Page 62 of Engulfing Emma

Evie takes a seat on the bottom step. “It’s the stairs. They creak when someone comes down, and my bedroom is right under them.”

“Ah, so you’renota heavy sleeper.”

“Is that what my mom told you?” she says, laughing quietly. “She thinks I don’t know things, but I do. Please don’t tell her we ran into each other.”

“You don’t want her to know?”

She shakes her head adamantly. “First off, she’d be mad at you. And I don’t want her to be mad at you. I like you. Secondly, she’d think I was disappointed in her, and I wouldn’t want her thinking that.”

“Are you?” I ask. “Disappointed in her?”

“Of course not. I just want her to be happy.”

I look up the stairs to make sure Emma isn’t standing in the hallway. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with her daughter. “Do you think she is?”

Evie shrugs. “I think she’s … content.”

“Are you sure you’re only twelve?”

“Twelve going on thirty,” she says. “At least that’s what Grandma always says.”

I chuckle.

“You’re the only one who’s ever stopped to talk to me,” she says.

I try not to think of the others who may have snuck down these stairs before me. “I am?”

“Yup. They look at me and then go right out the door. They completely ignore me, like I’m not even here. Why do you think they do that?”

“May I?” I ask, gesturing to the step.

She scoots over and makes room for me.

“First off,” I say, using her words, “they probably have no idea what to say to you. They’re trying to sneak out of your house undetected. Secondly, you’re pretty intimidating for a kid.”

She giggles. “Butyoutalked to me. Are you a teacher?”

“I’m a firefighter.”

“Shut up,” she says in disbelief.“You’rea firefighter? Wait—are you the one who was at the school with my mom and that guy who got shot? Is that how you met?”

“Guilty,” I say.

She bounces. “I like you even more now. You’re like my mom’s hero.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but either way, I don’t think she wants another one of those in her life.”

“You mean because of my grandpa?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” she asks.

I try not to laugh at this twelve-year-old girl trying to impart her wisdom to me. “Sure.”

“Mom doesn’t know what she wants. She thinks she does. But she’s wrong. For as long as I can remember, it’s been just the three of us—Grandma, Mom and me. I totally get why Grandma doesn’t want another man. But I think Mom doesn’t want one because she’s afraid she’ll become my grandma, and I’ll become her. Which is why I’m surprised that you’re here. She doesn’t date firefighters. Or policemen. Or anyone with a dangerous job. For the most part, she doesn’t even date at all.”

“I’m confused,” I say. “Exactly what was the advice?”

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