“How much you asking?” the mother asks Momma, who’s come over to see what they’re looking at with so much interest. Momma has a nose for money.
“A dollar,” she says before I can tell them it’s not for sale.
“Momma!” I holler at her. “It’s mine!”
But, to my horror, the mother’s reaching into the pocket on the front of her skirt.
I try to grab it back but the little girl has more strength in her hands than I bargained on. Plus Momma has a grip on my shoulder.
“It’s mine,” I tell the little traitor, who knew it wasn’t for sale and went over my head to the grown-ups. “Give it over.”
“Here y’are.” The woman hands the crumpled dollar bill over to Momma.
“Momma, please!” I cry. “Please let me keep it.”
“Hush up,” she says, moving over to a family who’s eyeing our mattresses.
I glare at the little girl, who’s clutching the book in the hand that isn’t holding back on to her mother.
“Momma.” I tug at her skirt. “Momma? Why cain’t I keep it?”
She whirls around and practically spits at me. “You can’t hold on to things too hard, girl. Just remember that. ’Sides, look around you! Everything’s gonna be gone sooner or later. We got nothing left. Nothing.”
“But…”
She’s already gone, though. Already counting up cash handed to her by some dirty man who’s trying to fit my mattress into the back of his truck, throwing string across to tie it down ’cause it’s a windy day.
“’Scuse me, ma’am,” another man is calling over from down in front of the table.
I follow his finger that’s pointing down to a piece of furniture, asking the price without words.
Momma stops in her tracks on the way over to him when she sees what he’s pointing at. My heart stops, waiting to hear what she’ll say about Richard’s old tattered chair.
Over behind the man is a woman with stringy hair and a big belly that promises a new baby not long from now. Momma looks at her then back at the man.
“How much, ma’am?” he asks her, since she’s not saying a word, just staring at the indent on the bottom cushion where her husband used to sit.
“Ma’am?”
“Five dollars,” I say, passing Momma, straight up to the man and his wife.
“Five?” he says, looking at Momma to make sure I’m not making it up. She’s stone still.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Five dollars. Not a penny less.”
He turns and whispers something to his wife, who fishes the money out of her pocketbook.
“Here y’are,” he says, handing me the money. “Hey, Walles! Come give me a hand with this, will ya?”
And sure enough, there’s Walles from Zebulon’s, striding over like a cowboy, catching my eye and winking without smiling. He picks up one side of the old drinking chair and its new owner gets the other and soon it’s carried out of our lives forever, the one last piece of Richard marking our life.
“You cain’t hold on to things too hard, Momma,” I say to her as she watches them lift it into the flatbed truck. I sneak my hand into hers, and for the first time since I can remember, she holds on. Just for a second she holds on to me.
* * *
It’s moving day again, but this time we don’t need to pack boxes. Phee-you.
Momma says the price we got for everything just barely covered repair work on the car that’s gonna take us away from here, away from number twenty-two, but I thought the car was fine the way it was. I s’pose Momma got tired of having to turn the key ten or twelve times ’fore it’d start up. Besides, it’s got to carry us all the way to Gammy’s and Momma says she doesn’t want to take any chances.
“I’m gonna do one last check and then we’ll hit the road,” Momma tells me. “If there’s anything you need to do ’fore we go, you best go on and do it.”
There is one thing.
The walk down the path to the blacktop is easy now that I know where every stick is, every rock, every dip in the ground. Same with walking up to Mr. Wilson’s. This time I take care to be nice to Brownie since it’s the last time I’ll be seeing a dog like her.
But she won’t have anything to do with me. She waits till I pass and then walks a distance behind me, just in case.
“Mr. Wilson?” I call up ahead.
I don’t know why I’ve always called up to him when he never answers back. He figures I’ll find him, anyway, without him hollering all over kingdom come. And he’s right.
“We’re leaving,” I say once I get up to his front porch.
“I figured as much,” he says, without looking up from his carving.
I look around and try to memorize yet another place I’ll never come back to.
“Well,” I say, switching my weight from one leg to the other, “I guess I better get going now.”
“Here,” he says, whittling one last notch into the wood. “Take this with you.”
He holds it in his hand, and until he unfolds all his fingers and passes it to me I have no earthly idea what it is. But once it’s in my hand, I know.
“Hey!” I smile, looking at it. “It’s you!”
“Yep.” He settles back into the broken-down chair. “It’s as good as I’m ever gonna git at carvin’.”
