Essence of Emma

By Rachel Anne Jones

Meet Katie Sapphire Albright, dedicated high school basketball star, destined for the WNBA, or is she?. With killer moves on the court, she leaves ‘em shakin’ and quakin’ beneath the basket while mad mojo flows through her blogs, her personal comfort zone where she channels her inner Emma Stone Fangirl persona and blogs with confidence on the world-wide web.

Real life courtside is a struggle when her dad makes a fast break and starts a new life with SnackCake Debbie, the office girl. Katie plays defense, and she and her mom hit the road for a new beginning.
Katie enters a whole new world when she meets up with her Instabestie, JuneBug in person, gets a job at the Cupcake Shoppe and embraces her feminine side; complete with princess dresses, tiaras, and shopping sprees.

When Katie meets her scrumptious Mudpie Mojo, aka Oliver, aka first serious real-life crush, sparks fly. They share an electric attraction intensified by stolen kisses, heated collisions, special moments, and unforgettable public poetry reading. Katie’s falling hard and fast, and it’s scary. She turns to her security blanket, the Internet, where she finds a more distant and safe love interest online.

Will Katie the overly imaginative dreamer step into the real world for handsome Oliver and face possible heartbreak, or will she hide out in La La Land with Emma Stone? Some habits are hard to break.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melange Books, LLC
• Release date: Sep 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886530483

Rachel Anne Jones

I’m a thankful wife of a wonderful and loving husband, and a blessed mom of three amazing children. I'm also a grateful nurse who has the privilege to work with some pretty great people every day.I live in the Flint Hills of Kansas. I enjoy reading and writing in my spare time. I love meandering through bookstores and libraries. I love traveling, especially to the ocean. I love meeting new people and experiencing new places. I love baking in a quiet kitchen.I enjoy watching romantic comedies and I’m a huge fan of “The Office.”I believe a good book is a great opportunity to welcome a new perspective.

Book preview

BLOG DAY 202

Whaddup on a perfect Tuesday afternoon? As I kick back, all comfy in my Adirondack chair in the yard, watching hotties in the waves through my granny’s binocs that she left on her last trip to see her fave granddaughter, I’m reminded me of the sweet, sweet, smell of victory—as scrumptious as a whiff of my neighbor’s bacon cookin’ on his George Foreman grill—curbside on his porch.

Knock me sideways, Georgie, as you cook up one more heart attack on a plate for old Joey of the Sea. Can I get a wink and a smile, Bermuda shorts Joey, as you pack up bacon-on-a-biscuit to head for another day of glorious retirement with your pontoon, Tom Clancy, and a stray fishing pole? Oh, to be 70 and still kicking.

As for this girl, I’m suiting up tonight for The Championship Game! It’s gonna be a banner year. Come on down to the Civic Auditorium tonight, grab yo’self some popcorn and a Coke, and settle in for a killer game (7:30 PM). Go Dawgs!!

I upload a B&W pic of my neighbor’s serving hand beside his food, killer grill, and a palm tree or two in the background to go with my blog. It’s Fire!

ONE LAST KISS

I barely post my daily blog and get an instant reply from my Instabestie—JuneBugKicksA$$. Dang, girl, you flyin’ high today! So the big game’s tonight? That’s so Excite! Wish I could be there, but there’s like a huge costly plane ticket sittin’ between us! Go get ‘em, Dawgs! P.S. You sure you’re white?

I Snap a selfie, make all bug eyes, stick out my tongue, and check my background for a palm tree. Yo, yo, June-y. The other teams goin’ down! We’ve got this one in the bag. P.S. Caucasian is a state of mind.. I hit Send before I step in the front door of my home, a cottage just two miles from the Florida beach, which I rarely visit, as I’ve got bigger fish to fry, which basically means playing as much basketball as I possibly can every minute of every day for the past twelve years of my life.

Mom! I’m headed to work! No answer. I tear up the stairs, grab my team bag, and pause for a few seconds at my mom’s bedroom door. She’s in her yoga stance, practically staring a hole through the T.V. screen, as meditative music floats around the room on surround sound. I sigh as I scan my mom’s bedside table and spy a plethora of new self-improvement books lying in the space where my dad used to sleep. I want to scream at her, I love you just the way you are, and right now dad’s a total tool! But instead, I clear my throat. Mom. I’m headed to work. See you at the game at 7:30?

