pact. We always consulted each other before any major decisions were made. It was my way of making sure she felt included. “So … how would you feel if I took a desk job at the station instead of working out in the city?”
She turned, eyeballing me like I’d sprouted a shiitake mushroom on the tip of my nose. Then she walked over and placed her soft palm on my cheeks and forehead, testing for signs of illness.
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
She stepped back and put a hand on her hip. “Okay,” she said slowly, “and why would you want to quit your job?”
I returned her attitude-ridden look. It wasn’t like I was saying I wanted to move to Antarctica. “Because it would be safer that way, and I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“Mom. If you do that, who’s gonna help Amanda?”
I blinked. My mouth opened but nothing came out. I’d promised to help Amanda, and I’d also promised myself I’d be a better mom and take a safer job. Two things that couldn’t exactly be accomplished at once. I rubbed my hands down my face and let out a deep breath.
“You can’t quit now. Amanda needs you.” Em straightened, bent one knee, and cocked her hip, giving me her best superhero pose—hands on hips, chin lifted, and eyes looking off into the distance. “Atlanta needs you. The very world itself might, one day, need you.”
Despite myself, I laughed. She giggled, blew a wild strand of hair from her eye, and then zipped the bag. When she turned to me, slinging the bag over her shoulder, she shrugged, pleased with her summation and logic. “Plus, Hank would never forgive you if you quit.” She waited by the door.
I stood, thrown by her reaction. I’d underestimated her, which was an easy thing to do when you didn’t want your kid to grow up. “Maybe after Amanda’s case then,” I said, more to myself.
“Mom”—she snapped the air a few times, feigning a teenager look and tone—“snap out of it.”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” I muttered, following her bobbing form and swinging ponytail down the stairs, and wondering why her reaction hurt. Because she’s growing up . What did I expect, her to jump in my arms and cry grateful tears?
I padded barefoot through the kitchen, down the porch steps, and over the front yard, hurrying to catch up with her before she made it across the street. At the edge of the grass, I caught her around the waist. She squealed in fake protest as I laid several kisses on her cheek and neck. She might pretend to be too old for hugs and kisses, but she loved them just as much as I loved giving them. “Have fun,” I said close to her ear and then let her go. Laughing, she hurried around to the passenger side door.
Will slid into the truck and shut the door, leaning out of the open window. “We’ll talk later.”
I really wanted to respond with a “whatever,” but I nodded, reluctant to admit the feelings I still had for him.
His only intentional crime had been hiding his addiction to black crafting. All the other stuff had been out his control at that point. The real Will never would have made that bet, or cheated on me. And I knew he wasn’t crafting these days. Just like drug abuse or alcoholism, once one knew the symptoms and signs, it was easy to spot a black crafting addict. It left a weak scent of soot on them, like charred pieces left for years in an old, damp fireplace, and it left a trace of smut, of darkness, on a person. It surrounded them like an aura, but it was so faint it was hard to detect if you weren’t looking for it.
I stepped onto the front lawn, watching them drive down the street until the truck disappeared around the corner. Exhaustion fell over me like a heavy down comforter. It was only late afternoon and already my body wanted to shut down. It had been one hell of a day so far. Maybe with Em gone, I could actually get in a good nap before heading back to Underground later with Hank.
I made my way back inside the house and up the stairs.
In my
She turned, eyeballing me like I’d sprouted a shiitake mushroom on the tip of my nose. Then she walked over and placed her soft palm on my cheeks and forehead, testing for signs of illness.
“Ha, ha. Very funny.”
She stepped back and put a hand on her hip. “Okay,” she said slowly, “and why would you want to quit your job?”
I returned her attitude-ridden look. It wasn’t like I was saying I wanted to move to Antarctica. “Because it would be safer that way, and I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“Mom. If you do that, who’s gonna help Amanda?”
I blinked. My mouth opened but nothing came out. I’d promised to help Amanda, and I’d also promised myself I’d be a better mom and take a safer job. Two things that couldn’t exactly be accomplished at once. I rubbed my hands down my face and let out a deep breath.
“You can’t quit now. Amanda needs you.” Em straightened, bent one knee, and cocked her hip, giving me her best superhero pose—hands on hips, chin lifted, and eyes looking off into the distance. “Atlanta needs you. The very world itself might, one day, need you.”
Despite myself, I laughed. She giggled, blew a wild strand of hair from her eye, and then zipped the bag. When she turned to me, slinging the bag over her shoulder, she shrugged, pleased with her summation and logic. “Plus, Hank would never forgive you if you quit.” She waited by the door.
I stood, thrown by her reaction. I’d underestimated her, which was an easy thing to do when you didn’t want your kid to grow up. “Maybe after Amanda’s case then,” I said, more to myself.
“Mom”—she snapped the air a few times, feigning a teenager look and tone—“snap out of it.”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” I muttered, following her bobbing form and swinging ponytail down the stairs, and wondering why her reaction hurt. Because she’s growing up . What did I expect, her to jump in my arms and cry grateful tears?
I padded barefoot through the kitchen, down the porch steps, and over the front yard, hurrying to catch up with her before she made it across the street. At the edge of the grass, I caught her around the waist. She squealed in fake protest as I laid several kisses on her cheek and neck. She might pretend to be too old for hugs and kisses, but she loved them just as much as I loved giving them. “Have fun,” I said close to her ear and then let her go. Laughing, she hurried around to the passenger side door.
Will slid into the truck and shut the door, leaning out of the open window. “We’ll talk later.”
I really wanted to respond with a “whatever,” but I nodded, reluctant to admit the feelings I still had for him.
His only intentional crime had been hiding his addiction to black crafting. All the other stuff had been out his control at that point. The real Will never would have made that bet, or cheated on me. And I knew he wasn’t crafting these days. Just like drug abuse or alcoholism, once one knew the symptoms and signs, it was easy to spot a black crafting addict. It left a weak scent of soot on them, like charred pieces left for years in an old, damp fireplace, and it left a trace of smut, of darkness, on a person. It surrounded them like an aura, but it was so faint it was hard to detect if you weren’t looking for it.
I stepped onto the front lawn, watching them drive down the street until the truck disappeared around the corner. Exhaustion fell over me like a heavy down comforter. It was only late afternoon and already my body wanted to shut down. It had been one hell of a day so far. Maybe with Em gone, I could actually get in a good nap before heading back to Underground later with Hank.
I made my way back inside the house and up the stairs.
In my
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