Chapter 3
Emory
“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Mya’s voice was heavy as she sulked.
Emory stuck her head out of her near-empty bedroom. She’d spent all morning fielding her best friend’s—her only friend’s—questions, and frankly, she’d had enough.
“Because Jaxon is kicking me out and if the flood is as big as they say, this damned cottage will be full of water for a week.” She ran her hands through the ends of her hair, gathering it together and looping it through the hair tie she always kept on her wrist. “I need to move everything I want out and at least attempt to flood-proof everything else so he can’t try to blame me when it all ends up water-damaged. ”
Making her way down the small hallway, Emory dodged Clayton’s plastic bowling ball and paused to help him set up the pins again.
Ruffling his mop of blond hair, she swallowed down the unease that had been resting in her throat since yesterday.
Living with Byron would be fine. Clayton would love spending more time with his Papa. And she would manage. She’d have to.
Mya stood in the living room with her hands on her hips, twisting her upper body to look back and forth around the room.
Two large plastic tubs sat on the coffee table.
One full of Clayton’s toys, the other loaded with Emory’s books and the handful of photo frames she had scattered around the walls.
The small TV had been unplugged and was sitting on top of the kitchen bench, and the two suitcases Emory had packed yesterday were by the front door.
“You should really try to take all the furniture,” Mya said as Emory entered the room. “The farmhouse is huge. I’m sure Byron has space.”
Resigned, Emory flopped onto the couch. Her arm dangled off the side as she groaned. “I have no way of getting it there. I’m going to struggle to fit all these tubs in my car, let alone a queen-size bed and a bloody sofa.”
Mya pulled at Emory’s legs, twisting them off the couch so she was forced to sit up.
Emory had a clear view of her friend’s stomach, toned from all the hours she spent helping haul cartons of fresh produce at her parents’ store.
Emory knew that every morning, without fail, Mya would show up to do all the heavy lifting so her dad didn’t have to, then she’d rush off to her job at the community library.
Reaching up, she poked Mya in the ribs, then grabbed her wrists and pulled her down so they were sitting together.
Mya might as well have been in Emory’s lap, they were so close.
One of Mya’s legs rested over the top of Emory’s thigh, and Emory’s shoulder was dangerously close to taking out Mya’s breast.
Wrapping her arms around Emory, Mya kissed the top of her head.
“You okay?”
Emory felt her whole body droop into Mya’s comfortable embrace.
She wasn’t okay, she just wasn’t really sure how to explain it to Mya.
No doubt her friend assumed she was mellow about moving out of the cottage, and sure she was, but it was the least of her current problems. Finding a new place to live in Gardner Creek was so far down the list of her worries, it was barely even a speck on the horizon.
A silent tear forced its way down her cheek, and she batted it away, hoping Mya wouldn’t notice.
But as the town’s most social librarian and therefore the go-to for all kinds of moral advice and support, Mya was well-versed in silent interactions.
She caught Emory’s hand as it wiped at the tear and clasped it in her own.
“You’ll find somewhere.”
Emory hiccupped, sucked in a raspy breath, and ran through sentences in her head. She had to tell her friend she was planning to leave town as soon as she could, and now was as good a time as any.
“If you don’t,” Mya continued before Emory had figured out how to phrase the bombshell, “you and Clayton can come stay with me for a while.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
Mya recoiled a little, scrunching her nose up. “Well, you can’t honestly expect to stay with Byron for any longer than you need to?”
“I won’t.”
Emory pushed herself out of Mya’s hold. With her hands on Mya’s shoulders, Emory looked up at her friend.
The front of Mya’s usually styled bob was pulled back from her face in a small, high fountain of a ponytail.
A few stray strands framed her face perfectly and Emory wondered how Mya always looked so damned perfect.
Even in a pair of faded leggings and an oversized hoodie, she screamed ‘put together’ and ‘I’ve got my shit sorted.
