by Anna Oney
Before Doolie and Pete had become friends, Emma knew Pete as a depressed alcoholic, an uncommonly sad individual who had driven away his wife and only son. Every time the Clerys sat down for dinner, Pete was in their prayers. Once Emma had been informed of what Pete had endured during the war, her opinion of him wasn't as harsh. Eventually, Emma and Griffin had grown fond of Pete, and had accepted him as one of their many uncles. Pete's war stories, although terrifying, were the most interesting stories the siblings had ever heard.
After an abrupt end to their conversation, Doolie and Emma began making their way to Back Wood. For days Emma had escaped to the creek to perform these exercises, but the tenderness in her midsection was still there. She'd prayed she would be better by now, but that just wasn't the case. The bruises plaguing her shoulders looked grim, but she didn't mind them. To her, they were only temporary battle scars. As for her companion, Stella grew stronger every day, and could almost walk without a limp. But Emma was certain Stella longed to be as fast as she had once been.
Through the years, Emma had convinced herself she didn't need anyone, and so far, being alone had gotten the job done. But there was one thing she couldn't seem to figure out, and that was how to defend herself. Procrastination being Emma's thing, she still hadn't asked Tom if he would be willing to teach her self-defense. Pathetically, she used Stella's fierce gaze and outright dislike of him to justify not bringing it up. But another reason for the delay was that Emma wanted to be fully healed.
Spring was nearly upon them, but no matter how many times she asked Doolie when they would leave to retrieve Griffin, he always replied, "Not yet," forcing her to realize he might never be ready to go. Emma believed her father felt that retrieving Griffin simply wasn't worth parting from the road that they had secured. That meant Emma would have to tackle the journey herself, so she decided the time to ask Tom was that very day.
Over the past couple of weeks, whenever Tom had spotted Emma's form emerging from the woods, he'd met up with her. He'd ended up spending most of his time with her. To Emma, admitting she had the tiniest crush on Tom would be the equivalent of forgetting their past. Despite her best efforts, she simply couldn't deny that she found him to be an encouraging being with well-rounded buttocks and adorable dimples. Oh, them dimples, she thought as they continued their trek. Damn.
There'd been times when Emma had successfully managed to forget their high school days, but the memories would creep back up with the simplest expression or laugh he aimed in her direction. Some days, Emma found herself going off on him for no particular reason at all, especially when it was "that time of the month."
The men who usually showed interest in her were either over the age of sixty, mentally challenged, or drug addicts (which was a true perk of being a nice girl), so Tom's attention gave Emma a boost of self-esteem.
Farrah, of course, seemed aggravated with Tom for paying more attention to her cousin, who wasn't nearly as attractive as Farrah thought she herself was, or blessed with the body of a supermodel. For the first time, a handsome man was showing Emma attention, and secretly she loved that it ate Farrah up inside.
By the time Emma and Doolie arrived home, the sun had set, and as they passed through the gate, their ears were filled with joyful squeals of laughter. Rounding the trail, Emma's cabin came into view, and the sources of the gleeful shrieks were revealed. Lizzie, Claire, and Jane clung to the rope of a tire swing as Cooper and Tom, who just couldn't seem to get enough of Emma and her brood of girls, pushed them back and forth.
Doolie sighed, halting in his tracks.
"Well shiiit, I guess I can't blame you for liking him. Hell, I think I have a crush on him too."
She gasped, embarrassed.
"Daddy, stop! Don't be saying crap like that out loud."
"I think I'll leave you two lovers alone," he joked, pecking her on the cheek. "I'm gonna head on home."
"All right, Daddy," she replied, shooing him away. "All right, see you tomorrow."
With Doolie's leave, Emma emerged from the trail and waved in the girls' direction, noticing Stella sulking on the porch.
"Stop! Stop!" they exclaimed. They took turns sliding through the middle of the tire. "Miss Emma's back!" Claire shouted.
