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Emma
Sick to her stomach, Emma rested the still-hot wild berry pie on Mrs. Patterson’s porch railing so she could knock on the door. She’d never been this close to the house, and she felt as if she were violating her privacy. She picked the pie up again, wishing it didn’t smell so good. She hoped Mrs. Patterson wouldn’t answer. She was relieved that both Raven and Natalie had declined her invitation to participate in this forced apology.
They waited for an eternity.
Her mother reached over her shoulder and knocked on the door, which annoyed Emma immensely. What, her knock hadn’t been good enough? Her mother had a superior knock?
“Mrs. Patterson?” her mother called out in her fake, singsong church voice. “We don’t want to bother you, but my daughter would like to apologize.”
They heard a scraping sound from inside, and Emma’s stomach flipped. Was the woman actually going to answer the door?
No. Apparently, she wasn’t.
Emma shifted her weight to her other foot. In her peripheral vision, she saw a curtain flick. She looked in that direction, but saw only curtain. “I don’t think she’s coming.”
“I don’t think so either. Mrs. Patterson! We’ve made you a pie! We’ll leave it right here on your porch. And we’re very sorry for what the girls did. They didn’t mean any harm.”
This was not true. Why was her mother lying?
Emma turned to go, even though her mother hadn’t budged yet. “Come on,” she said under her breath.
“Put the pie down first.”
Emma looked down at the peeling paint. “Here?”
“Yes, she’ll come get it.”
Emma wasn’t so sure, and this seemed a great waste of pie. But getting out of there was more important than the pie, so she put the dessert down and then tried to herd her mother down the steps. Then she had a strong urge and without thinking about it so that she could talk herself out of it, she turned back to the door. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Patterson! I know it was stupid, and I tried to talk them out of it. I’m sorry that I failed.” When the words had flown out of her, the tightness in her chest went with them. “You didn’t deserve to be harassed like that,” she added, more softly. “I hope you enjoy the pie.”
She turned and went down the steps, for the first time understanding her mother’s obsession with always involving baked goods. She’d always thought it was silly, and maybe it was, but it was something. Something real, something people could touch, something that said they mattered.
As they walked, her mother slid her arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I’m so, so proud of you, honey. I love you.”
“I love you too. And I now get why you love to bake.”
Her mother laughed shrilly. “Oh, honey. I hate to bake.”
This was a startling revelation, and Emma waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.
“I think I want to work harder at avoiding Isabelle. I know she goes to our church and everything, but I really hate her.”
Her mother stopped walking and turned to face her.
Emma’s heart sank. They’d almost been home. So close.
“Emma, honey, you can’t hate Isabelle.”
Of course she couldn’t. Why had she said that out loud?
“Hating Isabelle doesn’t hurt her.”
Emma had to concentrate on not rolling her eyes. Of course it didn’t hurt Isabelle. When had she said that it did? She didn’t care about hurting Isabelle. She didn’t care anything about Isabelle. She hated her too much to care.
“Hating Isabelle only hurts you.” Her mother grabbed her gently by her upper arms and gazed down into her eyes.
“I know that,” she muttered.
“I know you do.”
Her mother kissed her on the forehead and released her, making Emma wonder if the whole hatred speech had been a reflex. She had said the word hate, meaning her Christian mother had to give her the hatred-is-bad speech, and now they could move on. Her mother was already over it and walking again. Emma caught up.
“But I do love the idea of avoiding her. In fact, I didn’t tell you, but this morning, Mary Sue’s mother invited you on a camping trip.”
There was a reason her mother didn’t look at her when she said this. She knew how she would react. Mary Sue was the biggest weirdo in church. Avoiding Isabelle didn’t mean she had to go camping with the likes of Mary Sue.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Her mind raced for an excuse. “I don’t even like camping.”
They reached the edge of their driveway, and her mother stopped walking. “I shouldn’t have said camping trip,” she hurriedly added. “They’re camping in their backyard. Mary Sue is having a few friends over, and they’re going to have a campfire and roast marshmallows.”
Emma suppressed a groan. This kept getting worse. “A few friends? Who?” Mary Sue didn’t have any friends except her siblings.
“I don’t know. Friends from church, I would imagine.”
Emma snickered. “Mom, Mary Sue doesn’t have any friends from church.”
Her mother didn’t argue.
“And she doesn’t have any friends from school because she doesn’t go to school. And she doesn’t do sports. She doesn’t do anything.”
“I don’t know, honey. I didn’t give her an answer, but I think you should do it. How bad can it be? You might find out you like her. She’s a nice girl, and they’re a nice family. And it sounds like there’s lots to do on their farm.”
“Their farm?” She hadn’t even known they lived on a farm, and now she was starting to panic. “Like what? Milk the cows?”
“I don’t think they have cows. I think they milk their goats.”
“Goats?” Emma cried. “Gross! I don’t want to milk goats! I don’t want to do anything with goats!”
Her mother laughed, and this annoyed her. This wasn’t funny. “Let’s go inside. The mosquitoes are eating me alive. But I want you to do it. I’m going to tell Mrs. Puddy that you accept the invitation.”
