Part II, Chapter III
April 4, 1902
Philadelphia, PA
Like an inconsistent metronome, the trinket paced back and forth, back and forth. Dangling from a thin, silver chain of tiny links, the antique locket Emma had placed on the open windowsill swayed in the breeze. Across the room, Emma stared at it as she leaned against the wall. The brightness of the afternoon sun provided a white backdrop for the silhouette of the heart-shaped heirloom, so it was all Emma could see.
What if it fell out the window? Thought Emma, smirking to herself. That would solve a minor problem.
But then she thought of how impossible it would be to replace. The locket was completely irreplaceable. It wasn't like a shoelace or piece of string she used to wear around her neck as a child. It certainly was no duplicable trinket—like a key. This locket necklace, it would seem, held more significance. Yes, it would seem much more important.
"Emma!" called her mother from the door.
Startled out of her trance, Emma hurried to the window and snatched the necklace, hiding it in the drawer of her nightstand.
"Have you finished the laundry?"
"Just about!" replied Emma. She ducked out the window and began pulling in the line of drying clothes from between the two buildings.
Helen Corwell entered her bedroom and stuck her head out the window. "You need to get dinner started afterward. The Crenshaw's are joining us tonight. I'd like for you to make that entree you seem to have a knack for."
"Oh, alright."
"I know Peter enjoys your cooking. He compliments you every time you prepare a meal."
Emma closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. "I've noticed."
Helen collected the clothespins her daughter had subconsciously tossed away behind her, and disregarded the action.
"It's getting pretty serious, isn't it?" she asked Emma.
"Hm?"
"With Peter. You two seem to be attached at the hip lately."
Not by choice,Emma wanted to clarify.
For the past month, Peter Crenshaw and his impossible mother had been going quite out of their way to force the two young adults into couple-like situations. When Crenshaw's and the Corwell's had dinner together, they would leave Peter and Emma to clean up while the rest of them took coffee in the other apartment. How convenient. They would also send Peter and Emma ahead of them to save seats during church. Quite frequently, Peter would accompany Emma to the market to help carry groceries, and vice versa. On occasion, when it would get too busy, Peter leant his hand in the Corwell's bakery to help get them through the line out the door.
Emma huffed. While she appreciated Peter Crenshaw's company, and indeed she thought he was a nice boy, she merely felt no connection with him. It just didn't…
"Fit," Emma said to herself, completing her thought aloud.
"I'm sorry?" asked her mother.
"Nothing. Just thinking."
As dinner cooked on the stove, Emma reentered her bedroom. She dug out the locket she had hidden from her mother and stared at it in her palm. The picture holders were empty. What photograph would best suit the silver trinket? The only one that flashed into her mind was the same, reoccurring image of a miserable wedding photo of she and Peter on their theoretical wedding day. Immediately she dropped the necklace to the floor and returned to the kitchen.
A knock came to the apartment door, and Emma was greeted by a bouquet of fresh flowers. Hidden behind a display of white roses was a blushing, dimple-cheeked Peter with eyes that simply screamed, Love me.
Emma smiled and accepted the gift graciously. "How sweet of you, Peter. Please, come in."
"The pleasure's mine, Emma. I know I'm early, but I thought we could have a little more time together without our crazy parents hounding us every second."
"Oh, how true! They've become impossible, haven't they?"
Peter shrugged blissfully, throwing his palms up for effect. Knowing every inch of the apartment already, he retrieved the plates and silverware from the kitchen and began setting the table.
"So you enjoyed the last gift I gave you, did you? Other than the flowers, of course," asked Peter.
Emma felt her naked collarbone. "Yes, again, it's so sweet of you. Would you excuse me for a moment?"
Emma hurried into her bedroom and picked up the necklace from the ground. She fumbled to get the chain around her neck until she realized it wouldn't clasp together. The chain was too short.
"Everything all right?" queried Peter from the doorway.
Give me space! Was what Emma initially wanted to say.
"Uhm, no," she saved. "It seems…well, it's short. The necklace. It doesn't fit."
Peter walked over to inspect it, a look of genuine concern taking over his face. He fingered the small links and worked it around in his palm.
"Not to worry! My grandmother was a small woman, it's certainly not your fault!" replied Peter with optimism. "I'll take this back to my apartment and get it fixed. I'll be right back."
Emma nodded and watched as he left, her feet nailed to the floor. She rubbed her neck, the skin feeling raw from trying to make the necklace fit. And the more she rubbed, the more she felt like she couldn't breathe.
