Chapter 1
Kentucky
A loud and insistent ringing filled the night, causing Emma to jolt out of her sleep.
Gosh, it was loud. Why didn’t Mom turn down her ringer at night? She lay still, her heart pounding erratically against her ribcage as she watched her mom’s shadow flicker rapidly across the doorway, illuminated by a patch of light from the hallway.
“Hello,” her mom whispered as she hurried down the hall to go downstairs.
Emma grabbed her glasses off her cluttered nightstand, got out of bed, and put on her robe. Cautiously, she tiptoed towards her door. Her mind raced as she carefully nudged a giant stuffed animal out of the way with her foot and went slowly down the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps and feeling a dull ache in her stomach. The last time someone called in the middle of the night, they wanted her mom to come in and work an overnight shift. She couldn’t leave the girls and had told them no.
Oh, no! Would Mom lose her job again?
She crept closer, pressing herself against the wall and listening intently as her mom whispered into the phone.
“... no, I haven’t told them.”
Emma listened in, wondering who her mom hadn’t told what. Her stomach churned at the thought of Granky finding out and making everything ten times worse.
“It’s been what? Nine, ten years since Wes last showed up. Mia doesn’t even know him,” her mom said. “Throwing that at them won’t be so simple, Raven.”
A chill raced down Emma’s back, and she tightened the belt on her robe. Something wasn’t right. Was her dad coming for a visit?
Her mom was silent for a moment, listening to the other person before she spoke. “How would you have me tell them?” her mom asked, then after listening for the reply, “Oh? You want me to say, ‘Hi kids, your dad, who’s been absent for most of your life, is dead’?”
Emma’s eyes widened, and her legs felt wobbly. No, she told herself. She was sleepy and could have misheard. Dead? What happened? Was he sick—or murdered?
She crept back upstairs, content to pretend she had heard nothing, and quietly returned to bed so she wouldn’t wake her sisters. She wasn’t ready to share bad news and didn’t want to think about what it might mean. Mia, her younger sister, was snoring from the top bunk. Charlotte shifted on a twin bed on the other side of the room and pulled the blankets under her chin. Did her older sister hear anything? If so, she’d find out when Charlotte would pester her for every detail in the morning.
Emma went over everything she’d heard in her head. Had it really been ten years? What had her dad been doing all those years? Her stomach hurt, and she curled up into a ball and tried to go back to sleep. Her thoughts kept spinning, and she wanted to cry. Finally, she sank into a restless sleep.
∞
The teacher rapped on the whiteboard. “Emma! Are you paying attention?”
She nodded and sat up straight while her classmates tittered. The teacher wasn’t very interesting, and her thoughts kept drifting.
Emma watched Sophia in French class; her tiny mouth pursed like an afterthought. She spoke loud enough to fill the room but with a tinge of hesitancy, as if she feared her words might ricochet like bullets. Her head was always bowed low, eyes darting around the room like she expected someone or something to attack her. Emma wondered how it felt to live inside her head, so scared of the world. Perhaps Sophia had been bullied before, as Emma had experienced at her old school. The school counselor had helped Emma learn to see things from different perspectives, and now she was making steps toward connecting with others.
Emma was still quiet but would rather live her sister’s life with different friends. Charlotte’s friends were loud, selfish narcissists, saving for the latest micro-trend and wearing the cutest clothes. At least Charlotte had friends to reference in conversations to prove she wasn’t as lonely as some people thought Emma was.
Charlotte preens in the mirror and has excellent posture. She dressed like the teens she studied on TV and social media, but their family didn’t have enough money for her to shop for new things. Mom takes her to the Goodwill sometimes, and she will find bits and pieces of clothing and make it into something stylish.
Emma had noticed the way Charlotte observed other girls in their class. She looked at them as if taking notes, but Emma recognized her sisters’ sad expressions.
To raise Emma’s confidence and boost her self-esteem, school counselor Miss Crystal gave Emma tasks to help her make more friends. She had already taken tiny steps, such as sitting with other students instead of reading alone in the cafeteria and making small talk.
She wanted to be like the popular kids and post VidTok videos like Charlotte did, but that was not her only goal. The plan was for Sophia to become her friend before the week was through. Even though Emma didn’t think she would ever be popular like Charlotte, she hoped to succeed in making Sophia her friend. Despite Miss Crystal telling Emma it was okay to be herself, she felt so small inside, tormented by worries about her future.
Emma glanced up from the test her teacher had just placed on her desk, trying to look at her expression for clues—another ‘A-,’ of course. With a silent sigh, Emma rolled her eyes at the grammatical error she had made on page two of the French test.
