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Emma
Emma had no idea how long it had taken her to pedal back to town, but she was soaked with sweat. Though sobs continued to erupt without warning, her tears had dried up. Her shoulder throbbed. Her legs burned. She thought she might die of exhaustion, but she rode past the end of her street.
She wasn’t going home.
She was going to the DeGraves’ house.
She would have no idea where the stupid Alexis DeGrave lived and would definitely have no reason to care, but Alexis’s son Jason was a gorgeous high school junior. She knew where Jason DeGrave lived. Everyone did. He was the soccer goalie, the center on the basketball team, and the first baseman, and every girl in high school was after him.
She pulled into their driveway and let the bike crash to the ground. For a second, her true self made an appearance. She paused. What was she doing? What would this accomplish? Fear flickered through her. But then anger pushed it out. She strode toward their fancy front door and then pounded on it. What time was it? She looked around town for clues, but all was still. There were no cars, no people walking. It was late.
She pounded on the door again.
It was ripped open, and suddenly she was staring up into the scary eyes of an angry man.
She jumped back. Why had he answered the door? She’d expected Alexis or Jason, but not this man. She’d never seen him before.
“What?” he barked.
“Who is it?” Jason asked from behind the man, and suddenly Jason DeGrave’s voice was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard.
“Never mind. Get back to your room. Are you on drugs?”
She realized this last sentence had been directed at her and shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Why are you pounding on my door in the middle of the night?”
Jason pushed into the doorway. “Dad! This is Emma Mendell.” He laughed. “She’s definitely not on drugs. Emma, what’s wrong?”
The sincere concern in his voice made her stomach roll with guilt. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She backed away and found her voice—sort of. “I’m sorry. I ... I ... made a mistake.” She tripped, but found her footing, and continued backing away.
But then Alexis DeGrave appeared behind her husband, and Emma’s rage returned. She stopped backing up.
“Emma?” Alexis said, and then her face fell. She had seen something in Emma. She knew that Emma knew. “Oh no,” she said.
“What?” Mr. DeGrave said.
Emma looked at Jason, desperate to hurt someone, anyone. “Sorry to wake you up, Jason, but I just found out that your mother is sleeping with my father, and I came here to tell her that I hate her.” She backed away again, and the further she got from the door, the louder her voice got, until she was shouting. “I came here to tell your mother that she’s a slut!”
It felt so good to say that horrible word. She’d never said it, and she knew her parents would be horrified when they learned that she had. She picked up the Puddys’ bike and started pedaling. She still didn’t head toward home. She just kept pedaling, until an old pickup pulled up beside her. At first she thought she was about to be kidnapped, and terror gripped her. Suddenly, she wanted her mother more than she wanted anything in her life. But then she realized it was Mr. and Mrs. Puddy. She jumped off the bike, and it fell to the ground. Mrs. Puddy came running around the truck and wrapped her arms around her, and Emma let herself sink into those warm, motherly arms. “I’m sorry I took the bike,” she mumbled into her shoulder.
Mrs. Puddy rubbed her back with a strong hand. “There, there. You can borrow our bikes anytime you want. You can borrow our anything anytime you want.” She squeezed her even tighter. “Come on, child. Let’s get you in the truck.”
Emma nodded, and Mrs. Puddy let go of her. But she took her hand, just as Mary Sue had done earlier that evening. That felt like forever ago, and Emma wished she could go back.
The truck door stood open, and suddenly, Emma was too ashamed to climb in. She hung her head.
“Go ahead, honey.”
Because Emma didn’t know what else to do, she obeyed, and Mrs. Puddy climbed in behind her and put her arm around her shoulders. Emma wondered if the Puddys would adopt her. That would solve a lot of her problems. She wouldn’t have to live with her parents. She wouldn’t have to face Isabelle in school. They might even let her skip church.
Mr. Puddy pulled into Emma’s driveway, and a fresh wave of tears erupted out of her. Part of her desperately wanted to be inside that familiar, comfortable home, but another part of her hated the sight of it.
“I’ll go in first.” Mr. Puddy unbuckled. He gave his wife a knowing look. “Make sure it’s safe for her.”
What? Why did they act like they knew what they were doing? Had they done this before? Was finding runaway bike thieves and returning them to their broken homes their thing?
Mr. Puddy didn’t even make it to the door before her mother opened it. She came running out to the truck, and Mr. Puddy stepped into the house. Mrs. Puddy climbed out of the truck, and Emma allowed her mother to pull her out and wrap her arms around her.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother was sobbing. “I was so scared.”
Scared of what? Emma wondered.
Mrs. Puddy read her mind. “We called and told them you had left,” she explained.
And yet the Puddys had been the ones to look for her, not her own parents?
She pulled away and looked up at her mother. “Did you know?”
“Did I know what?”
Emma looked at Mrs. Puddy, who read her mind again. “We didn’t tell them the whole story.”
Her mom frowned. “What whole story?”
Emma tried to keep her voice even. “Do you know about Mrs. DeGrave?”
Her mother’s face fell, and she glanced over her shoulder at Mrs. Puddy. This infuriated Emma. That was her mother’s reaction? Confronted by her daughter with the worst question possible, her first instinct was to worry about what Mrs. Puddy thought?
Unlike Mary Sue, Mrs. Puddy was able to meet the eyes of the accused. “You will get no judgment from me, Tonya,” she said softly. “Whatever you need, I am here to help.”
Her mother let go of her and stepped back. Emma tried to read her face, but there was nothing there.
Mr. Puddy appeared beside his wife. “They want us to go.”
Mrs. Puddy looked at Tonya. “What about you? Do you want us to go?”
At first her mother didn’t answer. Then she smiled sweetly and said, “We’ll be just fine. Thank you, though.”
Mrs. Puddy stepped toward her mother quickly and wrapped her arms around her. “Do you want to come home with us? We’ve got plenty of room.”
Emma’s heart leapt at the thought. Yes, Mom! Let’s go live with the Puddys! That’s the perfect solution.
“No, that’s all right,” she said in that same sticky-sweet voice. “Thank you for the offer, but we’ll be just fine.” She stepped away from the woman’s embrace and possessively put her arm over Emma’s shoulders. She squeezed Emma’s left shoulder, and she cried out in pain and stepped away from her mother.
“Emma!” her mother cried. She sounded offended, but Emma thought she was mostly embarrassed.
“I believe Emma has a shoulder injury,” Mrs. Puddy said softly.
“Come on, Lauren,” Mr. Puddy said, and for the first time, Emma knew Mrs. Puddy’s first name. And it was perfect. Lauren. What a beautiful name.
Lauren Puddy started to climb into the truck. “You call me, Tonya. Anytime, for anything.” She shut the door behind her, and Mr. Puddy started the truck.
“Come on, let’s go inside.”
Emma didn’t want to go inside, but she was too tired to do anything else, so she let herself be led to the door. They stepped into the living room to find her father standing by the window. “Have a seat, Emma. We need to talk.”
Hate rolled through her so fast she thought she might burst into flames. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“It can wait until morning, Roy. She’s injured.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Are you blind? Her face is all skinned up, and her shoulder is hurt.”
“How did you manage to hurt your shoulder?”
How do you manage to be mad at me for hurting my shoulder? “I was trying to kill myself.” She wouldn’t look at him, but still, she thought she saw him flinch, and this made her happy.
Her mother, though, cried out, and this did not make her happy. She looked at her mother, who suddenly looked so frail, so pathetic. “You still haven’t answered my question.” She asked it again with painful deliberateness. “Did ... you ... know?”
“No. Of course not.” She looked at her husband, at her pastor. “Sort of, yes.”
