – the signage was more garish, for example, and the products inside had modernized – but the feel was the same. She reveled in the quaintness of it all.

Emily was so wrapped up in the moment she didn’t notice the patch of ice on the sidewalk ahead of her. She slipped in it and went sprawling on the ground.

Winded, Emily lay on her back and groaned. A face appeared above her, old and kindly.

“Would you like a hand up?” the gentleman said, extending his hand to her.

“Thanks,” Emily replied, taking him up on his kind offer.

He pulled her back onto her feet. “Are you hurt?”

Emily cricked her neck. She was sore, but whether that was from falling off the sideboard in the pantry yesterday or slipping in the ice today it was impossible to tell. She wished she wasn’t such a klutz.

“I’m fine,” she replied.

The man nodded. “Now, let me get this right. You’re the one staying up in the old house on West Street, aren’t you?”

Emily felt embarrassment creep into her. It made her uncomfortable to be the center of attention, the source of small-town gossip. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Did you buy the house off of Roy Mitchell then?” he said.

Emily stopped short at the sound of her father’s name. That the man standing before her knew him made her heart lurch with a strange sensation of grief and hope. She hesitated a moment, trying to collect her bearings, to piece herself back together.

“No, I, um, I’m his daughter,” she finally stammered.

The man’s eyes widened. “Then you must be Emily Jane,” he said.

Emily Jane. The name was jarring to her. She hadn’t been called that for years. It was her father’s pet name for her, another thing that vacated her life suddenly on the day Charlotte passed away.

“I just go by Emily now,” she replied.

“Well,” the man said, looking her over, “aren’t you all grown up?” He laughed in a kindly manner but Emily was feeling stiff, like her ability to feel had been sucked out of her, leaving a dark pit in her stomach.

“May I ask who you are?” she said. “How you know my father?”

The man chuckled again. He was friendly, one of those people who could put others at ease easily. Emily felt a little guilty about her stiffness, about the New York surliness she’d acquired over the years.

“I’m Derek Hansen, town mayor. Your father and I were close. We’d fish together, play cards. I came over for dinner at your house several times but I’m sure you were too young to remember.”

He was right, Emily didn’t remember.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, wanting suddenly to end the conversation. That the mayor had memories of her, memories that she didn’t possess, made her feel strange.

“You too,” the mayor replied. “And tell me, how is Roy?”

Emily tensed. So he didn’t know her father had up and disappeared one day. They must have just assumed that he stopped coming to the house for his vacations. Why else would they have assumed otherwise? Even a good friend, like Derek Hansen claimed to be, wouldn’t necessarily think that a person had disappeared into the ether never to be seen again. It wasn’t the brain’s first inclination. It certainly hadn’t been hers.

Emily faltered, not knowing how to respond to the seemingly innocuous yet incredibly triggering question. She became aware that she was starting to perspire. The mayor was looking at her with a strange expression.

“He’s passed on,” she suddenly blurted, hoping it would cause an end to the questioning.

It did. His expression turned grave.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the mayor replied. “He was a great man.”

“He was,” Emily replied.

But in her mind, she was thinking: was he? He had abandoned her and her mother at the time they had needed him the most. The whole family was mourning the loss of Charlotte but it was only he who decided to run away from his life. Emily could understand the need to run away from one’s feelings, but to abandon one’s family she couldn’t comprehend.

“I’d better get going,” Emily said. “I have some shopping to do.”

“Of course,” the mayor replied. His tone was more sober now, and Emily felt responsible for having sucked the easy joy out of him. “Take care, Emily. I’m sure we’ll run into one another again.”

Emily nodded her goodbye and rushed away. Her encounter with the mayor had rattled her, awakening yet more thoughts and feelings she’d spent years burying. She hurried into the small general store and shut the door, blocking out the outside world.

She grabbed a basket and began filling it with supplies – batteries, toilet paper, shampoo, and a ton of canned soups – then went up to the counter where a rotund woman stood at the till.

“Hello,” the woman said, smiling at Emily.

Emily was still feeling uneasy thanks to her encounter earlier. “Hi,” she mumbled, barely able to meet the woman’s eye.

As the woman began bleeping her items through and bagging them, she kept giving Emily the side eye. Emily knew instantly that it was because she recognized her, or knew who she was. The last thing Emily could deal with right now was another person asking about her father. She wasn’t sure her fragile heart could handle it. But it was too late, the woman seemed compelled to say something. They were only four items into her overflowing basket. She was going to be stuck here for a while.

“You’re Roy Mitchell’s eldest daughter, aren’t you?” the woman said, her eyes squinted.

“Yes,” Emily replied in a small voice.

The woman clapped her hands excitedly. “I knew it! I’d recognize that mane of hair anywhere. You haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you!”

Emily couldn’t remember the woman, though she must have come in here often as a teenager to stock up on chewing gum and magazines. It was amazing to her how well she had disengaged herself from the past, how well she had erased her old self to become someone else.