All We Have Is Now, Page 2

  Vince’s voice is calm and reassuring. He is a rock, like always. “It’s all right. He can go first. We’re in no hurry, right?”

  An image pops into Emerson’s brain, and it’s so horrible, she stops. Squeezes Vince’s arm even tighter. “But … his body will be down there. Vince, I don’t know if I can—”

  And then, the man changes direction until he reaches the end where he can climb down onto the street. As he walks toward them, Emerson’s heart races. What does he want? Why didn’t he go through with it? Does he want them to leave?

  He raises his hand, like a friendly wave. “Hello.”

  “Hey,” Vince says. “We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to, uh, bother you.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re here, actually.”

  This makes Emerson even more nervous. He wants something from them. But the question is, what?

  When the man reaches them, he extends his hand to Vince. “I’m Carl.”

  He’s middle-aged. Probably close in age to Emerson’s father. His brown hair is thick and his eyes are kind. He reminds Emerson of Hugh Jackman. For some reason, this thought alone relaxes her a little.

  “I’m Vince, and this is Emerson.”

  “It’s good to meet you,” Carl says with a smile. “Really good. This means I can maybe do one more. That is, if you’ll let me. I’d love to help you.”

  Emerson shakes her head. “One more what?”

  “Sorry,” Carl says. “Let me explain. Yesterday, a man I’d never met before asked me what I might wish for. Something I hadn’t done in life that I’d always wanted to do. I told him since I was a little boy, I’d always dreamed of being a fireman. I couldn’t pursue it because my father insisted I join him in his landscaping business. But yesterday, we went into the fire station, got dressed in the gear, and took the fire truck out for a spin.” He stops and closes his eyes for a moment, like the memory is a sweet piece of candy that’s almost gone. When he opens his eyes, he continues, “I swore I’d do the same for five more people. I managed four and thought I might find my last one here. But no one came. And then, I just felt ready, you know? Ready to say good-bye. At peace, I suppose. But then, here you are.”

  Emerson doesn’t know what to say. Vince says, “I’m not sure I’m following you.”

  “Is there something you want?” Carl asks, his voice warm and soothing. “Anything I can do for you? That’s all. It’s simple, really.”

  Before Emerson can speak, Vince says, “Every day since I’ve been on the streets, all I’ve wanted is cash. You know, money for food. Shelter. Clothes. A car to take us places. We’ve had nothing for a long time, and it’s hard, man. It’s so incredibly hard, I can’t even tell you.”

  It’s true. And yet at the same time, Emerson can’t believe what she’s hearing. What can money possibly get them now? It’s the last thing they should be asking for. But before she can argue, before she can say, “Wait, let’s think about this,” the man reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wallet. He hands it over to Vince.

  “Take this,” he says. “Feel rich in these final hours.”

  Vince opens the wallet as Emerson peers over his arm. It’s packed full of bills. He pulls one out, and Benjamin Franklin stares up at them. A hundred bucks. And that’s just one.

  “I don’t know,” Vince says, shoving the bill back inside and snapping it closed. “This doesn’t seem right. I mean, are you sure you don’t want it?”

  Carl laughs. He laughs and laughs. “I’m sure. It’s yours. Go. Enjoy.”

  He turns and walks away from them, heading back to the end of the bridge, where he’ll climb around the barricade and onto the stone railing.

  Emerson looks at Vince. “Should we stop him?”

  Before Vince can respond, Carl shouts to them, “Pay it forward, if you can. Look for those who have wishes or regrets.”

  Panic rises up, and Emerson realizes she doesn’t want to be here. She starts to run, heading back the way they came. Vince yells something, but she’s covered her ears with her hands. She doesn’t want to hear the fall. Definitely doesn’t want to see it.

  She remembers Vince’s words. I just want it to be easy.

  There is nothing easy about this, she realizes. Not a single thing.

  THE SUN sets

  and the sky turns

  a pale shade of tangerine

  just for a moment.

