Always Emily

Satisfied that she was warm and safe for the night, he left the room, turning out the light and closing the door behind him.

He checked in on Mika, who slept as though she hadn’t a care in the world. A turtle-shaped lamp on her bedside table sent a soft glow around the room, highlighting her collection of raccoon statues that friends and family had given her every birthday and Christmas since she was old enough to talk, to express her desires, which had been early.

There was nothing shy about his Mika. Intelligent Raccoon.

On her dresser, she kept a bowl of tiny soaps and bubble bath capsules in different shapes and sizes. Mika wouldn’t mind if he gave one to Emily. She’d inherited a generous spirit from her mother. Annie had been screwed up in many ways and her drug use was out of control at the end, but her generosity had been amazing.

For a split second, to his astonishment, he missed Annie, especially the good parts. Sure, she’d been neurotic at times, but she’d had a heart of gold. They hadn’t loved each other, but they had tried hard for respect.

For Emily, he chose a pink heart-shaped soap, because he was just that foolish. In case she might want a bath instead of a shower, he also took a gold bubble bath bead in the shape of a star.

Emily Jordan. His shooting star, here today and gone tomorrow.

He leaned forward and kissed Mika’s forehead. She still smelled like a kid, not like the perfume he’d detected on Aiyana.

He turned off the light before he left. She liked to fall asleep with it on, but she was a heavy sleeper. She wouldn’t need it for the rest of the night.

Salem smiled. No trouble with Mika yet, but then, she was only thirteen. Maybe adolescent hormones hadn’t kicked in yet.

Back in the bathroom, he placed the soap and bath bead beside the ridiculous toothbrush. Was it enough? It had been years since there’d been a grown woman in the house—four years since Annie’s death, and many more years since they’d had a guest. This wasn’t really a guest, though. It was only Emily.

That thought brought him up short. There wasn’t, never had been, and never would be anything only about Emily.

With one finger, he touched the pink heart soap that smelled like roses, and imagined her using it. He shook himself out of his foolish, romantic reverie, turned out the light and stepped into the hallway. Romance and Emily in the same thought? Dangerous.

“You sleeping downstairs?” His dad stood on the landing.

“Yep.”

“Good night, then.” His father entered the bedroom next to Salem’s.

Salem nodded and went downstairs, turning off the remaining lights as he went. In the living room, he gathered afghans and blankets from the backs of the two armchairs and made himself a bed on the sofa.

He stretched out, but his six-foot frame was too long for the furniture, so his feet hung over the arm.

Not the least bit comfortable, he eventually fell asleep, but was awakened by a hand shaking his shoulder.

“Go take care of Emily.” His father stood over him, illuminated by the streetlamp shining through sheer curtains. “She’s making noise.”

Salem threw off his covers and took the stairs two at a time. Emily thrashed on the bed.

“Hey, hey,” he crooned, lifting her into a sitting position, but she sagged against his chest.

“Here,” he said, reaching for the glass of water he’d left beside the bed. She gulped it down, with him holding her head to still her shuddering. He laid her back against the pillow and got fresh water from the bathroom.

Leaving it on the bedside table, he stared down at her. He couldn’t leave her like this, too small and fragile. Too alone.

His Emily didn’t do fragile. What did he mean his Emily? She wasn’t his and never had been. She’d left too many times, dashing his hopes, for him to ever trust her again, the anger she inspired in him a constant throughout their relationship.

What relationship? You don’t have one.

Damn right.

Remember that, Salem.

But she was his friend; or rather, he was hers. Sort of. Maybe. Reluctantly.

She shivered. He crawled in under the covers and nestled her against his chest. Gradually, the shaking stopped and she settled into an easier sleep.

He, however, did not sleep, not while he held Emily Jordan in his arms.

* * *

“I’M NOT GOING to school tomorrow.” Aiyana stood in the doorway of the kitchen, scowling. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying. Dread hollowed out his gut. He couldn’t take tears. He could handle—had handled—a lot in life, but crying made him feel useless.

