Waiting for Sparks

She twitched slightly. “As w-well as...c-can be expected with—” she swallowed and closed her eyes, then reopened them “—s-somebody w-waking me up every fifteen m-minutes to see if I’m still alive.” If she hadn’t spoken, he might have done the same.

At breakfast, the guys had mentioned that folks were taking bets on whether Naomi would go to rehab if ordered. Had Emma been speeding to see her grandmother when she’d stopped to help him? His respect for her flourished. She’d taken the time to help him, a stranger, while needing to be with family.

“T-to be honest, young man, finances are tight, but you’ll be paid.”

A whoosh of relief left him. “My fireworks always draw a good crowd, so that’ll raise quite a lot of money for the town.”

Summer was on. He only needed one good pyrotechnic event to get back in the game.

As he heard Emma greeting some nurses in the hallway, Naomi wiggled closer, gesturing with a beckoning finger. Sparks hunched forward.

“You’ll be p-paid, but I want you to h-help Emma—coplan with her. But don’t b-breathe a word...until I say so.”

Sparks’s face flushed with heat and embarrassment; his mouth dried so fast he could feel its hinges creak. Help plan the Jamboree?

There were two immediate problems with that edict. First, he didn’t know a thing about planning a Jamboree. Fireworks, yes. But that was it. Second, if he worked closely with the townsfolk and they really got to know him, they would eventually find out he was the type to let them down.

He frowned. Hadn’t the guys at the Dew Drop said Emma was leaving?

* * *

EMMA SWUNG OPEN the door, her back teeth grinding in the old familiar way, ready to tell her grandmother that the nurses said someone would be right in to take the silly tray, when Sparks leaped up and barreled out of the room. She watched him go.

What had caused his face to blush so deeply?

Even though there were more pressing issues, such as Nomi’s rehab and Emma’s own escape, she showed her grandmother the Organic District cinnamon-bomb bread from the tote bag she’d left by the bed. “I forgot. I brought this for you.” Then she looked at the empty chair. “What did you say to him?”

Nomi’s eyes gleamed. “We...were talking about the Jamboree...telling h-h-him...fun.”

This wasn’t the way to stay on track with her goal. This was her grandmother trying to control the situation just like always. “Not for me.”

Emma summoned her courage. Here goes. She took in a big breath. Think new green suitcases, think British Airways.

“Emma...” Nomi’s lips, lopsided now, twisted as she spoke. “You...liked it. Miss F-f-fire...crac...ker...you r-remember?”

Emma did remember and was glad Sparks wasn’t around to hear the tale. What had made him tear off like that?

What had she just been thinking about? Oh, yeah, the Miss Firecracker pageant. Indeed, she did remember. Short the required number of contestants for the kiddie pageant, Naomi had coerced Emma and her best friend Zoo to participate.

As they did every year, a group of townspeople protested this exploitation of women. Required to wear a red, white or blue T-shirt and blue shorts, each five-to seven-year-old contestant sang a patriotic song or twirled a baton to the same sort of tune. No bathing suits, no interviews about world peace.

Emma and Zoo, unfortunately, did not sing on key and were not particularly coordinated. Zoo agonized through “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” and Emma gave herself a black eye from her baton. Neither of them won, and Emma had thrown the baton in the lake. She now changed the subject. “Think how fast you will progress with twice-a-day therapy.”

A vehement shake of Naomi’s head.

“Nomi—”

Naomi stretched her lips with effort. “Me...” She stopped and drew in a deep breath. “P-planning would be a little much...”

A little? Denial is a warm bedfellow on a cold night of reality.

Naomi nodded. “Someone else...plan it.”

Emma’s spirits soared. Here was a breakthrough. If Nomi was going to be reasonable about this, why not the rehab?

“Someone will turn up,” Emma enthused. A girl had to move on. Right on to England, Lady Emma. “The Jamboree has always been and always will be around, so there’s no need to worry. Now, let’s get you ready for transport to the facility, Nomi. I’ll have the nurse bring the transfer forms.”

Her grandmother rose up on her good elbow like Napoleon on his deathbed. “Emma,” her imperial tone commanded. With eyes boring into Emma’s, the left one slightly unfocused, she said, “You must p-plan the J-jamboree.”

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_00f52ba5-8552-5099-b6b2-d8da0f361d36)

SHE KNEW SHE sounded juvenile, but it wasn’t fair. Dashing away the wetness on her cheeks, Emma half ran, half walked out of the hospital.

Every time she reached for something, her grandmother would snatch it out of her hand: sleepovers rejected for civic service, particular friends deemed unsuitable. The list ran on and on.

Emma crossed the parking lot, the asphalt so heated it felt squishy under her sneakered feet. A tall woman dodged out of Emma’s way and then grabbed her by the arms.

“Zoo!” Emma exclaimed.

“Hey, Emms.” Zoo hugged her. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with the bulls at Jem Silver’s ranch. Sorry I didn’t text as soon as I heard you were in town. I’ve been swamped.”

Zoo would be a voice of reason in this mess. They’d been friends forever, as different as two people could be. Zoo, thin, with black hair and pale blue eyes, attracted boys like flies on manure, as Emma was fond of saying. Zoo spoke her mind and got away with it. Zoo had sweated away on ranches and farms since she was old enough to ride her bike from town.

This work ethic of Zoo’s had earned her Nomi’s seal of approval. Zoo was everything her grandmother wanted, and Emma never heard the end of it. Fortunately, Zoo was also fun and kind.

Emma steered her friend toward the Omni. “Do you know what she did to me this time?”

Zoo grinned. “Haven’t heard that in a while. What’s the tyrant up to now?” She had, on more than one occasion, stood up to Naomi, inspiring awe in Emma.

Emma rationalized that it was easier to butt heads with Naomi when you weren’t related. Chet did it all the time, and he lived. Then again, it could be Zoo and Chet were vertebrates, unlike herself.

“She told—no, ordered—me to plan the Jamboree. Never mentioned my trip to Europe once.” New situation, old anger, she acknowledged, but it seemed fresh each time it happened.

A flood of words gushed forth as Emma unlocked the door to her car. Heat poured out. “My only family member, and she pulls rank like when she got me a teaching job at the high school without asking me—and I went along with it. Like when Nomi overrode Grumpa on...on just about everything.” She moved around the outside of the car, opening doors and windows. “Darn it, I hate feeling like I have no backbone.”

“Lighten up, Emma. Tell your grandmother you won’t do it. But don’t hate her for asking—um, assuming.”

Emma hid a grudging smile. “How can I love someone so much and still want to put massive distance between us?”

“You don’t want Nomi out of your life, just out of the way of your life.”

“You ruined a perfectly good temper tantrum, you know?”

Her friend smiled. “My day, I guess.” She laughed as she said, “Just told Jem Silver his sperm count’s too low to breed. That ruined his day, too.” She laughed some more at Emma’s open mouth. “For his bull to breed.”

Emma imagined the scene with the handsome rancher and a giggle slipped out. She slid into the sizzling seat. “Yow. Hot. Okay. I’ll go back to town, drum up a replacement—before I hit Nomi with my decision.” She turned the key and squinted up at her friend, standing next to the car. “Thanks, Zoo.”

“Any time, you reactionary, you. Hey, what’s this I hear about the summer stud tackling you in front of the entire student body? That where your face got messed up?”