grandmother's old cane, which she'd found in the hall closet. She hadn't let herself focus on the smoothness of the cane against her palm. It hurt too much to think about Emmajean's strong but tired hand wrapped around it.
"Oh, please, please be unopened," she whispered. "Or at least not moldy." If the can had even a few coffee grounds left in the bottom, she was desperate enough to brew it up.
Her fingers brushed the metal surface of the container, and she cajoled it within reach by poking at it through the shelf grating. When she finally lifted the can and tested its weight, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Something was inside, judging by a slight jingle, but it definitely did not contain coffee. Then she pulled off the plastic lid, and began to do a little laughing and a little crying.
Grandma Emmajean's pin money. She'd forgotten all about it. But like pennies from heaven, here it was. The can held lots of bills, mostly ones and fives. Enough cash to get her through until she could find a job.
Two jobs, really. She'd need one here in town to get her through the next couple of months until the scandal died down. Right now, she and all her former co-workers were persona non grata in the financial world. She had a better chance of becoming Miss Universe than of getting in with another large New York brokerage.
So she'd stay here in Joyful for a while, finding some easy little job to pay her bills, which wouldn't be bad since the house was hers, free and clear. She could spend the summer regrouping, sending out resumes back in the real world— her world—and planning a new course for her future. Without ever, hopefully, having to ask her parents—particularly her mother—for a thing.
They'd be furious when they found out. If they found out. But it was worth the risk. She couldn't stand the thought of them stepping in to try to "help" her, Transla-tion: trying to retake control of her life, as they'd tried to do last year after her accident.
She loved them. But a pushier, more smothering couple she'd never met. As their only child, she'd been the one smothered for years. At least until Grandma Emmajean had stepped in to support Emma when she'd taken a stand at the age of seventeen and demanded the freedom to decide where she'd go to school.
"Thank you, Grandma, for being there for me again," she whispered with a smile, staring at the cash. "Now, if only Joyful had restaurants that delivered Cheerios, we'd be in good shape."
Unfortunately, she suspected there weren't any cereal deliverymen in Joyful. If she wanted breakfast, she was going to have to drive for it.
Before she could go back to her room to dress, she heard a knock at the front door. Since it was only 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, she couldn't imagine who'd be stopping by. Then she remembered what it had been like living here, where neighbors knew one another's first names. On many a Saturday, one of her grandmother's friends would pop in with a basket of muffins and a cheerful "good morning." She smiled, touched that someone had heard she was back and had come to welcome her home.
It wasn't one of her grandmother's neighbors or friends.
"Oh, no," she said when she opened the door and saw Johnny on the porch.
"That's a nice way to greet a person bearing food."
Eyeing the paper grocery sack he held in the crook of one arm, she raised a brow.
"And coffee," he added.
Almost cooing in relief, she reached for the smaller bag in his other hand. He glanced at her cane. "I've got it."
Stepping back to let him in, she inhaled, catching a whiff of the coffee. It was almost good enough to make her forget she was still wearing the raggedy shorts and T-shirt she'd put on for bed. They went well with the mass of tangled hair she hadn't yet gotten around to brushing.
"Hmm, I take it you're not a morning person?" He didn't even try to hide his amusement.
Bleary-eyed, she couldn't even take offense as she slowly led him into the bright and sunny kitchen.
"Oh, please, please be unopened," she whispered. "Or at least not moldy." If the can had even a few coffee grounds left in the bottom, she was desperate enough to brew it up.
Her fingers brushed the metal surface of the container, and she cajoled it within reach by poking at it through the shelf grating. When she finally lifted the can and tested its weight, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Something was inside, judging by a slight jingle, but it definitely did not contain coffee. Then she pulled off the plastic lid, and began to do a little laughing and a little crying.
Grandma Emmajean's pin money. She'd forgotten all about it. But like pennies from heaven, here it was. The can held lots of bills, mostly ones and fives. Enough cash to get her through until she could find a job.
Two jobs, really. She'd need one here in town to get her through the next couple of months until the scandal died down. Right now, she and all her former co-workers were persona non grata in the financial world. She had a better chance of becoming Miss Universe than of getting in with another large New York brokerage.
So she'd stay here in Joyful for a while, finding some easy little job to pay her bills, which wouldn't be bad since the house was hers, free and clear. She could spend the summer regrouping, sending out resumes back in the real world— her world—and planning a new course for her future. Without ever, hopefully, having to ask her parents—particularly her mother—for a thing.
They'd be furious when they found out. If they found out. But it was worth the risk. She couldn't stand the thought of them stepping in to try to "help" her, Transla-tion: trying to retake control of her life, as they'd tried to do last year after her accident.
She loved them. But a pushier, more smothering couple she'd never met. As their only child, she'd been the one smothered for years. At least until Grandma Emmajean had stepped in to support Emma when she'd taken a stand at the age of seventeen and demanded the freedom to decide where she'd go to school.
"Thank you, Grandma, for being there for me again," she whispered with a smile, staring at the cash. "Now, if only Joyful had restaurants that delivered Cheerios, we'd be in good shape."
Unfortunately, she suspected there weren't any cereal deliverymen in Joyful. If she wanted breakfast, she was going to have to drive for it.
Before she could go back to her room to dress, she heard a knock at the front door. Since it was only 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday, she couldn't imagine who'd be stopping by. Then she remembered what it had been like living here, where neighbors knew one another's first names. On many a Saturday, one of her grandmother's friends would pop in with a basket of muffins and a cheerful "good morning." She smiled, touched that someone had heard she was back and had come to welcome her home.
It wasn't one of her grandmother's neighbors or friends.
"Oh, no," she said when she opened the door and saw Johnny on the porch.
"That's a nice way to greet a person bearing food."
Eyeing the paper grocery sack he held in the crook of one arm, she raised a brow.
"And coffee," he added.
Almost cooing in relief, she reached for the smaller bag in his other hand. He glanced at her cane. "I've got it."
Stepping back to let him in, she inhaled, catching a whiff of the coffee. It was almost good enough to make her forget she was still wearing the raggedy shorts and T-shirt she'd put on for bed. They went well with the mass of tangled hair she hadn't yet gotten around to brushing.
"Hmm, I take it you're not a morning person?" He didn't even try to hide his amusement.
Bleary-eyed, she couldn't even take offense as she slowly led him into the bright and sunny kitchen.
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