“No, two questions left.”

“Has she ever gone to jail?”

“No! One question.”

“Is she funny?”

“Yes. What’s your guess?”

“Easy. Judge Judy.”

Grace stared at her in utter mystification. “How did you do that? How did you know?”

“Well, let’s think about it. You’re eight. You probably watch TV. We ruled out the legislative branch of the government and no woman has ever been president. What woman judge would you find funny? And there you have it.”

Grace couldn’t contain her admiration as she stared at Emory as if she’d just cured cancer. Sarah shook her head. She had to hand it to Emory. She was good, and damn it, so incredibly good-looking. Watching Emory move about the pool in her swimsuit like it was made specifically for her body left her feeling a combination of supreme jealousy and plain desire all rolled into one. What a complicated situation this liking another woman thing was. So many new angles to examine.

They’d been in the pool for a little over an hour and the sun was beginning its final descent over the ocean. Emory glanced at the clock on the deck. “Dinner should be ready in just a few minutes. Should we head in?”

“I think so. Grace, why don’t you go ahead and get changed? It’s getting a little chilly out here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” As Grace scampered inside, Sarah found herself alone with Emory, who smiled at her from the other side of the pool.

“You’re great with her, Emory. She’s a different kid from earlier today.”

Emory swam the short distance that separated them. “Really? Sometimes I don’t know what I should say, what I shouldn’t say.”

“Stop second-guessing yourself. You’re a natural.”

“Well, to her credit, she’s fun to hang out with. Makes me want to be a kid again.” Emory stood in front of Sarah then and placed her hands against the wall of the pool on either side of her. Standing face-to-face, their bodies only a millimeter apart, Sarah offered a slight smile.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hey. So tell me how you’re feeling.” Emory moved a strand of Sarah’s hair behind her shoulder. “And be honest. I’m worried about you.”

Sarah met Emory’s eyes and there was that click, that connection, and all at once, she felt safe. Emory had her. She could relax and be truthful. “It’s been rough. I just keep telling myself that everything is going to be fine, but I don’t know how much I believe that. The doctor said her collapse at school was probably an isolated instance and that her life would be mostly normal. But now she’s collapsed a second time in a two-month span. I have an appointment on Monday with her cardiologist to discuss our options. I just want her to be okay, physically and emotionally.”

Emory nodded. “You know, you can lean on me. You were there for me in some dark moments, and now I want to be there for you, whatever you need.”

Sarah nodded, tears touching her eyes. It was hard to be strong all the time, and with Emory, she somehow knew she didn’t have to be. She instinctively wrapped her arms around Emory’s waist, pulling her in closer and resting her chin on her shoulder. The closeness was nice.

“Are you guys going to change?” Grace asked from just inside the kitchen.

Emory took a step away, releasing Sarah who turned to face Grace. “Yep, on our way.”

After everyone changed, they made their way back to the dining room table. Since it was no longer as warm out, they opted to close the glass and enjoyed dinner with some music Emory pulled up on the intercom system.

“That lasagna was from another planet.” Grace placed her napkin on the table. “I’ve never tasted anything so good. No offense, Mom.”

“No, it’s fine. I clearly do not possess the culinary genius of this one over here. Where did you learn to make this succulent concoction?”

Emory got up to clear their plates. “I took some cooking classes while I studied art in France. Wait till you taste my chicken carbonara. It’ll rock your world.”

“Where do we make reservations?” Sarah asked innocently, glancing around the kitchen for an imaginary maitre d’.

“Well, I suppose if it’s the two of you we’re talking about, there’s a standing invitation.”

“Cool, then Mom and I will be back soon. Like tomorrow.” Grace laughed and handed Emory the salad bowl and returned to the table for the remaining dishes.

Sarah bumped Emory with her hip. “You know what, Julia Child? You’ve done enough today. Get out of here and let me take care of these dishes.”

“Absolutely not. You’re a guest in my home, and besides, there’s not much here.”

“You’re right. There isn’t, which is the only reason I’m offering.” Sarah grinned proudly. “Now get out of this kitchen before I take my business elsewhere.” She held up a threatening spatula in Emory’s direction.

Emory held up her hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.” She turned to Grace. “You know your mom can get a little scary when she wants something.”

“Tell me about it.” Grace shook her head in commiseration. “Try changing the channel when the Chargers are playing and lose that arm in the process.”

“Duly noted.”

“Out of this kitchen,” Sarah chided them. “Go.” She shooed them into the living room, which was really just on the other side of the bar, and set to work on the small conglomerate of dishes, just sure she’d figure out the futuristic looking automatic dishwasher.

“Hey, Mom, can I walk down to the beach?” Grace called from somewhere not too far away.

“It’s getting dark out. I don’t think I want you down there on your own.”

“What if Emory took me?”

“Oh.” Emory said, pausing momentarily. “I guess I could take her down.”

Sarah shot her a questioning look to make sure she was okay with the arrangement.

“Relax. Those child endangerment charges were dropped months ago. But if you’d rather, we could wait for you. Or even better, you could stop being so stubborn and leave those where they are.”

Sarah came around the bar to see them fully. “I’m good. You guys have fun while I finish up.”

“Do you always get your way?” Emory arched an eyebrow.

“I’m a little strong willed.”

“So I’m finding.”

Once Grace and Emory were gone, Sarah set back to work.

Realizing after washing the dishes that she didn’t have a clue about where each dish lived, she set about doing her best to figure it out. Opening the first cupboard, she was struck with how much its interior looked like a display from Pottery Barn itself. Neat little rows of mugs, all the same color and style, stood at attention like perfect little soldiers, not one out of place. Whoa. It was in stark contrast to her motley set comprised of her World’s Best Mom cup, Grace’s preschool attempt at pottery, and mugs sporting her favorite Far Side jokes. While her own cabinet boasted all sorts of bright colors, some complimentary and some not, Emory’s were all light green, in three distinct sizes, handles all facing to the right. New goal. Don’t let Emory see your cabinets. Shouldn’t be that hard.

*

Emory and Grace strolled along the shoreline at an extra slow, even pace. Emory made sure not to travel too far from the house so as not to tire Grace out. They walked in silence for a bit, letting the tide wash across their bare feet. Emory struggled with what they could talk about. They’d already exhausted twenty questions. What else interested an eight-year-old?

“Do you walk down here every day?” Grace asked.

Saved. “Not every day, but I try to go for a run at least twice a week. Sometimes I get too busy at the office though, and it doesn’t work out.” Emory brushed the windblown hair from her eyes.

“If I lived this close to the beach, I’d come here every day.”

“I guess I take it for granted. I shouldn’t do that.”

“Well, lesson learned. That’s something Mom says to me a lot when I figure out something I could have done better.”