He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. They couldn’t go back to what they’d had, no way to undo the ugly ending. So why torture themselves now? Brad swallowed, but in a way he understood. Emma wanted him to remember the good times, the way they’d loved before they lost control. However hard it was, he owed her this.
She reached into the box and pulled out a coiled section of rope, and immediately Brad knew what it was. He felt fresh tears in his eyes. “Our rope.”
“I kept it.”
Brad looked at it, then he lifted his eyes to her. “I have a picture. The two of us holding onto the ends.” He sniffed, unable to believe that this was it. The rope that had brought them together. “I always wondered … what happened to it.”
She stretched it out, running her hand over the soft fibers. “Craziest idea, making a couple of kids hold opposite ends of a rope for a whole week of recess.”
“I’m not sure …” he took hold of the other end. “I’m not sure I ever really let go.”
For the first time since they’d sat down, there were tears in her eyes too. “Me either.” She held tight to her side of the rope. “But after today … we have to. We both have to.”
He nodded and squeezed his eyes shut. “I know.” He kept his hold on the rope and clenched his fist around it. Emma had kept the rope all this time? If he’d known that, would he really have left her after that awful summer? Holding the rope in his hand now made him wonder how they ever said good-bye, how they let life tear them apart. If only they’d found their way back to the rope, maybe … a million maybes.
“I’m ready.” She eased the rope from him, looped it, and held it to her side as she stood. “I want to take the rope to the beach, to the place I have to show you.”
She reached into the box and pulled out one more thing. A small envelope. Only this time she didn’t open it, didn’t let him see what was inside. She set the rope and the envelope in her beach bag and lifted it onto her shoulder. Outside, the clouds were back, but there was no rain in the forecast. They had only a few hours left. “Walk with me, okay? One last time, Brad.”
He wondered if his heart could take it. Gone now were all the lies he’d told himself, the lies about how Emma was someone he’d outgrown and how the relationship they’d shared was something young and less than serious. He had loved her more than life. They’d planned on forever, and they’d thrown it all away. He stood and nodded.
He would take this walk, wherever it took them.
E
MMA LED THE WAY, AND
B
RAD
followed at her side. When they reached the sand, she held out her hand to him and his heart melted with all they’d been through. All those years ago and again here — this weekend. Until now Brad had held her hand the polite way people held hands in prayer circles. Keeping his fingers together. But now as he took her hand, their fingers intertwined in a way that felt right, fitting for the moment. This time belonged to Emma and him. There was no room for pretending, not after all she’d reminded him of in the past hour.
They walked past the pier, toward the same parking lot where he’d left his dad’s truck the first time he came here a week ago. He’d passed by this very area, and suddenly Brad had a slight idea where she was taking him. It couldn’t be, could it? The beach was empty as they walked up the sandy hill, the area private and removed from the beachgoers far below. Gradually he could see he was right. She was leading him to the small white wooden cross. The very same one he’d seen when he was here before. Shock rang through him and he stopped, staring at the cross and then up at Emma. “I saw this. When I came here a week ago.”
“You did?” Emma searched his face, as if she were trying to understand.
“I saw it, but I walked by. It … it caught my eye … that’s all.” He stooped down and saw something he hadn’t before. The date etched into the weathered white wood. November 20, 1999. He touched it, ran his fingers over the letters and numbers. The wave of sorrow hit him unexpectedly. November twentieth. The day their daughter died. He gripped the top of the cross and slowly sank to his knees in the sand and grass. His head bowed in a canyon of grief deeper and wider than anything he’d ever known before.
She knelt beside him and put her arm around his shoulders. “I come by here all the time.” Her voice was steady. “Whenever I run.”
He looked at her and saw that her eyes were dry. She had already spent a decade grieving at the foot of the small white cross. “She was a real person. Our little girl.” Emma covered his hand with her own, and together they clutched the top of the cross. A cool breeze rustled the long sea grass on either side of them. “I had to have some way to remember her.”
Brad gripped the cross with all his might, with everything in him. As if by holding tight to it he could will himself back to that moment at the clinic, back to the place where they still had the chance to walk out. Back when their baby girl was still alive. But they hadn’t backed out, and their daughter had died that day. November 20, 1999.