She glances my way and pastes on a creepy June Cleaver smile.

Of course, honey wouldn’t miss it. There’s an awkward pause. Will your dad be there?

I’m sure he will be. I gotta get to work. I race downstairs and feel displaced as I have been for the past three months since dad moved out. I shake my head to clear it; not wanting to think any more about that.

I walk into work ten minutes early and go looking for my dad in the main office of the biggest car lot in South Florida, complete with tacky commercials with gators and pelicans and a cheesy tagline: From the beak to the tail, you’ll get a whale of a Sale! or Take it from this odd duck, I’ll get you in an awesome truck! The office is empty; maybe he’s out in the lot. I head for the back door. I hesitate when I hear noise coming from the supply closet. That’s weird. I turn the knob, even though my gut instinct screams No.

Let me just say the only thing more awkward than catching my parents getting it on is catching my dad getting it on with another woman. I close my eyes for half a second and wish my life were like Emma Stone’s character in Easy A, who bragged of imaginary sexual escapades. This reality sucks. Big time.

As I step into an alternate universe, my inner baller girl pops out and rescues me from falling to pieces. My emotions get the better of me as I stare at Debbie, the platinum blonde receptionist and well-endowed homewrecker who wears man-eater hotpants on the daily, which I snatch, along with her slinky shirt and push-up bra. I would take her panties, but they’re attached to her ankles. There’s too much skin. Too much everything. I slam the door. Really?! I yell at them from the other side.

Are you going to tell your mother? Dad’s pathetic voice comes through the door.

I crack the door just enough to look him in the eye. I’m dying inside. Grow a pair and tell her yourself. You’re such a coward.

What are you doing with my clothes? Hotpants has the nerve to speak.

There’s no way I’m looking at her again; so instead I summon the I-don’t-give-a-crap-because-I’m-too-cool-for-everyone attitude and sass of Emma in Easy A and tug the door shut in my dad’s face. I’m throwing them in the trash, where you belong. My words sound more like a snarl, but my claws are out, and they’re not done.

I spy an industrial-sized shredder, and I’m pissed. I flip the switch and feed it the stripper clothes; but even shredders have more class than my father, a fact I soon discover as the shredder tries to spit it out, sputtering and smoking. My palm stings as I beat on the red panic button.

Dad steps out of the closet in his polo shirt and boxers. He stares at me in wide-eyed wonder. You broke my shredder!

My eyes fly to the floor. You broke my heart.

His hands go to his sides, and he squeezes the fabric of his shirt. Aw, baby, don’t…

Rage on behalf of my mother waiting for him to move back home shoots out of me. I can’t believe you’d do this to mom! You’re such an ass!

His hands reach for me. Honey, calm down. Let’s talk about this.

Don’t call me that! I’m not your little girl. Not anymore. I quit. Awkward silence fills the room for a few seconds.

I’ve got a game to go to, I mutter before turning to go.

Hotpants homewrecker peeks her head around the closet door, and I give her the Emma Stone stink-eye I love so much as I point one long index finger at her. "You’d better not come to my game, whore. Yeah, I just sunk that shot from behind the arc with one eye open. Nothing but net, baby. I walk away and add a little swish, swish in my hips. That one’s for you, mom." I whisper as I walk into the parking lot.

HEARTBREAK

Now that my performance has no audience, my guarded emotions flood me in the parking lot, and self-doubt creeps in. I don’t know what to do, or where to go, so I head for The Arcade at the mall, a place where my teammates hang out. The machine on the wall sucks up the ten in my wallet and spits out a bunch of quarters. I head for the only game I play, HOOPS. The balls leave my hands, hitting basket after basket mindlessly as I try to erase the memory of my dad getting it on in the closet with the homewrecker, but it’s not working. Someone is beside me, but I give them no notice until they shoot a basket at the same time I do, and our balls jam up the net.

Hey, Katie.

I’m surprised to recognize her voice. Oh, hey Nadia. I didn’t see you there.

It’s weird looking another girl in the eye. I’m kind of tall for a girl at 6 feet.

Vhat’s wrong? Vant to talk about it? Let’s grab some grub. Her soft voice gets to me. I must look pretty wrecked. We go through concessions and head for the back corner booth to settle in. Is it the big game tonight that’s got you all tensed up?

