Emily's Ghost (45 page)

"And I guess I'll tell you
something else. I'm not sure how I feel about having been
instrumental in Lee Alden's political death. It was a little too
much like shooting fish in a barrel.

"Well, that's pretty much
what I came to say. If you do pull out of this and you end up with
an urge to slap me every time you see me, I promise to explain the
reason why."

Emily heard him shuffle to
his feet slowly, and then she felt her head being patted
clumsily.

"It'd be a small price for
me to pay," Stan added. "Hang in there, kid. The newsroom's not the
same without you." He left, leaving the smell of tobacco lingering
in the room for a long time.

I can smell his
cigarettes. I must not be dead, because I can smell Stanley's
god-awful cigarettes. I remember that Fergus wasn't able to smell
the Bourbon roses near the gates of Talbot Manor. But I'm alive. If
I want to be. Is this what I want?

Emily drifted away again,
farther from the shore than ever before. She knew nothing, felt
nothing, thought nothing. Once she was vaguely aware of a cluster
of medical people around her, murmuring. It fascinated her. For the
first time she realized she was closer to death than to life. And
then they, too, left.

"Oh, Mother of God! You
poor, poor child -- it's me, Loretta Gibbs. Can you hear me? They
said maybe you could hear me. Oh, this is awful. What have they
done to you ... these tubes ... going in, going out ... and your
lips, so dry ... oh, this is terrible. I'll be back."

Mrs. Gibbs, please don't
go. It's so good to hear your voice, to hear any voice. I thought I
was gone ....

"Here you go, poor dear,
some water. There, isn't that better? There, there ...."

Emily felt a small wet
sponge being pressed gently to her lips. It seemed to her a long,
long time since there'd been anything cool and damp on her
lips.

"Yes, that's better; just
like a Popsicle, isn't it, dear? And before you know it, you'll be
drinking from a cup, and we'll be having coffee at the library.
I'll make those double-fudge brownies you like. I've been so busy,
you know. The maple leaves have started to fall, and I'm trying to
keep up with the raking as best I can. Most of the roses are still
blooming, especially the floribundas. We're having a wonderful
Indian summer.

It seemed to Emily that
Mrs. Gibbs stayed a long time, pouring pleasant, simple thoughts
into her ear and pressing the cool, damp sponge repeatedly to her
lips. Emily let herself be lulled into a kind of nap and never
heard the librarian leave.

Sometime after that Emily
dreamed that it was winter and she was walking, half frozen,
through waist-high snow. In her dream there was a coat lying on the
snow ahead of her, but she couldn't reach it because the snow was
too deep. Every step forward was an exhausting effort. But no
matter how hard she pressed on, the coat was always lying just out
of reach. Finally she got close, close enough to see that it wasn't
really a coat; it was a brown corduroy vest with four flaps on
it.

"Hey, darlin'. I've got
news: Stan Cooper broke the toxic dump story this morning, and
broke it in a big way. He had to have been working flat-out to turn
it around this fast. Names, dates, associates -- they're all there.
You were wrong about him, Em. If he has a grudge against me, he has
a funny way of showing it. They had a call-in poll on Channel Seven
tonight. Seventy-one percent of the respondents think Strom should
withdraw. He won't, of course, but things look a little less
bleak.

"And here's more news for
you: Your office has retrieved the Hessiah Talbot story out of your
computer. Phil's read it, and he loves it; I talked with him
myself. The
Journal
plans to go with a big spread in the Sunday magazine section.
I've seen some of the preliminary artwork. They're doing a
beautiful job with it.

"Hey. Emily. I'm watching
the monitor, sweetheart. I don't see a whole lot of excitement.
Darling, this is what you fought for so long and hard. This is what
Fergus has been waiting for. Before long that story will be rolling
off the press and Fergus will be free. That's what he wanted,
Emily. Even if it isn't ... you know he has no choice.