  A golden hue

  falls across the city,

  and if time could stop,

  now would be the perfect time.

  The majestic scene is

  both inspiring and comforting,

  and everything feels right

  even when it’s not.

  People around the city

  stop and take in

  this glorious golden moment

  and wish for days they miss already.

  Then, it’s gone.

  There is only grayness

  that eventually turns to black,

  because it’s true what they say.

  Nothing lasts forever.

  CARL STANDS there for a while, watching the sky change colors as the sun slips away. A flood of emotions washes over him, thinking about what comes next.

  Fear.

  Sadness.

  Loneliness.

  Regret.

  But also happiness, because it’s been a good life. He thought he was ready, but as darkness descends, he’s not so sure. Maybe he could help more people. Maybe a miracle will happen. Maybe …

  His phone buzzes in his pocket. Gripping the barricade with one hand, he pulls it out of his pocket and says, “Hello?”

  “Carl? It’s me. Where are you?”

  He won’t tell her. It’d upset her and she’d blame herself. He decides to keep it simple. “Downtown. Where are you?”

  She can barely get the word out. “Home.”

  This isn’t what he expected her to say. “Which home?”

  “Ours,” she says. “I spent time with my parents, hugged them good-bye, and came back here. I drove all night and all day. They didn’t want me to go, of course, but I decided here was where I wanted to be most. With you.”

  “Oh my God,” Carl says, suddenly clutching the railing harder. “Trinity. I—”

  “You’ll come home now, right?”

  His brain is on overdrive, trying to process this latest development. “I gave away my car. And my wallet.”

  “What do you mean, gave them away?” she asks. “Why?”

  “I, um, I wanted to do something. To help people. I don’t know. Anyway, can you come get me?”

  She starts to cry. “No, I can’t. The car ran out of gas, because it’s practically impossible to find fuel. I had to walk the last few miles. I didn’t call you because I wanted to surprise you, but then you weren’t here.”

  “Shhh, it’s okay, Trinity. We’ll figure something out. Can you check with the neighbors? See if any of them are home? And if they aren’t, see if you can get into a garage. Surely cars have been left behind. I’ll see what I can do on my end, too. Maybe I can catch a ride with someone.”

  “Carl, you have to get here.”

  “I know, honey. I know. Call me if you find a car you can drive, all right?”

  “Okay. ’Bye.”

  “ ’Bye.”

  He stuffs the phone in his pocket and inches back the way he came, until he’s on solid ground again. As he stops to collect himself, he notices someone has written something in chalk on the sidewalk. Funny how he didn’t notice it before.

  Tomorrow is a new day. I want you to be here for it. Please let someone help you.

  EMERSON RUSHES down the narrow street, past the lovely houses and the bamboo-filled yard. It’s not pitch-black out yet, thank goodness, so she can see where she’s going.

  “Em, wait up,” Vince calls, but she waves him off and keeps up her brisk pace. She doesn’t feel like talking. Because what is there to say? People are dying, afraid of what happens next. And mo
re people will die tomorrow. A lot more. The unfairness of it all suddenly makes her want to scream with rage.

  Why didn’t the government do more to help everyone? Why wasn’t there an evacuation plan put in place? Why did it have to be every man for himself? Sure, there wasn’t much time, but there was some time. A little bit. Wasn’t it enough? Why couldn’t it have been enough? It all just seems wildly insane and it makes her feel insane that she is here, living in this nightmare.

  When she finally gets back down to Jefferson Street, she stops to catch her breath. Vince reaches for her and gently touches her arm. “Hey. Are you okay?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Yeah. I get it. All of a sudden it feels a lot more real or something.”

  Emerson shudders. Vince tries to put his arm around her, to pull her close, like this will help, but she spins away, dodging the gesture.

  After all, it’s every man for himself. That’s the way it has to be. Anything different will make things too complicated. More frightening. Because any time, he could change his mind.

  Any time.

  And then what?

