Page 70 of Real's Love

“I’on care if she was up to something, she won’t be hurt on my watch.”

I nodded once. “I can agree to that.”

He fell silent again, too introspective for me.

“What?” I prompted. “What else you wanna hear, Fontenot?”

“Oh, I heard everything I needed to when you admitted this was worth the trouble I could cause you. Assuming all the feelers I got out on you come back clean, when you thinking about visiting?”

"Ev, get yo'butt up and come in the living room!"

Emory's loud order, coupled with her banging on the door, had me jumping up with a little scream. The sleep that I had been enjoying so much was a damn memory, now.

"Heffa, you scared me! Extra ass!" I hollered back before stretching and rubbing my sleep-heavy eyes.

"Everly Love Miller! Watch yo' mouth before I make you go to the switch tree!" Granny Nette called out.

Damn! She was in the hallway, too?

"Yes, ma'am." I mumbled.

I’m gon’ kill Em, I thought, swinging my feet out of bed and searching for my elephant slippers with my toes. I was truly home, back in small-town Emancipation, Louisiana. Even after six weeks, it was hard to believe. This little place had started out as an all-black village of former slaves right after they were freed. The discovery of oil a century ago on the land a few of them managed to buy brought money and people here and helped it grow. Emancipation was a cool little spot, and it felt good to be here. Sure, I missed city life, but I was going back eventually. And if I were honest with myself, it wasn't the city I missed as much as some of the residents. An image of Montréal Hamilton flashed in my mind before I quickly pushed it out of my head.

I made the mistake of letting myself get attached.

I'd have to be careful next time.

Standing, I yawned and stretched again, before trying to shake off my sleepiness.

"Love?" Granny called, right outside my door.

She always used my middle name, a fact that I adored. It was probably why I hadn't minded when Real?—

"Ma'am?" I responded, cutting off my thoughts.

"Hurry up, now. I made these doggone peanut butter cinnamon rolls for you, and they almost done," she said.

I smiled. Granny took time to spoil each one of us, making us feel special. It had been that way our whole lives. I don't know what we'd do if something happened to her.

"Yes, ma'am."

My sister, cousins, and I had a grown woman sleepover at Granny's last night, glad to be together. For a few weeks each summer, we all made our way back to the farm, allowing ourselves to get immersed in small-town life. This weekend, Emancipation High School was having a consolidated class reunion. It was actually Emory and Theory's tenth year since graduating and the eighth for Epiphany and me. I wasn't exactly looking forward to going, but there wasn't a lot to do here.

Two weekends from now was our family reunion, so Epiphany was going to be here almost three weeks. I was happy to spend time with her and her sister. Theory had come home to heal and put her life back together. We were all going to help her as much as we could.

Emory and I would be here for a while. She was six-and-a-half months pregnant, the first pregnancy she'd been able to carry this far after two heartbreaking miscarriages. Her husband, Prime, was so protective of her and their rainbow baby that it was crazy. As a labor and delivery nurse and certified doula, I was here to watch over her and the little one. Prime was covering my salary for four or five months. Granny Nette was a midwife and Emory wanted to deliver the baby at a birthing center with Granny assisting. Prime wasn't too crazy about that. Understandably, he wanted her in some exclusive suite at a major hospital with doctors and nurses in and out. The pregnancy and the baby were fine, though, and I truly believed Em would be all right.

I washed and moisturized my face and flossed and brushed my teeth hurriedly. I'd showered right before bed and I would again before breakfast, but I wanted to see why people were up. Hell, the house was full of women, and we were all family. I didn't even bother to change out of my cami, pajama shorts, and bonnet. I slipped on a bra and a robe that I left open and headed for the living room.

Emory, Epiphany, and our first cousin, Hyacinth, were all talking over the music my Aunt Cynthia was playing as she dusted Granny's built-in bookshelves and sang at the top of her lungs. She paused for a minute to drop it low and twist and turn her curves to the beat. Megan and her legendary knees ain't have nothing on my 45-year-old aunt.

"Mama!" her fifteen-year-old daughter, Calanthe, groaned.

"Hell, naw. If I had to be scarred and traumatized by it, you do, too," Hyacinth told her little sister.

"Hy, you better watch that reckless mouth. I'on know who y'all think I am this morning, but you about to be reminded," Granny snapped, walking from the direction of the kitchen. "Cynt, what I done told you about making all that racket?"

"Ma, it gives me energy. You know you be over there rocking, too," Aunt Cynt teased.

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