I cut my eyes to her, pausing in front of a closed boutique. “That’s selfish thinking. Who cares what people think? What matters is that the scum of a man is pulled from the position so we can find a real Godly man to lead us as a congregation.”
“I know, I know.” She starts to walk, but I tug her back, staring into her steel-colored eyes.
“No, Emma. Listen to me. It does not matter what the people of Hartfield, Mississippi, think about you. It doesn’t matter if you make a mistake. It doesn’t matter if you make a million mistakes. Life is simply not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about Jesus, plain and simple. All that we do, we do it for Him. Living for yourself only brings heartache and unreachable expectations. Living for Him brings freedom from faultlessness.”
She groans and turns away, walking ahead with stiff, raised shoulders. “I know that, Knightley. I do. But I forget it sometimes, you know? When I have every eye on me at church or when I walk through the community or when I’m invited over for dinners or made to host a dinner. Papa needs me all the time, and I can’t leave him to be on my own like my sister did. I’m twenty-three, but I feel like I’ve lived ten lifetimes.”
“You’ve put the pressure on yourself, Emma Jane.” I’m at my normal walking speed, so she must be speed walking for my stride to match hers right now. “No one asked you to say yes to everydinner or to wear the prettiest outfits to church so that you can distract every unattached man in the building.”
She stops in her tracks. I grab her arm firmly and spin her around, catching her other arm. I lean down so that we are eye to eye. “No one asked you to be perfect.”
“They didn’t have to. I have to make it up. All of it.”
“Make up for what, Emma?”
“Killing my mom!”
Her words steal my breath as she breaks into sobs. No longer caring who sees, I pull her into my arms, holding her tight and silently praying God will remove this burden from her life. I should have known she was suffering inside, but I always chalked her attitude up to her desire to be loved by being perfect. That’s a whole other issue; the roots apparently run deep into guilt.
We stand there for a few minutes before she steps away, puffy-eyed with a red, drippy nose. She fishes for tissues somewhere deep in her white crossbody bag. After taking care of her business, we begin to walk again. We’re close to where I left my truck, which is hopefully unblocked now. Running that half-mile from The Flats to Perry’s Seafood felt like nothing. I had a one-track mind: save Emma Jane. But now, my legs are stiff and my chest aches since the adrenaline has worn off.
“I know your logic is broken right now, but you did not kill your mother, Emma Jane. You know that deep down. Please work on releasing the guilt you harbor.”
“I can try. I think that’s all I have to offer at the moment.”
“Trying is enough.” We round a street corner, and I catch sight of my truck, gloriously free with no other vehicles around it. Beside me, EmmaJane snickers. “Do you think people got a video of you running through town?”
“I’ll find a way to work it for the campaign. ‘Knightley’s running to continue making Juniper Grove a better place to live’ or something like that.”
“Lame. You could headline it: ‘When the city needs a hero, Knightley’s on the run!’”
“That’s so much worse.” We laugh—a sound I’m grateful to hear out of her—as we approach my truck. I open the door for Emma Jane, and she plants one sneaker on the lift, hoisting herself up. Just as she twists to sit down, she slips. As I catch her in my arms, she wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck as if she’s a koala and I’m her tree. But the momentum from the fall is strong gravity, so as she clings to me, I dip down to absorb the impact, which causes those pretty pink lips that confessed a load tonight to hurtle toward me…
Landing right onto my shocked, open mouth.
My first thought is an explicit curse of pain as our teeth clank together.
My second thought knocks the breath from my lungs as if Emma Jane's fall didn't already accomplish that.
I'm kissing her. Emma Jane.
Right on the mouth.
And outside of the salty blood on my tongue, I like it.
Henry is going to kill me…
Emma Jane
Rule #12: “There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.” - Bob Ross
Two weeks ago, I kissed Knightley Austen for the first time.
Though kiss isn’t the right word I should use to describe the encounter. I accidentally attacked him with my mouth after his truck rejected me from entering. Our teeth clinked together, his nose went into my eye, and our foreheads bounced off of one another.
It’s what happened AFTER that chaotic episode that still has me reeling.
He didn’t push me off.