Emma saw Cooper nudging Tom's shoulder and reaching up to whisper in his ear. The widening of Tom's eyes that followed and the blushing of his cheeks suggested it had been something inappropriate.
Ignoring the odd exchange, Emma arrived at the porch.
"Hey, girls, how's it going?" she asked.
"Great!" Claire exclaimed. "Mr. Tom made us a swing."
"I see that." She smiled, looking his way. "Did y'all thank him?"
"Yes, ma'am." Lizzie nodded. "We did."
"Did y'all eat?"
"Yeah," Jane replied sourly. "Some of that nasty hog."
"Is your belly full?" she said, irritated, raising her brow. "Hmmm?"
"Yeah?"
"Served its purpose then, didn't it?"
"Are we reading tonight?" Lizzie cut in, attempting to defuse the tension.
"If you want to," Emma replied. "We sure can."
"Can . . . can Cooper come?" Lizzie asked, nodding in his direction.
As Emma locked eyes with Tom, his lips formed a magnificent smile, and she couldn't help but feel self-conscious that it was directed at her. For a moment her eyes lingered on the ground before her, but then she reminded herself, I am successful and confident . . . and not too bad-looking. Pushing back her shoulders, Emma raised her chin and did something she'd never had the courage to do before.
"Hey, Tom!" she yelled, forcing the girls, along with Stella, to stare at her. "Would y'all like to join us?"
Tom's smile seemed to brighten at her invitation, and the brothers promptly covered the distance between them and the ladies.
"Thank you," Cooper said, arriving at the steps. "What are we reading?"
"Y'all go on inside and pick one out," Emma said, opening the door. "Go on, we'll be right behind you."
One after the other, they filed in. Emma closed the door, and turned her attention to Tom, who was leaning against the porch railing.
"So hey, ah" —she paused, trying not to stare—"can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure. What's up?"
"That thing that happened with Ethan . . . it made me realize something."
"And what's that?"
"That I'm not indestructible, even if Doolie's my father."
"Okay, so what's the favor?"
"I, I was wondering if, if," she stammered. "If you'd be willing to teach me some of the things you know?"
"What does Doolie have to say about all this?"
"I am fully capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much!"
"Whoa! Easy, easy. Don't get your panties in a bunch." Tom chuckled. As he took a full step back, it seemed to Emma like he'd just realized she had more of her father in her than she cared to admit.
"You gonna teach me or not?"
"I'll do it, but you're not well enough yet. I think"—he paused—"in about a week or so, we can start."
"'Preciate it. Thanks."
Seeming to fear another outburst, Tom eyed the door, and asked, "Are we going to join them or not?"
Chapter 14:
Tom
Entering Emma's cabin, Tom was surprised by how small it was. There was only one bedroom, the living room, and a small kitchen area. It was the perfect size for one person, but not four. He had only been inside of Emma's domain once, when she'd nearly been killed. Then, being distracted by all that had transpired, Tom simply hadn't paid attention to how quaint her place was.
Observing the photos hanging from the walls, he noticed a picture of a young man with a different shade of red hair than Emma's. Stepping closer to the frame, he realized there was more than a slight resemblance between Emma and this boy.
"That's Griffin," she said as she opened a can of her mother's peaches for a snack for everyone.
"Who'
s he to you?" he asked. "Y'all look alike."
"You don't remember him?"
"Oh, right. Now that you mention it, I—"
"You should," she snapped. Deciding to change the subject, she shook her head. "Never mind. I'm afraid we'll never see him again," she whispered. "You made it, though, so that gives me some hope he's alive."
"I'm sure he is." Tom draped his arm over her shoulders.
There was no doubt in Tom's mind that Emma was grateful for the assurance of her brother's survival, but he sensed she could have done without the hairy arm weighing down her shoulders.
She began to fidget as soon as he touched her.
"Thank you," she said, awkwardly stepping away from him. "You want a peach?" she squeaked, offering him a slice.
