Home to Stay. Annie Jones

the pair of dogs lying in the grass between the vehicles with their expectant gazes trained on Hank. “Oh.”

      Hank bent at the knees to lower himself eye to eye with the child to better impart a little heart-to-heart lesson. “Your mom is right about running up to strange dogs, sweetheart. You should never do that. Not all dogs are your friends.”

      “All dogs are my friends,” she said back at him, her tone decidedly stubborn as he might have expected of Emma’s child. Still, something was off about the cadence…the sentiment…the “not quite connecting” of it all.

      Hank studied the girl, carefully, methodically, which was pretty much how he approached everything and everyone. “I know you want to think that but—”

      “There’s no point in arguing with her.” The distinct swish-thump-swish of Emma walking one-shoed up behind him alerted him to her closing in on him. “She’s—”

      “Yeah, I know.” Hank held up his hand to cut her off. “She’s a Newberry woman. And when a Newberry woman makes up her mind about something, then she expects the rest of the world to order itself according to her….” He stood and turned to face her at last, prepared to see a cool, aloof, polished professional woman ready to fiercely protect her child. Instead he saw an almost frail figure with uncombed hair blowing in the breeze, dark circles blended with smudged makeup beneath her luminous eyes, wearing… “What are you wearing?”

      “What?” She glanced down as her fingers flitted over one slender strap. She adjusted the sparkling belt then tugged at the hem just above her knees. “It’s your basic little black dress. Every woman needs one.”

      “Not in Gall Rive.” He shook his head. “And certainly not at a bird sanctuary at half-past dawn.”

      “You know us Newberry women. When you live your life expecting the world to bend to your every whim, you have to be prepared for anything.” She pushed past him in a way that let him know that she neither appreciated his opinion of the women of her family nor was she inclined to explain her attire to him. She held her arms out to her child. “You never know when you might get an impromptu invite to a glam party.”

      “Obviously, this isn’t one of those times,” he joked in a way he hoped sounded casual not combative.

      “Obviously.” She stood there holding her daughter by the hand. Their eyes met for a moment. Color washed up over her warm-toned skin, rising into her cheeks and the tip of her perfect nose.

      There was that feeling deep in his gut again. The welcoming one, not the warning one. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. And he didn’t intend to endure it any longer than he had to. “Emma, I—”

      “I’m sorry, Hank. I’ve been driving all night and I just…” She blinked and tears washed her eyes but did not fall.

      That got to him in ways he was totally unprepared for. Still, he should say something. He wished he still knew her well enough not to have to say anything at all. He settled for a softly spoken “It’s okay.”

      “No. It’s not. I’ve acted like a brat, ordering you off the property without even asking…” She glanced down and suddenly seemed enthralled with something. She took a step, a lurch really, then bent and picked up the shoe that had flown off her foot when she had ordered him off the property. She held the elegant black pump up and turned it one way then another, as if trying to discern exactly what it was and what she should do with it. “Huh.”

      “I want that!” The little girl, her arms held up, fingers straining to wind around the slender heel, danced and leaped around her mom, who seemed to have completely zoned out.

      “Emma? You okay?” he asked.

      “Can I have your shoe, Mommy?” The girl tugged at the hem of Emma’s too-chic black dress.

      “When did that come off?” she said, relief easing over her pinched features. She laughed lightly. “I made it all the way from Atlanta in heels, survived pit stops for coffee to keep me awake and moving and snacks for Ruth. But as soon as I get to Gall Rive, I start falling apart!”

      She looked better when she laughed, even at a shoe.

      Hank rubbed the back of his neck, not exactly sure what to do next. “Look, if you need—”

      “No. No. I’ll be fine. I always am. I have to be, it’s all on me, after all. Not like I have a choice. Unless, of course, I chose to accept…” She didn’t even attempt to finish her thought, just looked down and swept her hand along the round cheek of the child beside her. Then she sighed, gave a wave of her shoe, bent to scoop up her child and began to walk away. “C’mon, sweetie, I don’t know how much longer I can stay upright. I am totally exhausted. Let’s go inside.”

      Hank watched her go, not sure what to do. Something was not right in all this, not right with Emma, not right with her child, not right with her showing up now and not asking about Sammie Jo. She had come back because her sister, Claire, had called her about their aunt, right? Hank had assumed, but…

      “Buh-bye, dog-friends. Come see me some more soon.” The child waved over her mother’s shoulder.

      Like her mama, the little girl got to him on some level Hank couldn’t quite yet explain. “Why is she here, boys? Did she come for her aunt or is she looking for something?”

      Earnest T whined.

      Hank knew that was the dog’s way of reminding him they were still in their “stay” positions and would very much like to get up and romp after the pair of strangers. Hank kind of knew how the animal felt in that respect. He wanted to follow them, not to just let them go off and try to sort whatever was going on with them alone.

      Emma walked with an uneven gait as she made her way toward the large old house that sat at the center of the migratory-bird sanctuary. Then, just as suddenly as she had taken off, she stopped and called out, “Did I ask you why you’re here? I don’t—” she gave out a huge yawn “—think I did. Do you, um, did you need something?”

      I need to get away from here, process a few things, he thought. What he said was, “I came as a favor to your aunt.”

      “Oh. Yeah. Not like you’d be here for me. Not like I told anyone I was coming home.” She took another staggering step toward the house. Her daughter waved the shoe around and hit her mother lightly along the side of her head. Emma didn’t even seem to notice. Another yawn. “Home.”

      Something changed about as she said the word. The angle of her shoulders eased. She pushed one hand back through her hair and laid her cheek against her squirming child’s head as she whispered, “You hear that, Ruth? We’ve come home.”

      As much as he knew he should turn and go, the awe in her voice, the tenderness of seeing the only woman he had ever loved as a mother drew him closer. He cleared his throat. “Been a while, huh?”

      She shifted her weight to put herself facing the Newberry home again. “Funny, up until I decided to come back here, I had stopped thinking of it like that. It became a memory. Not quite real. Just a place I thought of the way I first saw it—like a big birthday cake on cinder blocks.”

      Built sturdy and adorned delicately, the lower story of the house was gray stone. It had a flat, concrete downstairs porch jutting out into the yard and a broad outdoor staircase sweeping upward to the second story. That story had tall windows framed by faded black shutters against once-crisp white siding. The stair railings and the balcony were scrolled wrought iron, currently painted a dusty-rose color. Above that the dormered windows of the attic looked out on every side over the pale gray roof.

      “I’d forgotten you’d called it that.” Hank chuckled quietly. “Birthday cake.”

      “Cake!” The child lifted her arms stiffly toward the structure.

      “Don’t mention food, honey. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. I’m getting light-headed just thinking about cake.” Emma settled the girl on the ground and put her hand