Won't Wear Yellow

PROLOGUE

I never saw it coming. It was always the four of us, and invariably together. Animal shaped pancakes on Saturday morning, bedtime stories on Sunday night, refilling the flower bed each spring, and running through the sprinklers every summer.

Whatever we did, we did together. From soccer games to drive in movies, snowman building and easter egg hunting, our family felt as perfect as the picture set in store bought frames. What I would give for another round of laser tag in Dad's office, or to hear my mom nail the harmony to the Beach Boys Greatest Hits on our road trips.

When did those four perfect smiling faces become a set of three? I can tell you exactly when. October 7th, 2009, I was 15 years old. I'd finished my homework early, eager to embark on the next geocache with my dad and sister before Mom finished dinner. Earlier that week we'd found a set of carabiners, and the week before we'd lucked out with used Swiss army knife. Although most of the time when we navigated to the set of GPS coordinates in the real-world treasure hunting game, our finds were limited to bouncy balls, paper clips, and occasionally a few patches or pens.

While the hidden trinkets were fun to search for, the real thrill of the game was spending time with my dad. Lately his nights at the office had grown longer and longer. Owning a large pharmaceutical company was demanding, and I'd come to understand how important his role was. When I shadowed him for a recent school project, I'd noticed the presence he carried when stepping into the doors of Phacta and into his corner office on the 16th floor. When he walked through the hallway, I noticed the way people sat up in their chairs, made eye contact and smiled. How those in a crowded elevator immediately made room and were overtly interested as he proudly introduced me as his daughter Emma. I watched as men and women in suits all referred to him as Mr. Hawkins instead of Felix. It felt funny seeing the air of formality around my Dad, who'd be the first to fake a fart sound on a plane just to see which of his girls would burst out into laughter first.

It'd been a busy third quarter for Dad and a challenging fall of my Sophomore year in high school for me. That's why tonight I was especially excited for the prospect of the coordinates I'd just found. There'd been a new geocache placed within miles of our home and we'd planned to go exploring and snag it together. Eager to get started, I had the coordinates in hand and was basically bounding to get out the door as as I tried my hardest to wait patiently at the kitchen island at the center of the room.

But when Dad came home that night, his face was different. A smile was missing. Eyes sunken, jawline set, shoulders tight. He beelined straight to the bedroom, without saying a word. My mom, sister and I made eye contact with confused looks on our faces and carried on. I shivered in the silence. Realizing the source for my chill, I looked up and noticed the door was still open. Unclenching the scrawled coordinates, I rose from my stool parked at our kitchen island and walked across the hardwood floor. Reaching for the handle, I paused, hearing the faint rumble of an engine. The car was still on. I closed the door.

We were all close enough to feel the same tension in the air. Something wasn't right, in fact, something was seriously wrong. I watched the minute hand crawl above the stove where Mom was flipping and tossing, flipping and tossing and kept my mouth shut. By the smell, I was guessing a mixed vegetable medley. For a moment my mind wandered to minced garlic, sauteed mushrooms and peppered zucchini. She set the pan aside, turned off the stove and headed up the stairs to the bedroom.

Boom, whoosh. Boom, whoosh. Raised voices. Boom, whoosh. I heard the heavy wooden drawers open and shut several times more before it hit me. Dad wasn't changing for our hike, he was packing. Packing to leave. For a moment it was quiet and I convinced myself I was wrong.

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, leaving Mom behind. But the look in his face wasn't anger. Not exactly fear, but most definitely pain. Setting down suitcase down, he knelt and opened his arms. Eve and I ran toward him, eyes burning, we wrapped our arms around each other and held tightly, as if the measure of our grip could hold on to our father forever and change the outcome of what was to follow. Minutes went by.

I had so many questions but was too dumbfounded to speak as I listened to him tell us how much we were loved and how none of this was our fault. I listened to him as his voice shook as he spoke of his love for our Mom, and that there was nothing any of us could do, or could have done differently to change this. He was leaving and that was that. Through blurry vision, I watched tears stream down the face of a man I'd never once seen cry. Empty, I sobbed, my heart turned to stone as my daddy walked out of our door, and out of our lives.

My mom stayed in her bedroom, crying silent tears and my sister retreated to her room. But for hours, I sunk motionless on the kitchen floor, letting the hardwood bruise my knees, willingingly welcoming any pain to distract my heart from the agony tearing me apart from the inside. Around dawn, I rose, eyes scanning our spotless kitchen, countertops void minus the pan of soiled vegetables, turned, and found my footsteps headed toward my room.

In the afternoon I woke, not recognizing the face looking back at me in the mirror. Abruptly opening the door to my closet, I reached in and begin yanking out hangers one by one until I was ankle deep in a sea of fabric at my ankles. I returned to bed.

For what felt like days, I remained motionless in what seemed every way possible. At the gentle prompting of my sister, I found the strength to step outside. Needing distractions, I unlocked my phone and swiped over to my geocache app. Though it was the last thing I felt like doing at the time, I put one foot in front of the other and followed the arrows that led me into the woods behind my house.

Twisting and turning between the familiar paths I'd walked on so many times before, I arrived at the geocache, finding it with ease. For an instant, excitement rose as I reached into a hollowed log and my fingers came in contact with something rectangular and smooth. It was a beautiful wooden box, no bigger than a pack of cards, a solid find by any geocachers standards.

Turning the box over in my hands, I noticed three initials carved in the side, EAH. They were mine. Heart pounding, I gently lifted the lid and felt an immediate rush of emotion overwhelm me. Eyes crying once again, my hands met the other around the back of my neck and I clasped the necklace closed. The weight of the small rectangular stone felt cool and calming on my bare skin. I closed my eyes and smiled. This could have only been given to me by one person, the one who gave me my name, Emerald - my dad. As angry as I was, I promised to never take it off.