by Sara Shepard
Emma flushed with pleasure. “I’d love to.” She paused, then went on. “There’s one thing I won’t do, though.”
Madeline cocked her head curiously, but Laurel looked like she knew what Emma was about to say.
“No more pranks. I can’t do it anymore.”
The girls were silent for a long moment. Charlotte looked down at her black Jimmy Choos, and Madeline hugged herself. Behind them, the Twitter Twins’ jaws had dropped in shock. Alex just raised an eyebrow questioningly. But Laurel nodded.
“I’m with Emma on this,” she said. “It’s hurt too many people. And my snuff film prank was the one that Ethan used to . . . you know . . .” She trailed off.
Madeline took a deep breath. “You’re right. Maybe it’s time to be just boring old popular girls for once. We are fabulous enough not to need a gimmick, you know.”
Charlotte swept her hair behind her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking it’s time for a while now. We’re not kids anymore.”
Emma glanced at Lili and Gabby, who looked mutinous. Lili leaned in to whisper something in Gabby’s ear, and Gabby nodded. They had only gotten into the club a few months ago and clearly weren’t happy to be done with it so soon.
Oh, well. The Twitter Twins could go rogue, as long as they didn’t prank Emma.
“Anyway, we don’t have time for pranks right now,” Charlotte said. “I need to find a new swimsuit for Barbados. I can’t just sit in a cover-up the whole time if I’m going to get any color.” She smiled shyly. “Emma, you’re still invited if you want to come. A little beach, booze, and boys might be just what the doctor ordered to recover from . . . from all this.” She gestured helplessly around. Emma patted her shoulder gratefully, truly touched.
“Thanks, Char. But I need to spend this Christmas with my family.” She met Laurel’s eye, and they both smiled.
“More for us,” Madeline said brightly. “We’ll bring you back some rum.”
Emma laughed. Suddenly, the sun on her face and the December breeze playing against her bare legs felt almost heavenly.
I watched my friends comforting each other, their eyes shining with tears, their smiles tentative in the winter sun. I knew how much they’d miss me—that they’d all carry that sorrow for a long time, deep in their hearts. But they would be all right. They would live, and thrive, and remember me with love, and eventually, they would let go of me, the way the living always had to let go of the dead.
Then I saw something that wrenched my heart in my chest.
Thayer, hands in his pockets, lingered off to the side. Alone. And watching Emma.
36
YOURS FOREVER
Thayer stood slightly apart from the crowd, leaning against the low white wall that surrounded the church’s property. He’d come in a perfectly tailored Burberry sport coat and slacks, no tie. His dark hair fell down over one eye, and his hands were shoved deep in his pockets. When he saw Emma approach, he raised his hand a little.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she replied. Silence drifted down between them. She watched Garrett join Celeste and Louisa, wiping tears from his eyes. Grandma Mercer had stepped down from the church, Mr. Mercer at her arm. Laurel walked swiftly to her side and took her other arm, murmuring in her ear.
A few feet from Emma and Thayer, a pair of mourning doves perched together in a cactus. They cooed softly at each other, back and forth, like they were deep in conversation.
“How is it the thorns don’t hurt them?” Thayer asked abruptly.
Emma cocked her head questioningly. He nodded at the birds.
“I guess because they’re so light,” Emma said. She swallowed, trying to push down the lump in her throat. “Thayer, I am so, so sorry.”
Slowly he drew his gaze toward her. His hazel eyes were pained but clear. “I’m not mad at you, Emma.” He gazed down into her face for a long moment, then looked quickly away. “It’s just . . . You look just like her. Even knowing everything, there’s a part of me that wants to kiss you.”
“But it’d be all wrong,” Emma said. She smiled sadly. “I’m not Sutton. I wasn’t even a very good stand-in.”
He laughed softly, one cheek’s perfect dimple revealing itself. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re not her. But you’re pretty amazing.”
He drew his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of computer paper. As soon as I saw it, I knew what it was. A tendril of electricity connected me to that letter.
