The heat hits me as soon as I cross the threshold, sending cozyshivers down my body. The house smells of firewood and lemon oil, warm, clean, homey.
“Actually, I’m not here for Rory.”
He leads me to the kitchen, the dishwasher open, racks pulled. “Oh?” An indiscernible look crosses his face. Guilt? Fear? He grabs a plate, wiping it dry with the towel. “Everything okay?”
I move across the kitchen island, pulling a stool and taking a seat. I’m anxious to bring up his text with Harrison. If I do, I’ll have to explain how I saw it.In his house, after I broke in,would be the only answer. I reach for the photos in my pocket instead.
“I was going through some of my mom’s things,” I say, looking up at him across the counter. “And I found these photos.”
I place the images taken in the delivery room on his counter. Emmett places a freshly dried water glass on the granite, smiling as he looks at them. “Wow. Adorable,” he tuts. “I bet you’re finding a lot of old stuff, huh?”
“I didn’t know you were there that day. In the delivery room, no less.” My tone is polite but firm.
“Yeah,” he laughs, nodding. “That was a hectic day—a beautiful day. Your mom never told you about it?”
“No. So it’s kind of surprising to see you in the pictures. I didn’t even know your friendship went that far back,” I say, lighthearted, adjusting on my stool. “My dad wasn’t there, though?”
He swallows, snatching a pot from the top rack. “I-I don’t know what to say,” he stutters. “This isn’t really my news to give. But… no. He wasn’t there. He left your mom right before you two were born. We all kind of… took space from him after that. And then he disappeared.”
I decide to ask the hard question. The one that makes me sick with nausea. But the one I’m led to ask after seeing the photo of Emmettholding her belly at the Christmas party, and the ones of him helping deliver my sister and me. My lip trembles as I open it to speak. “So… he’s not you?”
His neck snaps back in shock. “Who’s not me?”
“Are you my dad, Emmett?” I ask, hands pressed against the cold counter. It’s a silly, sickening thought—one I don’t even believe. But it’s the only thing I can say that might make him spill. “Did you love her? Is that why you were there that day?”
“What?” It almost comes out as a laugh, but then his whole disposition tightens. “I was there because he left your mom with no one. Your grandparents couldn’t be there. So… Mara and I met Alice at the hospital. Rory was a baby then.” He pinches his nose, thinking. “Mara was in and out, caring for him, supporting your mom. Back and forth. We were the closest people to her. We were neighbors.” He closes the dishwasher and leans against the opposite counter, facing me, arms folded. “Your mom had bought the house the year earlier, I think—right around the time we bought this house. She wanted to have a family. And then she got pregnant with you girls—only a few months after we got pregnant with Rory.”
I sigh, the sound loud in the quiet, open kitchen. “I’m sick of this game,” I say. It comes out gentle, but frustrated, defeated. “I want to know what’s going on. Who is he? Why did he disappear? Where did he go?”
Emmett is visibly uncomfortable again. His face tightens. “I just… I don’t think that’s for me to share. Your mom never wanted him in your lives. Because he didn’t try to be a part of them.”
This much, I knew. But hearing him say it aloud is like being told I was unwanted all over again.
“Is he dead?” I ask. “What happened to him?”
Emmett exhales softly, eyes shooting to the floor. “No, he’s notdead,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “And yes… he knows Alice is gone.”
My cheeks burn with anger, my vision warps. I gather the photographs, shove them back into my pocket, and slide off the stool, its legs screeching against the floor. My eyes prick with tears, hot and humiliated.
“I have to go,” I choke out. “Forget it. I don’t even want to know who he is. This”—my hand flails uselessly as I walk across the room—“this just proves it. He never cared.”
“Imogen, wait.”
“Why?” I say, eyes watering. “You’re not going to tell me anything. I just want to get out of this place. And never come back.”
I don’t blame Emmett. Mom is gone, and he doesn’t want to bear the burden of whatever truth she took with her. But I won’t stand here and be lied to.
“I think…” Emmett starts. “I think he wants to talk to you. He just… he doesn’t know how.”
I turn to him, running fingers across my face, clearing tears. At this point, I feel numb. Like my insides have been scraped out.
He continues. “I’m seeing him tonight,” he admits with defeat, like he’s ashamed. “I’ll tell him he has to come forward.”
Wait…
“You’re seeing him tonight?” I ask slowly, testing. “You’re friends with him? You said he disappeared.”
Emmett’s mouth opens, then closes. His jaw shifts. “I’ve known him for a long time. We all did. Your mom and Harry—”
