Little Emmett Page 2

  “Your room is just this way,” Mrs. Holmes said, and she moved ahead down the immediate hall. “This is all one connecting hallway. It goes in a big circle, back to the stairs, so you’ll find it difficult to get lost. But just remember, your room is straight from the top of the stairs on the right…”

  And that was where she stopped. Halfway down this hall were two doors. One on the left, one on the right. Both were shut. She pushed the right door open with one hand, as welcome light spilled over her into the hall. She gestured for Emmett to go first, and again he felt incredibly shrunken as he shimmied next to her through the door with his bag.

  “This is where the boys sleep. Four of you in all, now. The girls sleep just across the hall, in this bedroom here.” She looked over her shoulder at the parallel door. “Two girls. You’ll meet everyone soon enough.”

  The boys’ room was large and mostly empty. There were five cots total, one under the large window on the far wall, two beds against the left wall, and two beds against the right.

  “Both these beds are available,” Mrs. Holmes said, and she pointed to both the bed on the left and the bed on the right, nearest the door. “You can pick either one.”

  Emmett chose the bed on the right, and set his bag on top.

  “You’ve had a long trip. Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  Gratefully, he nodded.

  “Come with me.”

  She showed him to the bathroom at the end of the hall, on the right side where the hallway turned ninety degrees to the left.

  He closed the door behind him. He stood before the mirror a bit, alarmed by the naked fear he saw on his own face. He hurried and relieved himself, then joined Mrs. Holmes in the hallway once more.

  “Do you like dogs, Emmett?”

  He hesitated. More than anything, he wished he could climb into his bed and nap the day away. He nodded instead.

  She led him along the back hallway, where they arrived at the only door on the righthand side.

  “This is where Lionel and I sleep. Lionel, my husband… spends much more time in here than I do. But if ever in the middle of the night you need something, this is where to find me.”

  She opened the door, again filling the hallway with much-needed light. Their bedroom was rather luxurious compared to the children’s rooms. A large bed with ceiling-high posts and wispy, silky curtains around them. An ornately carved wardrobe, sturdy and magnificent in the corner. A desk stacked high with books.

  Two massive dogs lay on the floor beside the bed, and they lifted their heavy, floppy-eared heads as Emmett and Mrs. Holmes entered. Emmett froze.

  “They’re big boys, but they’re lazy.” Mrs. Holmes passed Emmett and stood next to the dogs, hands on her hips. “Aren’t you two going to greet the newest member to our family?”

  The dogs turned their dumb faces to her, then back to Emmett, their eyes barely visible under their sinking brows. Intimidated by their size, Emmett stayed where he was. Mrs. Holmes assured him it was all right to pet them. He moved toward them cautiously, hand outstretched. Their goofy faces appeared so solemn as they anticipated his approach. One more step and he leaned forward, offering his hand to their curious noses. Both stretched their necks to sniff him. They licked their noses and seemed to lose interest.

  “See? They’re fine.”

  Emmett put his hand on one of their soft heads, and from there it was easy. He patted them both at the same time. It did little, of course, to distract him from the image of his mother’s car disappearing into the woods or the loneliness eating a hole through his chest, but it was a mild comfort.

  There was an open door to an outside balcony next to them. A breeze carried through, slightly chilly. Voices floated up from down below in the yard—the other children, apparently finished with lunch. Emmett focused on the dogs. He got on his knees, sat on his butt, crossed his legs. He scratched behind their ears, offered his hand for them to sniff and lick some more.

  “What are their names?” he asked.

  “The big dumb one is Olive. The other big dumb one is Bo. Neither of them knows their name, so call them what you like.”

  A smile found its way to Emmett’s lips.

  “That settles it,” Mrs. Holmes said. “If the dogs like you, I’m positive you must be a good boy.”

  She gave him a smart wink, and the friendly warmth he felt brought him close to tears.

  Just then, the voices from the yard grew loud and distressed. The dogs’ ears perked. Muttering, Mrs. Holmes made her way out onto the balcony. Emmett continued stroking the dogs’ heads as he watched, nervous but curious. Hands on the balcony railing, she shouted something down at the children. After a moment, she turned on her heel, huffing, and moved through the room toward the bedroom door.

