Chapter 3 - Emma Had Been Afraid Of Them Before She Died
Three nights after the hearing, Sarah entered Emma’s bedroom.
She had barely stepped inside since the funeral.
The room still looked occupied.
A purple sweatshirt hung over the desk chair.
Two library books waited on the nightstand.
A glass jar held smooth stones Emma collected from the lake and arranged according to which ones looked “happy.”
Sarah sat on the bed and cried until she felt physically empty.
Then she noticed the paper beneath Emma’s pillow.
It was folded twice.
Children write in strange places when they don’t know whether something deserves adult attention.
Emma had drawn three figures in colored pencil.
One small blonde girl.
Two taller boys.
The girl stood beside blue scribbled water.
One boy held a speech bubble.
Inside, in Emma’s uneven handwriting:
WE CAN MAKE YOU SWIM.
Sarah stopped breathing normally.
There was writing on the back.
Tyler and Jason said I’m baby because I don’t jump in deep side.
Sarah read it again.
And again.
Then remembered a conversation from almost two weeks before Emma died.
Emma had been eating cereal when she casually asked, “Mom, if someone pushes you in water as a joke, are they still in trouble?”
Sarah had looked up immediately.
“Did someone push you?”
“No.”
“Who said they would?”
Emma shrugged.
“Nobody.”
Sarah pushed gently.
Emma changed the subject.
At the time Sarah assumed it was summer-camp nonsense.
Now she hated herself for accepting the deflection.
The next morning she called Emma’s day camp.
The program operated at the same private lakeside recreation property where Emma died. Children moved between tennis courts, the craft pavilion, shallow swim areas, and family docks. Tyler and Jason were not enrolled in Emma’s age group, but both spent large parts of the summer at the property because their families were longtime members.
Sarah asked the director, Helen March, whether Emma had ever complained about them.
There was a pause.
Too long.
“Not formally.”
Sarah’s grip tightened around the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“It means there were normal conflicts.”
“Were Tyler and Jason threatening to push my daughter into the lake?”
Another pause.
“I’d have to review our records.”
Sarah felt something sharpen inside her.
“Then review them.”
Helen promised to call back.
She didn’t.
That afternoon Sarah drove to the club herself.
When she asked to see incident documentation involving Emma, the administrative assistant gave her three pages.
A scraped knee.
An argument over sidewalk chalk.
A complaint that Tyler called Emma “shrimp.”
Nothing about the lake.
Sarah stood at the counter holding the thin file.
“Is this everything?”
The assistant nodded uncertainly.
Sarah noticed something.
Page numbers.
1.
2.
3.
May you like
There was no page three.
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