Being nearsighted, Emma always sat at the front of the class and usually ate lunch alone with a book. Her clothes were secondhand, and her shoes scuffed, but she still gave her all academically.
She saw school as her only way out of Louisville; it didn’t matter if some kids made fun of her—her intelligence was the only helpful thing her parents ever gave her.
Overhearing her mom whispering about her dad on the phone the evening before had jarred her. The emotional shock of overhearing her mom’s hushed tones sent shivers through Emma’s body. It had been years since she’d seen her dad, but memories of him still lingered in her heart like an illustrious dream. She could feel his strong, comforting embrace when he pulled her close for goodnight kisses and remembered the euphoric sparkle in his deep blue eyes as he playfully reached behind her ear to surprise her with a shiny coin.
Whenever she recalled these moments, she relived them all over again, feeling his gentle hands on her cheeks and hearing his laughter as if no one else was around. Those nights were precious, forever tucked away in her memory.
Chapter 2
Kentucky
“Kids, dinner’s ready—” their mom, Florence, said in a singsong voice before arranging the dishes. She set down servings of fries, meatloaf, and tomato slices, with banana pudding as dessert.
Charlotte pulled out her phone to take photos of her meal before immediately posting them on her Instagram account with the hashtags: #WithFamily, #oneLove, #KentuckySpirit.
Florence scoffed and turned away. Ten-year-old Mia rolled her baby-blue eyes in irritation and grabbed the pudding to eat first. Mia seemed cheery and loving, but sometimes her eyes sparkled, and her chin jutted, and she was obviously up to something mischievous. Mia’s joy and love came out at strange moments; at these times, she seemed wise beyond her years.
“What?” Charlotte asked, tossing back her chestnut curls behind her shoulders.
Everyone ignored Charlotte and started eating.
Halfway through the meal, Emma noticed something different about how her mom carried herself. With her shoulders slumped, she appeared haggard. Her mom was typically solid, grounded, and cheerful, even if she hadn’t slept enough.
Emma remembered the conversation she had overheard the evening before. She paused, considering if she wanted to ruin dinner with bad news, and then figured she might as well get it over with.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” she asked.
Charlotte looked up, interested in the conversation—something she rarely did.
“Nothing—nothing is wrong, sweetie,” Florence said.
The smile on her face had fake written all over it.
“Mom. You’ve been quiet all evening. What is it?” Charlotte insisted, gathering her long curly hair into a ponytail.
Florence turned away from them, wiped her eyes, and turned back. “Girls, your father is dead.”
Emma felt the weight drop out from under her as she began to feel nauseous. Charlotte’s face lost all expression.
Mia shrugged. “I have a father?”
“Ugh,” Charlotte groaned, turning away. She typed furiously on her phone with two thumbs. She wouldn’t deprive her ‘witches’ of this hot and unique new development, now would she?
“Of course, you have a father.” Florence grabbed Mia’s hand.
“So, why haven’t I ever met him?” Mia asked.
“Well—sweetie, he was a busy man and traveled all over doing magic shows. He was disappointed he never met you, and I’m sure he took his regret to his grave.”
A busy man? Are you kidding? Emma’s dinner blurred before her, and the room felt smaller. She pushed her chair away from the table, and the legs screeched against the floor.
“He travels all over but never where his family lives. Funny,” Emma said, her voice sullen. She popped a fry in her mouth. It was tasteless, and she had a hard time swallowing. The breakfast she’d already eaten was a big lump in her stomach.
“Your father—he was a good man. He loved you girls more than you will ever know—”
“Stop making excuses for him, Mom.” Emma’s hands started to shake. “If he loved us, he would come and visit. I mean, it’s been ten years—a decade!”
Emma stood and started for her room, but she wasn’t finished. “Mia has never met him. Imagine how she feels when her friends ask about him. What do you think she says?”
Her mom paled, and Charlotte glanced up from her phone with her mouth open.
“I’ll bet they are mean to her just like people are mean to me!” Emma stormed into her room and felt the crushing silence. She rarely got angry, but it felt like her head might explode. Emma was the always-good daughter you could count on to go with the flow. She barely even disagreed with her mom, but today was different.
Her mom couldn’t drop something like that on them and not expect a reaction, especially when it seemed like she defended him.
“Your father was a good man,” her mom had said.
Really? Good men don’t abandon their children. He hasn’t even met Mia!
