Pocketful of Sand(12)

My heart seizes in my chest. The mere thought…it steals my breath in the most painful way.

“I would never be the same again,” I tell her, trying to control the tremble of my voice.

“But I don’t want you to be sad. I want you to be happy, even if I’m not here to make you happy.”

“I could never be happy without you, Emmy. You’re my whole world. My sunshine.”

She digests this in silence and I immediately regret being so honest with her. I don’t want her to feel the burden of keeping her mother from falling apart. No child should carry that responsibility.

“Maybe I can stay until you have other happy things, then.”

I stop walking, squatting in front of my daughter, taking both her hands in mine. I blink back tears. I don’t want to scare her. “Emmy, you aren’t going anywhere. His little girl died in an accident. Sometimes that happens, but that doesn’t mean it will happen to you.”

“But I won’t always be around, Momma. And I don’t want you to be sad.” Her heart is in her eyes. She’s truly worried about this. About me. About what would happen to me if she weren’t here.

I stroke her smooth, cold cheek. “Don’t you worry about me, baby girl. It’s my job to worry about you. Not the other way around.”

She stares deep into my eyes, her young mind spinning with thoughts I’ll probably never understand. “Momma?”

“What, sweetpea?”

This whole conversation is terrifying me. I’m resisting the urge to drag her into my arms and hold her so tight that she becomes a part of me, the way she was when I carried her for almost nine months.

“Will you promise to try?”

“To try what?”

“To be happy when I’m in heaven.”

“Emmy–”

“Mom!” she snaps desperately.

“Emmy, what on earth is this about?”

“Promise!”

I swallow the lump in my throat. I’ve never outright lied to my daughter. Until today. I make a promise that I have no hope of ever being able to fulfill. “I promise.”

She pats the back of my hand with her own, a gesture far too old for someone so young.

“But that’s a promise neither of us has to worry about. You’re meant to be right here with me, Emmaline Sage. Don’t you think any different.”

Neither of us speaks on the way back to our cottage, but the air is heavy with enough emotion that we don’t have to.





EIGHT


Eden



EVIDENTLY IN MAINE, the weather can change overnight. While it was very chilly yesterday, that wind must’ve been blowing in winter, because today it’s downright cold.

Since I homeschool Emmy (mostly out of necessity because of her anxiety and our frequent moves), it’s vital that we find things to do outside of our house, wherever that might be located at the moment. Here in Miller’s Pond, I’ve used walks down the road or to the beach as our escape since the nearest town, Ashbrook, is thirty plus miles away. But now, with the weather turning, the beach is out of the question, so I find myself looking for reasons to venture to Bailey’s. Today, I decide to take Emmy out for lunch. And Bailey’s has a grill.

Jordan? the ever-present fixture at the everything-store, greets us from behind the cash register when we walk in.

“Well, hiya, ladies!” she says, her Northern accent shining in the way she says it. It might be even more pronounced if she weren’t slurring.

Drunk at noon?

I’m beginning to think Jordan might have a bit of a drinking problem.

“Hi, Jordan!”

Emmy, as always, hugs my legs.

“What brings you two in today? My stunning conversational skills? My incredible sense of humor? My unshakable balance?” She says the last as she pretends to walk a tightrope and nearly loses said “unshakable” balance. She laughs when she does it and I can’t help smiling. At least she’s a pleasant drunk.

“Her uncanny ability to aggravate the customers?” says Jason as he appears from behind the counter, like he so often does. Jordan gives him the stink eye, but he ignores her, smiling at me. “Hiya, Eden. Good to see you.”

“Hi, Jason.”

“I stopped by your house last Sunday. Thought I’d take you and Emmy on a picnic.”

That takes me by surprise.