“The cops gave me this,” he said, staring down at the note. “They found it on her phone. I guess Ethan must have tried to delete it, but their forensics guy retrieved it from the SD card. She wrote it, that night in the canyon, and saved it as a draft in our secret e-mail account. I think—I think she wouldn’t mind if you read it.”
Emma’s throat felt constricted as she took the note in her hands. Carefully, she unfolded it.
Dear Thayer,
I am still processing everything that’s happened to me tonight. I feel like my entire world has been turned upside down. But all this uncertainty has made one thing clear: I love you. I love you so crazy much, Thayer, and I want to be with you.
I know I’ve done a lot to hurt you. I don’t want it to be that way anymore. Wherever you’ve been, I don’t care. I’m not mad. You can tell me when you’re ready to—but it won’t make any difference to me. You’re the only one for me. I know this kind of love comes along once in a lifetime. I’m not going to let it go.
Yours forever,
Sutton
Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes. She wiped one away quickly before it could fall and stain the note. She looked up to see Thayer, a haunted, aching look in his hazel eyes.
“All those weeks when she suddenly wasn’t e-mailing me anymore, I was so confused,” he said, his voice breaking. “I thought we were over. I thought that the things I said to her that night in the canyon had made her hate me. And all that time, she was . . . gone.”
“Not gone,” I murmured. “I’m still here. Still missing you so much.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Emma said. “Ethan covered his tracks too well.”
“Ethan.” Thayer’s face darkened. “I owe that guy a few times over.”
“Well, he’s getting what he deserves.” Emma’s voice was steady, but even as she spoke she felt the cold that crept up around her heart every time she thought of him. Thayer blinked away his scowl, looking at her with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning slightly toward her. She suddenly remembered that night at Char’s party, when Thayer had asked her the same question.
Don’t I look okay? she had teased.
And Thayer had said, You look perfect, as always. I asked how you felt.
Thayer, always so perceptive. She sighed. He seemed to see right through her, just the way he’d always seen through Sutton.
“I keep telling everyone I’m okay. But the truth is, I’m not. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay.” Her voice broke for a moment, and she paused. “I’m just glad it’s all over. Until now I was so scared I couldn’t really grieve for her.”
Thayer reached out and hugged her close.
“Thank you, for what you did for her,” he whispered.
“Thayer,” I whispered, close to his ear. For a moment I imagined I could feel the heat from his body, the softness of his skin. “I will always love you. But we both have to move on. I want you to be happy. I want you to live.”
Tears glistened in his eyes. He rested his head on Emma’s scalp. “Good-bye,” he whispered. Emma didn’t have to ask who he was talking to.
37
GOOD-BYE
The next afternoon, Emma stood at the mirror of Sutton and Laurel’s shared bathroom with a tube of lip gloss in one hand, staring into her own marine-blue eyes. It was still surreal, to look in the mirror and see herself. She’d been someone else for so long. And after everything she’d been through, she wasn’t quite sure who her real self was anymore.
>
Earlier that morning they’d all gone to the farmers’ market to pick out a Christmas tree together. Now she could hear Mrs. Mercer and Grandma Mercer in the living room downstairs, rearranging the furniture to make room for the decorations. Overhead, Mr. Mercer and Laurel’s footsteps creaked in the attic as they retrieved boxes of ornaments. All day a gentle quiet had permeated the house—not an awkward silence but a peaceful one. It was the quiet of wounds starting to heal, of deep sadness that needed room to breathe.
Emma’s eyes darted to the picture postcard she’d slid into the corner of the mirror, alongside all the photos of Sutton’s friends and the concert tickets and the fashion magazine clippings her twin had hung there. The postcard had a photo of the Alamo at sunset, and said GREETINGS FROM SAN ANTONIO in a blocky font. On the back, a scratchy, untidy hand had scrawled only I’m doing okay. —B. It had arrived the day before, addressed to Mr. Mercer. He’d left it by Emma’s plate at the breakfast table.