’ It was the kind of look Emory always strived for but never felt like she achieved.
“I don’t want to find another place in town, Mya. I’m so close to finishing my degree, there’s no point. Once the flood clears, I’ll find an apartment in the city for me and Clay. Somewhere close to a daycare and schools and jobs.”
Emory closed her eyes. Under her hands, Emory could feel Mya’s shoulders shake.
“I thought I had more time with you.”
Emory pulled her friend in for a hug. They wrapped their arms around each other and sat, sharing tears as they both processed the news.
“I did too,” Emory said eventually. “But with Jaxon kicking me out, and the flood. The timing feels right.”
Emory nodded against her friend. A wet patch started to form on Emory’s top, and she felt it bleed through to the skin of her shoulder.
She hated this, feeling like she had let her friend down. It was right for her, though, and for Clayton. No matter how sad Mya was about it, Emory knew she would understand.
As though sensing the rapid change in mood, Clayton burst into the room carrying the plastic ball. It was almost as big as his head, and he held it out in front of him, blocking his view. Emory let go of Mya to grab Clayton’s shoulder before he collided with the rough edges of the old coffee table.
“My!” He smiled as he climbed onto Mya’s lap. He wriggled against Emory’s hold, pushing her back.
“Does he know?” Mya whispered over the little boy’s head, tickling behind his ears to further muffle the sound.
Emory shook her head, then tilted it back to rest on the cushion of the couch.
Her aching shoulders stretched in pain, the weight of, well, everything, resting heavy.
She had a lot to sort out, and thanks to Jaxon’s eviction notice and her choice to ignore it for three weeks, not a lot of time to dot her i’s and cross her t’s.
Byron’s farmhouse was a stepping stone, she told herself. Nothing more, nothing less.
“I’m hungry.”
Clayton popped into her line of sight, climbing across the couch to lean on her. His eyes, such a dark blue they could have been navy, pierced through her own as he waited for her to respond.
“Can you reach the bananas in the fruit bowl?”
The little boy didn’t answer, jumping over Emory’s shoulder and climbing down the back of the couch. He ran for the kitchen, sliding around the corner on his socks.
“Did Byron teach him that?”
“Climbing over the couch? I think so.”
Mya rested a hand on Emory’s shoulder, but there was a different energy that charged the touch this time. Emory could feel her icy fingers squeezing too tight by only the smallest fraction.
“Emory, I say this with love, okay?” Mya paused then, waiting for Emory to acknowledge her.
Raising her eyebrows, Emory glanced at Mya through the corners of her eyes. “What?”
“Is moving in with Byron the best idea right now?”
“I have nowhere else to go. If the flood comes as high as they say, we will need to evacuate.” Emory spoke directly to the ceiling.
She knew where this conversation was heading, and frankly, she didn’t even have herself convinced that evacuating to Byron’s was the best idea.
There was no way she’d be able to convince her friend otherwise.
“You could go to the community centre. They are setting up all the beds now, and they’ll have food and toys for Clayton.”
“Mya, the only thing worse than being at Byron’s would be ending up stuck at the community centre.”
Emory hummed. “True. But you hate Byron.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Pushing herself up, Emory finally faced Mya. She held her best friend’s gaze as she rolled out the kink in her neck. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her ears rushed.
“The problem is not that I hate him, Mya. It’s that I specifically don’t hate him.”
She felt her cheeks heat as a blush spread across her face. Wiping at the feeling with her hands, Emory groaned.
Mya squealed and jumped off the couch. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as she tried to compose herself.
“You mean you …?”
“Yes.”
“But he is …”
“Yes.”
“And you’re about to …”
“Yes. Thank you, Mya. I know, okay? I know. It’s fucking embarrassing, so don’t you dare speak a word of this to anybody, alright?
It’s just a stupid fucking crush that won’t go away, no matter how hard I try to ignore it.
