Page 7 of Higher Ground
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 crossher 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 specificallydon’thate 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.”
