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Why They Call It Falling

By Christina Sinisi

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PROLOGUE
"It’s better to seek forgiveness than ask permission,”
Emma whispered near Justin’s ear.
“What?” He leaned back, his blond bangs falling across his
palmetto green eyes.
His eyes were half-closed, the result of her kissing. She’d
been kissed before, but this was their first kiss and she would
remember. She’d wanted to date him since he’d asked her to
marry him in kindergarten, but her parents only let their daughters
start dating at age sixteen. She wouldn’t hit that milestone
for months.
“We may be out past my curfew,” Emma said.
Justin jerked away from her and scrambled for the car door
handle. “Why didn’t you say something? I don’t want to get you
in trouble on our first date.”
Emma twirled a curl around her finger. “Um, I might not be
allowed out on a school night, either.”
The boy looked like he might have a heart attack at sixteen.
He was almost a full year older than she was, but the timing of
their birthdays put them in the same year in school.
“So, we’re in trouble no matter what?” He groaned, and then
winked at her. “But it was worth it, right?”
He did have her heart stuttering and butterflies doing
forward rolls in her belly, but he didn’t need to know that. He
was already a star tight end playing varsity even though they
were only sophomores; there was no need to make his head any
bigger.
“Maybe.” She did a little dance with her shoulders.
The front porch light flickered on and off, rapid, like
machine-gunfire. Emma ducked her head and reached for the
door. “Busted. I got to go.”
“Wait,” he yelled. “I have to get the door for you. My mama
would kill me if I didn’t.”
Emma leaned back against the head rest and laughed,
thrilling in the power of being young and treasured. “We
wouldn’t want that now, would we? By the way, one final
thing.”
He jogged around the front of the car, his body highlighted
by that infernal porch light. He jerked the door open. “One more
thing? What else, Emma?”
She slid one long leg out of the car and framed the pose. He
gulped. She grinned, the devil rising up in her. “I’m not
supposed to date at all yet. Not until I’m sixteen.”
His eyes shot to the sky. “What in the world? Emma, you’ll
be grounded for months. What were you thinking? What will
your parents think of me?”
She shrugged. “I’m the bad sister. I’ll take the blame, and
they won’t know it was you because you won’t come in. I
wanted to go to the movie with everybody else. It was my
decision.”
Justin shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back in
his boat shoes. He held out a hand. “Naw, that’s not how I roll. I
should have asked when your curfew was. Real men don’t run
from their mistakes. I’ll face the music with you.”
Emma took his hand, her thoughts jumping over each other
like wild rabbits.
The porch light went into apoplexy and then stopped
flashing altogether when they started walking up the sidewalk.
She’d given her parents a heart attack, according to the flickering
light.
Her father met her at the door. “Emma.” His gaze raked over
Justin. “Justin Lee. I thought better of you, son.”
Justin tightened his grip on her hand. “Yes, sir. No excuses,
sir.”
“Okay, then, I’ll let your parents deal with you. Drive safe.”
“Yes, sir.” Justin took his life in his hands and kissed her on
the cheek. “Good night, baby girl. Call me.” He jogged back
toward his car. “Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Marano.”
“Emma, get your hind end in the house,” her mother said
from a few feet inside a living room lit by one solitary lamp.
“Your daddy is about to leave for his shift at work. He don’t
need to be distracted by wondering where you are and what
you’re doing. He needs to have his mind on his work, and you’re
driving us both out of our gourds.”
She started to defend herself, but her father in his security
guard uniform stopped that long black train on its tracks. He
moved past her toward the kitchen, checking his belt for the
taser he wore since he wasn’t a real cop.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Are you?” He rested his thumbs in his belt loops. “Are you
really, Emma? Seems to me that you enjoy putting yourself in
this bad daughter role. I’m wondering if that young man even
knew you aren’t allowed to date yet. Did it matter to you that
you got him in trouble as well? Or do you just care about ruining
your own reputation?”
Emma almost snorted. “Dad, we just went to the movies with
a group of kids. Everybody else I know is already dating. If you
weren’t so—”
He held up one finger. “Stop right there. Not only are you
grounded for a month, but I’m going to watch you talk to that
boy on the phone tomorrow. You are going to explain our rules
to him, and he can protect himself if he decides to pursue a relationship
with you in the future. He might decide you’re not
worth it, pumpkin. You need to think about the consequences of
your actions.”
