Page 42 of Falling for Keeps

Emma

There’s a faint pounding in my dreams, a steady knock knock knock in the peripheral of my cognizant awareness that beats like a hammer, pulling me from sleep. Faint light peeks behind the curtains in my room once I’ve peeled my eyes open, proving it’s earlier than my alarm is set for. The sun isn’t even all the way out yet.

I push up in bed, frowning.

Another knock startles me, and it’s clear someone’s at my front door. I leap out of my mountain of cozy blankets, my feet cold on the hardwood floor.

Socks. I need long, thick socks.

The knocking starts again, which worries me. Is Rosie here? Dom? Someone to tell me Dad’s sick and we need to run him to the hospital? I check my phone while stuffing my feet into slippers, but there’s nothing except a notification from my affirmations app telling me I am wise. I am beautiful. I will seize today!

Currently, I’m not on a trajectory toward any of those things.

I race down the stairs and throw the door open, stunned to find Penny Price standing on my porch in rain boots and a fuzzy pink sweater, wearing a big smile.

“Hi Emma!”

My first thought is overwhelming relief. You don’t live through your mother dying of a stroke as a twenty-year-old without carrying some residual stress about your aging dad.

My second thought is what the actual heck.

“Is everything okay?” I look across the street, where Sharon’s car is missing. She must already be at work. Carson’s black sedan is in the driveway.

“I want braids for school. Can you give me braids again?”

“Does your dad know you’re here?” Somehow, I think probably not.

Penny’s smile grows. “He won’t care. He trusts you.”

“As nice as that is⁠—”

“He does!” Penny bounces on her feet, eager. “He told Nana. I heard them talking yesterday about the chairs you’re making, and Dad said he trusts you.”

“He probably meant—you know what? Never mind. That was nice of him.” Even if his trust only extends to my ability to cut and staple some fabric. “You can’t be here without his permission. That’s a crazy road to cross alone, Penny.”

She glances over her shoulder, where mist is coming down from the distant hills and the early morning light shows that there isn’t a car for miles—not that we can tell, at least. It’s quiet outside, the faint chirping of distant birds proving how dead the road is right now.

But that’s not the point.

I never saved Carson’s number in my phone, so I find the text he sent me the other day when we drove to the fabric store and hit the icon to dial.

Just when I think it’s going to go to voicemail, he answers, his voice deep and groggy with sleep. “It’s a little early.”

“I had the same thought when I woke up to someone knocking on my door.”

“Huh?” He must sense something though, because he sounds more awake. “What happened?”

“Penny’s here. She wants her hair braided for school, and I wanted to get your permission.” Code for: just a heads up, your child is at my house at the bum crack of dawn.

“What!” Carson nearly shouts. There’s movement on the other end of the line, like he’s jumping out of bed and rummaging. A door opens. “How did she—when?”

“She’s safe. She only wants her hair braided.”

“I’ll be over in ten seconds.”

I lower my voice, stepping into the kitchen. “It’s really okay.” I repeat the important part. “She’s safe, and the road is dead right now.”

He lets out a deep sigh, blowing static into the speaker. “Can I talk to her?”