Page 65 of Love Notes & Lifelines
“Bad word.” Emmy waves the same disapproving finger at me.
Attempting to wrestle my amusement into a somber expression, I manage a chagrined, “It was. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” she says, with her schoolteacher persona in full swing. She crosses her arms, and her mannerisms are so similar to Stella’s that I misstep.
“Come on, kid, can you help me give her a bath?”
Emmy wrinkles her nose, but then she sets her jaw and her mother’s determination flares to life in her eyes—she’s a true chameleon.
Oh, Cally. I hate you and love you and miss you all at the same time.
“What’s our plan?”I ask Emmy after strapping Ruby into her rocket launcher.
I swear this swing is hazardous, but Stella promises it’s safe.
The second her squishy little feet hit the floor, peals of laughter echo in the room as she winds up and swings through the doorway—she has no fear.
Just like me. Or younger me anyway.
“Do you wanna play with me?” Emmy asks hesitantly. The insecurity in her voice claws at my conscience. If I’d been part of her life while Cally was alive, she’d already believe she could trust me.
But she doesn’t. Our relationship is still new, and while I hope she trusts me to protect her, I don’t think she’s figured out where I fit into her life.
“Sure do, lovebug. What are we playing?” I spin in place, searching for a board game or building blocks in the sea of pink that follows us everywhere. “What’s your favorite color, Emmy?”
“Pink,” she says without hesitation. “But Wuby likes puw-ple.”
“Huh. Okay, lay it on me. What are we playing?”
She holds up two naked dolls, and I shake my head. “Your mom used to let me play with my army men in here.” I swallow hard. “This was her dollhouse when she was little.”
“I knows it,” Emmy says with her head down. She’s forcing a doll arm into a hot-pink dress but hasn’t figured out that the fingers are stuck.
I sit beside her and stare at the tiny working chandelier that matches the one in our foyer. My mom had this made for Cally—the light fixture was her favorite thing about this house.
A memory tries to take root. Again. There’s something that I’m missing, or something that I’ve forgotten, but it’s gone before I can grab it.
Everything about this house is familiar, but my memories here are fragmented. Bits and pieces of my childhood are clear as day, but they’re just that—bits and pieces. I can’t recall fully formed memories until my late teens, and surely that’s not normal, but I haven’t given it much thought—until now.
Daisie joins us on the floor with an old slipper in her mouth. Emmy and I chased her for nearly thirty minutes, but she wouldn’t release it, so we gave up and decided this one time she could use it as a chew toy.
Emmy releases a frustrated sigh and shakes the doll a little.
“Want help?” I ask.
She nods in earnest. “Yes please.” Emmy hands me the doll and the dress, and that’s pretty much how the next hour goes. Her handing me dolls to stuff into inappropriate outfits and shoes while Ruby swings and spins and drools.
Note to self, Google why she drools so much.
Just when my ass is beginning to go numb, Emmy places her head in my lap, and I rest my hand on her hair. I pat her head awkwardly, like she’s a new dog and I’m attempting to gain her trust, but it feels right.
Cally would definitely not appreciate me comparing her daughter to a dog, and a small smile tilts the corner of my lips.
“Everything okay, lovebug?”
Her body deflates in my lap. “I miss Stella.”
Ruby squeals beside us, obviously voicing her opinion too. Even Daisie lifts her head from the slipper and whines.