He covered his face with his free hand and he wept for the loss of this precious girl. For the way they’d missed holding her as an infant and watching her take her first steps. For the little voice they would never know and the smile they would never see. For every first and last they’d cheated themselves out of because of one very terrible, very final choice.
Brad had no idea how long he stayed that way, kneeling in the sand, Emma’s arm around his shoulders, a lifetime of tears watering the place where the cross was planted. Finally, weary and worn out, he looked at her. “I miss her.” He felt fresh tears, as if there would never be an end to the sorrow he’d caused. “How can I miss her when I never knew her?”
Still Emma’s eyes were dry. “I miss her too. Every time I stop here. Every morning when I walk into school and pass the fourth-grade classroom. I miss her, Brad. This was all I ever wanted from you. That you might miss her too. We owe that to her, don’t you think?”
He had a headache from crying, but he looked at the date again, the pitiful single date. “Yes.” He wiped at his face again. “We owe that to her.”
“I brought this.” She removed her arm from his shoulders and took the envelope from her beach bag.
Inside was a small photograph of a little girl, one that looked familiar to Brad. Emma held it out so they could both see it, and he knew immediately who it was. “It’s you. Back in grade school. Back when we held onto the rope.”
“Yes.” She smiled sadly at the photo. “I was nine. I think maybe this is what our little girl would’ve looked like. It helps me know she was real.”
Brad brushed his fingers along the image of the young Emma. He didn’t want to ask, because he was almost certain of her answer. But he’d come this far, and now he had no choice. “Did … you give her a name?”
“Yes.” Emma slipped the photo back in the envelope and put the envelope back in the bag. She stared at the white cross again. “I named her Amanda. It means worthy of love. Because she was innocent. In every possible way, she was worthy of our love.”
“Amanda.” Brad wasn’t sure he’d survive the pain, or the way his heart lay in countless pieces around the foot of the small white cross. Worthy of love. Yes, she was worthy.
“I like to believe,” Emma’s voice cracked, and for the first time since they’d set out toward the beach, tears filled her eyes, “that somewhere in heaven, my mom and Amanda are together. My mom loved children, and Amanda … she would’ve loved my mom.” Emma’s face contorted, and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, she ran her fingers over the date on the cross, and then she looked at Brad. “God would let them be together, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Brad was absolutely certain. “Amanda and your mom are together. I’m sure they are.”
“Good.” Emma nodded. “I like believing that for her. For both of them.” She sniffed and dried her cheeks. Again she seemed to find a control that amazed him. “We were wrong, Brad. No matter what people say about it being legal or a choice or anything else. What we did was wrong.”
“It was.”
She lowered herself to the ground, cross-legged, and faced him. “Pastor Dave said we need to confess our sins. That’s the first step to forgiveness.”
“Yes.” This was what Brad had prayed for. Healing and forgiveness for both of them. But he had no idea how hard it would be once they reached this place.
Emma looked at the cross. “I’ve fought against God ever since that day. When my mom died …” she inched herself around, her back to the cross.
Brad dropped down to the sand too, but he pulled up one knee and faced her.
The wind off the ocean sheltered the moment, making it feel private, almost dream-like. Emma gazed at the water, “I told her I’d hold onto my faith. So the two of us would see each other again.” She found Brad’s eyes again. “But I didn’t mean it. My mom never knew what I’d done. I figured I’d go to my grave guilty, so I stopped believing in God. Because how could I let someone kill my baby?” Her voice was thick with pain. She breathed in slowly, as if she were finding a new sort of strength she hadn’t known before. “But I can’t live like this anymore. Feeling guilty. Running from life.”
Brad understood how she felt. It was the same reason he was here today, and not being fitted for a tuxedo in New York City. They were still facing each other, their feet almost touching.
“This morning at church … for the first time … I heard God’s voice. I felt Him calling me. I don’t want to overthink this, or analyze it. But I’m tired of arguing against God.” She reached out both hands and once more their fingers joined. “I only want to obey. I want the peace Pastor Dave was talking about today at church.”