  “Wait here, Emmett… I’ll be back…” She vanished into the hallway, but not before Emmett heard her say, “…those damned boys…”

  Emmett sat silently, absentmindedly petting the dogs, switching from one to the other as their prodding noses demanded it. He petted them blindly as he watched the balcony door, the children’s voices warring on down below. Before long Mrs. Holmes’ voice joined in and the children started shouting their accusations.

  “Hmmm?”

  Emmett jolted in place as a new voice appeared behind him. His eyes darted around the room, until he saw the figure through the bed curtains, rising up like a mummy from a tomb.

  “Is that you, Irene?”

  Emmett’s mouth hung open. The dogs nudged his fallen hands to resume the petting. The old man, groggy from sleep, asked again for his wife, and Emmett was helpless to tell him she wasn’t there. The figure turned in place. A hand reached to the sheer curtain, grazed it, weakly grasped it. Emmett’s heart pounded faster still. The old man—Lionel, didn’t she say his name was?—pulled back the curtain, revealing his pinched, confused face. Far older than Mrs. Holmes, his face drooped much like the dogs by Emmett’s side. His unruly eyebrows curled almost as impressively as his mustache. Emmett regarded his shirtless body with childish horror, never having seen such dark and numerous sunspots on any body before.

  Lionel Holmes scanned the room from left to the right, though his eyes appeared shut. Then, somehow, he spotted Emmett there on the floor, bowed his head toward him with increasing hostility.

  “You… you’re not Irene… Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

  Emmett spoke quickly. “I-I’m Emmett. My name’s Emmett. I’m just petting your dogs. The lady… the lady said to. She brought me here, she—”

  “Petting my dogs? Emmett?” He leaned forward and the bed groaned. Any closer and he’d fall out. “I don’t know any Emmett! Emmett who?”

  “Callahan. Emmett Callahan. I… I…”

  “Hmmmm…” The old man’s throat rumbled like ancient, phlegmy thunder. “That name… doesn’t ring any bells at all.”

  Emmett observed the dogs, who’d given up on his affection and lay their giant heads on the floor. He looked to the balcony, where the children had gone quiet or left. He looked behind himself at the bedroom door and heard no footsteps coming to his rescue.

  “Elliot… Taliban, you say…”

  “I… live here now…” Emmett explained, though his own words sounded foreign to him.

  “Hmmmm…” Lionel lifted his chin, viewed the open balcony door with mild interest. Then he faced forward again and, just as he’d risen, stiff as a corpse rising from its slumber, he slowly reclined back onto his pillow. As he descended, he whispered very softly, privately, “This is where you live now…”

  The moment his head hit the pillow he was snoring. Emmett got to his feet and stayed there, afraid to touch anything or move. In the old man’s snoring, his upper lip bared his teeth in an off-putting grin.

  “Emmett?”

  It was Mrs. Holmes, just now returning.

  “I didn’t mean to wake him… I didn’t know…”

  Mrs. Holmes looked to her husband, now sound asleep. She took a deep
breath, smiling politely as she gathered the patience she’d lost downstairs.

  “That’s quite all right, Emmett. I’m about to start making dinner downstairs—should be ready in a couple hours. The other children are entertaining themselves in the dining room with some arts and crafts if you’re interested.”

  Shyly, he wrung his hands without an answer.

  “Or… maybe you’re in need of a nap, hmmm? It’s been a long day, after all. How does that sound?”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  He climbed into his bed—it was rather stiff and simple compared to his bed at home—and the moment Mrs. Holmes left the room he sat up, grabbed his bag of belongings off the floor, and heaved it into his lap. The sight of his things blew a cold wave of longing over him. He pulled a couple of his action-figures out. He’d brought his favorites, at least the ones he had room for. He placed them back into the bag and dug around some more. He pulled out a picture book. On its cover were a variety of cars with beaming, big-eyed faces. He couldn’t count on ten hands the times his mother had read it to him. He continued digging around, sifting through in search of something in particular… something he wasn’t seeing now, though it should have been right there… it should have been the first thing he saw, but… where was it now… why wasn’t it there… it should have been right there…

  The chain fell over his wrist and all at once he let out the breath he was holding. He pulled it out of the bag, careful not to snag it. The pendant twirled and swayed on the chain beneath his grip, flashing its smooth white eye. It wasn’t a pearl, he decided. It was glass. If he wasn’t careful touching it, he thought he could probably crush it quite easily.