Becky still didn’t know the truth—that Sutton was dead, that Emma was now here in Tucson with the Mercers. But it was a relief to know that Becky was safe. Emma liked imagining different versions of a new life for her mother: She pictured Becky strong and healthy, putting weight back on her skeletal frame so the severe, haunted look vanished from her face. She pictured her painting houses in bright colors, or selling fruit from a roadside stand, or learning to guide a skiff down the river from some patient, kind mentor. More than anything, she wanted to believe Becky could change. She wanted to believe they all could, if they wanted to.
Her eyes moved back to her own reflection as she raised the lip gloss to her mouth. But what she saw in the mirror made her drop the tube in shock, and it clattered into the sink, forgotten. For less than a heartbeat, she saw her there, a shimmer, a flicker. Sutton.
Her twin stood right next to her. She wore the same pink hoodie and terry-cloth shorts she’d died in, her hair in long loose waves around her shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror. The ghost of a smile played around her lips . . . and then she was gone.
“Sutton?” Emma whirled around to look behind her. But even as she turned, she knew she wouldn’t see anyone there. She turned back to the mirror, to her own high cheekbones, her own turned-up nose. The line between Emma and Sutton had been so blurred for so long. Where did her twin’s life end and hers begin?
My sister would have the rest of her life to figure out who she was. But I had a feeling I would always be a part of her—that somehow, we’d changed each other.
A light knock sounded. “Come in,” Emma called softly. Laurel opened the door. She fixed a stare on Emma for a long moment.
“What’s up?” Emma asked.
Laurel shook her head. “It’s still just spooky. Sorry. I know you’re probably tired of hearing that. It’s like you’re Sutton, but . . . not.” She came and stood next to Emma, running a brush through her honey-blonde hair.
“No, you’re right. It’s spooky to me, too,” Emma said, staring into the mirror again. She was wearing her vintage 1970s Tootsie Pop T-shirt and a DIY denim skirt she’d made from an old pair of jeans. She’d braided her hair loosely back and trimmed her own bangs—they’d been in her eyes since she came to Tucson. “This stuff doesn’t even feel like me anymore. But Sutton’s clothes don’t feel like me, either.”
Laurel pinned her hair up in a sloppy bun. “Well, that just means we have to have an identity-crisis shopping trip soon. Maybe this week we’ll hit La Encantada.”
“That sounds awesome,” Emma said. Their eyes met in the mirror, and they both smiled.
“Anyway,” Laurel said, flushing with pleasure, “I think they’re waiting on us to start the tree. Are you ready to go down?”
Emma took a deep breath. This was what she’d dreamed of for so long. A family Christmas. Now that it was here, she was oddly nervous. What if it wasn’t what she’d expected? Maybe the Mercers would resent her being there. Maybe they didn’t want her to come down and help.
“You think it’ll be okay?” she asked, biting her lip.
Laurel raised an eyebrow. “You lived through blackmail, kidnapping, and assault, and you’re worried about trimming the tree? Come on.” She threaded her arm through Emma’s and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Together, they went downstairs.
Mrs. Mercer had hung a garland along the banister already, and the smell of vanilla and cinnamon wafted through the house. In the living room, they’d moved an armchair to make room for the silvery green fir. Someone had already strung tiny winking lights around its branches. Bing Crosby crooned from the surround-sound stereo, and a platter of sugar cookies sat on top of the baby grand’s lid. Drake—wearing plush reindeer antlers—lifted his nose to sniff hopefully at the plate.
The Mercers were already there, a fire crackling in the fireplace. Mrs. Mercer sat sorting through a box of decorations on the floor, while Mr. Mercer stood looking thoughtfully up at the tree, wearing a bright red Santa hat. Grandma Mercer was there too, her hair perfectly waved, pearls at her neck and throat. Emma swallowed. Grandma still hadn’t spoken to her more than was absolutely necessary.
“Oh, God, they’ve already got ‘White Christmas’ going,” Laurel groaned, rolling her eyes, but Emma could tell she secretly liked it. Mrs. Mercer gave a satisfied little smirk.
