White Space Season 1

broke up, Cassidy called Jon and said to stop calling Sarah, that he was making her miserable.
    And that was that. He went on with his life. And she went on with hers, apparently getting knocked up along the way.
    He’d heard from an old friend about Sarah getting pregnant, and had heard rumors about different men who might be the father, including a waiter, a visitor to the island during tourist season, and even another teacher. Whoever it was didn’t stick around, and left her high and dry.
    Jon had considered reaching out to offer help if Sarah needed it. But by then, it had been so long, and she seemed to be getting along fine on her own with help from her sister and mother. Jon didn’t want to cause her any more stress by popping back into her life.
    Now, as he watched Emma, he felt his heart break. The child had no mother or father. She was an orphan, all alone in the world, save for a drunk grandma and a pill-popping aunt.
    When Emma was just a few feet away, Jon couldn’t take it any longer. He took one long, final sip of his coffee, set it on the large tray with the rest of the empties, then went to the edge of the dessert table, picked up the largest, fattest cookie he could find, and kneeled next to Emma.
    “I think you’re missing out on these,” he said, holding up a slightly larger cookie. “They look just big enough to be truly delicious.”
    The girl looked up at him, then narrowed her eyes as she studied the cookie. She shook her head. “Nope, that one has peanut butter in it. I don’t like peanut butter. Especially in my cookies.”
    Jon looked at the cookie, noting the telltale ridges of peanut butter rippling across the surface, then back at Emma. “Hmmm, you know, I think you’re right. I didn’t even notice.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “I don’t like peanut butter, either.”
    Still kneeling, Jon gestured toward the table. “Which of these would you suggest?”
    Emma smiled, tiny but there, then pulled a wee cookie from her little purse and handed it to Jon.
    Jon took the tiny white cookie, about the size of a quarter and the color of the island’s sand under a summer sun, freckled in white. “What is it?” he asked.
    “It’s called a Hamilton Island Biscuit. Mrs. Rasmussen makes them, but only on New Year’s, the first day of summer, and on special occasions. It was Mommy’s favorite cookie.”
    Jon smiled and blinked, his eyes getting wet. “Oh, wow. I remember these,” he said, turning the cookie over in his hand. Then, mostly to himself, he added, “How old is Mrs. Rasmussen now? She was like seventy when I was a kid.”
    “I don’t know,” Emma shook her head. “I asked her one time if she was 100 and she laughed and said no, but she didn’t tell me how old she was.”
    Emma looked closer at Jon, as if seeing him for the first time. “Did you live on the island when you were little?”
    “I did.”
    Emma glanced at her shuffling feet, then back up at Jon. “Did you know my mom?”
    Jon nodded. “I did.”
    “Do you think I look just like her?”
    Of course Jon did, but the oddness of the question put a crack in what little voice he had to answer. “Yes … yes, you do.”
    “That’s what everybody says, but I think we look different.”
    Jon said, “That’s only because you didn’t know her when she was your age.” He smiled. “But your mom and I were great friends when we were your young, and I do think you look just like her.”
    “Maybe,” she said, and made a face, a sideways sort of smile, which sent a chill through Jon. It was the exact same kind of face he made, a face he used to make Sarah laugh.
    As Jon looked into her eyes, a growing realization crept over him. Yes, she looked a lot like her mother as a child, but she also looked like someone else… him.
    He began to pick through the dates in his mind, trying to figure out if it were possible that he was actually Emma’s father. Had Sarah lied to him? And then another horrible realization.
    Is that why she broke up with me?
    Jon felt as if someone had pulled the world out from under him.
    “What’s your name?” the girl asked, looking at him sideways.
    “Jon,” he said, barely finding the word.
    She reached out to shake his hand.
    “I’m Emma, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, smiling her best despite her sadness.
    He shook her hand, so tiny and frail in his, and felt a growing certainty that his suspicions were right.
    And then Vivian appeared from