Nah. I think we’ve pretty much got that one in the bag. It’s, um. Well, my parents have been on the outs for a while now, and then three months ago my dad moved out.

She takes my hand in hers. That sucks, girl. I’m really sorry.

I look off to the side and blink back my tears. I hate crying, especially in front of a teammates Yeah, thanks. So, anyway, um, today I went to work, because I work at my dad’s car lot, and I was trying to get my head off the game tonight, and I kind of caught my dad doing the deed with his receptionist. In a closet. And it was disgusting to say the least.

Her eyes go wide. You’re sure it vas your dad?

Yes. I saw his face. I saw her face. I saw other things, body parts. Let’s just say I saw more than I ever wanted to see of both of them. My body shivers at the memory. Her hand is still in mine. I’m not really a touch-feely kind of girl, so I pull back and shove my hands under my thighs. Yeah, so anyway, it’s not been the best afternoon, and I’ve just been trying to get my head back in the game for tonight.

I’m surprised to see a tear on Nadia’s cheek, and suddenly I feel selfish. Are you okay?

She wipes the tear away. It’s nothing. I just miss my family. My foster family’s been great, especially since I’ve been playing so much more than Emily lately, and ve’re on the same team.

I take her cue and reach out to squeeze her hand, even though it makes me feel awkward. I’m sure it’s been hard being away from home so long, but the year’s almost over. You’ll see them really soon. And we’re all so glad you’re here, Nadia. I’m so glad we met. You’re one of the best defensive players I know. You’re so chill. I’ve never met a Russian basketball player before. Your accent is killer!

Her face lights up. Hey! Vant to go shoe shopping with me? I really miss my girls back home.

I scoot out of the booth. Shopping would be a nice distraction about now, and it would be nice to shop with someone in person rather than my mom or my Instabestie, JuneBug. It’s a little awkward getting opinions via Facetime all the time.

Nadia and I spend the next hour perusing the clearance racks at the shoe store, spraying each other with all kinds of scents in the bath and body aisles, and making goofy faces in mirrors. I glance at my watch. Nadia, it’s almost game time!

Oh, shoot. I don’t have a ride yet.

No problem. I’ll take you. Just let me text my mom. I whip out my phone.

K: Mom, Nadia needs a ride. We’re leaving the mall. Can you get a Lyft to the game please? I kind of need the car.

M: N P.

Mom’s text makes me smile. It drives her nuts to abbreviate anything. I appreciate her effort.

We run out of the mall laughing and swinging our shopping bags behind us. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a lurker; faded blue jeans, signature snug cotton AC/DC tee, baseball cap hiding a head of gray hair, sunglasses, and a big camera; all 73-1/2 inches of him. Ric-o Tomas, my sworn enemy. Darn the man.

My wheels peel out of the parking lot. Nadia grabs the dash. Slow down, Katie. Ve’ve got a few spare minutes.

I take my foot off the gas to hide my irritation. I’m sorry. I’m just anxious. Coach doesn’t like it when we’re late, and tonight’s huge.

JUST GIVE ME A REASON

We rush to the locker room to change with the team so we can all put our jerseys on at once, one of our many superstitious practices. Nadia and I sneak in. I get a look of relief from Coach Jones and a frown from his assistant, Coach Masey. "Alright, now that you’re all here, we’re going to step out so you can get changed."

The men leave the room and I turn to our right wing, Kasey, who’s giving me the eye. Dang, girl. You’re pushin’ it tonight. You were supposed to be here like 20 minutes ago.

Words fail me, so I keep it short. I’m here now. I start stripping down to my bra and panties, trying not to feel self-conscious, as it seems my front has grown even bigger, and I didn’t think that was possible. I yank up my shorts, tug on my top, and almost rip it as I try to pull it down.

Hold up, there, Katie. You ‘bout to rip my jersey. Concha’s warning makes me freeze. The bench hits the back of my legs, and I sit down blindly. The jersey is caught somewhere over my head. My long spaghetti arms stick straight up. I feel claustrophobia coming on.

Get it off me. I mumble.

Concha’s laughter relaxes me. Chillax, white girl. She tugs her jersey back over my head. Good thing I didn’t do up your braids yet. That would’ve messed ‘em up good. She tosses my red Jersey at me. "Put that on and go stick your head under the sink. We ain’t got much time, and you don’t want all that hair flying around tonight. I’m doin’ you up fierce for the fight down low. This is our game tonight. I feel it."

