sandwiches cut up into the shape of a boat, or caramel corn they’d baked in the oven. He’d always let her help. He’d—
The burning came back. Emily sucked in a breath and willed it away. She wouldn’t think about before. About when things had been good and her dad had tossed her in the air and told her he loved her and her mom had laughed all the time. She wouldn’t think about that, or how one day she and her mom had gone away and her dad had never, ever found them.
She walked to the bed she’d made so carefully and picked up Elvis. The worn rhino fit into her arms the way he always had and that made her feel better.
“Mommy left us,” she murmured into the bare spot behind his ear—the place she always whispered her secrets. “She left last night after she tucked me in bed and I’m mad at her.”
Emily didn’t want to be mad at her mom, but mad was safe. She liked being mad right now because when she was mad she didn’t care so much.
“We have to stay the whole summer and be with some lady because my dad has to work. He’s the sheriff.”
She didn’t know what being the sheriff meant. He’d been a policeman before. She’d liked how he looked in his uniform—big and brave and she’d known he would always keep her safe. But then he’d let her go away and daddies weren’t supposed to do that. They were supposed to be with their little girls always.
She didn’t want to be here, Emily thought as she stared at the door to her room. She’d begged her mother to let her stay home. She’d promised to be good and clean her room and not watch too much TV, but it hadn’t mattered. Her mother had brought her here and had left her.
Emily’s stomach growled. She was hungry because she hadn’t eaten much dinner the night before.
Slowly, carefully, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The house was old, but nice. Big, with a second floor and lots of big trees. Her mom had told her that the ocean was real close and that her dad would take her to play on the beach. Emily had liked that but hadn’t said anything.
The stairs creaked as she walked downstairs. She could still hear her dad in the kitchen. She smelled bacon and maybe pancakes and her mouth began to water. Her grip on Elvis tightened until she was afraid she would pop him like a balloon. Finally she hovered at the entrance to the kitchen.
The room was big, with lots of windows. Her dad stood by the stove. He looked so tall and strong and just like she remembered him. For a second she almost ran over to be picked up and hugged. She wanted to feel his arms around her, holding her close. She wanted him to tell her that she was his best girl always.
Her throat got all tight and her stomach felt squishy instead of empty. And when he looked up and smiled at her, it was as if her feet had somehow glued themselves to the floor.
“Hey, kiddo, how’d you sleep?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
She waited for the hug, or a wink or something to tell her that he still thought she was his best girl. She leaned forward to hear him tell her that he loved her and he was glad they were together. That he’d missed her and looked for her every day but he hadn’t been able to find her.
But he didn’t. Instead he pulled out a chair at the table in the center of the room.
“Have a seat. I made pancakes. You always liked them, right? Oh, and bacon.”
Emily felt very cold on the inside, as if that dark, scary place inside of her had just frozen over. She didn’t want pancakes, she wanted her dad.
He waited until she was seated, then pushed in the chair. Emily put Elvis on the table next to her place setting and waited while he slid three pancakes onto her plate. Bacon was next. She looked from the food to the glass of orange juice just to her right.
Funny how she didn’t feel hungry at all. She didn’t feel anything.
“Here’s some strawberries,” he said, putting a bowl of the cut-up fruit on her left.
Emily squared her shoulders and carefully pushed the plate away. “No, thank you,” she said in a voice that was so small she wondered if she were starting to disappear.
“What? Aren’t you hungry?”
She wanted to grab Elvis and hold him close, but then her dad might guess she was scared and sad. Instead, she squeezed her hands together so tight that her nails dug into her skin.
“The color’s wrong,” she said, trying to speak a little louder. “I’m wearing purple.”
He looked at her T-shirt and shorts. “So?”
“If I’m wearing purple I can only eat purple.”
His mouth got straight and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t look happy anymore and she was afraid. But she didn’t give in. She couldn’t.
“Since when?” he asked. “How long have you been color-coordinating your food with your wardrobe?”
“A while now.”
“I see.”
It was barely after eight in the morning and Mac already felt tired. Damn it all to hell—he didn’t want to let Emily win this battle. It would set a precedent, forcing him into a corner.
“Wait there,” he told his daughter as he walked out of the kitchen and headed for the small den at the front of the house.
He’d set up an office in the narrow space, sliding a desk between built-in bookcases. Now he grabbed the phone and punched in Carly’s number. Couldn’t she have warned him what was going on with Emily? They’d had the whole evening. Was it too damn hard to say “Gee, Mac, the kid only eats the color she’s wearing.”?
Still caught up in his temper, he barely noticed when a man answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“What?” Mac started to say he’d dialed the wrong number when he realized that maybe he hadn’t. “Is Carly there?”
“Sure. I’ll get her.”
“It’s Mac,” he added, not sure why.
“Just a second.”
There was the sound of the phone being set down, then a low rumble of voices too quiet for him to hear the words. Obviously Carly was seeing someone and the man in question had spent the night. Mac turned the idea over in his brain, then shook his head. He didn’t care if she slept with the entire NFL as long as she didn’t do it in front of his daughter.
“Mac? What’s wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell me she won’t eat a color she’s not wearing?”
From a couple hundred miles away, he heard his ex-wife sigh. “Is she doing that? I’m so sorry. I’d hoped she’d let it go. We talked about it.”
“You and she talked about it. You didn’t say squat to me.”
“I should have.”