“Are you sick?” Salem hoped this was physical, something the magic of chicken soup could fix. “What is it? The flu?”

She shrugged. Her hair stood out in all directions. She must have washed it before bed and fallen asleep while it was still wet.

“Dad, how about heating some of your soup?” Salem finished doctoring his coffee and caught his two slices of toast as they popped out of the toaster.

“You got it.” His father retrieved the Tupperware.

“I don’t want soup.” Aiyana sounded like an odd mix of little-girl sulkiness and teenaged defiance.

Mika sat at the table eating her cereal, her brown eyes darting between him and Aiyana.

“How about toast?” Salem asked Aiyana. “You can have these and I’ll make more for myself.”

“No.”

“But...”

“I don’t want anything, okay?” she cried. “I just want to go back to bed. Just leave me alone today, okay?” She ran from the kitchen without waiting for anyone to respond.

Salem stared at her retreating back and what he could see of her feet running up the stairs.

His dad grunted. “I don’t think it’s the flu.”

“Pardon?” Salem asked.

“It ain’t the flu. It ain’t physical.”

That’s what he was afraid of. “Crap.”

“Why crap?”

“The flu or a cold would be easy. Soup, medication, hot tea. Boy or girlfriend or school trouble? Not so much. I don’t know how to talk to her anymore.”

Mika stood and picked up the present she’d wrapped yesterday. The social daughter, she was attending a friend’s birthday party for the day. Aiyana, the quiet studious one, was more like him than Salem suspected she wanted to be.

“Boys,” Mika said, with a nod of wisdom and a shrug that said, isn’t it obvious? “See you after the party, Grandpa. Bye, Daddy.” Then she was out the door and off to meet her friends down the street, so blessedly uncomplicated Salem thanked his lucky stars.

“What do I do about Aiyana?” Salem buttered his toast.

“Get your woman to talk to her.”

His knife clattered to the counter. Clumsy fingers. “She’s not my woman.”

“Ask her to talk to your daughter.”

“No.” He might have let Emily sleep here last night, and he might have held her while she slept, but he’d be damned if he would expose his daughter to Emily’s brand of heartache.

“She has been good to Aiyana since that girl was born.”

True. She had showered Aiyana, and later Mika, with gifts and stuffed animals and postcards from abroad. “I know, but—”

“And Aiyana loves her.”

Yes, he knew that, too, but maybe not so much lately. Anger at Emily had grown in Aiyana since her mother’s death. Perhaps she’d hoped Emily might replace her mom, but that hope had been dashed every time Emily left.

Aiyana used to adore Emily, used to trail around behind her imitating her every move, and singing all of the silly songs Emily taught her.

When Emily would leave at the end of her visits, it was okay because Aiyana had her mother. Once Annie started using, though, she became less and less available to her daughter. Aiyana looked forward to Emily’s visits too much after that, and was more devastated when she left.

Then, after Annie died, the questions started.

“Why is Emily going away? Doesn’t she want to be with me? When is she coming back?”

Salem explained about her career, but it was hard to be convincing, because he’d always suspected there was more to it than there appeared to be.

“Aiyana is angry with her,” his dad said, “but still loves her.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Who else is there?”

No one now that her mother was dead. They didn’t have an extended family.

“Ask her.” Dad could be as persistent as a bear in the mood for dinner.

“No.”

“Stubborn.” His father sniffed. “Like your mother.”

He was not. “Emily is trouble.”

“You need a little trouble.”

Salem rounded on his father. “How can you say that? You of all people? After everything Mom did to you? To us?”

“I loved your mother, warts and all.” His dad leaned back in his chair, crossed his feet and cupped the back of his head with his hands, as though they discussed nothing more serious than the weather. “Emily isn’t like your mother.”

Salem turned away and stared out the window.

“She isn’t Annie, either,” his dad said. “She is a different kind of lively. Not trouble trouble. Fun trouble.”

“So what?”