Seconds later, I plop back down. My head drips everywhere. I can do them myself you know.

Yeah, but they’re not as tight, and you take twice as long. Concha has a good point.

Nadia floats down beside me, all wet and drippy. I’m next.

I glance her way. For real? You’re not glamming tonight?

She smacks my knee and leans in. I’ll try it your vay. Ve’re going to be fierce-D tonight.

There’s a knock at the door. Everyone decent?

We call out in unison. Yes, Coach Jones.

He walks back in with his clipboard, lays it down, and looks around the room. It doesn’t need to be said, girls. You got yourselves where you are tonight as a team. This is your time, and this is your game. Yes, I’m the Coach, and we are a team; but it’s your blood, sweat, and tears that have gotten you this far. Who’s ready to go hard until the last buzzer sounds? A rubber band or two snaps into place. My head is numb from all Concha’s pulling and tugging, but it feels just right. Concha’s hands can really fly.

Sydney and Latifah put their hands in first. Go hard, go fast, go Dawgs!

The rest of us join in the huddle and throw our hands in too. Go hard, go fast, go Dawgs! We yell loud enough to raise the roof. I run out to the court with the team. A glance to the stands shows my parents sitting together in their usual spot. Mom looks so happy.

Nadia runs by me and whispers in my ear. Shut it all out, Katie. It’s just us, and it’s here and now. Stay in the game.

Her words buzz in my ears through the warm-up drills. The game starts! I go to the center for the jump ball. The girl beside me has a few inches on me, but I bend my knees slightly. Adrenaline kicks in, along with some anger. The ball is in the air. I shoot up and tip it to Concha. She brings the ball down and I hustle downcourt.

Anger fuels my energy and focus, and I play my heart out. My hustle has never been better. By the end of the game, I’ve worked up a sweat. The game’s gone well, and I’ve got a lot to show for all my efforts; two fouls, a bunch of rebounds and twenty baskets, but who’s counting? It’s fourth quarter and we’re up by two. We’ve got the ball. I post up big in the lane. Sydney hits me with a fast pass.

I pivot, fake an attempt at a basket, and dribble around my guard to go up for two points! Someone slaps me in the face! It’s a flagrant foul! I wheel around, ready for a fight, but stop myself as we stand nose-to-nose. Channel Aloha Emma, Katie, I think to myself. Feel the breeze of the Hawaiian wind as it flows through you to the tips of your fingers.

A whistle blows in my ear. Everyone is lined up at half-court! They’re waiting for me to shoot a free throw. The ref takes me to the line for the technical. I make both baskets. The other team has three seconds left. There’s no way they can catch us now. Our lead is too big. Their point guard takes it down and chucks it at the backboard. It’s a shot and a miss. The game is over.

We’re state champions! We run around the court, whooping and hollering! I’m hugging my teammates, and they’re hugging me. Nadia hugs me and whispers in my ear, but I can’t hear her because of the crowd. We separate, but her hands hold my face, and she kisses me! What the hell? For a second or two, I’m frozen, but then I grab her arms and move away from her. I feel so betrayed! I look over. Our teammates are all staring.

The rest of the night is a blur as we line up to receive our medals. Coach Jones and Coach Masey receive their trophies. My face hurts from smiling, but not near as bad as my insides.

This is unbelievable. It’s the biggest night of my basketball life, and I wish I were anywhere but here.

My hands clench in rage as I spy Rico Tomas, sports reporter and borderline stalker lurking on the sidelines, snapping away with his camera. Thoughts of smashing it into a million tiny pieces flood my mind. The ceremony is finally over. I rush to my mom’s side.

Oh, honey. I’m so proud of you! I got so many pictures of you receiving your medal. Her enthusiasm is the only thing that keeps me grounded.

My dad breaks in. Do you have something you want to tell us, Katie? I think I know what he’s referring to, but I’m not ready to talk about the kiss, and I can’t believe he has the nerve!

I don’t know, Dad. Do you have something you want to tell us? He’s not a total idiot, because he stops talking.

So, Mom, should we go for our traditional ice cream cone? I have to get away from here and away from my dad—

pronto.

If that’s what you want. I thought maybe you’d want to celebrate with your teammates? Mom asks so sweetly.

Nah. I’m good. All this excitement wore me out, and I’m just ready to go home and Netflix veg.