I don’t know what to say so my hug will have to do the talking. He looks surprised at first but then I feel his hand patting me on the back.
“You best get going while you got the sun to lead your way.”
“Bye, Mr. Wilson.”
“Bye, sissy-girl.”
He doesn’t know it but I’m smiling on my way back to the blacktop.
* * *
“You ready?” Momma asks me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, opening the car door.
She reaches out for the door handle and then stops suddenly, her hand in midair. “Why you riding in the back?” I see her look that says she’s wondering if I’m up to something.
“I want to be back by myself,” I tell her. “Momma, where’s my drawing pad I put out on the porch for the ride?”
“It’s up here.” And she hands it back over the headrest behind her once we’re in the car. “Here y’are.”
The car bumps along and Momma waits until the blacktop to fiddle with the dial, trying to find music…or something…to fill the air.
The town passes by us. Antone’s. Then Zebulon’s. I watch them all go by. Then I open the pad to a brand-new page.
I’m glad you can finally read and write, I scribble. I don’t rightly know how long we’ll be staying with Gammy and Aunt Lillibit, but Momma says it won’t be too long. After that we could go anywhere we want. Hey, Em—if you could go anywhere in the whole entire world, where would you go?
Acknowledgments
Many people helped breathe life into this book. I remain forever grateful to my friend Anne Pace, who painted such a colorful, hilarious picture of life in a small North Carolina town, I ended up setting this novel in her home state. She would never say so but I fear I tested her tolerance by weaving some of her memories into the fabric of life in a town called Toast. I am deeply indebted to Anne for her generosity and for her friendship.
Susan Swinwood is an invaluable editor, cheerleader and friend. Laura Dail shepherded this book through to its unexpected journey to the New York Times bestseller list, and I cannot imagine a better partner to have shared that joy with.
A bottomless well of thanks to Donna Hayes. She is my guardian angel.
To everyone at MIRA Books, I extend heartfelt thanks for taking a story I cooked up one sunny summer day and shaping it into a bestselling novel.
When readers ask me if any of this story is based on my life I tell them the truth
: no, it’s not. I’ve also been asked if the parents in my books are based on my own and I tell the truth: no, they’re not. Far from it. My own parents are loving, understanding and incredibly patient with a daughter who, for some strange reason, keeps writing about pain and suffering. I love my parents and am deeply grateful to them. For everything.
Questions for Discussion
In the opening quote from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass it reads, “It is by ourselves we go down to eternal light.” Why do you think author Elizabeth Flock chose this passage? How does it relate to Me & Emma?
Discuss the effects Daddy’s murder has on the various characters—Carrie, Emma, Momma, Gammy. Compare and contrast Carrie and Momma’s lives and personalities before and after Daddy’s murder.
As little children we tend to believe our parents are perfect and it is only as adults we begin to see their human flaws. How does that affect us? To Carrie, her Daddy was the perfect father. But in reality he was not the perfect husband. What do we learn about Daddy and the reason for his murder? How do you think this affects Carrie?
The author is careful not to reveal what year or decade the novel is set. When do you think this story is supposed to take place? On what clues did you base your decision?
Do you think Carrie is typical of girls her age? In what ways? How does she differ?
Momma, Miss Mary, Gammy and Miss Ueland are all products of a similar social and economic environment. What do you think about the roles of these women in this story? How has circumstance differentiated them? What does each of them represent to Carrie?
In chapter 8, during a violent scene with Carrie, Richard begins to cry. What is the catalyst for his breakdown? Do his emotions make him more human? Did you find yourself more sympathetic toward him?
Based on Mr. White’s memories of Momma, what is your impression of Momma as a teenager back in high school?
Did you predict the surprise ending involving Carrie and Emma? What clues did you find in the book after the fact that hinted at this twist?
Momma seems not to care about the abuse Carrie suffers, yet some might argue that she was as much a victim as her daughter. Are there ways in which Momma tries to protect Carrie from Richard?
Carrie is a very sympathetic character, yet there are times when her actions make her unlikable (when she kicks Brownie, for instance).What do you think this says about her?
What do you think about the way children are portrayed in the story? Consider Carrie and Emma, Orla Mae, Forsyth, George Godsey. Are these realistic characters?
Did you predict the ending, or was it a surprise? Looking back, what clues can you now see?
What do you think the future holds for Carrie and Momma? Do you see the ending as hopeful or bleak?
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ISBN: 9781459233164
Copyright © 2005 by Elizabeth Flock
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Me & Emma Page 27