Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 471

He looked shocked, then guilty, then just plain angry at himself. Finally, he gave a bitter little laugh. "How could you say that? No matter what, I would never…"

"There's nothing you wouldn't do!" she cut him off. "You remember that classic scene from *Titanic*? Where he holds her from behind, and they're ‘flying' at the bow of the ship? If that had been you and me, I'd have ended up in the ocean for sure."

"Emma… I wouldn't…"

"Just shut up! I don't want to hear any more of your lies! The past is the past. All you need to do now is stay far away from me."

Theodore lowered his head. When he finally looked up, he managed a faint smile. "Alright, I'll stay away. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"

Emma ignored him and turned her back.

A full minute passed in silence.

She glanced over her shoulder. He was still standing in the same spot. "Weren't you leaving? Why are you still here?"

"Okay, I'm going," he said, finally moving. But then he added, "Emma, you should move around a bit. Get active to sober up. It'll help you stay warm, too."

With that, he started jogging toward the other end of the ship. The vessel was steadier now, and his pace was stable.

Emma wasn't about to run after him. She wasn't crazy.

But Theodore had been right about one thing: liquid courage. When she was drunk, all she wanted to do was sleep, and she'd forgotten to be afraid. Now that he was gone and had woken her up, the sound of the slapping waves brought her fear crashing back, even through the alcoholic haze.

Suddenly, the sound of a harmonica drifted across the deck. It must have been one of the crew members. She'd seen it in movies and books before—the lonely sailor, playing his harmonica out on the vast sea.

The man playing the harmonica stood among the crew, his eyes fixed on the graceful figure on the deck. His memory cut through the darkness, back to the sun-drenched days of their sixteenth year. A girl in a crisp uniform, her hair in braids, leggings strapped tight around her calves, spinning, flipping, and leaping across the rehearsal hall floor…

A cool, aloof boy had stood outside, plucking a leaf from a tree and, following the music from inside, blowing the same tune.

She danced with abandon inside, while he quietly played along outside…

Cheers and applause shattered his reverie, silencing his harmonica. The girl on the deck stopped dancing. Her gaze cut through the crowd and landed on him, the instrument still at his lips. Her eyes seemed to say, *So it was you*.

Yes… it was him.

From sixteen until now, it had always been him.