Her eyes brimmed when she looked at Gemma. “My grandmother didn’t want me.”
“Your grandmother is blinded by grief and pain and, if you ask me, selfishness.”
“Seems like everyone around me dies. My parents, Mama’s parents, Dad’s father. If anything happens to you…” Imani tipped forward until her forehead rested on the Formica. “I’m scared.” A soft sob accented her confession.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Gemma set down her ice cream and knelt next to Imani. “If it was, it’d have happened a long time ago, trust me. I’m not going anywhere. You are my daughter. Say the word and I’ll adopt you tomorrow.”
In the span of a breath, the adoption word was on the table.
Imani sat up with a force, making her corkscrew curls bounce. “Y-you can do that?” She wiped her tears and conquered her sorrow with a smile.
“Yes, you’re sixteen. All you have to do is ask. With your parents gone, you’re legally free to do so.”
“What about Gigi?” Was that a hint of hope in her voice?
“She has no rights, but if you want her to adopt you—”
“No, no, I don’t.” Imani unwrapped her ice cream. “Wow, this is cool. Can I think about it? I mean, I want to but I have to think.” Gemma knew. Imani’s MO was to think about things.
“Of course. I didn’t ask you before now because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to take your mom’s place. But when you’re ready, tell me and we’ll get the ball rolling.”
“Is it expensive? I could use my social security money.”
“That is for college.”
“But I’m getting a scholarship to play basketball.”
“I like your thinking, but as your future legal mother, I insist on paying. Though I should check the refund policy—”
Imani flew at her, knocking them both to the scarred linoleum floor. “Thank you, thank you.”
They lay there for a long, tearful, happy moment. Then Gemma said, “I think our ice cream is melting,” and they pushed to their feet, laughing.
“Can I go over to Justin’s?” Imani tossed her wrapper in the trash and bit into her melting treat.
“What? Now? After our huge mother-daughter moment?”
“I want to tell him, see what he thinks.”
“Are his parents home?”
“Yes, his parents are home.” Imani unhooked the truck keys from their spot by the door. “What do you think we’re going to get up to at his house we couldn’t get up to in the back of my truck? Or his?”
“That’s it,” Gemma said. “You’re never leaving the house again.”
“Gemma,” Imani said, slowly, averting her gaze, twisting her foot to one side. “Ifthat’sgoing to happen, I promise to talk to you. Deal?”
The confession knocked the wind out of Gemma. More than the monstrous hug or the prospect of adoption. She’d have never talked to her mother about sex, about what she and Dash were up to on dark country roads when they were supposed to be at the movies.
“All right, deal.”
Imani dashed out and Gemma finished her ice cream, then the last of the dishes and sorted through the mail and papers on her desk, but she’d been doing that job at the shop all day.
The last thing she wanted to do at home on a glorious Monday evening in August was figure out which papers to keep and which to throw away. She was about to give up and head to the barn to check on the puppies in the new pen Daddy built for them when an envelope with the return address of B. A. Carpenter caught her attention. This was her second one. And she’d received a call from the same number.
She considered opening it for a moment then dumped it along with the other “To the Resident” letters in the can by the desk.
As for the rest of the papers and bills, she’d leave them for now. A chore for another day.