  The longer he held the trinket the blurrier it grew and the wetter his cheeks became. He lay down and held it in a loose fist beside his face. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders—flinched as his bag fell off the bed onto the floor. As his pillow dampened, he turned over to the other side, and eventually he flipped the pillow over altogether.

  He closed his eyes, hot breath blowing on the trinket clutched to his mouth. In a few more minutes, he rested like an old man, snoring and all.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  A disturbance in the room woke him. He turned his head to the ceiling above, and his mind did somersaults remembering where he was, or how he got there. Another sound, a creaking floorboard. He sat up, wide-eyed, mouth gaping. Another child had come. A boy. Their back was turned to him as they tried to quietly shut the bedroom door. When they looked over their shoulder to see him watching they flinched as well.

  “I’m sorry,” the boy said. “I was trying to be quiet.”

  “That’s okay. I was awake,” Emmett lied.

  The boy crossed the room to his own bed, which was against the same wall as Emmett’s. He knelt and dragged something out from underneath it—a suitcase. Emmett then remembered his bag on the floor, and saw some of his things had dumped out in the fall. He slid out of bed onto the floor and began quickly gathering his things before the other boy saw.

  “What’s your name?” the other boy asked.

  Emmett looked up to see him sitting on the floor, shirtless now, digging through his own clothes.

  “Emmett.”

  The boy pulled out a new shirt, one he must have liked better, and pulled it over his head. He stuffed his things back into the suitcase and shoved it beneath the bed with a kick of his foot.

  “Emmett, huh? How old are you?”

  “Seven.”

  The other boy, hands in his pockets, came to stand next to Emmett, looking curiously at his bag. Emmett zipped it shut. “My name’s Clark. I’m nine.”

  It was difficult, like a magnet in the floor was pulling his eyes toward it, but finally Emmett managed to lift his gaze and see the boy standing over him, and he was surprised to see what a genuinely innocent face he wore. Well, aside from one peculiar thing…

  “What happened to your eye?”

  “Oh…” The boy cupped his hand over his cheekbone and winced. There, and around his eye socket, his skin was a dark brownish-purple. “Just a little fight.”

  Emmett remembered the commotion he’d heard from Mrs. Holmes’ balcony.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Clark said. “Sometimes people are just jerks, really…” Clark’s eyes wandered curiously over Emmett’s bed, and suddenly he lit up. “What’s that there?”

  Emmett looked over his shoulder to see what he meant, and saw his mother’s trinket coiled on his pillow. His heart lurched in his chest.

  “That’s just…” He swiped it up, held it protectively in his palm. “This is just something my mom gave me. It was hers…” He unzipped his bag, tossed it inside, and zipped it shut again, afraid to let Clark get too long a look at it.

  “Was that your mom who dropped you off?” Clark asked. “We saw her bring your bag in. She’s really pretty.”

  Emmett shrugged. With his things zipped safely in his bag, he slid it under his bed without another word.

  “If it makes you feel any better, most of us were brought here by people we miss. Was your mom… did she bring you here because she was…”

  His question was interrupted by a knock on the door. The door opened. Standing outside, reaching above her own head to touch the knob, a small girl peered in. Her eyes were far too large for her head.

  “She says to come downstairs,” the little girl spoke. Her voice was tiny and clear. “Time to eat.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The entire household sat around the table as Mrs. Holmes poured stew into each of their bowls. A large pot sat in the center between them all. Emmett, small and uncomfortable in the high kitchen chairs, watched steam rise from the open pot. The aroma of carrots and onions and tomatoes and beef and everything else wafted to him. He tasted it on the back of his tongue as he inhaled. The small girl was first to be served—her name was Bailey, he learned. Bailey Lee. She was the youngest of them all, only four. Next served was Emmett. His stomach trembled as Mrs. Holmes tipped the ladle and poured hot stew into his bowl. Everyone must have been eager for it, as they all watched her with parted lips.