  Vince speaks softly, like he’s talking to a frightened kitten. “Come on. There’s that little tavern down the street here. Let’s see if the doors might be open. We can sit down. Maybe find something to eat.”

  She follows him down the sidewalk, along the eerily quiet street until they come to the Goose Hollow Inn. It’s a funky little place, with a wooden porch along the front and an even bigger outside eating area along the side. He motions for her to take a seat at the table near the door while he tries the knob, but it’s locked. He sits across from her.

  “I’m worried about you,” he says. “Can you tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours?”

  He asks her this sometimes. But just like always, she’ll only give him a fraction of the answer. She leans forward, rubbing her face with her hands. “What were we thinking? We can’t do that. I mean, how could he possibly do that?”

  Vince doesn’t say anything. He probably knows she doesn’t really expect an answer. She decides she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. They made a mistake. It’s over. Time to move on.

  She eyes the wallet in his hands. “Vince, I don’t understand. Why’d you ask for money?” There’s a streetlight nearby, so she can see his face, and she stares at the person she’s come to know so well, and yet, she never saw that coming.

  He shakes his head as he puts the wallet on the table. “I don’t know. I was just being honest, that’s all. Didn’t really think it through. You’re not mad, are you?”

  Emerson turns and stares at the empty street. She’s always admired Vince’s honesty. Can’t get upset at him for that. She looks at him again and gives him a little smile. “No. Just wondering what we’re going to do with a wallet full of money. Take a trip to New York City, maybe? Have some pizza and see a show?”

  “You have to admit, that’d be fun.” He opens the wallet and takes out all the bills. “It feels nice to have it, even if there isn’t much we can do with it now. Here.” He hands it to her. “See for yourself.”

  She runs her hands across the bills. Fans them out. Starts to count them, but stops herself. It doesn’t matter. It’s something they haven’t had for so long, but she’d rather have something else. Something a little more meaningful.

  “I’m sorry I spoke up first,” Vince says, as if he can hear her thoughts. “I should have let you say something.”

  Emerson hands the money back to him, and he slips it in the wallet. “It’s fine. It’s what came to mind, and any other time, it would have made a lot of sense. But right now …”

  She doesn’t have to say it. He knows. It’s basically worthless.

  Vince slides the driver’s license out of the wallet and starts reading.

  “Carl Ragsdale. Fifty-one years old. Six feet, two inches. Two hundred and ten pounds. Lives in Lake Oswego.”

  “I wonder why he wasn’t with his family,” Emerson ponders out loud.

  Vince puts the driver’s license back where it belongs. “Yeah, that is odd. After all, Lake Oswego is the capital of suburbia. He must have a family. Unless they all left, and he stayed behind for some reason?”

  Emerson shrugs. “We’ll probably never know.” She leans back in her chair and takes a deep breath. There’s a slight hint of cigarette smoke in the air. “So what do we do now?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, and you know, I like what he was doing, Em.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Helping people. Making dreams come true or whatever. I mean, think about it for a second. We’ve been living in survival mode for a long time. Maybe it’s time to have some fun while we help people do the same. If anyone deserves it, we do.”

  Emerson considers his words. She doesn’t feel like she deserves anything. She’s felt worthless for so long, it’s hard to feel like that’s changed.

  When she doesn’t answer, Vince leans across the table, his arms stretched out. She can tell he wants her to take his hands, even after she’d pushed him away earlier. It wasn’t very nice, the way she acted. He’d only been trying to comfort her. To help her. That’s what friends do, after all. So this time, she doesn’t refuse. His hands are rough. Strong. Soothing.

  “Come on. Let’s try it,” he says, rubbing his thumbs across the top of her hands. It gives her goose bumps, and she quickly pulls her hands away.

  “Try it, how?” she asks, pretending to scratch an itch on her arm.

  “We’ll help one person, and see what happens. If it’s weird or it makes you feel uncomfortable, then we’re through. It’s over and that’s that.”