And besides, I don’t like him like him. I just think he’s really hot and every time I see him, I wonder what he’d look like without a shirt on. ”
Mya paced back and forth in front of Emory, her hands flying around her. After a moment, she sat on the coffee table and took Emory’s hands in her own.
“Do you want to ignore it?”
Emory tried not to shake her head, she really did, but her body gave away her true feelings without her consent anyway.
“But it’s dumb!” Realising she was yelling, Emory dropped her voice into an exaggerated whisper.
“He’s so much older than me. And he is Clayton’s grandfather!
And Jaxon’s dad. I can’t do that. I shouldn’t want that. ”
“But you do.”
“Yes, Mya. I do.”
Mya’s thumbs traced little circles on Emory’s palm. She focused on the feeling, trying to ignore the way it hurt to breathe.
“Emory, do you realise that if you go to Byron’s and the bridge closes, you’ll be stuck there?”
She hadn’t thought of that. This whole time, she thought she would just go about her everyday life, but at the farmhouse instead of here at the cottage.
She had figured Byron would spend each day doing farm stuff, and she would go to her shifts at the café but just come home to a different house.
And, okay, they would maybe eat dinner together, but it would be no harder than all the times before when he insisted they stay to eat before coming home.
But if the bridge closed?
There would be no escape. For either of them.
Emory held her breath. The bridge wouldn’t close. Mya was just being overly cautious. That’s what friends were for, right?
“The bridge won’t close,” Emory told her friend, and herself, but her voice shook with uncertainty.
“If the flood gets as high as they say it will, the bridge will close, Emory. I know the community centre would be pretty shit, and I’d offer you my place if I wasn’t also evacuating, but are you sure being fully stuck with Byron is the best idea?”
“Where are you going? Can’t we come with you and your parents?”
Mya’s nose scrunched up, and she looked down at her feet.
“Mya, where are you going?”
In one swift exhale, Mya answered, “My parents are staying with my aunt, and I’m staying with Tucker.”
“With Tucker?!”
Mya pulled her hands back and hugged her middle. Clayton came running back into the room with half a peeled banana in his hands. The other half was mushed around his mouth.
“Unky Tuck?”
At first, the cute nickname felt cosy in Emory’s ears.
It was affectionate, but in half a heartbeat, it reminded Emory of just how much Clayton would be leaving behind when they left.
It clawed at her throat, but she had to do this.
For her. Clayton would adjust, and he would thrive in a city where he wouldn’t be excluded because of who his mother was.
Leaping off the couch, Emory swiped the packet of baby wipes from the coffee table and grabbed Clayton’s arm. She pulled him close, before he could spread the banana any further, and wiped his mouth. He squirmed under her hold, wiggling as she set him down on the coffee table next to Mya.
Emory folded her arms across her chest and nudged Mya’s leg with her toes.
“Yes, okay. But it’s new. Like, very new, and this flood could make or break us, so I don’t think adding you two to the mix is the best idea.”
There was a lot Emory could say about Tucker being five years younger than her best friend or about Tucker’s apparent reluctance to get his life together.
But she couldn’t say any of it when Mya seemed so giddy at the thought of them.
The corner of Emory’s mouth began to push into her cheek. “I’m happy for you.”
“Will you be okay? With … everything?” Mya waved her arm between Emory and Clayton, then around the room.
“I’ll have to be.”
“Let’s see if we can fit these tubs in your car, then.”
Emory pulled the largest tub over the coffee table and grunted as she picked it up. Mya rushed to open the front door for her, then picked up a box of her own.
Once Emory’s small SUV was packed and Clayton was buckled into his seat, Emory turned to face Mya again.
“Thank you for today. And for everything.”
Mya scratched the back of her neck. “Thanks for understanding about Tucker.”
“What are friends for?”
The two women hugged, rocking a little as they held each other close, neither wanting to be the first to let go.
“What am I going to do when you leave, Emory?”
“You’ll have Tucker.”
“Yeah, but he’s a boy. It’s not the same.”