Protector - Laurel Dewey [64]
Jane stepped outside and shut the front door part way. “Keep it down?”
“What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing. Give me the goddamn pizza!”
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing!’ ” Chris said, pulling the pizza carton away from Jane. “Dammit, Jane! Don’t be a cunt!”
A bolt of hot rage shot through Jane as she lunged toward Chris, grabbed the pizza and slammed the door in his face. Jane stormed into the kitchen, still steaming from Chris’ remarks.
“Who was that?” Emily asked.
“Nobody!” Jane said, flipping open the pizza carton and grabbing a piece of pizza. “Here you go.”
“Aren’t we gonna use plates?”
Jane let out a sigh. “Where are they?”
“Behind you, second cupboard from the right.”
Jane brought down two plates and slapped pizza slices on both of them. She sat down to eat when she caught Emily looking at her. “What is it now?”
“We need napkins. I don’t want to get sauce on my jumper.”
“You’re a little hothouse orchid, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
Jane got up and grabbed the roll of paper towels near the sink. She tore off several pieces, stuffed them into the collar of Emily’s shirt and placed the roll on the table. “That should take care of any major spillage.” Emily looked down at her impromptu bib, not knowing what to make of it. “Eat your pizza, Emily.”
Emily took a bite of pizza and looked at Jane’s bandaged hand. “Are you gonna tell me what happened to your hand?”
“It’s not important.”
“You told me in that little room that you got hurt in the line of duty. What does that mean?”
“It means it happened while I was working. Like right now. This is called being on duty.”
“It is?” Emily sounded surprised.
“Yeah. What’d you think this was?”
“I thought we were having dinner.”
Jane realized she’d backed herself into a corner. “We are . . . and I’m also working at the same time.”
“Did you hurt your hand in a kitchen trying to fix food?”
Jane looked at Emily, thinking she was being a smart aleck and then realized she was serious. “No, I did not.”
“Did you hurt it—”
“Look, kid,” Jane said, putting down her pizza slice and sitting back in the chair. “There are certain things you don’t need to know and this is one of them.” Emily looked deep into Jane’s eyes, not saying a word. “Did you hear me?” Jane asked, agitated.
“You were scared when that happened, weren’t you?” Emily said softly.
Jane was jarred by Emily’s words but tried not to show it. “Can we talk about something else?” she said with less of an edge.
“Okay,” Emily said, taking a bite of pizza. “Guess what my middle name is.”
“I have no idea.”
“Just guess.”
“Bertha.”
“Bertha? No! Guess again!”
“Why are we doing this?”
“Are you gonna try to guess my middle name?”
“I’m going to have a headache soon if this continues.”
“Grace.”
“What?”
“Grace. That’s my middle name. E.G.L. Those are my initials. Grace is my grandmother’s name. Mommy says she gave me the name so that I take a part of my grand-mother with me everywhere I go.”
Jane took a bite of pizza. “Anne.”
“What?”
“Anne. That’s my middle name.”
“That’s pretty. I like it.”
“It’s my mother’s name.”
“Where does your mommy live?”
“She’s dead.”
Emily’s eyes lost some of their luster. “When did she die?”
“A long time ago. I was ten. Just a little older than you are right now.”
“How did she die?”
Jane felt her stomach tighten. “Cancer. But I told people she killed herself.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Jane said quietly, “That’s exactly what she did. She hated her life. She made herself sick so she could get out.”
Emily thought for a second. “We have a lot of things that are the same. Your mommy died when you were little, just like me.”
“That’s one thing, Emily. That doesn’t mean we have lots of things.”
“I think we do.”
“You have no idea what you’re saying.” Jane looked Emily straight in the eye. “You don’t want to have anything else in common with me.” Emily observed Jane carefully. “You finished with your pizza?”
“Yeah.” Jane ripped off several feet of paper towels and wrapped the uneaten pizza in it. “Do you have