I didn’t sit up, but I turned my head and opened my eyes. “Hey, Emma.”
She ventured further into the office, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I’m sorry. Were you sleeping?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. I just got here.”
“Oh. Want me to go away and come back later?”
“No.” I smiled slightly. “Come sit down.”
Emma hesitated, and I exhaled. “I’m not going to bite you, Em. I’m too tired to be a threat this morning. Come on, sit.”
She came closer, but instead of sitting on the chair as I’d expected, she perched on the coffee table, her knees inches from my face.
“Deacon, I’m so sorry about Miss Sissie. I know how close you were to her.”
I shut my eyes again against the pain that was somehow sharper at hearing Emma’s sympathy. “Yeah, we were. Outside Gram and Pop, she was one of the steadiest constants in my life, since I was a kid. Some of my earliest memories involve her.” I clenched my jaw and swallowed. “The day my mom died . . . I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember Miss Sissie came to the farm. I was out on the porch . . . there were too many people there, all the neighbors and people from church descending on us . . . and my dad, he’d just taken off. He came to say goodbye, and then he was gone again, not that it mattered to me.” Even at that age, I’d already been numb to my father’s lackings. “Miss Sissie came out to sit with me. For a long time, she didn’t say a word—she just sat on the swing with me, both of us staring out into the yard. Then she started to speak, and you know, I thought she was going to talk about God and all that churchy stuff, because in my mind, that was what I associated her with. But she didn’t. She told me about her sweetheart. He had died in the Korean War. Miss Sissie said to me, ‘I don’t know what it’s like to lose your mama when you’re only five, but I know what it’s like when you’re so sad that you can’t even let it out. When you’re afraid if you start crying, you might never be able to stop.’” I lifted my hand to cover my eyes. “That was exactly how I felt. And she knew it. After that, I felt like we were special friends. I mean, Miss Sissie was good to all the kids in town, but for me . . . I like to think she had a soft spot.”
When I let myself glance at Emma again, silent tears were streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sure she did. She really . . .” She swiped at her face. “When you were away, she used to talk about you and tell me not to worry, you’d be back. She was one of the first people to come to the cabin, outside of everyone who helped me build it.”
“She was the first person I saw when I did come back.” I chuckled, remembering her gentle scolding as well as her words of wisdom. “Actually, if I hadn’t seen her first, I might have chickened out and gone away again. I was on the verge of driving back to the airport when she told me to get my fanny out of the car.”
Emma giggled through her tears. “That sounds like her.” She was silent for a few moments, but her eyes never left me. “Deacon, I don’t want to bring up an unpleasant subject, but I have to ask . . . this loss, Miss Sissie dying, it’s not going to make you want to leave again, is it? Do I need to check and see if you’ve already called your friend at No Hungry Child?” Her tone was gentle and teasing, but I detected real worry underneath.
“No, Emma. No calls, no plans to leave . . . and while I like to think I’ve grown since I ran away to Slovenia a couple of years ago, I think I have to give Miss Sissie some credit, too. She told me, not long after I came back to Florida, that I was an adult and that I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t run away every time I faced an . . .” I tried to remember the words she’d