Accepting it gratefully, he followed Emma into her room, where they found Jane and the kids who were waiting for them to arrive. He somehow hadn't noticed it before, but Emma had two, ceiling-high, cherry wood bookshelves, both filled to the top with a vast array of books, many of which he'd never heard. The shelves housed the collected works of Jane Austin and the Brontë sisters, John Grisham, Larry McMurtry, Stephen King, and—Tom's mother's favorite—C. S. Lewis. Every genre he spotted added another lovable trait to his list of Emma's admirable characteristics.
"You ever heard of a Kindle?" Tom asked.
"The swipe never did it for me," she replied. "I crave the turn of a page. Good thing I do like it, too. Wouldn't have anything to pass the time with if I didn't."
The binding of the book Cooper clutched in his hands was that of his favorite novelist, J.K Rowling. Tom wasn't surprised by his brother's choice of literature. He wasn't certain which volume it was out of the seven that had been published. Instead of herself, Emma allowed Cooper to be their lead reader. With every act of kindness Emma showed his brother, Tom was tempted to introduce his lips to hers. But he decided against that after remembering how tense his simple side-hug had made her.
Paying no attention to the rest of them yawning and longing for him to find a stopping point, Cooper read and read. It was so late Claire and Lizzie had fallen asleep against Emma's shoulders. Jane had snuck off to the living room and was snoring softly on the couch with Stella at her feet, doing the same. Tom's patience with his brother had reached its end, and he swiped the book from Cooper's grasp before he could start the next chapter.
"But Tom," Cooper whined, "it's my favorite part."
"You can finish it some other time," Tom whispered, easing the book between the others on the shelf. "Everybody's nodding off. C'mon, let's go."
"You promise?" he asked.
"I—"
"Tom," Emma whispered. "He can take it with him. We've read it so many times. I'm sure the girls were just being nice letting him pick it."
Retrieving it from the shelf, Cooper glanced over his shoulder, softly said, "Thank you," and bolted through the back door before Tom could object.
Groaning, Tom shook his head. "Thanks for that. Now I have to listen to that dork's encyclopedia for the rest of the night."
"Oh, you're welcome," she replied sarcastically, ushering him outside.
Standing in the doorway, Emma waited for him to clear the steps, and as he turned to face her, Tom was mesmerized by her beauty in the dim light. The softness of her freckled skin, the curls draped over her shoulders, and lastly, the insecurity in her expression as Tom refused to take his eyes from her.
"See you tomorrow?"
"I'll be here." She smiled, sending him off. "G'night."
Chapter 15:
Emma
To everyone's surprise, three days passed without any sign of the damaging storms that usually sent them running for cover around this time. The only storms that did appear were those that only lasted long enough to fill the barrels with water.
These days the only thing keeping the ladies feeling pretty was the blessing of a good scrub. Shirley and Emma had gathered together every household's soaps and shampoos into Shirley's large hutch.
When the stench radiating from their flesh grew too strong, the girls and Emma snuck to the creek for a quick skinny-dip. They were girls, after all, and they couldn't stand to smell the fumes rising from their filthy bodies.
When the week finally arrived, the line was so long that it was wrapped around Emma's parents' porch. Their goal was to provide everyone with a fair share. It wasn't a lot—just enough to get what needed to be cleaned, clean.
Andy was noticeably disappointed after Emma handed him his share, and he gawked at her as though she had shorted him.
"Mine's smaller than hers," he argued, motioning toward the backside of the person in front of him.
"Move it on down the line," Emma snapped, and Stella growled at him. "You got your share."
After noticing Stella's fierce gaze toward his crotch, Andy promptly accepted his share, and bolted through the door without muttering another word.
"Next!" Emma yelled after handing Mrs. Maples her portion.
As Tom stepped forward, Emma noticed that Farrah was behind him, and she seemed desperate to get his attention. She flipped her golden hair and grazed her perfect breasts against his elbow. Widening his eyes toward Emma, Tom refused to acknowledge Farrah's presence, which only seemed to multiply the blond's aggravation. Catching him off guard, Farrah kicked at the heel of his boot. As Tom turned around, he furiously stared her down. Foolishly, Farrah had seemed to expect Tom to swoon once he saw that the person who'd kicked at his ankle was her.