“Aiyana is unhappy,” Dad said. “Has been for a while.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“You would know more if you spent more time at home.”

“I work hard—”

His father cut him off with a shake of his head. “So what? Listen to what is important here. Something is wrong with Aiyana. I’m no good for her. You’re no good. She needs a woman to talk to.”

There wasn’t one—Annie was dead and Salem’s mother long dead—but damned if he would ask Emily to step in.

His mind cast about. “I’ll phone Laura, Nick Jordan’s wife.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, you can. She’s probably at the bakery right now serving customers, but you can call her and ask her to leave them and come right over.”

Of course he couldn’t. Weekend mornings were crazy busy at the café, Laura’s busiest time. “How about Emily’s sister, Pearl?”

“She won’t think that’s odd? You calling her while Emily is here in the house? And her knowing Aiyana idolizes Emily? That won’t look strange?”

It would look ridiculous, and Salem knew it.

Emily was here. Still...he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t open Aiyana to heartbreak. But Aiyana was unhappy about something, and wouldn’t confide in him.

His dad’s white eyebrows rose in an exaggerated circumflex, low on the sides and high in the middle, almost meeting at the midpoint, compelling Salem to set aside his fears and seek help for his daughter.

It stuck in his craw. He didn’t want Emily’s help. He could do this on his own. He wanted Emily out of his house and back in her own. Away from him. Away from his daughters.

“She won’t hurt them,” Dad said as though reading his mind. “She won’t lead them astray.”

His confusion with Aiyana, his utter...helplessness, had him swaying toward Dad’s point of view. He needed someone’s help. Emily was the only one available right now.

He’d made the decision to not see her again, to not think about her, to pretend she didn’t exist, and yet here she was in his house. And Aiyana needed someone at this moment. Salem could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay,” he said and trudged upstairs, footsteps heavy and slow like his thoughts.

At his closed bedroom door, he halted and glanced down the hallway toward Aiyana’s door, also closed.

So many doors were closed to him these days. About the only thing that wasn’t was school. No wonder he spent so much time buried in books. They opened pathways for him he couldn’t breach elsewhere in his life.

He knocked and Emily called for him to come in.

She stood beside the bed, her skin pale and gray like ash, using his brush to calm her hair. He loved its thickness and color, a medium brown warmed by glints of blond and red tones. Natural highlights. Or, he assumed they were natural since they’d already been there when she was twelve.

He still remembered the first time he ever saw her and thinking he’d gone crazy because he’d felt such an immediate kinship with a stranger, and her only twelve while he was a strapping eighteen.

For a while, he’d wondered if he was some kind of pervert before realizing his attraction wasn’t sexual. That had come later, when she was still too young at fifteen. It had driven him into the arms of another woman. Just his rotten luck their birth control had failed. No, that wasn’t true. He might have regretted his marriage, but never his daughters, even now when they were teenagers and he didn’t have a clue what to do with them.

“Are you okay?” he asked Emily.

“I’m fine,” she replied, but wasn’t.

He knew when Emily lied. She was lying now.

“What’s up?” she asked shyly. Emily, who could go anywhere, do anything, was never shy. “You look upset.”

“And you look a little better than last night. More like yourself. How do you feel?”

“Tired, but the fever broke during the night, thank goodness. The attack’s almost run its course.” She placed his hairbrush onto his dresser. “I’ve known others with this. I’ve seen the symptoms and how they progress. I’ll be better soon.”

“Do you need to be anywhere this morning? I have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Aiyana’s upset.”

Her head shot up. “Aiyana? What’s wrong?”

The request backed up in his throat, but the bottom line was that Aiyana needed help and Emily was here. Even with his father’s help, Salem had been coping as both parents for so long, and he was out of his depth. “I think maybe she needs to talk to a woman.”

Emily looked uncertain, another sign she wasn’t herself. In all the years he’d known her, Salem had admired her generosity of spirit and her self-confidence.

He stepped back. “If you don’t want to that’s okay.”

