Surviving Emma

by Jen Atkinson

  Chapter 12

  Carter

  Emma lie on her back, her even breaths moving her chest in sleep. One lock of brown hair crossed over her peaceful face. Her dark lashes lay still with her eyes closed, and no gripes or barks ripped from her mouth. In sleep, Emma Sunday was sort of pretty.

  I’m not sure how long I’d been staring at her when I felt a small tug on my T-shirt hem.

  “Is Mama in trouble?”

  “Dakota!” I whipped a glance back at Emma, hoping I hadn’t woken the beast, and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Hey, I didn’t know you were up. Good morning.”

  “What’d she do?”

  I crouched down to meet her eye level. Her blonde curls sprang out in disarray and her still sleepy eyes turned to slits waiting for me to answer. “She’s just tired. She needed a bed to lie down on. That’s all. She’s not in trouble.”

  One brow raised on the little girl’s head. “How long are you going to keep her in there?”

  “Just until she wakes up. Should we let her sleep?”

  Her expression softened—I guess she decided to believe me—and then she nodded.

  “Now, how do you feel about jelly donuts?”

  She grinned and I went to work, assembling a second rate breakfast for the little girl.

  Dakota swung her legs in my too tall office chair, red jelly on her cheek. She plunged her sugar coated thumb into her mouth and then sipped from her second cup of cocoa.

  “You wanna tell me what happened last night?” I planned to sweeten her up and then get her talking.

  “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard. I’ve heard you’re the smartest kid in all of Dubois and that you speak four languages.”

  She grinned and a small giggle escaped her. “Nope. Just a little Spanish, not enough to say I’m fluent.”

  Still, the tiny thing knew the word fluent. “Well, that’s pretty smart.”

  She licked her little lips, her eyes scanning my face. “I knew Taggart wasn’t fit to drive.”

  My forehead wrinkled. She knew. Poor thing—she was young, but not unaware. “Did he force you to go with him?”

  Dakota shook her head. “He picked me up from Virgie’s and asked me if I wanted to go for a ride with him. He had me worried. What if he got hurt? He wouldn’t be able to take care of himself.”

  My chest ached a little in that strange way I couldn’t quite explain. Again, I thought of Tess. She didn’t want one of these. Really? “Dakota, you’re very brave. But how would you have taken care of him if you’d gotten hurt? Who would have taken care of you?”

  Her little brows knit together. “I hadn’t planned on that.”

  “Well, you are a kind, brave girl, Dakota Sunday, but I would be the saddest deputy in all of the world if something happened to you. Promise me you’ll never get in a car with Taggart again.”

  Her cheeks pinkened and she smiled, closed lipped and uneven. “I promise.” She held out her pinky and I linked it with my own.

  “Good.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Andy would be here in seven minutes. “Maybe we should wake her up.”

  “But it’s Sunday. We sleep in on Sunday.”

  “Yeah? Me too, normally.” I glanced back at the open doorway where just a few of the bars of the jail cell were visible. I jerked seeing Emma standing in the space, hands on hips, watching us.

  “You stay here one minute. I’ll be right back.” I switched on Andy’s old seventeen-inch boxed TV until a black and white Leave it to Beaver appeared on the screen.

  Nerves crawled their way down my spine as I made my way back into the cell room. I stare eye to eye with Emma, only a few inches and the bars separating us.

  “Am I free to go?” She seemed calm. But then Emma didn’t know the definition of calm. A tremor ran from my fingers to my elbow—Emma without the yelling and name calling made me even more nervous.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Her lips drew tight over her teeth as if she tried not to howl at me. “Fine.”

  “Emma, are there any weapons in your home?”

  She fluttered her eyes and flopped her hands to her side. “This is Wyoming, idiot. Yes, there are weapons in my home.”

  I waited for her to finish, ignoring the comments, which seemed to make her face turn red.

  “Taggart has a twenty-two and a Marlin 336C. They’re locked away. I’d get you the key, but I don’t know where Taggart’s hidden it!” Her volume grew until I could hardly hear Leave it to Beaver in the background.

