Page 35 of A Lot Like Lavender
From our vantage point, I see Emory leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, brow furrowed as she watches Molly push Theo down the hill of the pasture.
“We all know she’s been through a lot,” Griffin says, so as not to alert them of our presence. “And I’m not sure where you’ve been or how deep the history there is, but I will say this, if anyone deserves a new beginning, it’s Emory.”
Theo yells, “As youuuu wiiisssshhhh!” He theatrically grunts and rolls over what assuredly is a pasture filled with alpaca droppings. But it’s clear that the kid will do anything for his Princess Buttercup.
Molly gasps, “Oh, my sweet Theodore,” then follows him, tumbling down the hill. When they meet at the bottom, the kids erupt into hysterical giggles before Theo grabs Molly’s hand and races back up the hill with her to do the whole thing again.
I glance back at Emory in time to see her wipe hercheeks, her mask slipping momentarily when she thinks no one can see.
“Emory’s husband, James… he was my best friend,” I admit, though I can’t fathom why.
Griffin whistles low. “And you…”
“Won’t go there.”
Emory slips around the corner of the porch, out of sight. I clench my fists so I don’t do something stupid like follow her.
“Ever.”
Last night excluded.
“Right,” Griffin says, like he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said. We wordlessly watch a few more rounds ofPrincess Bridebefore Griffin confesses, “Caroline isn’t Theo’s biological mom. She legally adopted him a few years ago, but before her… I was a different man.”
I glance at him, unsure why he’s telling me, a person he hasn’t known since high school, his history.
“Back then, I made so many choices that had me convinced I wasn’t worthy of her. That I couldn’t pursue her. And because of all those doubts and insecurities—the lies I told myself—I almost lost her. I almost missed out on the family—the life—I never dreamed I could have.”
“I appreciate you telling me all that, Griff, but that’s not what’s happening here. Not because I think I don’t deserve them… I know I don’t. They aren’t my family. They’re his… They’ll always be his.”
“Maybe so. But you sure do seem to be payin’ a lot of penance around this farm for someone who doesn’t think he has a future here. The fence, the porch, the barn…”
“How do you know it was me?”
“Jack’s a meddlin’ gossip… but for what it’s worth, we’re both rooting for you. You’d be good for her. For them both. Good luck convincing yourself otherwise.” He kicks the dirt, then whistles, drawing the kids’ attention. “Theo, bud. We gotta get goin’. Mama’s makin’ pancakes.”
Molly spots me and waves wildly before racing Theo towards us and crashing into my side.
“Hey, Ace.” She squeezes my waist, and though I know Griffin’s watching—assuming he knows exactly what’s going on here—I can’t help but kneel down to get a proper hug.
“Hey, Little Red. How are you holding up? You okay?”
Her green eyes go misty, but she nods, putting on a brave face that I know she learned from her mother, though hers is less practiced and far easier to read. Especially when she looks over my shoulder, probably ensuring Theo won’t see, before her lips quiver and she whispers, “Will you take me to her grave later? I want to bring Pammy something.”
“Course, kiddo. Whenever you’re ready.” I can’t help but reach up, wiping her cheeks dry of the tears that have managed to escape. “You want to pick some flowers?”
Molly shakes her head, glances around with a glimmer of mischief, like she’s in danger of being overheard by mom ears. But Emory’s nowhere in sight. Not that I’ve been wondering where she disappeared to or if she’s okay.
“Not flowers…” Molly says, twisting her hands behind her back. “I want to bring Pammy a balloon.”
12
WATERFALLS
TLC
EMORY
Five days have passed since Pam died and I found unexpected comfort lying in the arms of my husband’s best friend. I’ve done everything possible, for those one hundred and twenty hours, to forget the sound of Jordan’s voice washing over my little girl’s quiet tears the night before. To erase the vision of them in my kitchen the next morning, the picture of familial domesticity. The comfort and security I felt acutely, rushing through every nerve in my body at having someone I know so well and—more unexpectedly, trust—take care of us with a homemade meal. Fresh coffee. Unanticipated laughter after a long, mournful night.
