Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Call

Emily Vaughn stared listlessly out the window of her hotel room. She had been with her grandmother for something like three days, and she'd spent most of her time on planes and in hotel rooms. She still had hope that her parents would find her. She just knew that it was going to be damned hard for them, what with all the moving around they were doing.

She moved away from the window, perching on the edge of the queen-sized bed, thinking about how she'd left things with her family.

Jack. She had left him horrified, terrified, and feeling completely helpless. She'd seen the look on his face once before. She'd been eight, and he'd been twelve, and their parents had left him in charge while they'd gone to the restaurant. Jack had been irritated that he had to watch her. His friends from school were going to play football on the beach, and he wanted to go along.

Come on, Mom, Emily heard him whine, as clearly as if he were in the room with her just then. Can't I just take her with me?

Jack, it's going to be dark soon, and anyway, it's supposed to storm, Sydney responded. Just stay inside, okay? Play a game or something.

Jack had decided that they'd go anyway. Emily hadn't wanted to-- she'd been quite the goody-goody in those days-- but he'd made her.

I had to bring my sister along, Emily remembered Jack saying, rolling his eyes to let his friends know exactly what he thought of it.

Hey, it's okay, Colby Sawyer had said, flashing Emily a smile. Why doesn't she play, too?

It hadn't been a good suggestion. Emily had tripped in a hole in the sand and sprained her ankle. It had been so swollen she could scarcely even walk.

And Jack had given her the Look. The look that was part guilt, part pity, and part disgust. Disgust that she'd ruined everything, messed up his universe. Of course they'd had to tell their parents what had happened. Of course Jack had gotten in trouble and Emily had gotten more coddled and pampered than usual.

Emily had gotten the feeling that Jack had wanted to like her, when they were kids. But she was too fragile, too perfect, too sweet. It had gotten better as they'd gotten older. But Emily couldn't help wondering if, even now, through his worry, through his guilt, Jack was feeling resentful that once again, she'd fucked up his universe. And even though she was absent, their parents' attention was undoubtedly all on her.

The door to her room opened, and Irina entered, carrying a bag from Taco Bell. The image startled Emily. However she thought of her grandmother, it was not as a woman who would ever set foot in a Taco Bell.

"I-- thought you might like this," Irina said hesitantly. "You haven't eaten hardly a thing in the last few days."

"It hasn't been because I haven't liked the food," Emily murmured.

"Yes, I know." Quietly, Irina placed the bag on the nightstand beside the bed. "What can I do to make you more comfortable, darling?"

Emily felt tears spring to her brown eyes. "You can let me go home," she said, suddenly feeling like a six-year-old away for the first time at sleep away camp. All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed, to see her mommy and daddy and big brother.

"You know I can't do that, Emily," Irina said, perching next to her on the bed.

"Can't you at least tell me why I'm here?" Emily asked mournfully.

"No," Irina said. "But I can tell you that you'll see your parents again very soon.

Emily felt a quick surge of happiness, quickly followed by a surge of dread. If Irina had alerted her parents to her whereabouts, it meant that she had a plan in store for them.

"Tell me about them."

Emily looked at her grandmother quizzically. "What? You know my parents."

"Not like you know them."

Emily sighed. What the hell did she want to know? That her dad went for a long swim every night and that her mom, without fail, greeted him at the water's edge with a towel and one of his tattered gray t-shirts? That Jack swam with him when he was home, and it was the only time the two men really connected?

The thing was, Emily had the feeling her grandmother would be happy to know any of those things, or anything at all. So Emily simply began talking. "My mom always knows exactly what I'm thinking, exactly when I'm up to something," she said softly. "You would think that I'd never get away with anything, but she lets me sometimes."

Irina smiled encouragingly.

"And Daddy's really uptight, and overprotective." Emily felt a lump form in her throat. "But he loves me so much." To her own horror, she began to cry. He must have been so worried about her, they all must have been. They must have missed her so much.

"There, there, darling," Irina soothed, slipping what was undoubtedly meant to be a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Why don't you give them a call?"

Emily's tears came to an abrupt stop. "Really?"

"Of course, darling," Irina said, with a smile that was undoubtedly meant to be encouraging. "Just about now, they're probably reading over a lovely little letter I had delivered. I'm sure they'd appreciate a call."

Emily watched, speechlessly, as Irina picked up the phone from the night stand and began dialing. "It's ringing, sweetheart," she said, passing the phone to Emily.

Emily took the phone from her mutely.

"Hello?"

Emily nearly wanted to cry at the sound of the familiar voice on the other end of the line. She forced herself not to as she urged the word out of her throat.

"Mom?"