  Before she can respond, a kid comes from around the corner, smoking a cigarette. She can’t tell how old he might be. He’s got a baseball hat on and a Lakers basketball jersey that’s too big for him. He stops. Stares. Then he asks, “Do you know if I can get into this place? I was hoping I might get something to drink.”

  Vince stands up. “The front door is locked up tight.”

  The kid shakes his head as he throws the cigarette on the ground and crushes it with his shoe.

  “You all right?” Vince asks.

  He doesn’t look at them as he replies. “I—I couldn’t stay there. With them. I just … I couldn’t, you know? I snuck out the bathroom window.”

  “Your family’s at home?” Emerson asks.

  He nods as he blinks a bunch of times. Like he’s trying to keep it together.

  Emerson glances at Vince. She knows what he’s thinking. This kid’s the one.

  “It’s okay, man,” Vince says. “Sometimes we have to do what’s right for ourselves, even if others don’t agree.”

  “Yeah,” the kid says. “I felt smothered there. Like I couldn’t breathe or something.”

  “I know,” Emerson says. She waves her hand at Vince. “We both understand.”

  “You can hang with us for a while, if you want to,” Vince says. “Though I guess we should introduce ourselves. I’m Vince and this is Emerson. We’ve been living on the streets for the past year and a half.”

  The kid looks at them differently. “Seriously?”

  “Yep,” Emerson says as she stands up. “Seriously. What’s your name?”

  “Hayden.”

  “Let me ask you something, Hayden,” Vince says. “What’d you dream about doing? Someday? You know, when you got out of school.”

  “What’s it matter now?”

  “It matters to us,” Emerson says.

  “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

  “No,” Emerson responds. “We won’t. Right now, there isn’t anything that’s stupid.”

  “Yep,” Vince agrees. “She speaks the truth.”

  Hayden seems to consider this for a few seconds before he says, “I play the guitar. And I sing, too. I’ve always thought it’d be cool to be in a band.”

  Emerson smiles. She likes this answer, though she’s not sure how they can possibly
pull a band together for him now. “So basically, you want to be a rock-and-roll star? Play music, travel the world, and get the chicks?”

  Hayden chuckles. “Um, okay. Sure. That sounds good.”

  Vince grabs the wallet off the table and puts it in his pocket. “Let’s see if we can find a way into this place. Get some food. Then we’ll see what we can do for you. Make a plan, you know? I have an idea or two.”

  “What do you mean?” Hayden asks.

  “Never mind. We’ll explain later. For now, you hungry?”

  “Yeah. I’m starving. They were pulling a turkey out of the oven when I left.”

  “I knew it,” Emerson mutters under her breath.

  “What’s that?” Hayden asks.

  “Nothing,” Emerson says quickly. “So, what’s the deal, you’re not a fan of turkey?”

  “Can’t stand it,” Hayden says. “My grandma always overcooks it. Like she’s afraid of poisoning us if she doesn’t cook it long enough.”

  “Ah yes, turkey that tastes like a shoe,” Emerson says. “So appetizing, isn’t it? Were they going to have pie, too?”

  “Nah. Just some cookies my mom made.”

  “What kind?”

  “Oatmeal with raisins. I think they’re trying to use up whatever’s in the cupboard.”

  Emerson starts to say how ridiculous that sounds, but she realizes practical people probably can’t suddenly become impractical. With all of the talk of food, she decides she’s hungry, too.

  They go around to the side door. It’s open.

  THE PLACE isn’t very big. It is, however, dark and extremely stuffy. Vince props the door open to let in some fresh air.

  “We need to find a light switch,” Emerson says, feeling her way around the small kitchen area behind the bar.

  “How come more people aren’t looting places like they were last week?” Hayden asks.

  “My guess is because what most people want right now is to be with their families,” Vince replies. “Oh, here’s the switch.”

  Once they have light, Vince opens the refrigerator and starts pulling tubs out and putting them on the counter.