“No. I don’t mind. It’s just...”

“Just what?”

“What kind of help does she need? I mean, I don’t know if I can help.”

If she didn’t help him figure out the puzzle that was his daughter, who would?

“What exactly is the problem?”

Salem shook his head like a bewildered old man, so far out of his element. “Mika says it’s boys. She’s at that age, right?”

Emily tilted her head, thinking. “Aiyana’s what? Fourteen?”

“Fifteen. Almost sixteen.”

“Yeah.” Emily’s mouth twisted wryly. “It’s probably a boy.”

“So, you’ll talk to her?”

A wash of emotion that might have been sadness painted Emily’s features.

“Okay.” She seemed to rouse herself. “Where is she? In her bedroom?”

Salem nodded and went back downstairs, hoping he could deal with the repercussions of Emily leaving—again—later. Maybe. He hoped.

* * *

EMILY LEANED HER forehead against Aiyana’s door to summon her strength before entering. She had to help the girl however she could, even though her resources were depleted. She just didn’t know what she had to give. Damn this illness.

Aiyana, the girl who used to follow Emily around like a perky kitten, needed her. While Emily had completed high school, she’d spent time with Aiyana on the weekends, bringing her gifts—stuffed bunny rabbits, books and toys.

The child might have been born to another woman, and Emily might have resented Annie for marrying Salem, but Aiyana had been Salem’s daughter, and a darling. And Emily had loved her from the first moment she met her.

Funny that Annie hadn’t minded, but then, Annie had been a proud mother, and happy to show off her baby. She had even let Emily babysit.

When Emily had gone to college, she had sent Aiyana birthday cards and sweet little notes at Christmas, and more presents.

As an archeologist, she had mailed Aiyana postcards from all the exotic countries she had visited. So, Emily had enjoyed a correspondence both ways, with Maria in the Sudan when she was at home, and with Aiyana when she’d been away.

And now Aiyana was hurting.

Aware of how hypocritical it was to offer boy advice when her own love life was a mess, she knocked anyway, because Salem had asked her to. How could she say no?

“Go away, Dad.” The voice sounded sullen, as only a teenager could, but Emily heard more. Desolation.

“It’s Emily.”

“Emily?” Emily heard a nose being blown. “Oh, um, just a sec.”

Emily waited.

“Okay. Come in.” It sounded thick with tears.

Emily opened the door cautiously. Aiyana sat on her bed with her arms wrapped around an oversize teddy bear, looking so much like a female version of a teenaged Salem that it brought back memories, both warm and tough. Aiyana was too old for stuffed animals, but Emily remembered the misery of unrequited love. Salem came to mind. She approached the bed.

“Hi,” she said and smiled.

Aiyana didn’t respond. Strange.

“Your dad says something’s going on. Do you want to talk?”

Aiyana shrugged. “I don’t know.” Her nose was stuffed up, and her eyes bloodshot. “What are you doing here so early in the morning?”

Emily was taken aback by Aiyana’s vaguely belligerent tone. It used to be that the girl would run into Emily’s arms when she returned for her visits. But the past couple of years, Aiyana been a bit cool, and now this. Was it normal adolescence, or something deeper?

“I slept over last night.”

“Did you sleep with Dad?”

Whoa. Did Aiyana mean sleep sleep or have sex sleep? Emily was pretty sure she meant sex. Where had this come from?

Before Emily could react, Aiyana asked, “So, like, did you guys kiss and make up?”

Ohhhh. Was this about Emily and Salem fighting before she left last year? Aiyana must have picked up on the change in Salem’s attitude toward her.

Why did adults never think that kids understood what was happening around them?

“I slept here because I was sick last night. I fainted at the Cathedral and your dad brought me home and took care of me.”

“How long are you staying this time?”

Emily finally got what was going on. The daughter had the same issues as the father.

“I’m staying for good this time.”

Skeptical, Aiyana shrugged.