"Emily ... you have to let
him go. I know how much it hurts; I do. Letting go is the hardest
thing there is. I've been there. Listen to me. After Nicole died, I
didn't want to go on any longer. I'm ashamed to admit it, but ...
I, ah, toyed with the notion of suicide.

"Oh, it was nothing overt,
like holding a gun to my head or dumping arsenic in my brandy. But
I began to do stupid things, like dashing against the lights in
rush hour. And taking my boat out alone in wild weather. And
bridges, they began to fascinate me. I'd slow down on them,
wondering if I could make it out of the car and over the side
before someone stopped me.

"I don't really know why I
kept on living. Habit? Fear? Maybe I just wanted to finish out my
term. And then ... I met you.

"I don't have all the
pieces fitted together yet. For one thing, you don't seem all that
keen on my declarations of love, not if that monitor is any guide.
And of course, you never did say you loved me, Em. I'm painfully
aware of that.

"But to me these are all
details. Because I know how right we are for each other, Emily. I
know what you feel like in my arms and how I feel when you're not
around, as if half of me were missing. I know exactly how the sun
hits your cheek and lights up your hair, and I can hear your laugh
as clearly as if I had it at home on a compact disk. I know every
smile and every scowl and every single shade you've ever
blushed.

"I even know why you're
hanging back now, and I can't blame you for it. Whatever I saw when
I was in the hospital, whatever I felt, it was enough to lead me on
a search that lasted years. Yet it was nothing – nothing --
compared with what you've seen and felt.

"I can't make you come
back, Emily. I want to, more than anything else I've ever wanted in
my life -- more than I wanted Nicole. But I couldn't make Nicole
come back, and I can't –

"God. What is it I'm
trying to tell you? Listen to me, Emily. There's a Tibetan saying:
Learn to die, and you will learn to live. Somehow I think you're
struggling with that right now. I wish I could help you, but all I
can do is wait. Here. On this side. Because life goes on. I just
want it to go on with you. I love you, Emily."

Learn to die, and you will
learn to live ... to die ... to live.

For what seemed like
infinity Emily clung to a great, cosmic pendulum, swinging in a
slow arc through space: to die ... to live ... to die ... to
live.

And then, at last, Emily
saw a great, shining light beckoning at the end of a long pathway,
and she just let go. She let herself be drawn willingly into the
radiance. It seemed to her that there was a sound, not music
exactly, but a sound, unbearably poignant, and that she herself
felt an extraordinary lightness of being. She began to feel almost
impossibly happy, without knowing why. And then she saw that Fergus
was ahead of her on the shining path. He seemed to be waiting for
her, even though the light continued beyond him.

As she drew nearer, he
lifted his arms to her, and that made her want to run to him. But
she was aware that she could no more run than she could pinch
herself, that it was joy that was transporting her. It seemed odd,
too, that she didn't cry out Fergus's name, and that Fergus had no
more need to speak than she did.

When she was closer to
Fergus, she saw him in a new dimension. Once she would have been
able to see a flush under his cheeks or the play of muscle in his
jaw. Now he was transcendently beautiful, part of another plane of
existence, and she felt humbled to be in his presence. She
understood full well that she was seeing into his soul, yet the
yearning to be one with him was overwhelming. He was part of all
the joy and all the love in the universe, and if she were with him,
she could be part of it too. She lifted her arms to him, to Fergus
-- and to the universe beyond.

In his face, transfigured
by light and love, she saw a flash of his old grin: He'd made it,
and he loved her beyond anything she could hope to hear expressed
in words. When she drew nearer, she moved, quite simply, into his
soul. And for one blink in the universe of time, Emily ceased to
exist. There was only joy. And a great, abiding love. And
peace.

"Dr. Redd, come
quickly!
I think the patient's coming
around.

Emily winced, as though
she'd been splashed with ice water, and groaned.

"There you go, honey ...
take it slow ... shh ... the doctor'll be right here
....