  Sadness almost overcame me when I looked at her. I saw her differently now. “I’m not trying to upset you, Emma. I just want to make sure you aren’t going to do anything you’ll regret.”

  She rolled her eyes and scoffed, as if I’d just told the worst joke she’d ever heard.

  “For Dakota.”

  She sobered a little with her daughter’s name. The wrinkles scowling her face relaxed and she looked right through me to where her daughter sat yards away.

  “She needs her mother.”

  Emma crossed her arms, and I could see the war waging within her—control and strength verses vulnerable and weak.

  “It isn’t weak to need someone,” I said when the thought of Emma’s inner turmoil hit me.

  She screwed up her face and refused to look away from me. “She’s a little girl. Of course she needs me.”

  I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I wasn’t talking about Dakota.”

  Her cheeks pinked and for two seconds I thought she might cry again. “Well, thank you for that pep talk,” she said—no tears in sight, just malice and mocking. “Now, if I’ve assured you that I’m not going to shoot Taggart, can I go?”

  Lunacy clouded her eyes and I didn’t feel the least assured. But I had no legal reason to keep her either.

  I unlocked the cell door just as Dakota rejoiced from the other room, “Andy!”

  Great.

  Emma strode from the cell, giving me an icy glare.

  I followed her out into the office where Dakota attempted to explain to Andy why Beaver had gotten into trouble. He leaned over, his belly doubling over his pants, watching the TV with Kotes, when he saw us. His brows rose as if to ask—why are they still here?

  “Come on, Kotes, time to go.” Emma held out her hand. “Andy’s gonna give us a ride home.”

  Andy’s shoulders slumped, but he picked up his keys from his desk.

  Dakota wrapped an arm around her mother’s waist. “Mama!” And then she slipped her hand into Emma’s.

  With her wide gait, Emma started for the door, Dakota having to take two and three steps to keep up with her mother’s one. Emma didn’t bother looking back at us, but her strong voice spoke loud and clear. “Quality deputy, Sheriff. You sure know how to pick ‘em. I feel so much safer knowing he’s out there putting away innocent people.”

  Dakota smiled up at Emma, then wiggled her fingers at me in a friendly wave goodbye. “I like him, too.”

  Chapter 13

  Emma

  Two days later, I lay in bed, my room too warm and my pillow lumpy. My eyes wouldn’t close. I stare at the same ceiling I stared at as a little girl. Dakota in the room across from me, where Grandma Daisy once slept, and Taggart just down the hall. “What if I had hurt him?” After two days of denial, I said the words out loud.

  When I saw Virgie the next day she had burst into tears, leaning herself against the door like she couldn’t hold herself up. “I thought you were in jail and Taggart dead. I just knew you’d killed him. I knew it. I knew it. And I could blame no one but myself.”

  I’d told her what a ridiculous notion that was and of course I hadn’t done a thing.

  But what if I had? What if Deputy Idiot hadn’t locked me up and I’d murdered the moron in his drunken stupor? I think I could have done it that night. My blood boiled and my stomach rolled thinking about Dakota’s cold little body stuck in that car and driving with a tipsy Tag to the bar.

>   Where would Dakota go? With Virgie? With Keith or Keith’s parents? Virgie didn’t even make it outdoors these days. Keith was still in medical school and hadn’t seen Dakota in a year. Keith’s parents had never even met Kotes. They were too busy traveling and pretending their perfect son hadn’t knocked up his high school girlfriend.

  I shuddered. One day, maybe I’d thank the deputy, but probably not. I didn’t exactly want any more favors from Aiden Carter. I suppose for Dakota, who liked the nitwit, I should retire the name of Deputy Idiot. But gosh, it rolled off the tongue nicely.

  Emma

  “Why do I have to study these? We took our spelling test yesterday.”

  “I know, baby, but Mrs. Olson said those words were too easy for Miss Dakota Sunday. These are fourth grade words.”

  Dakota giggled. She always giggled when I used her full name with a title. A name like that meant she’d be walking the red carpet one day—for a Nobel Peace Prize and not a telenovela. She returned to her spelling list, going over each word mentally.

