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I stood, not moving, not reacting.

She repeated the gesture. I crossed my arms over my chest, protecting my heart.

Emma shook her head before she repeated the same gesture.

I averted my gaze, unable to take the pleading look in her eyes.

She stomped her foot to get my attention.

I looked back at her.

Anger flashed in her eyes, and she pointed at me, and then she threw her hand out as if she wanted me to leave.

Did she want me to go? To disappear?

She shook her head and pointed at her own face.

I stared as she put on the imaginary baseball cap and then thrust her hand again. Next, she pretended to tie the apron before she made the same gesture. Then she pointed at me and repeated the gesture.

My legs weakened under me. Was she accusing me of leaving like Auntie Bess and Mama did? What the hell was she talking about? I didn’t leave. Everything I did, I did for them.

Emma took a step toward me and held her hands together in front of her and then opened them. She closed them and opened them several times until she must have seen the realization on my face. She was miming a book, and then she pretended to write. Her eyes flashed with anger as she continued scrawling invisible text in the book. She gestured to me and then pulled the imaginary book to her chest, clutching it as if she wouldn’t let it go.

An expression of distaste settled on her face. She held out the notebook and sneered at it before she pretended to rip it up and toss it aside.

I gaped at her. Was that my notebook? I wasn’t sure if she noted my incredulity since her demeanor held so much rage. Forgood measure, she stomped in the direction she’d thrown the book and stomped her foot on it several times.

Anger bubbled inside me. I never knew how much resentment Emma held for me.

Then she did something I wasn’t expecting. She put her hands in front of her as if in prayer. Pain replaced the anger in her eyes.

I looked away. My mind raced as I tried to contain my anger. Emma was the only person I had left, and here she was telling me I fucked everything up. She thought I’d deserted her. How the hell did she think something like that? I did everything I could to help them recover while my heart was just as broken as theirs. How could she not see that?

Emma was waving her arm, trying to get my attention. I ignored her for several beats before I looked in her direction. She gestured toward me and then looked up and pretended to scream. She reached up as if pulling everything back. Then motioned as if she were shoving it inside of her.

So what?Yes, I’d shoved everything down. Someone had to be strong.

She pointed at me again and then wiggled her fingers in front of her eyes and trailed them down her cheeks.

I vehemently shook my head. No, I hadn’t cried when Auntie Bess died or when Mama died. Tears wouldn’t bring them back. Nothing would.

She put her hands together as if in prayer.

I continued to shake my head.

Emma placed her hands in front of her stomach with her fingers open. Then she threw her hands up as if everything was erupting from inside her.

I wanted her to stop, so I put my hands over my ears as I continued shaking my head. Auntie Bess and Mama were gone. Why did Emma have to bring them up now—here? I’d beendoing well here, being open, but she couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Pressure built in my chest. It hurt. It was the worst pain I’d ever felt. Was I having a heart attack?

Emma walked toward me with a concerned look on her face.

I felt caged, desperate for freedom.

She stopped a few feet in front of me and held out her hand. I took a step back and almost tripped over my own feet.

Emma was at my side, putting a steadying hand on my arm.