Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Fourteen

Gold and rust-colored trees whiz past me in a blur. I open the driver's side window and let the valley air stir the hair around my face.

It's been a long day. A long week. An even longer six months. At one time, life had been comfortable; a predictable pattern of monotonous tasks that always made sense. Now, nothing does, and I'm not sure if it ever will again.

My chest tightens as I pull into the driveway and park behind Mom's shiny black Mercedes. It's not a maternal vehicle, by any means, with its two-seat cockpit and a top that retracts into an open space in the rear. It's fast and fearless, just like my mom. Since it's been just the two of us for so long, I can hardly expect her to drive around town in a minivan, all those empty seats going to waste. Besides, lugging around a bunch of soccer brats has never been her style.

I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Ten after five. She's home early today. Not by much, but enough to take notice. I grab my bags and sprint into the house, a robust waft of dinner hitting me square in the face.

Mom's in the kitchen, pulling a roast from the oven. "You're late," she says, barely looking in my direction.

My bags hit the floor with a thud. "Sorry, I stopped by Mey's. Why are you home so early?"

Mom sets the roasting pan on the stove top and sucks up the fat drippings with a baster, squirting the steamy juice over the top of the meat. "We're having company over," she says, tucking the pan back into the oven. She pulls off her mitts and tosses them on the counter. "It was your father's idea. He and Meredith will be here, and so will the Navarros."

I'm about to plop onto a stool but the news stops me in my tracks. "Emma's coming over?"

"In about half an hour."

"Shit." My eyes meet hers over the butter dish on the kitchen island and she gives me a look. "Sorry. It's just, if I'd known, I would have come straight home after practice."

"If I'd known you weren't, I would have told you." Her perfectly curved eyebrows lift as she studies me. "Are you alright? You seem off."

Can she tell I've been crying? I look away, my hands rushing to my messy bun. Wisps of hair have escaped the band and surround my head like a frizzy crown. "I'm just tired. We had a hard practice today."

"That's good. You've gotta stay on top of your game. Keep North Carolina interested."

I humor her with a nod. Mom's always been supportive of my soccer endeavors. During games, she's that boisterous spectator cheering so loud the people in the next county over can probably hear her. Though half the time, I question if she has a clue what she's screaming about. She's never been one to talk sports. That's Dad's job. I'm not even sure if she knows the difference between fullback and wingback.

I grab my bags and shove them into the nearest closet. "I'm gonna take a quick shower."

"Have fun," her voice calls after me as I bolt up the stairs. I roll my eyes and smile.