  I slipped on my oven mitts and opened the oven door. I had learned to cook frozen pizza like a champ. A little extra cheese, one extra minute in our 1970s oven to get that golden brown crust and ta-da! Perfection.

  The doorbell rang and it took me three full seconds to identify the noise. Dakota clapped her little hands and jumped from the kitchen stool. “I’ll get it!”

  “Ah, Kotes, one—ouch!” Distracted, I burnt myself through the hole in my mitt. “Dang it.” I tossed the pizza onto the oven-top and ran my finger under a stream of cold water.

  “Kotes, who—good night nurse!” I held both hands to my pounding chest.

  Dakota had pulled Carter by his coat sleeve into my kitchen. Carter—in my kitchen. My heart just about leapt from its chest.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. She just—”

  “What are you doing here?” I said—and I tried to say it without spite, but I could feel my face all screwed up in disgust. I couldn’t seem to soften it.

  “You want some pizza, Carter?” Dakota asked, not noticing my heart attack.

  “I just came to check in—on you both.” He looked from me to Kotes and his eyes didn’t hold any hostility. “How ya been, kiddo?”

  “Spelling words,” Dakota held up the list of fourth grade words and Carter made a sour face that Dakota happily returned.

  “Hey, at least you get pizza.” He motioned to our store bought concoction on the stovetop. “I never got pizza growing up.”

  “Never?”

  “Nah, it wasn’t healthy enough for Momma Carter.”

  “We eat pizza three times a week. It comes all made up. All you do is stick it in the oven.”

  Carter dropped his jaw and blinked in surprise—but I could tell he judged me. Frozen pizza three times a week would never make me mother of the year.

  I didn’t need to defend myself to him. He didn’t have to stress over raising a gifted child, working, and putting up with Taggart’s crap all day. My brain didn’t have time to learn how to cook.

  Carter leaned against the counter and broke his stare away from Kotes. “So, how are you, Em?”

  “Don’t call me Em.”

  Dakota picked up the rolling pizza cutter and cut down the middle of the small pizza.

  I walked around her and lowered my voice, so that hopefully only Carter could hear me. “We aren’t friends.”

  “I just came to see how you’re doing. Total protocol.”

  It was not protocol. “Right,” I said.

  But he ignored my disdain. “So?” he said, just as Dakota flopped an eighth of our pizza onto a paper plate and handed it to him. He took a bite and smiled. “Delish, Kotes.” Then his gaze found me again, still waiting for an answer.

  I could have ripped the plate from his hands and dug the bite from his mouth. “I’m. Fine.” I forced out the words, my jaw aching with its tightness.

  “Thanks for asking,” Dakota said, handing me a plate as well. “This way.” She walked with her plate into the living room. Carter followed after her, showing absolutely no signs of leaving. Dakota plopped onto our old couch and patted the spot next to her—my spot.

  He sat beside her and took another bite of pizza. I stood next to the couch and inhaled my slice, not tasting, not chewing, just getting the dang thing down.

  “Sometimes we watch a show while we eat and sometimes we play a game, but usually a show. Grandpa’s never here for dinner, so we get the clicker and watch whatever we want until bedtime.”

  “Cool,” he said, “which is it tonight?”

  “You can choose.” Dakota set her plate down on the empty couch seat at her right. She turned toward Carter and handed him the remote control.

  “Wow,” he said, brushing his free hand on his jeans. He smiled at me as he held up the remote Dakota had given him, showing it to me, but I had no desire to return the gesture. “Well, what kind of games do you play?”

  “Hmmm… twenty-questions, would-you-rather, and… what’s that last one called, Mama?”

  “It doesn’t have a name, baby. Grandma Daisy made it up.”

  “Oh. Well, we take turns drawing things. I could get some paper…”

  “Nah, finish your dinner.” Carter set the remote onto the end table between the couch and Taggart’s chair. “How about would-you-rather. How do you play that one?”

  I huffed. Stupid deputy. “I’m gonna clean up. Kotes, you have to study and get to bed. The deputy can’t stay long.”

