Page 27 of Wild Eyes
The importance of the glassware didn’t even factor into his reaction. I braced myself for the shouting. I was prepared to be berated so that Emmy would be spared. I was ready for the loud bark, the condemnation, the underhanded insults that were subtle as a child but became more obvious to me as I grew older.
But none of it ever came.
In fact, the entire thing ended in laughter as West carried me out into the yard and acted as though he’d just rescued me from a burning building.
He’ll never know, but in that moment, he healed me.
Just a little bit.
A knock jolts me from my walk down depressing memory lane as I toss the pillow covered in the checkerboard case onto the bed.
I pause for a moment, not sure about how safe it is to answer the door at night in an unfamiliar town. With my luck, there will be a cougar at the door.
Whoever it is knocks again, so I pad cautiously across the hardwood floors and pull back the floral curtain to peek outside.
I smile as I take in the small figure standing at the door. She’s bouncing on the spot and twiddling her fingers, a ball of vibrating excitement. I’m not sure if she’s supposed to be out and about after dark, but I figure it’s better for her to be safe in the bunkhouse than wandering the property.
So I twist the lock and unlatch the chain before pulling the door open and looking down into the eyes of little Emmy Belmont.
“Emmy?” I say, using her name as a question.
“Hi!” The words practically burst from her mouth. “I was hoping you would still be up.”
“Yep, I’m still up. Is there something I can help you with?” I glance down at my watch and see that it’s 9 p.m. “I feel like it’s probably time for you to be in bed.”
She dismisses that with a casual wave. “Oh, nah. It’s the weekend. I don’t have anything to do tomorrow.” She taps a finger against her chin. “Actually, tomorrow is Saturday and I do have a soccer game before I go back to my mom’s house.”
“A soccer game? So you should definitely get a good night’s sleep.”
“Yeah, but I’m the best on the team. Even if I’m tired, I’ll be better than everyone else.”
I chuckle, amused by her confidence. Once again, I wish I had even an ounce of Emmy’s carefree surety in myself.
But I don’t.
Instead, I’m a bundle of anxiety, riddled by second-guessing. I’m a woman driven by a bone-deep, simmering anger, who predicts disappointment at every turn.
I’m fucking Eeyore but make him famous. Saggy shoulders but never forgetting to put that bow on his tail.
I need to learn how to channel my inner Emmy. A little bit of her would be good for me.
I smile at her. “I have no doubt you are.”
“You should come watch,” she says so simply. Like we haven’t just met today. Like there’s nothing she requires of me other than to come watch her play soccer.
“You came here to invite me to your soccer game?”
I feel like, within twenty-four hours, I’ve become quite the interloper in the Belmont family activities.
“Yes.”
“Sounds like fun. We’ll see how tomorrow goes,” I say.
She shrugs, satisfied with my noncommittal answer, and barges straight past me into the bunkhouse like she owns the place.
“So what are you up to? Are you watching something? Are you doing something?”
I follow her in, glancing around the small space, not really sure what there is to do or how I’m going to pass several weeks in this setting. Probably walking up and down the hill obsessively to stay thin so the tabloids won’t say anything about my weight when I inevitably have to face the paparazzi in the city again.
