She rubbed her hands together and then rubbed them on the front of her shorts. It was a nervous habit she used to do before tests back in her school days. She hadn’t exactly been the best student, often wanting to do something more artistic than math. She had barely made it out of school by the skin of her teeth, but when she walked at graduation she had been so proud of herself for getting it done.

College had never been in the cards for her, and that was another reason that she ended up going through the police academy instead. No math required. Just a willingness to be full of adrenaline for hours each day and put her life on the line regularly. Still better than math was her opinion back then. Turned out, running a lighthouse also didn’t require a lot of math skills. Sometimes she had the urge to call her old algebra teacher and brag about how she was right that she’d never need to know that stuff.

When she heard her phone start to ring, she almost wanted to run straight out the door of the cottage. Why was she doing this? She wasn’t ready. She should text the woman and tell her she changed her mind. So many things were bouncing around inside of her head. But right now, she just had to be brave. Just in this moment. Just for the next few minutes. She had certainly been through worse.

She pressed the green button on the front of her phone and a second later, there was Ellen on the other side, smiling. She wasn’t fearful, she wasn’t crying. She was smiling, and that immediately calmed some of Emma’s nerves.

“Hi, Emma! I’m so glad you agreed to talk to me!”

Emma forced a smile so that she didn’t look like some kind of crazy person sitting there with a deer in the headlights look. “Hi, Ellen. It’s so nice to see you under such different circumstances.”

Ellen nodded. “Very true. The last time you saw me must’ve been very traumatizing for you. I just remember being terrified, and then I saw you and I wasn’t so scared anymore because I could tell you were going to handle the situation. And you did.”

Emma swallowed hard. “So, how are you now?”

She took in a breath and blew it out. “I have good days and bad days. Some days I just survive, but it’s getting better each day. I’ve been seeing a therapist since right after the incident, and that has helped me a lot.”

“That’s good. I’m glad that you are getting better.”

“They tell me I have PTSD, and for the first few weeks after the shooting, I was having nearly constant panic attacks and nightmares when I would go to sleep. Even a car backfiring would set me off.”

“I understand, trust me.”

“That was another reason why I wanted to talk to you. I feel like you have to be so affected by this whole thing too, and I wanted to make sure that you’re okay. Are you getting some help?”