  There were eight people total. Two adults—Mr. and Mrs. Holmes—and six children, though one boy in particular was much less a child than the rest.

  “Everyone, I’m sure you’ve noticed we have a new member of the family today.”

  Emmett’s heart leapt into his throat.

  Mrs. Holmes continued serving stew as she spoke. “Today is Emmett’s first day. I hope you’ll make him feel welcome. Though I’ve only just met him myself, I can tell you he’s a very sweet boy…” One of the other boys sniggered at this. Not Clark, nor the oldest, but the one in between—a boy with dirty blonde hair. As the others turned their attention on his laughter, he lowered his eyes to his lap, still grinning. His lip was fat and bruised—the other participant to Clark’s scuffle.

  “How old are you, Emmett?” It was the second girl, much older than Bailey. Her face was long and thin and intense. She stared expectantly, unblinking.

  “Seven,” he answered in a whisper.

  “Seven? Clark, you’re not the youngest boy anymore!” The girl smiled as Clark slurped broth from his spoon, pretending not to be part of the conversation. “That also means you’re the second youngest. Baily is only four…” She nodded in Bailey’s direction who, absorbed by her meal, only peered up having heard her name. “Then you. Then Clark. Then my brother, Tobie, who’s ten…” She pointed to the boy with the fat lip. It made sense they were siblings, as they both possessed the same dirty blonde hair. “I’m twelve, but I’ll be thirteen in a few months.”

  “Your birthday was only two months ago,” her brother Tobie added, rolling his eyes.

  “Three months ago,” she argued.

  “Your birthday is in July!”

  “Yeah, and it’s October now. That’s three months!”

  “All right, that’s enough of that,” Mrs. Holmes interrupted.

  “I was just saying I’ll be thirteen soon, is
all.”

  Tobie made a loud, whistling sound to emphasize how impressed he was. “And then you’ll be a real teenager, huh! So old. So matuuure…” Tobie stared Emmett dead in the eyes. “You’ll learn to tune Jackie out really fast like the rest of us.”

  “Saying things like that only shows everyone how immature you are,” Jackie replied.

  Emmett, grateful to have them vying for the table’s attention so that it wasn’t on him, finally began eating his stew in the meantime. It was as delicious as it smelled, and after one spoonful he knew he’d want seconds.

  “Anyway!” Tobie exclaimed. “What my sister is getting at, is once she’s thirteen, there’s a chance Tyler might finally be interested in her because then they’ll BOTH be teenagers, and—” Jackie loudly protested this, which only served to make Tobie louder. “Because Tyler is fifteen! So oooold and mature and…”

  Emmett looked across the table to see Mrs. Holmes eating her stew as though there wasn’t a peep being made, smiling to herself, possibly amused by the exchange or thinking of something else entirely. Most parents Emmett ever met would have raised their own voices to bring order back to the room. While Mrs. Holmes had seemed to try only moments earlier, now she didn’t appear bothered in the slightest.

  Soon enough, however, the children’s squabble was finished. Jackie, demonstrating her self-proclaimed maturity, simply ignored her brother until he was eventually satisfied with himself. Tyler, the oldest, merely blinked through it all, unimpressed.

  So long as he was never made a topic of conversation at the table, Emmett thought he could get used to their lively outbursts as well.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  It was a free-for-all in the bathroom that night. Emmett envied the girls, Jackie and Bailey, sharing the downstairs bathroom between the two of them. The boys, however, were to share the upstairs bathroom, and it was more crowded than it was worth. Emmett waited in the hallway patiently.

  “Aren’t you going to brush your teeth?” Clark asked, stepping out.

  Emmett shrugged. “I’ll wait.”

  Clark looked over his shoulder at Tobie and Tyler standing before the bathroom mirror as they brushed, elbows jabbing wildly, and nodded understandingly. “You’ll get used to stepping around everyone eventually.”