Seven Minutes in Heaven (25 page)

So much had happened to her here—in this house, in this room. So much of it had been painful, but that didn’t erase the good. She’d finally found her family. She’d finally found where she belonged.

Mrs. Mercer followed her gaze. “This is your room now,” she said softly, running her hands over Sutton’s pink comforter. “We could redecorate it, however you want it.”

Emma shook her head. “I want to keep it this way, just a little longer. It makes me feel close to her.”

Mrs. Mercer smiled. “Me, too.” She went to the door and put a hand on the frame. “We’ll leave in about a half hour. Come on down when you’re ready.” With that, she was gone.

Emma sat in the silent room for a moment. Next door she could hear Laurel’s music through the wall, the bass line thumping. Downstairs, Grandma Mercer and Mr. Mercer bickered about the tie he’d chosen to wear.

These were the sounds of a normal family—one that she actually belonged to. And that would hopefully grow by one more, eventually. She thought of the secret she’d told the Mercers as soon as they’d gotten home from the police station: that Becky had another child, somewhere in California. She’d be twelve now. Emma didn’t even know what her name was, but the Mercers had vowed to track her down, too. Hopefully she was happy, wherever she was, but if she wasn’t—well, the Mercers had a big house.

But that could wait. Today, finally, Emma could say good-bye to one sister. She’d worry about her other one tomorrow.

34

THE QUEEN IS DEAD (LONG LIVE THE QUEEN)

Sutton’s funeral was held in a beautiful Spanish Revival church in the Catalina Foothills. Cream-colored adobe walls arched up from thick red carpets, and bunches of flowers had been arranged on every surface. Every pew was packed—the entire school was there, along with what seemed like half of Tucson. Emma’s eyes scanned the crowd. Sutton’s teachers sat mingled with the students. Principal Ambrose perched awkwardly at the front, a black pillbox hat on her stiff hair. A half dozen police officers were there, too, shining in their dress blues. Quinlan sat next to a pretty Asian woman Emma was shocked to realize must be his wife. Corcoran sat behind them, his face as stoic as always.

In front of the altar was a blown-up picture of Sutton. Unlike most photos of her, where she mugged for the camera or smirked or gave a movie-star pout, this one showed a quiet, inscrutable girl. Her eyes were wide and clear, her lips parted in an enigmatic smile. The expression wasn’t malicious or sly, but it hinted at the presence of a secret self, deeper and more beautiful than anyone could have guessed.

I followed my sister’s gaze as she looked out over the crowd. There were so many faces I barely recognized, people who’d flitted through my life without any real connection. Kids I’d passed in the hallway, people I’d rolled my eyes at, neighbors I’d only spoken to once or twice. The sheer size of the crowd made me feel strangely sad. Who here had I missed out on knowing?

Emma sat in the front row with the rest of Sutton’s family, her hands balled up in her lap. Next to her, Laurel was sobbing into Mr. Mercer’s handkerchief, her shoulders shaking. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer clung to each other as if to a lifeline. On the other side of them sat Grandma Mercer in a sleek black suit, her lips pressed into a savage red line of grief.

Emma stared ahead at the gleaming wooden coffin, dry-eyed, the ache in her chest too enormous to comprehend. She had been living with the loss of her sister for four long months—four months when she couldn’t grieve, when she lived under constant terror. Now that she had the chance to say good-bye, she wasn’t sure what to feel. She’d lost someone she’d never even met. But in a way, she felt closer to Sutton than anyone. She thought again about the shimmering form in the canyon. Translucent, blindingly beautiful. She and Sutton had been connected by something deeper and stronger than she could understand—and she didn’t know how to let go of that.

And neither did I.

Across the aisle from the Mercers sat the Lying Game girls. Charlotte twisted a handkerchief in her fists. Madeline and Thayer sat side by side, Thayer’s arm tucked protectively around his sister as she wept. He looked shell-shocked, his gaze glued intently to Sutton’s photo. Even the Twitter Twins, who were usually buoyant, leaned against each other for support. Gabby stared at the ground, tears plopping straight down from her button nose. Lili turned her face away into her sister’s arms, her shoulders trembling.

The Mercers had asked the hospital chaplain to perform the funeral—they’d never been a religious family, but Father Maxwell had known Sutton since she was a little girl. He wept openly as he delivered the eulogy, reminiscing about the rambunctious, joyful child he’d seen grow into a promising young woman. Emma barely listened. The priest’s words were compassionate and well chosen, but there was no way he could speak to the Sutton she knew. Because even though they’d never met, by now she knew Sutton better than anyone. She knew the parts of her that had been haughty or selfish—but more than that, she knew the parts that had been loyal, and fierce, and passionate. She knew her sister had been a fighter. Sutton had lent her some of her strength, that night in the canyon.

She almost didn’t notice when the priest gave the final benediction. Then all the guests were on their feet, a low murmur rising up in the packed church. People crowded around the Mercers to pay their respects. Laurel was already wrapped in a hysterical hug by their pottery teacher, Mrs. Gilliam, and Mr. Mercer was deep in a low conversation with Dr. Banerjee, two men bonded in the loss of their daughters. Suddenly Emma felt claustrophobic. She edged away from her family toward an alcove behind a column. After so long living as Sutton, and then as a wanted woman, it felt strange to slip away and become invisible, just like the old Emma had been.

She backed up into someone and stumbled. “Oh! I’m so . . . sorry.” She trailed off as she turned to see Garrett Austin, dressed in a black suit and a pale blue tie. Her cheeks burned as their eyes met.

“Um, hey,” he said, flushing as red as she was.