  I hovered near the kitchen doorway, spying as Dakota explained the rules of would-you-rather to Carter.

  “So, I just say something like—would you rather own a dog or a cat? And you answer?”

  “Yep. And then you tell your guess, but,” she said holding up one finger, “you gotta be honest. Tell your real guess, or you can write it down if you’re afraid you won’t be able to be honest.”

  “I think I can do it.”

  “You can. You’re a man of integrity.”

  “That’s a big word. You know that word?”

  She sighed. She didn’t like wasting valuable game time, especially when she most likely had the good sense that I’d be kicking Carter out any minute.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Should I start?”

  I leaned against the door jam, just enough to see Dakota nod. Her feet dangled from the couch and she held her paper plate, only one bite gone from the pizza slice on her lap.

  Carter shrugged. “Okay, dog or cat?”

  “Would you rather…” she prompted in hushed tones.

  “Oh. Would you rather own a dog or a cat?”

  “That’s easy. Do you have your answer?”

  “Yep.”

  She nibbled a small bite of her dinner. “I would rather own a dog.”

  “That’s what I guessed!” He raised his hand out to her and she smacked a five to his palm. “You don’t like cats?”

  “I’ve only met one cat. Mama’s allergic. They make her sneeze until she pees her pants.”

  I dove from my hiding spot in the doorway. “That’s just an expression, Dakota.”

  But Carter already laughed at my expense. “I don’t think it is.” He wiped a weeping tear from his eye and heaved a sigh.

  “I like dogs better, anyway. One day we’ll own a dog. Right, Mama?”

  “Yes, baby.” One far away day when I wasn’t worried about how to feed her, we’d get a little mutt who wouldn’t eat much—maybe. I hadn’t decided if I liked animals or not, yet. “Well, it’s time for Carter to go.”

  “Ohh,” Dakota moaned. “I didn’t get a turn.”

  “One turn?” Carter said, asking me.

  I screwed my lips to the side, stopping myself from smiling. “One.” I growled out the word, crushing the ridiculous notion on my lips.

  Kotes bounced in her seat, set her pizza plate to the side, and drew in her legs so she sat cross-legged on the couch cushion. “Would you rather eat a cake frosted in smashed up worms or
a cake frosted in dog hair and slobber?”

  Carter’s grin slowly changed to a grimace. He kept Dakota’s eye contact, sliding a quick glance to me—I couldn’t help but smile now. “Well, that’s not what I expected.”

  “You have to answer.” Dakota’s blue eyes pierced him. Rules were rules. “But wait! I’m deciding on my guess.” She crammed her eyes shut.

  Carter’s upper lip protruded in a repulsed curl.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” Dakota’s long lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I guess dog slobber.”

  Her demeaner drooped and she moaned. “I guessed worms. You win.” She knit her brows together and studied him. “Did you really think about it?”

  “I didn’t really want to. Blah.” He stuck out his tongue.

  She shook her head. “Well, if you’d thought about it, I’m sure you would have picked worms. Think about dog hair in your mouth.”

  “Gross.”

  I covered my mouth, holding in a laugh, as Carter’s face seemed to pale.

  “Yes,” Dakota said, nodding, “gross. Also slobber is slimy and nasty. Smashed worms would be at worst mushy and muddy. Worms might even have the consistency of frosting.”

  “Consistency?” His brows rose again. It took some getting used to—hearing little Dakota speak like a grown up half the time. “Okay, I change my answer to worms.”

  Dakota rolled her eyes. “Too late. You’re stuck with dog hair.” But then her irritated expression changed to a grin. “Hey, at least you won.”

  “Yeah, there’s always that.” He made a sick face again and Dakota giggled.

  “All right, Kotes. Pajamas and prayers. Move it.”

  She jumped from Carter’s side and raced down the hall to her bedroom.

  “That had a twisted turn.” He stood and I took his empty paper plate.

  “That’s would-you-rather.”

  “Can I help you clean up? I could see you hovering in the doorway—you didn’t make it far.”

  “Nope. Time for you to go, Deput-ee…” I drew out the word, but left off the idiot.