Emma let out a long, frustrated sigh. So much for her plan of pretending she didn’t overhear the phone call the night before. If she had kept listening, what else would she have heard? Did her dad ask about them with his last dying breath? Did he say he loved them? Probably not, but now that she’d hurt her mom’s feelings, she’d probably never know.
Chapter 3
New York
Muriel hurried to the breakfast table with two plates of half-burned toast in her hands. “Come on, Daniel! We’re gonna be late.”
“It’s just toast, Mom,” Oliver said.
Muriel wiped some crumbs off her suit, pursed her lips, and gave him a dry stare.
Daniel strolled into the room. His disheveled hair had a mind of its own, so Muriel licked her thumb and forefinger and flicked them at his head to tame it. He squirmed away and shouted, “Stop!” while Harrison watched with amusement.
Oliver’s older brother Daniel was fifteen, looked like a famous actor, and practiced multiple sports. His oldest brother Harrison was the brainiac of the family.
Oliver turned to his mom and caught her, giving Harrison an adoring look. Oliver was used to getting less attention than his older brothers, so it didn’t bother him. He looked out the high-rise windows at the early morning fog halfway up the skyscrapers in the city view. He dug in his pocket for earbuds and put them in.
“Yum, you really outdid yourself at breakfast,” Daniel declared as he took a bite.
Muriel smirked. “Next time, you can get your own food.”
Oliver resembled his brothers yet had zero interest in sports and did the minimum required in school. He sat at the table, not noticing the food placed before him, toes tapping as he listened to his music with his eyes closed. Songs his mom never failed to call ‘trash.’
He let the lyrics flood him like an early summer breeze. The songs were always upbeat and fast, but they soothed him. He wondered if the singers felt like him inside and if they applied the same concentration, creating the music that he used listening to their songs.
“Guys, I have something to tell you,” Muriel said with her eyes darting nervously. She was oddly not looking at the news on her iPad.
“What is it?” Daniel asked while chewing.
“Oliver, can you turn off the music for a second?”
Oliver thought about ignoring her, but her face looked pale and drawn. Something was wrong. He reached for his phone and turned the volume down—but not off.
“I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up—but your father… has… passed away. And his funeral is in two days.” Muriel stared at them; her teeth clenched as though expecting an explosive reaction.
“Okay, cool,” Daniel said, shrugging his shoulders. That was as much a reaction as she would get from him.
“Daniel!” she said. “That’s less emotion than I would get telling you I didn’t like your haircut.”
“What do you want me to do, cry?” Daniel took another slice of toast and spread butter on it. “I don’t care, okay?”
Muriel frowned. “At least be respectful. After all, he was your father.”
Harrison appeared more sullen than usual, and Oliver noticed the water in his eyes. Muriel hugged him across his shoulders.
“Oh, please,” Daniel continued. “Don’t get me started on why I don’t give two flips.”
“Daniel!” Muriel said, somewhere between disappointment and anger. “Can you at least consider your brother’s feelings?”
Daniel sighed and studied Harrison and Oliver. “Sorry. But honestly, I’d only attend this funeral because I want to try out the suit you got me a year ago.”
“What?” Muriel said with shock. The volume in the room rose as she and Daniel were at it, exchanging words.
Despite his music, Oliver heard most of the outburst and nearly laughed at the ruckus. He pushed his earbuds deeper into his ears and turned up his music, uninterested in their skirmish. He turned back to the view out the window. Muriel turned to him with a stern expression. He offered a smile and let her think about whatever she wanted.
Muriel yanked out his earbuds and couldn’t contain her anger anymore. “What is wrong with you?”
“Ow!” Oliver grabbed his ears and did his best to look like a victim. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t notice the tension at the table?”
“I just thought it was one of your regular attempts at bettering our lives,” Oliver lifted his hands and made invisible quote marks in the air. “In other words, nagging.”
“Nagging—what? Oliver, your father is dead!”
“He was alive all these years?” Oliver wanted to continue his sarcastic tirade, but the expression on his mother’s face stopped him. It wasn’t her fault his father didn’t visit. Or was it? She wasn’t the most nurturing person, preferring to scour the financial markets.
“His funeral is in two days!” Muriel hurried to the sink and dumped the dishes in the dishwasher. “We’ll have to clear our calendars quickly and go to Nebraska.”
“Nebraska? Gross,” Daniel said.
“Well—he told us ‘bye’ long ago, but now it’s our turn, right?” Oliver scoffed, then returned the earbuds. It might sound harsh, but his dad probably deserved whatever treatment he got. And his mom, too.
“Hush!” Harrison gave him a menacing look before turning to his mother. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Muriel visibly melted and hugged Harrison. “Sure, I’ll be fine.”
