Protector - Laurel Dewey [122]
“Come in!” Jane said.
Emily flew into the room and jumped onto Jane’s bed. “What’s that noise?”
“That’s just the damn coal train I told you about. Remember?”
“The house was shaking so hard. I thought someone was trying to break in!” Emily curled her body closer to Jane.
“No one’s gonna break into the house, Emily. I’ve got my pistol right here. Any asshole stupid enough to break in is gonna get a chest full of lead.” The train chugged into the night and all was silent once again.
Emily pressed her body against Jane’s side. “I want to stay here with you.”
“You’ve got a great room up there with a picture window.”
Emily wrapped her arms around Jane’s waist and buried her head against Jane’s belly. “I want to stay with you.”
Jane knew it was no use. “Get under the covers,” she said to Emily. After settling in, Jane reached over and turned off the light. Outside the window, the half moon shone brilliantly in the clear sky. “Look at that,” Jane said in awe.
Emily pulled away from Jane just enough to look at the glimmering orb. “Wow,” she said, truly impressed. Emily sunk back, her head cuddled up against Jane’s chest. “What kind of a kid were you?” Emily asked in a quiet voice.
Jane took a drag on her cigarette. The lit orange tip of the cigarette briefly illuminated the darkness. “Just like any other kid. Nothing special.”
“Were you a good kid?”
“That would depend on who you talked to. If you asked my mom, she’d tell you I was good. If you asked my dad, he’d swear I was bad.”
“Were you really bad?”
“I guess I was bad when I had to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was always looking out for my little brother, Mike. I had to make sure that nobody picked on him. If they did, I’d fight them.”
“Did you always win the fights?”
Jane hesitated briefly. “It depended who I was fighting. Some fights were lost before they started.”
“Why would you fight someone if you knew you were going to lose?”
“Because I had to. I made a promise.” Jane took a long drag.
Emily felt herself floating peacefully toward slumber. “Like you promised me,” her voice trailed off in a sleepy timbre. She let out a deep breath and mumbled.
“What was that?” Jane asked.
“When I saw you the first time . . .” Emily whispered, half-asleep, “I couldn’t believe it . . . but it came true . . .”
“How do you like your eggs?” Jane asked Emily the following morning.
“Cooked,” Emily replied with a straight face.
“You’re a regular little comedienne,” Jane countered as she broke four eggs into a bowl and, after picking out pieces of shell, did her best to beat them with a fork. After heating the pan and plopping in far too much butter, Jane added the eggs and began stirring.
Emily found the “Howdy” coupon book that Kathy gave Jane. “How about this: ‘Buy one breakfast or lunch special at The Harvest Café and get another meal absolutely free!’” She looked up at the frying pan. “Hey! The eggs are burning!”
“They’re not burned!” Jane said, dragging the pan off the stove. She took a spatula and tried to wedge it underneath what was left of the eggs. Once she was able to lift a portion onto Emily’s plate, it was obvious that the bottom was charred.
Emily poked at the eggs with her fork and lifted the whole slab in one section. “You don’t call that burned?”
“Pretend they’re Cajun.”
Emily looked at the blackened eggs and then looked at Jane. “Caged in? Where were they caged in that made them come out like this?”
Within ten minutes, Jane and Emily were headed to The Harvest Café with “Howdy” coupon in hand. Inside the restaurant, they were greeted with the doleful voice of Garth Brooks singing, “The Dance.” The Harvest Café was obviously the happening spot. To prove that point, there wasn’t one empty table or counter seat available. The place had a cramped, greasy, diner-style setup with four booths against the wall and eight tables shoved tightly in the center of the lime green linoleum floor. There were eight additional red stools lined around the Formica counter. Behind that was the kitchen, which could be partially seen through the opening of