Momma was referring to the spin she’d put on things. But Emmy’s mind took a detour into the everything she’d learned in his hotel room. She glanced out the window of the rented car—to make sure Momma wouldn’t see her smile.
“After what he’s put you through, it’s understandable.” There was a razor-sharp edge to Momma’s words. “Maybe I should stay. Give that boy a piece of my mind.”
No. Oh no. Emmy held her breath.
Sawyer glanced in the rearview mirror.
Melanie, sitting across from them on the rear-facing seat, looked up from her tablet long enough to slide her glasses in place.
“But I feel like that would just give him satisfaction—and more press. He’s getting enough as it is.” Her gaze narrowed. “Sawyer, you make sure to keep Emmy away from him. You know how sweet she is, and that boy…well, he’s up to something.” Her blue-green eyes glanced at the back of Sawyer’s head. “You hear me, Sawyer? If they’re not on camera, he has nothing to say to her.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sawyer’s voice was flat.
It wasn’t the first time Momma had implied Emmy was too helpless or weak to take care of herself, but it still stung.
Momma kept on. “There are a dozen other charities that would have been happy to have you. I don’t know what your daddy was thinking, putting you in harm’s way like this.”
The car seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace—probably because of Momma’s constant chatter. Emmy turned all of her attention to the traffic-congested street, the crowd of fans lining the sidewalk into the Elaine studio already starting to scream.
“Goodness, what a crowd.” Momma glanced at her. “I can’t believe you brought that cat with you. Really, Emmy Lou. He’s not a lapdog.”
Emmy smiled at the kitten sitting on her lap. She admired Watson’s total lack of fear. Not of riding in cars or Clementine following him everywhere, not of Momma’s high heels—he liked swatting at them—or the horrible screams Momma made when she realized her silk hose had been shredded. “He’s my lap cat.” Emmy picked him up and deposited him in the cat carrier disguised as a purse. “You ready, Watson?”
“Have fun,” Momma said. “Try to get them on your left side and sit up straight. Oh, Emmy, Elaine’s Book Club picks. Find out how that works for me.”
Emmy had never been so desperate for air. She took Sawyer’s hand and stepped out onto the sidewalk, breathing deep. Everything her mother said seemed to suck the air out of the car. Brock. Her memoir. The pointed way she’d watched Emmy eat her breakfast this morning. What was wrong with a whole wheat muffin? Everything she ate was approved by the dietitian. It felt like Momma was scrutinizing everything she did or said.
“You good?” Sawyer asked.
“Let’s do this.” Emmy nodded. She signed posters of herself, posters of the Three Kings, concert
shirts, CDs, and one little boy’s arm cast. Travis could tease her all he wanted—her fans were the only reason for their success.
“Emmy Lou.” Melanie tapped her watch.
“Picture?” she asked the crowd. From the enthusiastic commotion, she assumed they were good with it.
Melanie pulled out her phone. “Here.” Emmy handed over Watson and began snapping pictures. “Okay.”
With a few more blown kisses and a lot of hand-waving, she made her way inside the studio. “You did great,” she said to Watson. “You’re going to give Clementine a run for her money.”
Sawyer herded them along, following the production assistant who greeted them. He seemed more uptight than ever. Which, for Sawyer, said a lot. While she was getting her makeup and hair touched up, Sawyer seemed to be giving everyone a thorough once-over. He seemed…braced.
“You’re making me nervous,” she said, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
Melanie nodded. “Me, too.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Some sort of threat alert or something?” She was teasing. Sort of. He was definitely on edge.
“Doing my job,” he basically growled.
Melanie glanced his way, then hers.
“You always do, Sawyer.” Emmy sipped her water and then asked, “Is this because of my mother?” Emmy Lou frowned and pushed herself out of the makeup chair to face him. “The whole ridiculous overprotective thing—and Brock?”
“I’m not sure it’s ridiculous.” His gaze stayed fixed on her. “Part of my job is research.”
“Research?” Emmy Lou shook her head, stunned. “On Brock? Sawyer…” She wasn’t sure whether to be touched or angry. At the moment, she was leaning toward anger. Definitely anger. “This isn’t the time for this. I have to go out there, smile, and act like everyone I know sees me as an intelligent, capable woman versus some…some toddler who needs constant supervision and direction about what to eat and wear and think and who to love.” She paused, looking at him. “You’re with me or you’re with her. If you’re with me, I expect you to respect my choices—not try to force yours on me.”