“You look really pale,” Aiyana said, begrudgingly, as though she cared, but didn’t want to. “Are you okay?” A glimmer of compassion softened the blunt edges of Aiyana’s teenaged pique. Maybe they would get through this after all.

“It’s the tail end of an attack of malaria.”

“Isn’t that really bad?”

“I’ll be okay in a few days.”

Emily tucked her hands into her pockets. She felt as lost as Aiyana looked miserable, and just as uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to say or do.

This kind of thing had been easier when Aiyana’s problems had been as simple as scraped knees and broken toys.

On the wall on the other side of the bed, Emily spotted a corkboard filled with all the postcards Emily had sent over the years. Oh. Aiyana had kept them, every last one.

Aiyana might as well have reached into Emily’s chest and petted her heart as she was doing with the teddy bear’s head. Emily had to find a way to help her. She wanted to regain what they used to have.

“You know, when your dad and I fought last year, it had nothing to do with you. I love you as much now as I ever have.”

At the word love, Aiyana’s expression softened even more.

Emily took advantage. “Maybe I can help you through this.” It sounded like a question instead of an offer of help because, honestly, she had no idea what to do. She knew how to be a good listener. Maybe that’s all it would take. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” Aiyana wailed. Oh, she must be hurting badly if she would consider confiding in Emily even though she was still so angry with her. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Did something happen to you?”

Aiyana buried her face in the bear’s head. “Sort of.”

Sort of? Oh, dear. “Can you explain what you mean?” Emily sat on the edge of the bed, but made sure she didn’t touch Aiyana. She didn’t want to invade the girl’s space if things weren’t fully right between them.

Aiyana covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know if I can. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Aiyana’s head jerked up at the depth of emotion in Emily’s voice.

Maybe in this situation, Emily would have to give before she would receive. “I broke up with my boyfriend three days ago when I left the Sudan to come home.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.”

“It was long overdue. We’d been together for six years, but he didn’t treat me well. I tolerated his behavior way longer than I should have. It was time for me to smarten up.”

Something about the phrase smarten up must have resonated with Aiyana, because she opened her mouth to speak, and the dam broke.

Through tears, haltingly, she told her story, about how she’d thought the boy had cared for her, about how she was honored and happy he’d asked her to be his girlfriend, about how last night he’d taken her into the ravine and had tried to pressure her to have sex.

He’d pushed her too hard too fast, but Aiyana hadn’t given in. Wow, strong girl for holding her own.

Emily was proud of her young friend. “That took guts. You have to feel the time and the boy are right before taking that big step. You’ll get over him.”

“I already have, as soon as I realized what a jerk he is. That’s not the problem. Look!” She jumped up from the bed. Anger vibrated in her slim frame. Good. Anger was a hell of a lot better than despair. Aiyana hit a few keys and her Twitter account came up. “Look what he did.”

Emily joined her, pressing her hand onto Aiyana’s shoulder. Oh, she had a bad feeling about this.

There, on the computer screen, tweets bounced around from the boy and his friends, and girls too, stating that she’d gone all the way with him last night...and that it hadn’t been the first time, and he hadn’t been the first boy, tweets like a hail of bullets cutting Aiyana down, too similar to Jean-Marc’s assault, but much, much worse.

Aiyana was too young, her defenses too undeveloped, to repel an attack like this. No wonder she needed help.

Damn the internet for making bullying so painfully public.

“It’s all lies,” Aiyana wailed. “I’m still a virgin.”

In Aiyana’s pain, Emily heard echoes of her own.

She fell back to sit on the bed, her past rushing toward her from a long dark tunnel, whooshing full speed ahead, the memories she’d worked so hard to submerge surfacing here where she had thought she would be safe.

She could handle Jean-Marc and his ugly innuendo miles and miles away, because she knew she could find a way to repair the damage, somehow, but this was here at home in Accord, and it was happening to a girl she loved, and it was happening in Emily’s old school. And that easily, the woman Emily had matured into was gone, and she was back to the lost and lonely girl she used to be.

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