“Hey,” she echoed. Beyond the little alcove, the church’s sound system had started to play a delicate acoustic guitar track. Garrett took a deep breath.

“You have no idea how sorry I am,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. “I can’t believe how I treated you.”

Emma shook her head. “You didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He shifted his weight, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Even if you
had
been Sutton, I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.”

“It was a . . . confusing situation, I’m sure.” Emma tugged at her skirt to even the hem. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. The whole birthday thing—I know it looked like I just threw that in your face. I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I just couldn’t . . .”

“I know,” he said quickly, blushing a shade deeper. “I get it.” He leaned against the column, avoiding her eyes. “The truth is, Sutton was about to break up with me. I knew it that night I saw her in the canyon. When I saw you the next day and you didn’t say anything about it, I couldn’t believe my luck. I thought Sutton had changed her mind.” He looked down at his shoes. “Did you ever hear about what happened to my sister?”

“Yes,” Emma murmured, biting her lip.

“I know it’s no excuse. But I’ve just been so . . . so angry since it happened. I don’t know why I can’t move on.” A single tear cut down his cheek. “Sutton was more patient with me than she should have been.”

Emma listened, her heart twisting with sympathy. “That’s a lot to work through by yourself.” Impulsively she grabbed his hand, squeezing it in hers.

He shook his head. “Well, I’m done making excuses. I’m starting therapy on Monday. If I’m so unstable that someone can suspect me of murder, I need help.”

“So you heard Ethan was trying to frame you?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head wonderingly. “That guy . . . I mean, he had us all fooled. We all thought he was crazy about you.”

A knot formed in Emma’s throat. She glanced away, turning toward a small marble crucifix nestled into an alcove. “Yeah,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “So did I.”

Garrett opened his mouth, as though he was about to say more, when suddenly some kind of commotion started in the nave. He and Emma turned around to face the crowd, who all seemed to be looking up at the wall behind the altar. The guitar music jerked to a halt, and the lights flickered out.

A disembodied voice spoke over the intercom, echoing through the church.

“Sutton Mercer . . . we salute you!”

Emma barely had time to realize that it was Charlotte’s voice before the staccato drumbeat of Fun.’s “We Are Young” started blaring out of the speakers. At that exact moment, a projector hidden at the back of the church kicked into gear. Images flashed above the altar, videos of Sutton and her friends, edited to the music. One showed Sutton, Madeline, Charlotte, and Laurel toasting one another with flasks in the hot springs they used to sneak into. In another, someone held a shaky camera to Sutton’s face on a roller coaster. She screamed with laughter, her hair billowing around her face. There was footage of Sutton cannonballing into Charlotte’s pool, footage of her singing karaoke with Laurel and dancing with Thayer. In one she, Gabby, and Lili got into a food fight, the Twitter Twins overpowering her and squirting a crown of whipped cream into her hair, all of them giggling.

And finally, there was a cut of Sutton doing a pin-up pose in a slinky silver dress. She was on Charlotte’s patio, and behind her one of the Lying Game’s exclusive parties raged.

“You can’t keep a good diva down,” she said coyly, her voice amplified through the church. Then she blew a kiss at the camera, and the video went dark.

Emma realized that her cheeks were streaming with tears. As the lights came back up, a long and echoing silence descended. Mr. Mercer had broken down, his face hidden in his wife’s shoulder. Half the tennis team was sobbing—Clara wailed out loud, her cries cutting through the stillness.

As I watched the video, my friends’ final tribute, my heart felt like a flower opening its bloom to the sun. Pops of color and light filled my mind, and suddenly everything—every memory, every moment of my life—came flooding through me. Everything I thought had been lost was returned. I remembered pouring pretend tea for my mother from her antique tea set. I remembered my father handing me a set of binoculars, pointing to where a red-tailed hawk nested in a tree above. There I was, playing with Laurel in a pillow fort on a rainy night. Meeting Charlotte on the school bus in third grade, and Madeline at recess the next year. Getting my first tennis racket for Christmas. Swimming in the Pacific Ocean on a vacation, staring out at the miles and miles of lonely blue. Printing the official Lying Game cards at Charlotte’s house, giggling over the titles we’d invented for ourselves.

Kissing Thayer for the first time, and the second, and the third. All our kisses, every sun-drenched moment we spent together, came back in perfect focus.

Every prank, every secret, every adventure came back to me. And it was all so beautiful, so vibrant, so real. It was my life. Ethan couldn’t take that away.

At the back of the church Emma heard scuffling. The lights came back up, and she turned to see an old woman with curly gray hair escorting Lili and Gabby out of the audiovisual booth by their ears. The Twitter Twins raised their fists in “heavy metal” devil horns as they followed. Father Maxwell was hurrying to take the microphone from Charlotte at the altar, and a man wearing a bow tie was shooing Madeline from the light control box.

But before the Lying Game girls could be removed from the building, someone started to clap.

Emma couldn’t pinpoint where it started, but once it did, the applause built up, louder and louder. Someone wolf-whistled on his fingers. A girl Emma had never seen yelled, “I love you, Sutton!”

“Sutton, we’ll miss you!” someone else cried behind her. And soon everyone was clapping and stomping, calling out for Sutton.

“Hollier will never be the same!”

“You’re the only prom queen we’ll vote for!”

Grandma Mercer was clapping harder than anyone else, Laurel weeping next to her. The pursed-lipped old lady let go of Gabby and Lili in shock, and they ran to join Charlotte and Madeline under a statue of the Virgin Mary. Then the four of them joined in the applause, and turned toward the portrait of Sutton, with tears glistening in their eyes.

I hovered over them, the applause vibrating through my being. For a moment, I could almost mistake it for a heartbeat.