Suddenly, I realize what I’m doing.
I’m kissing the temporary girl. The woman who won’t stay. The one only passing through town.
Abruptly, I pull back, and Emily follows, her lips still puckered. Her eyes closed.
“Why’d you do that?” she asks as her lids slowly open and reality hits. Her bright eyes widen. “Why’d you kiss me?”
She rolls her lips inward like she wants my kiss off her lips.
“I did it to shut you up,” I counter, offering a small lie to cover the larger truth. Because from the moment I saw you, I’ve wanted to kiss you. Because those rosy lips look like candy, and I wanted a taste. Because just like my daughter, I’m drawn to you when I shouldn’t be.
She huffs, her irritation returning us to some semblance of normalcy. I don’t think she cares much for me, and I’ve certainly tried to give her the impression I’m not impressed with her. But I am.
She might not be wrong about the sign language stuff, but I’m not willing to admit it to her.
Katie is my daughter. I know what’s best.
“Well, that was—”
“Not supposed to happen,” I interject, cutting her off before she starts to catalog the kiss. I spin for the staircase, ready to grab Katie and get us out of here.
I don’t need Emily’s help.
I don’t need her lips.
And I don’t need her, period.
My thoughts match the angry cadence of my feet up the ancient steps until I’m waylaid at the top by Mrs. Drummond, an old schoolteacher and current volunteer librarian. She’s droning on about my sister, the one who teaches at the high school, but I can’t seem to step away. Before I can stop the ceaseless chatter, Emily breaches the top step, and Katie spots her.
Shit.
“Mrs. Drummond, I really need to—”
“And then your sister . . .” She continues prattling on, not paying any mind to my interjection despite the fact that I’m clearly not listening to her. I’m watching once again as my daughter easily goes to Emily, taking her hand and practically dragging her to a child’s reading table. Emily’s eyes seek mine as she follows my daughter. Because I can’t get away from Mrs. Drummond to tell her not to, Emily folds herself into the small chair where Katie directed her, not giving a care that she doesn’t fit. Her knees come to her chest but don’t cover the swell of her breasts. The image reminds me of how they were pressed up against me downstairs. She’s wearing a highlighter pink racer-back shirt with a matching sports bra underneath, and I recall the low-cut red one and the original black one. Today, pink is my new favorite color.
“Mrs. Drummond, if you’ll excuse me.” I walk off after gently pressing a hand to her shoulder, not knowing if she listened to me dismiss myself any more than I listened to her telling me about my sister.
As I walk up to the table, I hear Emily reading once again to my daughter. I find her voice rather soothing when she goes into reading mode. From the bright colors of the pages, I can see the book is a version of The Little Mermaid. It’s a tale about a girl, a mermaid, who gives up her voice to a witch with the hope she will meet the man of her dreams.
More fairy-tale bullshit.
Suddenly, Emily stops, and she turns her focus on Katie. Her fingers stroke down the side of Katie’s cheek, and my heart thumps at the affectionate touch. Emily’s fingers cup Katie’s chin and then slip down her neck. Pausing there, she says to my daughter, “Did an evil witch steal your voice, Katie bug?”
Oh hell no.
“That’s enough,” I snap, causing both of them to jump. Katie’s eyes widen at me. I try not to raise my voice, given the few times I have in the past it has frightened her, and she slips into a deer-in-headlights mode. She doesn’t blink. She only stares forward as if her eyes are trapped. She’s looking at nothing.
Shit, shit, shit. This is all Emily’s fault.
“Did she cast a spell on you?” Emily continues, ignoring me as she speaks to my daughter whose innocent blue eyes face me but aren’t seeing me.
That’s it. I reach for the book and swipe it off the table, closing the hardcover with a sharp snap. I glare at Emily, giving her dagger eyes and stabby thoughts and anything that might maim her. I’m so pissed off she’s pushing this issue and she’s pushing my daughter.
Forget the unforgettable kiss downstairs. It’s forgotten. Over. I never want to see this woman again.
“Mr. Carter, is everything okay over here?” an older feminine voice says to me, but I’m lost in my hardly contained rage.
“Yes, we’re fine,” I growl as I look down at my daughter. Katie has turned her attention back to Emily. Not to me. Not to her father. To a stranger.
Katie curls her fingers around her throat and nods once.
My brows pinch to the point my entire face creases.
“Someone stole your voice?” Emily questions softly, keeping her eyes on Katie’s.
I hate this woman who looks from my child to me.
“What is she saying, Jess?” Her eyes are soft while the words are hard.
I have no idea, I want to scream.
But I hear Emily loud and clear.
Without another word to her, I swipe up the sign language book which has miraculously made its way up the staircase and onto this table. I don’t look at Emily as I tell Katie it’s time to leave.
This time I need to be the one walking away from a woman, and I can’t seem to get away fast enough.
Rule 7
Rain has its own language.
[Emily]
“It was the strangest thing,” I say to Grace that night, trying to explain what happened with Katie in the library. “It’s as if she admitted something happened.” Like a spell was put on her, which is almost too unbelievable to say aloud.
“Something definitely happened,” Grace states. “I’m no detective, but I think the mother said something to her. Threatened her somehow.”
Grace and I both remain quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts, and I realize how much I miss my sister. It’s been at least a year since I’ve seen her, and now, she’s having another baby. I need to get to Georgia. If anything, my time with Nana has taught me not to let time slip away.
“How old was she when she stopped talking?” Grace interrupts my musings.
I check my memory, trying to recall if Jess said specifically. “Somewhere close to four.”
“I’d definitely find the mother guilty,” Grace states in her best judge voice even though she never earned that law degree like she’d wanted.
“Do you think he’ll follow through with the sign language?” I ask.
“I think you’ve made a strong impression on him.” She’s teasing, but she doesn’t understand the impression he’s left on me. The imprint of his lips still tingles on mine. The flavor of cinnamon sits on my tongue. I can’t forget the way he felt against me—hard and hot and eager.
“He kissed me.”
“He what?” Grace shrieks followed by laughter.
“We were fighting over the book, playing tug-of-war with it, and the next thing I know, his lips were on me.” With delicious lips, commanding and rugged, he took out his frustration on me, and I was more than willing to accept it.