“Mom, are you sick?” Emma blurted.
When Ava didn’t immediately deny the question and her eyes skittered away, a coldness appeared inside. She might not have the relationship with her mother she desired, but she didn’t want her to die.
“No,” Ava frowned, “why would you think that?”
“Well, let’s see.” Emma held up a finger, “No designer clothes. Jeans and boots. New perfume. Grilled cheese and idle chitchat and, “she hesitated and lifted a fifth finger, “you’ve never just shown up without wanting something. So, what is it?”
If she hadn’t been staring, she wouldn’t have noticed it happening, but her mother transformed before her eyes. Suddenly, it was as if a light had gone off in her head, and Killian’s words about seeing things through the eyes of a child made sense. Her mother had a ca
