When We Touch

The worst part was never knowing why. It had been in that time just on the edge of everyone having cell phones and easy Internet access—not that I would have had those things in high school. Marjorie would never have tolerated that much freedom for her one remaining daughter.

So I sat in silence, cut off, confused, and broken.

I was so sure what we’d had was real. I was so shattered and miserable.

And time passed…

Eventually, I had to live without him. I gave in to my mother’s pressure to find other interests, to volunteer at the church. I’d go out with Tabby. It distracted me, but it never filled the hole in my chest.

Nothing filled it until Coco… which is why I won’t be going down that road again. My daughter needs me, and I have plans.

Clutching a pillow to my chest, I roll over and force myself to think of her. Her sweet scent, her velvety cheeks, her little hands, and enormous personality. Coco is my world now.

Her and this store.

They’re all that matter.

* * *

“Polly’s mommy’s cake is gooey.” Coco is on my lap at my mother’s table. Beside her is a bowl of dry Cheerios and a glass of milk. “She said it comes in a box.”

Gathering my little girl’s hair in my hands, I kiss the side of her neck and take a long sniff. “It’s faster that way. And cheaper.”

“You look tired.” My mother takes her seat at the opposite end of the table, coffee in hand.

“The rain kept me awake.” I don’t look up when I answer.

Or smile.

Words that would be kind from anyone else always have a tinge of judgment when they come from her mouth.

“The thunder went Boom!” Coco raises one hand over her head.

“Did it keep you awake?” I ask, twisting a tie around her thin ponytail.

“Nope.” Coco is focused on stacking her Cheerios. “Polly’s daddy said God was rolling his barrels.”

“Polly’s daddy is wrong,” my mother snips. “God doesn’t have barrels.”

“He does, too!” Coco argues, adding a round cereal to the stack. “Barrels of beer.”

I bite back a laugh, thinking of my mother’s text from yesterday.

“Colette Corinne Warren. That’s blasphemous.”

Coco climbs onto her knees. “Blasperous!” she growls, smashing her Cheerio tower. “Blasperous!” She holds out her little hands.

I can’t stop my snort at this point. My mother cuts her eyes at me, and I stand, sweeping my girl onto my hip. “She’s finished. We’re going to the shop.”

“She is not finished!” My mother snaps. “She needs to drink that milk.”

Scooping up the glass, I carry it to the kitchen and transfer the liquid into a small plastic sippy cup. “Here,” I say, handing it to Coco. “I’ll have her back for supper.”

We’re out the door while my mother is still fussing. I’m just strapping Coco into her seat and putting on her little helmet when someone calls my name. Looking up, I see Betty Pepper is headed my way.

“Emberly! That cake you made was absolutely drool-worthy!” She waddles across the median to where I stand holding Dixie.

“Thanks, Miss Betty.” I walk the bike to meet her. “Are you headed to work?”