The moon hung high in the sky when she slipped through the door, as she did every night. Richard scooted his small frame to one side to accommodate her, and she climbed under the quilt and into his waiting arms without missing a beat. Wrapped in each other's tiny arms, the hum of crickets and low hoots of owls on the hunt singing a gentle country lullaby, he wondered if she had already drifted off to sleep. "Emma?" he whispered, his voice high and hushed.
"Yes?" she yawned.
"Will you tell me a story?"
She squeezed his hand and propped herself up against the pillows; he followed suit, fitting himself into the crook of her arm. She spoke softly, soothingly, careful not to disturb the delicate quiet of the evening. "Have I ever told you about the lost city of Atlantis?"
He shook his head, staring up at her wide-eyed.
"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a beautiful city on a beach. It was the loveliest city in the land; the buildings were made of the finest marble, and the streets were paved with gold. The people were rich and greedy. They conquered other cities and got richer and richer, and all of their treasures piled up until you couldn't walk down the street without tripping over someone's jewels."
"What happened to it?"
"Well, eventually their treasures got so heavy that the city sunk under the weight of them. Right into the ocean!"
Richard gasped. "The whole city?"
"The whole city. All of it just sunk straight down, and it was never seen again."
"That's sad," he said wearily.
"What's so sad about it?"
"All those people."
"But the people were bad," she replied, squeezing him reassuringly. "They got what they deserved."
"Maybe they weren't so bad," he said meekly. "Maybe they just didn't know any better."
"You always see the best in people." She jabbed him in the ribs with her finger, and then er eyes glazed over, staring into a spot of nothing in the middle distance. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to disappear into the sea like that?"
"But you'd die." His voice was heavy with sadness at the thought of losing her.
"Not me," she said, shaking her head with a confident smile. "I'd become a mermaid and swim away."
"You could do that?"
"Sure I could. Who says I couldn't?"
"Could I disappear, too?"
She hugged him close and kissed his temple. "Of course you could."
She held him close, his arms threaded around her waist as if he wouldn't let her go for anything in the world. They sat like that for some time, Richard's mind reeling from the thought of his beautiful sister flitting through jewel-bright waters with a tail as long and graceful as her silky black hair, glimmering in the shifting sunlight. At some point, the fantasy transformed into a wonderful dream, and they slept soundly through the night in each other's arms, as always.
At the first sliver of sunlight breaking over the horizon, Emma's eyes fluttered open. She was seated in the driver's seat of the black car that had brought her to the shore the night before, though the grouping of cars that had surrounded it hours before were now long gone. A guilty knot settled into her stomach, remembering her harsh words for her brother. She stretched her aching limbs gratefully, pivoting her head to check on the suitcase resting on the seat behind her that contained her compensation for the night's work, and started the ignition.
Atlantic City was just beginning to wake when she crossed into town. As she pulled past the boardwalk, she stole one last glance at its rain-slicked beams and wondered if she ever would return. A part of her was certain that she would—there was something about this place, something magical and mysterious, that she had yet to fully understand, but it was only a matter of time before it would call her back again.
Her mind wandered to Julia, and to Tommy, and to Paul. Not one of them had asked for their lot in life, but then again, who had? She knew that Julia would make the most of it, for all of their sakes. She was stronger than she knew, and Emma hoped that, in time, she would come to realize it for herself.
She retraced her first steps to the train station with ease, smiling at the memory of the naive farm girl who had climbed with trepidation from the train car only a week before. That girl had let her brother hold all of life's hope and happiness; this woman knew better.
Richard was seated stiffly on a bench, suitcase at his feet, valise on his lap, and rifle bag propped beside him. He stared straight ahead, his mind doubtless an anxious cacophony from the uncertainty of his future. He thrived on preparation; his acceptance of this newfound unpredictability was a harbinger of his evolution, and this brought yet another smile to her face.
She pulled the car as close as she could and called out to him, "Can I give you a lift?" She hoped her weary smile would serve as an unspoken apology.
He nodded once and approached the car. "Where. Are you going?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. I suppose I might just disappear into the sea."
"I'll. Disappear. With you."
He climbed into the seat beside her and grasped her waiting hand. They didn't say another word; they didn't need to. Things would never be so simple as they once were, and perhaps, in time, their paths would diverge again, but for now she simply basked in the comfort of having him here beside her. Hand in hand, with the sea and the rising sun at their backs, they drove on.