Well. Okay. We can do that too.

Great! I’ll be out ASAP! Mom flinches at my excitement.

I wheel around and hustle back to the locker room, but not quick enough, as someone’s hand is on my arm. It’s Nadia, and she’s still wearing her team Jersey. Katie. Can ve talk?

I’m sorry, Nadia. Now’s not a good time. I try to shrug her off.

It’ll just take a second. She shoves me against the wall. Her show of force takes me off guard, just like the way she closes me in. I turn my head sideways to escape her face that is so close to mine. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I just vanted to let you know how I feel before I vent back home in case there’s any future for us. I had a really great time vith you today.

Squeezing her hand that’s latched onto mine does nothing for my efforts to pull away. I wedge my other elbow between us to get some space. Today was very nice, Nadia, but I don’t think of you in that way. I hope we can still be friends, is all I can manage.

She releases my hand, but not fast enough. My arch nemesis, homewrecker’s younger sister, Reggie, the blonde bombshell and bane of my high school existence, approaches.

Her nasally voice pegs me as she steps up. Awww, it’s the six-foot Amazon Queens. What a cute couple you guys make, the perfect pair of Hilary Swanks on steroids.

Now would be a good time for me to embrace my inner ice queen who is as chill as a glacier, but I’ve had one too many confrontations, and Reggie just got on my last nerve. I rip my hand from Nadia’s and look down my nose at Reggie’s perfect double-D voluptuousness encased in a flowery push-up bra that peeks out the top of her skank tank. I’m irate, and Easy A Emma pops right back out again. Mind your business, you scanty panty wearing, locker-room strutting, white Nikki Minaj wannabe ho.

A smile sneaks out of me when I get an appreciative gut laugh from Concha who just emerged from the locker room. She walks out with the rest of the team, all changed and ready to go. Nadia and I stand here in our Jerseys, blocked by Reggie and her entourage, who circle like cackling hyenas ready to pounce.

Reggie’s eyes fly somewhere beside my face. She falters for half a second before our glares catch and lock. Better watch what you say, Katie. I’m about to become your Aunt-y. Her words are sharp and cutting.

Oh no, she didn’t. White hot rage blinds me, and Million Dollar Baby comes out swinging. I manage to change my fist to an open hand just before I make contact. There’s a sickening slap, followed by a flash of blinding light. My aching hand flies to guard my eyes as I look down in disbelief at Reggie’s hand on her cheek, not quite covering my large red handprint.

The camera flash goes off, blinding me. Oh no. I step past Reggie’s stunned figure and bump her chest with my elbow before bulldozing through her circle to run into the locker room and grab my team bag. I head out the back of the building to find my mom’s car.

ONE FOOT WRONG

Needless to say, my mom and I have quite a bit to talk about when we get home.

Katie. What is going on?

Did you see my kiss on the court after the game?

I’m sorry, what?

Mom. A girl kissed me, on the court, after the game.

Oh?

Yes. It was my teammate, Nadia. We spent today together at the mall. I thought we were friends, but apparently, she thought it meant something else.

So you’re not into her?

Um, no. She’s not really my type. I’m still waiting for my Ryan Gosling.

My mom snorts. I thought you were done with that whole Emma Stone phase.

Not even close. It’s not a phase, Mom. I try to explain. Emma’s like my untouchable, much cooler, much older sister. Since I’m an only child and all. I stare out the window. I figure if I have to make up an imaginary sister, it may as well be someone awesome, comes out more as a mutter.

My mom gives me a look of exasperation. When are you going to let that go? Your father and I couldn’t have any more after you, you know this. She grins at me. You broke the mold.

I pick at imaginary fuzz on the couch seat and roll my eyes at her age-old catch-phrase about my birth, even though hearing it feels as good as the first sip of hot cocoa on a winter day. I broke your vagina, Mom. That’s what happened. I’ve got shoulders like a linebacker. I lean back. You could always adopt you know.

"Katie! I’m not adopting an African American boy so your life can be like Easy A, a movie I still don’t understand. There’s way too much talk about sex in there, if you ask me."

It’s an old argument, but I can’t help it. "First off, Mom, the focus of the movie was the ridiculousness of the emphasis of the importance of sex and peer pressure in high school and how damaging gossip can be. And the point of the invasion of the internet in our everyday lives! People need to stop living through other people’s lives on social media!"

