Only now that was worrying her even more. When they’d planned this study session, Julia had been so excited. She was eager to dig deep and have the best performance she possibly could so she could impress the graduate school.
It had felt to Emma as if something was coming over Julia. A major change was happening, and even though Julia wouldn’t really open up to her about everything in her life, Emma got the feeling she was right on the brink of something amazing.
There was no reason she shouldn’t be at the library. She wouldn’t just blow it off. Not after all her enthusiasm and excitement. Not after planning snacks and telling Emma to put together a studying playlist. They had even already exchanged Christmas presents so there would be no frivolity to distract them from the business at hand.
In all honesty, they both knew there would be at least a little bit of frivolity. But for the most part, they would be working hard to make her feel totally confident and ready to face the final.
Now she wasn’t here.
It suddenly occurred to Emma that maybe Julia had gone straight to her house rather than coming by the library first. As caught up in everything as she was, it was possible she had misunderstood the plan and just skipped a step.
Emma walked out of the library and called Julia. It rang several times and then went to voicemail. Emma hung up and tried again. Again, it rang and rang, then voicemail picked up. She left a message and followed up with a text. She was already walking toward where her car was parked as she sent the message.
The worry was starting to build up as she drove off campus toward her house. She kept telling herself that when she turned onto her street, she would see Julia’s car sitting there in front of the house. Julia would be behind the wheel waiting for her, her textbook open on the steering wheel as she jotted notes in the notebook sitting on the dashboard.
Emma repeated the image to herself so many times she could already see it in her head. It was as if it was actually happening.
Until she turned onto her street and the car wasn’t there. She drove all the way to the other end of the street to make sure Julia hadn’t parked on the next block. Then she drove around the block and up and down several other streets, searching for the car.
She called Julia’s phone and sent several more messages. None of the calls was answered. None of the messages were returned. Emma drove through the entire neighborhood. There were plenty of open spots available, and she didn’t see Julia’s car anywhere.
Leaving one more voicemail, she went back to her house and went inside to wait.
Now
I have to admit, it’s a little bit surreal coming back to this house. Sure, I’ve been back since moving to Sherwood. But the majority of the time I’ve spent here since permanently making what was once my grandmother’s house my home has been since my father moved back in.
I’ve been through several odd transitions with this house. It came into my life many years ago before I started college. My father didn’t want me to have to live in a dorm or struggle with other types of student housing, so he bought the house instead. I could live off campus, but close enough that I could easily get to classes. It was ideal. I was never one to be interested in the partying lifestyle often associated with dorms, and I really enjoyed the space and the privacy of being in my own place.
Having my father there with me was also a major draw. Even after years of his rarely going on business travel anymore, I hadn’t quite gotten over being a little child when he left for days or even weeks at a time. But then when I was eighteen, he certainly wasn’t there anymore. I came home just after my birthday and found him gone. Without any preparation or prior notice, I lived on my own in a house I held the deed to and had a bank account with more than enough money to survive on for a good long time.
I barely knew what to do with myself. So I did the only thing I could think of. I kept going. I lived in this house on my own for the next eleven years before returning to Sherwood. The first time I went back to the little town that was the closest thing to a hometown I had, considering my often shifting and mobile childhood, it was with absolutely no intention of actually staying there.
This little house was my home, and I knew I was going to go back to it. But things changed, and soon I found myself more at home in Sherwood then I could have ever imagined. I was happy and settled and back with Sam. Then suddenly my father returned. And the house became his again.
It happened just like that. Smoothly and without any awkwardness. Now as I walk up to the front door, I’m going back in time. Not to my late twenties before Sherwood, or even the stretches of time I spent here during the trials. But to when I was a teenager and my life was both coming together and falling apart at the same time.
I step inside and close the door behind me. After a moment of just being in the space again, I take my bags down the hall to my room and set them on the bed. I want to jump straight into my investigation, but it’s getting late. There’s nothing I can do