Emily's eyelids fluttered,
then opened sleepily. "I ... oh-h ... what's happening?" she said
in a dry whisper.

She was staring at a nurse
with a grin as big as Texas. "You're coming out of a coma that's
gone on way too long, honey. And I can name a lot of people who're
going to line up to give you a piece of their mind."

For a long moment Emily
just stared at the nurse. Her mind was an absolute blank. Coma? The
last thing she remembered was crawling into bed exhausted after an
all-night session at her computer. Hessiah Talbot's murderer. Yes.
Her brother Stewart did it. Yes. Emily was quite sure. And just as
soon as she handed over the story to be published, then Fergus
--

Fergus. She'd been with
Fergus. Just now ... Suddenly she became very still. She closed her
eyes, focusing every atom of her being inward.

"She's slipping
back."

She'd been with Fergus,
been with him in a way she never knew existed. That much she knew.
But she couldn't remember the experience; it was all hidden behind
a veil. She drew her brows together, concentrating
fiercely.

"Emily, Emily, don't go
back." It was Dr. Redd's voice. "We're just about to call your
family. Don't you want to see them? Come on, girl, stay with us.
You can do it."

Her hand went up to hold
the crystal, to summon Fergus, but the necklace was gone. "My
necklace ..." she moaned, opening her eyes again. The doctor
standing next to the nurse looked startled, then pleased at her
alertness.

"Don't worry at all about
it. It's perfectly safe. We had to cut it off with snips; no one
could figure out how it opened. Don't worry. Any goldsmith
--"

"No, you don't understand
... how could you ... how could you?" she said,
scandalized.

"You're getting upset,
honey," said the nurse, "and all for nothing. Now, how were we
supposed to bathe you with that old thing around your neck,
hmm?"

Emily closed her eyes
again, shutting up the tears behind her lids. "Never mind ... you
couldn't have known.

The nurse smiled and said,
"That's better. Look, I'll tell you what. Senator Alden is holding
the necklace for you. Do you want me to call him right
now?"

"No ... no, you'd better
not." She put her hand to her head wearily and was amazed to feel
that her hair was both longer and shorter than she'd had it before
the hospital. "Can you tell me the date, please?"

"October third, dear,
believe it or not."

"There's nothing I don't
believe anymore," Emily answered with a tired, limp
smile.

When it was over Emily
went home, home to New Hampshire. After the good wishes and hugs
from the hospital staff, after the happy embraces of her coworkers
and friends, after a brief statement to the relentless press, after
the roses and the cards and the calls, Emily went back to where
she'd begun.

She couldn't face the
condo. Not yet, and maybe not ever. She got Ben's wife Sarah to
empty her drawers and much of her closet into a couple of trunks
for her, and together they made the trip north in companionable
silence. The car was filled with the smell of roses, roses she
couldn't very well leave behind since everyone knew the card had
been signed with Lee's name. She'd taken the roses, but she'd had
to leave Lee. There was no other way. After her transcendent moment
with Fergus, Emily felt that anything less than a complete break
with Lee would be dishonest.

And Lee had made it easy
for her. Emily learned from Sarah that he'd hung back deliberately
from the well-wishers, not wishing to intrude among family. Both
Ben and Sarah had encouraged him to intrude to his heart's content,
but he'd just smiled and said it was enough to know that Emily had
pulled through.

Afterward Ben had shaken
his head, baffled. "The man checks in like clockwork every day,
then takes off when she finally comes to. It's not like he's shy,
so what goes on?"

Sarah had told her
husband, "Leave him alone. And leave your sister alone."

Emily spent the first week
with Gerry and Jean, helping her sister-in-law with her newborn.
After that she went on to her father's ramshackle farmhouse, where
she divided her time between listening to her father reminisce and
scraping the peeling clapboard under the roof of the wraparound
porch. The weather was very fine for doing both.