Says you, the blog queen and mad quoter of Emma Stone movie characters. My mom mutters at me. She has a point, but I’m on a roll.

I take a deep breath. "Secondly, it is a well-known fact that the highest number of children waiting to be adopted in the United States are African American boys ages 9-12. You could be a mother to someone who needs a little love, and if it happens to fulfill my life-long dream of being an awesome big sister like Emma in Easy A, so be it."

My mom sighs. Katie. Life isn’t like the movies. I’m forty years old. I’m not up for raising a half-grown child I’ve never met. We sit in silence a few minutes. Mom claps her hands; a thing she does when something occurs to her. Why did you skip work today, Katie? That’s not like you. I wonder why your father didn’t call me. Because he was too busy shagging his skanky receptionist in the closet, thereby causing me to knock the crap out of said skank’s younger sister in the hallway with all of my misplaced rage.

I’m sorry what? I’ve really got to block my imagination.

I said, I think I’ll give him a call. My mom’s voice has a slightly annoyed tone, which tells me I haven’t been listening.

No, mom. Don’t do that.

She looks at me funny. And why not, Katie?"

I, um, have something to tell you. Sometimes my mom frustrates me with her innocent naivety, but then I get mad at myself, because just because my mom’s super sweet and would never hurt a fly, doesn’t mean it gives others the right to dump on her, and right now I just want to leave her in her bubble of happiness for as long as possible, because part of me hates myself for the bombshell I have to drop, but another part of me is mad at my mom for making me have to be the bearer of bad news. What I have to say isn’t good, so I’m just going to rip it off like a band-aid. I slapped a girl in the face in the hallway tonight, and I hope she doesn’t press charges because there were lots of witnesses, but it’s dad’s fault because he’s having an affair.

I look up at my mom, who is white as a sheet. She stands in front of the island in our open kitchen. Your dad is having an affair?

Yes.

Are you sure?

Yes.

Did you hear it at school, because people make up rumors all the time, Katie, and you just need to not listen to them. The desperation in mom’s voice makes me want to slap her, and now I feel bad.

No, mom. I know it’s true. I saw him with her, in the flesh, with my own eyes.

Well, maybe you think you saw something you didn’t. Ugh. Who knew denial was such a strong defense mechanism?

No, mom. I saw them. Together. In a closet. At his work. Today. They were naked.

You’re certain?

Yes, mom. I think I know what my dad’s face looks like. And now other parts I wish I didn’t. I’m sorry, but I know what I saw.

She sits here not saying anything, and I don’t know what to do. Do you think it’s a phase?

What are you saying, Mom? Are you saying you’d take him back, after what I just said!

Katie. Don’t judge me. That’s not fair. I still love your father. Her quiet voice breaks me. She gets all dreamy-eyed, and I want to smack some sense into her. I still love his big capable hands, perfect brown eyes, and dazzling personality. He’s just the perfect specimen of a man. When I see him, all I see is the blonde-haired captain of the football team and prom King that swept me off my feet.

I raise an imaginary glass. Here’s to the ones who dream, foolish as they may seem.

"Katie. Stop quoting movies and use your own words! And stop taking beautiful lines and making them sarcastic and snarky. You know I love La La Land."

I feel a little bad. I really shouldn’t do that to Emma’s beautiful songs. Mom’s hopeful face frustrates me. She needs a wake-up call. One baller-girl talk coming up—Mom. Get a grip. The man you fell in love with is gone. I’m sorry to tell you, but your white-knight syndrome needs a cure. You’ve got to be your own woman now. Take control of your life, starting with a change of scenery.

What are you saying, Katie? That we should move? This is the only home I know! I’ve lived here since I was a little girl. This is where my parents raised me, where I went to ballet school, where I met your father at the age of fifteen, and he was seventeen, and we were happy, Katie. We were sooo happy. She’s bawling now, and I feel like a horrible person.

I know, Mom. He made you happy, and I’m glad, but that part of your life is done, and you need to move on. I’m grasping at straws. It’s like Dr. Phil says, ‘you either let life happen to you or you make life happen.’

She looks up at me, all runny-nosed and red eyes. I hand her a box of Kleenex. Does he really say that?

Something like that. I’m paraphrasing a little, but this is our chance.

But where would we go? Her voice comes out like a scared little girl.

It’s a