“That’s right,” she said. “And after this we have John Denver and Judy Garland to get through, too. ”
Laurel pretended to gag, and Emma giggled. She’d always liked Christmas music—it was one of the few things you could enjoy for free during the holidays. She’d spent plenty of holidays walking the Vegas strip, listening to the Bellagio fountain show play “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” and looking at the lushly decorated Christmas trees the casinos put up. She hummed along now, picking up a cookie from the tray and biting into it.
Grandma Mercer glanced at Mr. and Mrs. Mercer, anxious creases at the corners of her eyes. Mr. Mercer put a hand on her shoulder, some unspoken communication passing between them. He nodded earnestly at her, as if in encouragement. Emma’s heart skipped a beat.
Grandma Mercer swallowed and turned toward Emma. Her eyes scanned Emma’s face, taking in the features so like Sutton’s. She cleared her throat. “There’s something I’d like for you to have, Emma.”
Emma’s ears perked up at the sound of her name. It was the first time Grandma Mercer had said it out loud. She shot a look at Laurel, who smiled, the firelight dancing in her bright green eyes. Then the older woman pressed a small box into Emma’s hand.
She held it in her palm for a long moment, unable to bring herself to disturb the pretty little package. It was jewelry-sized, tied with a satin bow. She could count on one hand the number of gifts she’d received in her life, as herself. Now she hardly knew what to do.
“Go on,” Grandma said, her voice tinged with exasperated amusement. “Open it, already.”
Emma took the ribbon in her fingers and pulled. Inside was an ornament, a simple five-pointed star in sterling silver. Engraved across the front in cursive was her name. Beneath that was her birth date.
“That was what I gave each of the girls for their first Christmases,” said Grandma, a sad smile unfolding across her face. “Sutton and Laurel. And poor Becky, too, ages ago. I thought . . . I thought you’d like one, too.”
Emma couldn’t speak. She stared down at the ornament in her hand, her lips parted. The star became blurred as her eyes filled with tears. But for the first time in a long time, they weren’t tears of fear, or grief, or frustration. She was crying with happiness.
She suddenly realized that everyone in the room was watching her. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer were both smiling softly, and Laurel hugged her knees to her chest on the sofa, looking pensive. Grandma Mercer gave her a worried, shaky smile. Emma wiped quickly at her eyes, looking around at all of them. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
“We thought this year . . . you could help us hang Sutton’s, too,” said Mr. Mercer, his voic
e breaking slightly.
Emma nodded, her throat tight with emotion as Mr. Mercer handed her the other star. For a moment it was cold and hard, and then slowly it warmed to her skin. She held them, one in each hand, engraved with the same date. Then she turned to the tree and carefully hung them side by side, so close that their edges touched.
The sister stars, she thought. Finally together.
I watched them all a few minutes more. My mom trying to sing “O Holy Night,” laughing when she got the words wrong. My dad putting his arm around Grandma Mercer, tears glittering in her eyes as she found an ornament I’d made in first grade with my school picture. Laurel holding up her stocking, loudly asking if they all thought it was big enough. Drake, under the piano, slyly opening the crumpled napkin containing Emma’s forgotten cookie. And Emma. Emma, unpacking the ornaments one by one, running her hands lovingly over them. Wondering about the history behind each one—where it had come from, what it meant, who picked it out. But there would be time to learn all that, time to hear her family’s stories and become a part of them.
And then I felt myself drifting, slowly detaching from the world I’d always known. For a split second, panic shot through me. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to leave them. But then my eyes fell on the tree, on our little silver stars. Laurel had hung hers just below Emma’s. I understood then. We were a constellation. We would always be together.
I turned toward Emma, the twin sister I never got to meet in person, who’d lived my life and brought me peace, even though it had nearly cost her everything. “Thank you,” I whispered.
In the reflection of the stars, I saw my form glowing brilliant silver-gold, getting brighter and brighter until I couldn’t even look at myself. I was turning into energy, pure and vibrant. I took a last look at my family, my constellation, beautiful and bright.
“Remember me,” I said, knowing they would. And then, as fast as a shooting star, I was gone.
