THE HAND BETWEEN US

The elevator took too long.

I had never noticed how long before. Usually, I was alone in it, irritated by the reflection of my chair in the polished doors. That night, Emma stood beside me, staring at the descending numbers as though she could force them to move faster.

Luke was already downstairs. I heard his voice through the radio on the guard's shoulder, arranging for two men to meet us at the facility and asking its evening supervisor to confirm Margaret's room was secure.

Emma gripped the back of my chair.

"Can you get there quickly?"

"Yes."

"Then move."

"The elevator appears to be doing its best."

She looked down at me. Her expression was so fierce and frightened that I almost regretted the attempt at humor.

Then a short breath escaped her.

"You argue about everything."

"I'm told you prefer it to giving orders."

The doors opened.

She walked beside me to the waiting vehicle. The driver lowered the ramp. Nobody made a fuss about the transfer or asked whether I was comfortable six times. Luke must have warned them.

I settled in the passenger seat prepared for my needs, and Emma climbed in beside me. She kept her phone in her hand.

The gate opened onto wet pavement. Chicago glowed in long broken reflections as we headed toward the city.

Luke called the supervisor again.

"Rosa Delgado? We're on our way with Emma Carter. Please have someone remain with Margaret until we arrive."

He listened, then lowered his voice.

"Yes. That's what we're asking. Thank you."

Emma turned toward him.

"Is she all right?"

"The supervisor says she's in her room. She's sending a staff member to check."

"Maribel said she was sleeping."

"We'll know in a moment."

Emma looked out the window. Her reflection trembled slightly with every turn.

I wanted to promise that her mother was safe. I could have said it with enough conviction to sound true. I had done that sort of thing for years.

Instead, I said, "We're close."

She nodded.

A traffic light changed ahead of us. The driver slowed. Emma made a frustrated sound and then apologized to nobody in particular.

"You don't have to do that," I said.

"Do what?"

"Apologize for wanting the light to change."

She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead.

"I don't know how to be useful right now."

"You called. You recognized Maribel. You made us come."

"I accepted something from her."

"She told you it was from your mother's facility."

"I should have checked."

"We should have checked her badge at the gate."

She looked at me.

"You don't usually talk like that."

"I've been getting useful feedback."

Her mouth moved faintly. Then she looked down at the phone again.

Luke received a return call. He listened, asked two questions, and ended it.

"Margaret is sitting by the window. She's calm. Rosa has someone with her. Maribel left early."

Emma closed her eyes.

The relief lasted only a second.

"What about the man?"

"A visitor signed in earlier. They said he claimed to be family. Rosa is checking the name."

She went very quiet.

I placed my hand on the armrest between us, palm upward. I left it there without speaking.

A minute passed.

Then her fingers settled into mine.

They were cold. I folded my hand around them, carefully enough that she could pull away.

She didn't.

"If it's him," she whispered, "I don't know what I'll do."

"You can decide when you see him."

"What if he asks me to forgive him?"

"You can say you're not ready."

"What if he had a reason?"

I looked at our joined hands.

I had reasons for everything. Pain. Anger. The way people looked at me. The fact that something had been taken and couldn't be given back. None of those reasons had removed the dent from the therapy-room wall or brought back the people I'd frightened away.

"Then you can listen," I said. "You still get to be hurt."

She turned toward me.

"I don't know how you know that."

"I'm getting practice."

Her thumb moved against my knuckle.

I remembered catching her wrist beside the bed. The contact had been sudden, urgent, and necessary. This was none of those things.

She was holding my hand because she wanted something steady.

I tried not to move enough to spoil it.

The facility stood behind a low stone wall. Warm windows faced the rain, and a covered walkway led to the front doors.

One of Luke's men waited beneath the awning. The supervisor stood inside.

We entered together.

"Emma," she said. "I'm Rosa. We spoke last month about your mother's room change."

"I remember. Where is she?"

"In her room. She's all right."

"Where's Maribel?"

"She left about twenty minutes ago. She said there was a family emergency."

Luke moved aside with Rosa while Emma and I continued into the hall.

The place smelled of lavender and clean linen. A television played softly in a common room. Someone laughed behind a half-closed door. It was unbearably ordinary for a place in which Emma's life might change.

She still held my hand. We walked slowly enough for my chair, though I knew she wanted to run.

"You can go ahead," I said.

"No."

I looked up.

"I know the way," she added.

She was giving herself an excuse. I let her keep it.

Rosa caught up near the memory-care wing.

"The visitor is still there. He signed in as Daniel Carter. He said he's Margaret's husband."

Emma stopped.

Her hand tightened around mine so hard it hurt.

"You let him in?"

"The file listed a husband with that name. He had identification. Margaret appeared to recognize him."

"She recognizes people from television sometimes."

Rosa's face changed.

"I'm sorry. We should have called you."

Emma swallowed, then nodded once.

"Which room?" Luke asked, joining us.

"The same one," Emma said. "I know."

She released my hand.

I felt the absence immediately.

Paper flowers decorated the door ahead. A small plaque read MARGARET CARTER. It was open, and light spilled across the corridor.

Emma reached it first.

Inside, an older woman sat in a pale cardigan near the window. Her hands rested around a cup that had gone cold. A gray-haired man stood beside her, holding an envelope.

His right leg was stiff. Rain darkened the shoulders of his coat.

He turned when Emma inhaled.

I couldn't see her face from where I sat. I saw her fingers close around the doorframe.

The man looked at her for several seconds.

Then his expression broke.

"Em," he whispered.

Emma didn't move.

"Don't call me that."