Save Her Child by CJ Lyons (best historical biographies txt) 📗

cheap, Leah saw as she uncrumpled the nylon streamer that was fraying along its edges. “It’s not like the real ones. Miss Ruby gave a judge money to give it to me. I saw.” Her voice broke. “That’s what made me so mad. Then Miss Ruby made me thank the judge, like I’m stupid or something!” She wailed at the heavens.

“You know Miss Ruby loves you, right?” Leah said in a tone that she hoped hid her own fury and frustration at Ruby’s misguided attempt to make Emily feel like a winner. Ruby would never understand the power of real accomplishment—to her the ribbon would always be the point, what the rest of the world saw and used to judge you. Ruby could never understand that real winning was the work, achieving your vision. And that it didn’t matter if a judge saw it or not. But how to explain that to a seven-year-old?

Emily sighed. “Miss Ruby loves me. I love her. But sometimes, she treats me… Not only her, Ms. Driscoll, the teachers and kids at school—why does everyone treat me like I’m different, Mommy? They either treat me like a baby because I’m small or tell me ‘you’re acting too big for your britches, Emily,’ like Ms. Driscoll, or say I’m weird or strange or they can’t play with me or…” Her voice edged into tears again, but this time she intertwined her arm in Leah’s, squeezing tight, and was able to control them. “I wish Daddy were here. He made me feel smart. We learned things—together. And it was fun. Not like school.”

“Even with Nate there?” Leah asked. The vice-principal, Ms. Driscoll, had left her two voicemails demanding a meeting to discuss separating Nate and Emily in an effort to “curb Emily’s rambunctious, disruptive behavior.” So far, Leah had ignored them. But she only had a week left of summer vacation—and the only thing making school at all tolerable for Emily was Nate’s presence in her class. Which meant Leah had to prepare to battle Ms. Driscoll—in her mind, Cambria City’s equivalent of the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Nate makes things better,” Emily said. “But then I get him in trouble—by accident. And then the kids or teachers pick on him and it’s not fair.” She blew her breath out in a sigh that made her sound even older than the centuries-old farmhouse beside them. “It’s not fair. Daddy should be here. I should have won a ribbon because my truffles were excellent tasting—even if they weren’t pretty with all the decorations the other candies had. People shouldn’t judge on what they see on the outside but on what’s inside.”

Leah suppressed a chuckle. If only… “Your dad would be very proud of you, teaching yourself how to make your truffles, experimenting with flavors.”

“I did it exactly like he taught me. Imagine one change at a time, then try it and see how close to your imagination you come. It’s like when we wrote computer games. We had so much fun.” Another long-suffering sigh. “If he were here, I wouldn’t even need to go to school. He could teach me everything.”

This was exactly what Ian had argued for before they enrolled Emily. He’d volunteered to cut his work hours in order to homeschool her, but Leah had wanted her to have the chance to socialize with other kids her age. It was one of the few arguments during their marriage that Leah had won—and now she wondered if she’d been wrong about everything.

They lay in silence, the stars multiplying as the night grew darker. So many stars. “You know your dad’s up there, watching over you. Always. Even when you can’t see the stars, they’re always still there.”

“Just the sun hides them. And the sun is a star, too. And we have stars inside us, right? Because of the elementary—”

“Because of the elemental particles,” Leah corrected. “Atoms, like the carbon that builds your muscles and bones and that made the flowers and trees and—”

“And diamonds! Daddy taught me that—I read it in one of his books.”

“And diamonds. All those particles, they came from stars.”

“So Daddy came from the stars. And now he’s back with them?” She nestled closer and Leah wrapped her arm around her, hugging her tight.

“Exactly.”

“Mommy, can it stay like this always? No more school, Nate can come and play—”

“Not sure when Nate would want to come and play. You owe him an apology. For acting out when it was his turn to celebrate. That made his hard work and winning his prizes seem not as important and special as they are.”

“I’ll tell him I’m sorry. Maybe we can throw him a party? I can make truffles.”

“Maybe. Except for that, you’re grounded. It’s okay to share your feelings, but kicking and screaming when I’m driving the car isn’t the right way.”

Emily considered that. “Yes, ma’am. So I’ll be grounded tonight and then Nate can come tomorrow and we’ll use Daddy’s computer to look at all his pictures from the fair. I want to see more of the baby lady.”

“The baby lady?” Leah asked with trepidation, praying that Ruby hadn’t allowed Nate to capture photos of Beth in labor.

“Yeah. I remember seeing her a few times. Near the horse barn and at the corndog stand and near the Ferris wheel—that they said I was too short to ride. That’s not fair.”

“Wait, so you saw Beth earlier? What was she doing?”

Emily shrugged one shoulder. “Talking on her phone. She was angry. Then she threw it.”

Leah sat up. “Beth had a phone and threw it out? Do you remember where? Was it into a trash bin?” She could ask Luka to send an officer out to retrieve it before the trash was hauled away.

Emily shook her head. “No. It was into some trees. I’ll bet Nate took a picture. He takes pictures of everything.” She tugged Leah back down. “Look at the stars, Mommy. Can you teach me how to take pictures of the stars? Then I can teach Nate.