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. Yes, ma am.She most certainly is. A commercial length silence ensued before she said anythingelse. She doesn t think so, though. I wanted to disagree with her, to tell her the Emma I knew waspositively bursting with self-worth and confidence, but I couldn t lieto the woman who had birthed her. I d have to agree with you onthat. Mrs.Scarlett sighed, never once looking my way.When hereyes glazed over during the second sigh, I reached for the flowersabout to fall from her lap to the floor. Let me put these in somewater for you. I was smack in the center of the kitchen in three strides.It was I was smack in the center of the kitchen in three strides.It wasmore of a closet than a kitchen in what I defined as what onewould prepare a meal in, but Emma seemed to be holding her ownas she pirouetted between the stove, sink, and refrigerator.Herforehead was beading with sweat, and her brow was set in a don tmess with me warning. Vase? I asked, short and sweet. That cupboard. Her elbow pointed at the one beside her asshe decimated a head of lettuce. Top shelf. Are you sure you don t need some. The word caught inmy mouth when she spun at me, woman crazed look in her eyes,butcher knife raised in warning. I m.Fine, she said, before turning back towards taking outher frustrations on leafy greens. Besides, isn t it your gender sgeneral opinion that my gender s proper place is to be barefootand pregnant in the kitchen? I laughed, a full, rolling one.I laughed at the way her weapon I laughed, a full, rolling one.I laughed at the way her weaponfree hand had flitted in the air as she d said it, I laughed at the ironythat, in my time, that had been the way it was, although it wasn tthe expectation, it was just the way things were.And I laughed atEmma, trying so hard to be tough and choke her own fit of laughterback down.Opening the cupboard door she d indicted, I pulled thechipped-mouth vase down and decided it was time to press a littleluck again.Keeping an arm stretched on the open cupboard door,I reached my other arm around her, pressing myself against her justenough to feel the tension ripple through her body.The cuttingboard stilled, where it sat balancing precariously on the sink sledge, as my arm stretched around her further.Turning the water on, I filled the vase until it was spilling over.Icouldn t move, I was incapable of it.I had her in my grasp,protected, shielded, everything I d ever wanted I held within the sixfoot span of my arms, and there was nothing the world could throw foot span of my arms, and there was nothing the world could throwat me to break this moment.Nothing in the world save for her.Ducking beneath my arm braced over the cupboard, shedodged in the direction of the oven, but not before meeting myeyes.The widening of her pupils told me she was excited.Thenarrowing of her eyes told me she was upset, maybe even angry.But what couldn t be read with everything I d read and studiedpertaining to physical tells was if she wanted to feel the length ofmy body against hers every day forward. You could have made that easier on yourself, Gumby man, she said with a half smile before flinging the oven door open. I could have, I answered in the peaked tone that insinuatedeverything I wanted to. Patrick Hayward, she said with a sigh as she pulled a tin-foilcovered pan from the oven. What am I going to do with you? It was one of those rhetorical questions people tended to throwat me a lot, because, let s face it, I was the rhetorical question, butshe d cracked open a door I was going to bust right through.Making sure she was looking at me before responding, I said, Anything you want. Peaking my brows a few times, I added, Aslong as it involves scented candles and silk sheets. Emma snatched the dishtowel hanging over the stove s handleand pitched it at my face. My mother s in the next room, shehissed, fighting her smile at every word
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