Brad felt a sunbeam of joy burst across the dry and barren landscape of his broken heart. “I want that too.”
“I don’t know how this works. I don’t think God wants us to make it complicated.” She held tight to his hands. “So I’ll just say this.” Quiet tears built up in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. The long sea grass around them blew in the breeze and sheltered them from the looks of any passersby. They were alone, the two of them and God and the memory of Amanda. Emma coughed a little and continued, her eyes never wavering. “I walked into that abortion clinic by my own free will, Brad. It was wrong — no matter who made the appointment, and no matter what the law says. I made a decision that killed my baby.” Her voice broke and she hung her head. “That’s my confession — before you and God.”
Brad had never loved her more than he did in that moment. The strength she’d needed to say those words, was something that only could’ve come from God. Now it was his turn. He ran his thumbs along the tops of her hands and he searched for the right words. “Emma, when you told me you were pregnant, I wasn’t brave. I didn’t look to God for wisdom or help, and I thought only of myself.” He looked straight to her heart, even though it felt like doing so might kill him. “I knew … I knew you were scared that day, but I only wanted everything to be how it was. I didn’t care about you or the baby. I pushed you into the abortion and I caused the death of our little girl.” Again the sorrow overwhelmed him, but even so he felt the freedom in his words. “That’s my confession — before you and God.” He searched her face, her eyes. “I’m sorry, Emma.”
“I’m sorry too.”
Brad didn’t have to ask her. Their next step was as obvious as inhaling. “Pray with me.”
She nodded and bowed her head, her eyes closed. He looked once more at the cross, and then he did the same thing. “Dear God, we come before You the way we should’ve a very long time ago. We were wrong. We’ve confessed that to You and to each other.” Brad felt holy hands on his shoulders, and he was certain beyond anything in all his life that here on the hidden bluff along Holden Beach, they were in the presence of God Almighty. “Please forgive us, Father. Let us move on from this place healed and whole. And please,” his tears choked his voice, but he pressed on. “Please let Amanda know we love her. And let her be with Emma’s mother. Until we can see her one day in heaven.”
“In Jesus’ name …” Emma’s voice picked up where his left off. Then their voices came together. “Amen.”
They opened their eyes, and for a while they said nothing, just looked at each other, basking in the moment. Brad was the first one to speak. “Do you feel it?”
“Yes.” She smiled, and there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. Not since before that summer. “I feel God.”
“He’s here.” A burden lifted from Brad’s shoulders, and despite the sadness that still marked the moment, he understood the gift they’d been given. “This is the peace that passes understanding. The one the Bible talks about.”
While they’d been praying, the clouds had broken apart. Like the sky, the answers were clear now, all of them. And how could they not be? God had brought them together again and He’d forgiven them. Nothing would ever change that, and Brad was certain he would remember this moment as long as he lived. He and Emma and the cross.
And the presence of God all around them.
E
MMA SHIFTED HERSELF SO SHE WAS
facing the beach, and Brad did the same. The sea grass danced on either side of them, the white cross behind them. “Look at the water, there … where the sky is blue above it.”
“It’s beautiful.” Brad’s voice no longer rang with unbridled pain and loss. The peace he had spoken about was there for both of them. Brad breathed deep, as if he wanted to drink in the way he felt here on the shores of Holden Beach. “I’ve missed it.”
Their elbows and knees touched, but there was nothing strange or uncomfortable about that now. A breakthrough had happened in Emma’s heart, and she was certain about one thing. She would never be the same again. Not ever. The joy that had marked Kristin Palazzo’s life, and the light that always shone from Frankie’s smile, the forgiveness Gavin Greeley had told her about — that joy and light was hers now too. And Brad had been a part of that. No one could change what they’d shared on this beach today. No matter what tomorrow brought for the two of them.
A comfortable silence fell around them, and to their right, the sun was starting to set. Emma leaned her head on Brad’s shoulder for a minute or so, and then she sat straight again, her eyes still on the shoreline. “Tell me about her, Brad. Your fiancée.”