Page 2 of For Emery

“I’m gonna take the floor.”

She scrunched her perky little nose. “Why?”

I shrugged.

She rolled over as far as she could, leaving a huge space for me. “Come on. I promise not to kick you in the middle of the night.”

I snickered to myself as my eyes shifted between the uncomfortable floor and my cozy bed. It was a no brainer. I climbed in beside her. We both fell silent, laying on our backs and staring up at the ceiling fan spinning above us.

“Thank you, Jordan Grady,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, Emery Pruitt.”

It took no more than two minutes before the soft purr of her snores filled my room.

* * *

I awoke the next morning to a wide-open window and an empty spot beside me. I reached over and smoothed my hand over the cold sheets, wondering how long Emery had stayed. Had her parents noticed she’d disappeared? Had she walked in to them waiting for her in the kitchen?

The smell of homemade pancakes from my own kitchen drifted into my room. I rolled out of bed and padded down the hallway with my bare feet. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I entered the kitchen. My parents sat at the table where a stack of pancakes filled the plate in front of my chair. “Morning,” I said, slipping into my seat.

“Morning, honey,” my mom said, sipping her coffee.

My dad didn’t look up from his newspaper. “Morning, son.”

“Your practice was moved to this evening,” my mom said.

I glanced to my mom as I stuffed a forkful of pancakes into my mouth. “Why?”

“With the heat wave moving through town, your coaches feel it’ll be more bearable once the sun begins to set.”

I nodded, realizing they had no idea I’d had a visitor the previous night. “Can I ask you something?” I said.

My mom lowered her coffee cup. “Sure.”

“Any idea what happened to the little girl next door’s real daddy?”

My dad folded up his paper. “Why do you ask?”

“I just assumed you guys would know,” I said, stuffing more pancakes into my mouth.

“I heard he died of cancer while her mother was pregnant with her,” my mom admitted sadly.

I nodded, my stomach clenching for Emery.

“Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” my dad asked.

I shrugged. “There’s a lot of yellin’ goin’ on over there. I wondered what makes people fight like that?”

My parents exchanged a sad look. “Unhappiness I assume,” my mom said before changing the subject to the weather—a safer topic to discuss with her eleven-year-old son.

After breakfast, I ran outside, tossing my football above my head and catching it as it dropped into my hands. When we didn’t have practice, my friends and I normally met at the park for a game then we hit the creek to cool off before playing another game. I threw another spiral above my head.

“Hey.”

I twisted around and the football dropped on my head, tumbling unceremoniously to the ground.

“Looks like someone needs practice,” Emery said as she skipped toward me, her blonde hair in a high pony tail that was swinging from side to side.

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