She turned from Harrison and put the food in the refrigerator. She darted to the counter and slammed a sandwich into a bag for Harrison to return to school. “This is all your fault, Wes. All your fault,” she muttered.
Chapter 4
Kentucky
Emma’s gaze briefly met her mom’s as Granny Alma read aloud the note a friend had written to Charlotte, and Emma saw her mother pale and draw inwards. She felt hot with anger—why didn’t her mother defend Charlotte from Granky’s tirade?
At times, she felt sadness towards her mom for enduring such relentless criticism from her grandmother. Florence tried to protect her daughters from facing the same experience and often played peacemaker. However, Emma still noticed how small and vulnerable Florence became when exposed to the brunt of Granny Alma’s wrath.
Emma watched her mother step in front of Granny’s tirade with a gentle smile, her eyes twinkling in the soft light. Her tiny frame belied her enormous strength of will, never allowing her own pain or fears to get in the way of caring for her children. When their father absent-mindedly skipped out on their lives, the doting housewife stepped into the role of breadwinner without hesitation, determined to make sure their family could survive off her meager earnings.
Granny Alma continued to pick apart every little detail of their daily lives, from how they dressed and what they ate for breakfast to the state of the car’s tires and news broadcasts that only inflamed her anger further. After Charlotte cried over having her diary discovered by her nosy grandmother, she threw it away at the supermarket to keep it forever hidden from prying eyes. But despite Granny’s determination to control those around her, Mom remained unbending in the face of her criticism—an unwavering example that taught Emma more than any words ever could.
When Emma wished fondly for other kids’ cool stuff, her mom would often kneel to meet her eye-level and explain that they couldn’t afford it. Though the situation frustrated her, and she was tempted to blame her absent father for their financial state, Emma kept quiet. She worried that if her mother’s means couldn’t provide for them, they would be sent to a foster home with a stranger who only wanted them for their money. As much as Granny Alma grumbled and criticized them, Mom defended them from her biting remarks and walked them to school, helping with schoolwork and caring for them when ill. Despite scolding and nagging, Emma knew that Mom was doing everything she could and Emma made a secret pact with her siblings to get jobs when they were old enough to help support her. Ultimately, Emma never thought of hating her mom—only feeling grateful for all she did.
Sometimes she got mad at her mom for allowing such treatment, and at other times Emma pitied her. Late one night, she heard soft sobs from her mom’s bedroom, making her heart ache.
After one particularly vicious tirade during dinner, Emma got up from the table, and dumped her plate in the sink, breaking it. The argument continued as Emma fled to their bedroom.
Florence walked into their bedroom, cowering like a guilty dog. So downcast. Emma turned away from her with the pretense she was still angry, but sadness had subdued her fury. She felt terrible about how she reacted and was sorry but refused to show it.
Florence went to a bookshelf and grabbed a book. She started reading from it with a soft voice. “Come to me in the summer when our laughter is like daisies in the grass. Come to me in the winter when you feel as if ice freezes your heart and blood. For I am your shelter, your guardian, your forever home... always with an open door, the key waiting in your pocket, and—”
“—a love that is always yours,” Emma finished the last words. Her mom was reading from one of her favorite authors, and Emma couldn’t resist.
“Still angry?” she asked, her head on a tilt and her expression neutral while she returned the book to its resting spot.
“I wish I could stay angry for that long.” Emma gulped, sat up, and grabbed a pillow.
“You know—” Florence sat on the bed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have taken up for your father. Your feelings are valid.”
“It’s okay—” Emma tried to interrupt, but her throat tightened, and she pushed her glasses up.
Her mom placed her hand on Emma’s shoulders, gave it a soft squeeze, and continued. “Honey, your father made mistakes. We all do. I love how you showed your emotions earlier. I understand, and it’s okay.”
Emma felt the tension ease from her shoulders. It was just like her mom to know what she needed in these moments of turmoil. Her mom always made her feel safe and loved, even when money was tight and the tension in her mom’s face was heavy. She put it all aside for her children. She’d pay her mom back someday, so she’d never have to work again.
Florence gave a long, tortured sigh. It seemed like all her energy had left her body.
“Your father should have been there for you guys. I know you are fond of him, and you miss him, but what is done is done, and trust me, even if it takes some time, you will move on.”
Emma had never been this sad before. And angry. Sad because she had lost her dad and outraged because she didn’t get to say goodbye.
“I loved him so much, and even though we didn’t get to spend much time together, those times were the best moments of my life.” The whites of Florence’s eyes were tinged with red.
