Page 54 of Holding Ground

Emelia frowns. “I’m sorry, but I need to go do some work on my computer.”

Is that strain in her voice real, or am I imagining it?

Before Baylor can try to guilt her, I interject. “No problem. Go about your evening.”

My daughter looks at me, a wrinkled forehead and nose, and I give her a look. Her shoulders slump, and after Emelia has left the kitchen, we have yet another talk about how she can’t make Emelia feel bad if she has other things to do and can’t play with her.

The two of us run through our nightly routine. I play Barbies with Baylor for a bit, then she has her bath and a bedtime snack, brushes her teeth, and I read her a bedtime story before tucking her in and saying good night.

After I get a load of laundry in, I decide to head out to the dock to relax for a bit. October is almost here, and after it’s come and gone, it will be too chilly to sit out here and enjoy the night sky.

I step out onto the deck, the boards creaking under my feet. That’s when I hear it—the sound of sniffling. The farther I walk down the dock, the louder it gets, until it comes to an abrupt stop. When I reach the end of the dock, Emelia is nestled under a blanket in one of the loungers. She’s wiping tears off her cheeks, and it’s obvious she’s attempting to hide the fact that she’s out here alone, crying.

Seeing her upset like this is like a kick to the gut. It makes my stomach turn.

“Are you okay?” I sit on the lounger beside hers, but instead of sprawling out on it, I face her with my feet on the deck between the two loungers.

“I’m okay,” she says so softly I can barely hear her.

From the red-rimmed look of her eyes, she’s been out here crying for a while.

“Hey…” I place my hand over the blanket on her leg, squeezing her knee. “What’s going on?”

She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut, more tears dripping down her cheeks, followed by huge, racking sobs. I slide over and join her on the lounger, pulling her into my arms to comfort her.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s okay.” I repeat it, stroking her back with my hand.

She rests her cheek on my chest, allowing me in instead of refusing my comfort. After a minute or two, her breathing settles, and she’s no longer sobbing.

“Want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, pressing her face into my sweatshirt.

“It might help you feel better.”

Emelia doesn’t respond, but after a minute, she rolls away from me and sits up, facing me, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. “You’ll think I’m an even worse person than you already do if I tell you.”

My shoulders slump. I guess that was the impression I gave her until a few weeks ago. “I don’t think you’re a terrible person. My reaction to you was all about my own shit and had nothing to do with you.” I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

Her gaze flicks up, meeting mine, and she relaxes, her tense shoulders dropping an inch, a long stream of air rushing from her mouth.

“What’s going on?”

“My mother died when I was three years old.”

“I’m sorry. I know how painful that is.”

Her head tilts. “You do?”

“My mother passed away too. I was a little older than you, but I understand the kind of hole that leaves behind.”

“Was…was she sick?”

I draw a breath and shake my head. It’s been so long since I’ve had to tell anyone this. Probably since Kate. “She died giving birth to Hollis.”

Her hand covers her mouth. “That’s so sad.”

I nod. “Yeah.” I clear my throat to fight against the growing lump. “So I don’t know exactly how it feels in your situation, but I know what it’s like to lose a mother and not have one in your life.”