Idiots, Emma thought. They're everywhere.
Farrah wore her finest cutoff shorts and a tight, pink, spaghetti-strapped top. She'd even gone through the trouble of putting on makeup. None of the women of Back Wood bothered with makeup anymore. They weren't going anywhere. Their day's work didn't require them to conceal their breakouts and discolorations, so they believed there wasn't a point in donning the mask.
Continuing to ignore the cold stare of the vixen behind him, Tom smiled at Emma and held out his hand. Emma handed him the soap, and the beating of her heart quickened considerably as their fingers grazed against each other's. It was only for a moment, but Emma wished his hand could have lingered on hers a little longer.
"Thank you," he said. "Cooper and I can share; it doesn't take much to get him clean."
"You sure?"
"This is plenty."
"Okay then. Let me know if you change your mind," Emma replied, realizing that her mother was within earshot. Emma had been aware of her mother's prayers for her to date for years, so she knew Shirley was thrilled to see her daughter conversing with the opposite sex.
With the soap, everyone returned to their homes to wash up. The girls and Emma never wasted time heating the water. In their opinion, it took too much time out of their day, so instead they went skinny-dipping at their secret waterhole.
Packing a couple of washrags and freshly dried towels from their clothesline, they headed toward the gate of the back barrier, which connected to the woods. Everyone else had to have permission to venture from Back Wood, but Doolie trusted Emma and Shirley to carry a copy of the key to the gate's lock.
It took around thirty minutes to pass by their old Indian dig (Doolie was big on forcing his children to do things they had no interest in doing, one of them being searching for artifacts at a Native American dig he came across while walking. Once Doolie flipped over that overturned grinding stone, he was hooked. It wasn't until Emma had grown older that she shared the same fascination with the dead as her father.) There was a long stretch of dogwoods, and they finally arrived at the swimming hole. Years ago, Emma had taken the liberty of tying a rope to one of the huge cypress tree's branches. The girls loved swinging from it, and often competed to see who could make the biggest splash.
Ditching their clothes, each of them took turns passing around the soap. Now that it was warmer snakes were a threat, but as soon as the girls hit the water their concerns about the creatures seemed to vanish. Emma had seen what a moccasin's venom co
uld do to the flesh. After only being bitten once, Stella's face had began rotting off. The poison was so potent it had started eating away at her flesh within two hours of being bitten. So instead of joining the sisters' water games, Emma remained seated and kept her eyes peeled for anything slithering across the water.
The girls continued their simple game of trying to create the largest splash. Jane was the ref and when it was her turn, Lizzie and Claire would switch positions to allow Jane to have a go. Emma was proud of how fair they were toward one another. When they were younger, Emma and her cousins would push each other into the creek before the other person even had the chance to swing. An hour of watching them splash went by, so Emma decided it was time to start making their way back. The girls begged her to let them swim for longer, but if they came back later than usual, Emma knew how Doolie would behave when they returned. Emma bribed them to leave early by promising to stop by the blackberry bushes and honeysuckle vines before making the trail loop back home. They didn't waste time donning their clothes after that.
Any person who says they've never bribed a child with sweets, she thought, is a liar.
Lizzie and Claire used the bottom of their shirts to tote as many blackberries as they could, while Jane didn't seem concerned with the berries at all. Her favorite was the honeysuckle.
By the time they arrived home, Lizzie's and Claire's shirts were stained purple. They held the berries under the faucet of the blue barrels to wash them off while their older sister continued draining the honeysuckles of their nectar. Saving five on the vine for later, Jane informed them that those were for her consumption only. She threatened to toss all of Lizzie and Claire's berries into Back Wood's swamp-like pond if even one flower went missing.
"Lizzie, darling, you're not gonna eat them all?" Emma asked, noticing her counting out an equal share of her berries for another person, who Emma was certain was Cooper.
