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Mrs. Emory has always been a fan of mine. When I was younger, I thought she wanted more than what I could offer her. I never found out if that were the case or not. She reigned in her flirtatious nature when she realized how serious Brooklyn and I were. I swear she was more upset about our breakup than Brooklynn ever seemed to be.
Either way, I’ve saved her number to every phone I’ve had over the years. When I dial her number, it sounds like there is an echo of a ringing phone near my house. She answers on the third ring.
“Great minds.”
“Um, hello?”
“Hey there. You wouldn’t happen to be home, would you?”
I pull the phone away from my ear. I’d planned on calling her to find out if she would have an issue with me stopping by. I’m hoping she has some answers to my questions.
“I am. How do you know where I live?”
I hear her laughter from the other side of my front door. When I open it, there she stands.
“I’m the wife of the mayor. Of course, I know where one of our most infamous faces lives. May I come in?”
Ending the call, I step to the side and allow Brooklynn’s mother to enter my home.
“You’re married to the mayor? I had no clue.”
She nods as she strides through to the kitchen and takes a seat. I follow her but remain standing at the counter.
“That’s not what you want to talk about, and we both know it. You want to know about your daughter. I’m just as shocked as you are. I was told you weren’t available when that was the furthest from the truth. When I brought Brooklynn and Jayla to Savannah, I had no notion of your connection. As far as I knew, the two of you had broken up. Nowhere in the time of dealing with everything, did I do the math.” She pulls out a tablet from her large bag. “You have to forgive me. When I first received this information, I was a little ... distraught. I received paperwork and files in the event of something happening to my mother and daughter. No one could’ve predicted what would happen. They had me dead to rights as being the least logical choice.”
“Neither of them named me?” I ask as I try to remain calm.
“That’s what I’m telling you. My mother’s video mentioned Brooklynn being afraid of ‘the father’s’ reaction. At the time, I took that to mean Jayla was safer with me. Seeing how you reacted to her today, I realized my assumption was wrong. It hit me then that you didn’t know about her.” She stands then taps the tablet. “I had a copy of everything I was given put on this file. I’m off to pick up your bundle of energy from ballet class. When you’re ready to talk more, set some things up to spend time with her, or whatever, you know how to reach me.”
She gets up and starts to leave the kitchen as if everything is worked out.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“What else is there?”
She looks genuinely confused.
“A lot. I’ve seen a lot of Brooklynn over the last couple of months. Not once have I seen that little girl. Why?”
Mrs. Emory dons the shades she was wearing when she arrived at my door all of thirty minutes ago. Straightening her shoulders, she takes on a haughty posture.
I snicker because I’ve been around people who believe themselves to be more than they are all my life. Her acting as if I don’t have the right to question her is laughable. I don’t give a damn what she’s married into, I’m not letting her leave until I have answers.
“I don’t know why you haven’t seen Brooklynn with ...”
She can’t even get the lie out without her face screwing up. Her eyes are fixed the floor the entire time.
“Lying isn’t a good thing. It ages people. Did you know that?”
Her face is hilarious. The question in her eyes makes me want to frame this moment. She looks at me as if she’s trying to verify if there’s truth in my words. I keep a stony look on my face.
“The fire. Brooklynn didn’t handle things well. The last thing she remembers is trying to get her daughter out. When she woke, she was screaming for Jayla. This is second-hand information. She was hysterical. No one got the chance to tell her what happened that day. She was catatonic. Slowly, she came back but the damage had been done. If anyone tries to speak of that day, she has ... episodes.”
Mrs. Emory runs off the information like she’s listing the items of clothing in her drawer and not talking about her daughter’s condition.
“Why not just tell her the truth about her ... our daughter?” I need to get used to say that. “What does she think happened to her?”
Mrs. Emory looks at her watch. Given how she was at the birthday party, I don’t believe she’s trying to get to her granddaughter. If I were still a betting man, I’d expect her to have a spa or nail appointment.
