The Man That Got Away

Four

Emmaline drew in a deep breath as she sat in front of her vanity. She dug her toes into the softness of the rug underneath her feet. Her Abyssinian cat meowed and weaved in between her legs before gracefully launching herself onto the table. "Hey Cleo," Emma greeted her beloved companion, scratching the animal under the chin. She slid her hand down the cat's back and rubbed her ear. When her owner stopped the attention, Cleo moved to sit on her haunches, reaching her paw out to Emmaline and tilting her head attentively as she mewed softly. Emma stared into the feline's deep green, almond-shaped eyes. The girl groaned and rubbed her face. She was sick of two colors, green and blue. Two colors that had altered her reality.

It had been a week since hearing her mother  drunkenly tell her uncle that he was her father. She'd wished she had gone with Joseph to California to visit their aunt and grandmother. No, she had made the decision to stay. After all, Emma had started working at a coffee shop, and she didn't think a three-week absence would be something her employer would want to hear. It would have been easier to pack up and jet off to the west coast. Easier was cowardly in Emmaline's book. She was not a coward; she was a Gibbs. A Gibbs that was tiptoeing  around her mother, but Emma needed answers to the questions swirling in  her head. She didn't know when she would find them.

The sixteen-year-old cranked The Beatles up to drown out her mother's choice of  Jackson Browne from across the hall. She stared at herself in the  mirror, running her fingers along her face and widening her eyes. Those damn eyes of hers. Shaped like her mother's but not green like her mother's. If she had green eyes, wouldn't that have made life simpler?  Genetics perplexed her. She should have paid more attention in class that day. Emma chewed her bottom lip, glancing at a framed photo of her  mother and father. They were always so happy; they weren't divorced like half of her friends' parents. Of course, her parents bickered, but she couldn't remember them fighting. Her dad had always said he was the  luckiest man in the world. Had her mom lied to him all these years? Did he know? What happened? Did she want to know? She had tried to figure out how to address her mother with this issue for days. Nothing had come to her.

How did she come to stand in front of her mother's door? "Found the courage I misplaced," Emmaline mumbled under her breath and knocked. She opened the door and stuck her head in, rolling her eyes as Somebody's Baby struck her ears. She stalked over to the stereo and turned the music down. Cleo had followed her and darted into the bathroom.

Jenny came out of the bathroom, pulling a roller out of her hair. "Emma Jane, why are you turning my music down?"

Emma shrugged her shoulders and sat down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. She watched her mother intently. The two were close. Emma had  always been able to talk to her mother about anything. Maybe casual conversation first would be best.

"One day, you'll appreciate Jackson Browne," her mother told her as she disappeared into the  bathroom. She'd said that to her a thousand times. Jenny didn't understand why her daughter hadn't come to love the man's music yet. He had a way with words as Emma did. Her daughter's strong suit was in writing. Jen was about to ask Emmaline if she'd written anything new recently when she heard a thud.

"Cleopatra!" Jenny shouted and pulled the feline out of the linen cabinet. She frowned at the cat and the three rolls of toilet paper on the floor. "No," she scolded. "Why do you have to use toilet paper as a play toy?" The Abyssinian bolted out of Jenny's arms and attacked the roll of toilet paper on the floor.  "Fine. Have that one."

"Where are you going?" Emma asked from the bedroom, shaking her head at Cleo's antics.

"I  felt like making myself look human," Jenny answered honestly. It was Saturday, and she could have stayed in her pajamas all day. The redhead was sick of clean face, pajama wearing, and crying over home movies  Saturdays. She'd had two cups of coffee, a shower, and done her make-up. If she could get her hair to cooperate, she'd be thrilled.