“Go feed your cats or scoop some litter,” I retort. “Donotbother her with my problems. I refuse to pump her for information. I want—”
“Things to be normal again,” Laney finishes for me.
“Yes. They’ll never be the same. But we’ve always found normal again. And we can’t find normal if we’re not talking.”
We’ve been through so much together. Emma’s mom passing away when we were in middle school. Hard teachers. The heartbreak of break ups with first boyfriends. Whispered tales of when we each lost our virginity. Stressing over which colleges we could afford or which we hoped to get scholarships for.
My mouth getting me in trouble.
Laney stressing entirely too much about perfection.
Emma daydreaming about buying my grandparents’ house to live in with her perfect dream Ken doll man and having a million babies and dogs and cats, and watching deer and elk and fox and bears wander through the yard while she washed dishes.
She daydreamed aboutwashing dishes.
And it was so perfectly Emma that neither Laney nor I questioned it. I still wouldn’t.
“Come get me,” Laney says. “I can reschedule my meetings. I’ll go with you.”
An hour later, I pull up to the old single-wide trailer that Theo lived in at the edge of their dad’s land before he bought his cabin further up the mountain in a more secluded area on a much, much larger lot.
I thought I was a gossip.
I havenothingon Theo Monroe when he wants to know something, and he’s apparently been tracking Emma’s movements very closely. I would’ve started at her office, but Theo wasveryfirm in his orders to go to his old trailer.She worked late last night then went to Dad’s place. Should be up soon.
The lights aren’t on. Will she be mad if we wake her up? Or should we sit here and wait? Will she appreciate the items in the back of my car that I’m bringing as a peace offering? Will they even work on snow?
“It’ll work,” Laney says from the passenger seat.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.It’ll work.”
I back up my SUV into the closest spot I can fit where Laney will have the shortest path to the front door. We haven’t had fresh snow in a few days, so I can’t tell if the tracks around Emma’s current hideout are old or new. There’s no visible movement inside the trailer.
“Should I have texted first?” I ask Laney. “Should we have waited until after work today? Do you think she’s still asleep?”
“No to all of that.”
“You’re sure?”
“Hand me my crutches.”
Okay. She’s sure.
I climb out and walk around to her side, retrieve her crutches from the back seat, and open her door for her.
She swings down like she was born on crutches and heads to the front door.
I pop my trunk.
And five minutes later, when Emma finally answers Laney’s knock, I have one full human-size hamster ball blown up.
“Um, hi.” Em glances between us like she’s having regrets about opening the door. “What’s going on?”
“I love you and I miss you and I’m sorry, so I’m blowing up your hamster balls so we can fight it out,” I blurt.
She blinks at me, then at Laney, and then at the hamster balls.