Tears came down her cheeks from nowhere. Emma didn’t cry.
Tiffany was the weak one. “I’m going to bed.”
“Not before you kiss your old man good night.” Her daddy
tilted his head toward her. “We all mess up, Emma. It’s what you
do with your mistakes that matter.”
Emma shook her head. “You can’t do that. You can’t ground
me for a month and then act all nice.” She pushed past him and
stormed toward her room.
“Good night, pumpkin.” Her father sounded worn out, not a
good thing for a man working night shift.
Emma kept walking. Her father and his ridiculous rules.
None of her friends had so many rules.
“That girl’s going to give us the gray hair everybody talks
about, Nina.” Her father spoke to her mother, behind Emma’s
back. “Well, I best be off.”
The smack of a full-blown kiss between her parents made
Emma cringe.
“You be careful, Clinton. Don’t let worrying about our girls
distract you.”
“I won’t, honey. See you in the morning.”
The back door opened and closed with a soft tick. Emma
sank against the hall wall. When her mother had warned her
father about worrying about the girls, she’d lied. Tiffany and
Shelby didn’t cause their parents a moment’s worth of worry.
She was the one to blame.
She was the problem child.
***
The high nasal sound of their broken doorbell jarred Emma from
a deep sleep. Sunshine poured through her bedroom window,
the blinding light infiltrating no matter how hard she squeezed
them shut. Emma stretched her arms out and pushed at the
sheets with her toes. She’d been dreaming of Justin.
Sunlight? Horror had her tossing back the blankets and
falling out of bed. “No, no, no.” Nine o’clock. They’d missed the
bus. “Tiffany! Shelby! We’re late. So very flipping late. I have a
test.”
Hopping around her room, one arm in her robe and one out,
she stopped talking. Missing a test could be a good thing. She
hadn’t studied the night before because, well, Justin.
Tiffany stumbled into her room, sock feet skidding on the
floor and sending crashing her into the dresser. “Emma. We
missed the bus.”
Emma grinned. “Yeah. Maybe it’s a holiday, and we didn’t
know it.”
Tiffany rubbed her ribs. The girl was a walking bruise. “No,
I’d know it. Something must be wrong. Dad was supposed to
wake us up. Come on, maybe he’s sick or something.”
“Maybe he’s tied up at work, or maybe he forgot to set his
alarm.” Emma bit her lip. “Hey, we haven’t missed a day all
year. No big deal.”
Shelby appeared in the hallway, corkscrew curls sticking out
like the hands of the clock that hadn’t worked this morning.
“Where’s Daddy? What’s for breakfast?”
A horrible sound pierced Emma’s eardrums before drifting
down to a guttural moan.
The three of them froze in place, pillars of salt from Sunday
school stories.
“No, no, no.” Their mother moaned.
Shelby started crying. She was little. She didn’t need to
know why.
Emma wanted to know, but then again she didn’t.
“Emma?” Tiffany’s voice was small.
“Come on.” Emma grabbed Tiffany by the upper arm and
tugged her down the hallway. “Let’s go find out what’s wrong
with Mama this time.”
Some part of her insides clenched at the disrespect in her
tone, but then again, her mother had dropped to a chair and
bawled when her cake flopped into a goo last week before
church. They crept down the hall, the old brick ranch had just a
few steps between their bedrooms and living room. The front
door stood half open, broad daylight pouring in and a police
cruiser parked at the curb.
“Why is there a police car outside?” Shelby peered around
her two older sisters.
“Girls. My girls.” Their mother sat on the couch, still in her
robe, with a police officer sitting across from her on the recliner.
“Your daddy’s dead.”
Emma couldn’t breathe. “No. You’re lying.”
Her mother’s mouth fell open, and the police officer jerked to
a stand, as if he’d stop the words spewing from her mouth.
“I’m not. I’m not.” Her mother wailed. “I’m so used to him
waking you girls up. I slept late and didn’t even know he didn’t
come home. I can’t live without him. I can’t.”
Tiffany glared at Emma and then walked across the room as
if there were broken seashells on the oak planks. “Mama, we
love you. What happened?”
“You have to be lying.” Emma stood in front of the policeman,
time coming in and out. “Daddy’s not a real policeman.
Why would he be dead? What happened?”
The police officer sand back down, his elbows on his knees,
his fingers interlaced together. “I’m sorry, miss. Your father interrupted
a robbery on campus early this morning, and he was
shot. He wore a name badge, and co-workers identified the
body.”
“My father is not a body.” She backed away. If she just
rewound, she’d wake up to her daddy’s off-key singing of the
good morning song, and they’d make the bus. She’d fail the test.
The last sight she saw before she disappeared into her room
was her mother burying her face in Tiffany’s hair, Shelby
burrowed into her side.
No one followed her because she had done this.
Her daddy was dead because of her.

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