What I've just written in my blog is—once again—not what happened. In fact the film drove me crazy. Even as the film was scaring me senseless, part of me was wondering: What if everyone is lying? Gaslighting me? What if Emily is alive? What if Emily and Sean conspired to put me through this? To do this to me. But why? What did I do to them? It was extremely depressing.
I watched the film in my own house—secretively, guiltily, as if it were a porn film. The minute it ended, I wished I was at Sean's house. I needed to hear Sean tell me that I was just being paranoid. I needed to believe him.
It was worth waking up the boys and driving over to see Sean. Miles and Nicky would fall back asleep on the way.
Papers covered Sean's dining room table. He'd been working. We put the boys back to bed. Sean poured me a glass of brandy. A fire roared in the fireplace. The couch was comfortable and warm.
I said, "Is there any chance—any chance—that Emily could be alive?"
"None," he said. "None at all."
I said, "Miles saw her. Miles has very good eyesight. He's my son. I believe him."
"Kids are always seeing things that aren't there," said Sean.
"Not Miles," I said. "Miles knows what's there and what isn't."
First Sean looked annoyed, then horrified, then scared, then . . . I had no idea what he was feeling. His expression changed in slow motion. He got up and left the room. He didn't return for a long time. I sat there, confused and worried. Should I go after him? Should I get Miles and go home? Should I wait?
I waited. It was the easiest thing to do.
Finally, Sean returned. He sat back down on the couch and put his arm around me.
He said, "I'm sorry, Stephanie. I am."
"For what?" I said.
"For not realizing how hard this has been on you. All the time, I thought Nicky and I were the only ones suffering. But you've been in pain too."
I began to cry.
"I miss her," I said.
"We all do," said Sean. Then he said, "Move in with me. Let's try and make this work. Emily's gone. She's dead."
I was crying harder now. Sean was weeping too.
"Nicky wants his mom to be alive. He wants it so much he's convinced himself that she is. And somehow he's convinced Miles that he's seen her. But she isn't alive. And she would have wanted Nicky to have a mom, for us to have a stable household. Come live here. Full time. Please."
"All right," I said. Within moments, I felt the fear and doubts of the last few days vanish, like an illness from which I'd suddenly, miraculously recovered.
Sean said, "We can stick together and protect ourselves from ghosts or whatever it is that the kids are imagining. Circle the wagons, as you Americans say." And he laughed through his tears.
Miles is delighted. He likes Nicky's house. He's comfortable here. Their TV is bigger than ours. I don't miss the nights that Sean and I and the boys spent in our own houses. I don't miss my own house. Not really. Sometimes I do. Mostly I like being here with the boys and Sean.
Every day we spend here means that Emily is one day further away. For so long I wanted to keep her close, and now I want her gone. I want to be the one Sean loves and, eventually, the one Nicky loves. I have to be patient.
There's a lot I can't blog about. Not blogging gives me more time to think, to wonder about my friend.
How could you think you know someone and know so little? How could Emily have been the person who would leave her child and drive to Michigan to drink and take drugs? That wasn't the friend I knew.
