EMBER - Part Two (The EMBER Series Book 2) by Deborah Bladon Page A
Authors: Deborah Bladon
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when she's fast asleep. The rest of the time she's hovering and as much as I've needed and loved her help, it's time for her to go home. My father is here visiting this weekend and with any hope she'll be on the train with him when he leaves tonight.
"What is it?" I roll onto my right shoulder, taking care to keep my left hand out of harm's way. I've been wearing a cumbersome plaster cast since they set my wrist. I've become surprisingly adept at maneuvering my life around it.
"Your landlord was here earlier," she says as he pinches the bridge of her nose. It's a gesture I've seen countless times since I was a child. It's a physical sign of the emotional toll something is taking on her. I'm guessing that she's tiring of being my roomie as much as I am.
I push myself up so I'm resting on my right elbow. "What did he want?"
"Your lease is almost up." She leans her leg against the mattress. "I think you should move back to Connecticut with us."
I bite my lip to ward off the undeniable urge to list the myriad of reasons why that would be the worst possible decision of my life. I, instead, opt for logical over emotional. "I'm going to look for a new place this week. I can afford something better now."
"You can afford something better?" she parrots back as she sweeps her hand in the air. "This place is a dump and it costs a small fortune, Bridget. You can't afford to live in this city."
I actually can. I still have my job at the pub and even though I'm out of commission for the next few weeks, Elliott assured me, when he visited me last week with a bouquet of flowers in hand, that my job was there as soon as I was ready. Until then, the money that my drawings have brought in has given me a cushion in my savings account that I've never had before. "I'm staying here, mom. I don't want to go back."
"I've already talked to a friend back home and there's an available job for a program coordinator at a family center."
Not one word in her statement interests me in the least. I've long abandoned the notion that I'd use my degree to help others. If I do that, I'll be sacrificing my own happiness and goals. I'm finally starting to see some positive recognition for my work. Granted it might all be because I was run down by a police car, but it's not how you got there, it's more about what you do once you're there, right?
"I'm going to stay here and draw."
Her head darts to the left so she can look directly at me. I've seen the same look in her eyes before. When I was young I attributed it to her anger over the fact that I didn't complete my chores or I failed to get the grade she expected me to get on a test. Now that I'm older I see it for what it really is, concern. "Bridget, you barely know him."
It's a conversation leap that might have been disorienting if not for the fact that she's brought up my relationship with Dane at least twice a day since I was released from the hospital. He's visited almost daily and each time he's been nothing but courteous and kind to her. She, on the other hand, has taken her time warming up to him.
"I want to be an artist, mom," I say genuinely, making a conscious decision to keep Dane's name out of this. "I have to stay here to build on the interest in my work. This is a turning point for me."
"You can do that back at home." Her voice is breathless. "I'm worried about you."
I'm twenty-three-years-old. If I'm going to forge ahead with a future for myself it has to start with pushing her to let me go. "Trust me, mom. I'm doing what I need to do."
Her bottom lip trembles and just as she's about to sit on the edge of the bed, my father appears in the doorway. "Bridget will be fine. We'll come back next month to see her. It's time to go."
Chapter 2
"I thought she'd never leave." Dane's arms are around me as soon as I close the door to my apartment. "I like your mom, but the woman should get a job as a bodyguard. She never left us alone."
She hadn’t. For the past three weeks my time
"What is it?" I roll onto my right shoulder, taking care to keep my left hand out of harm's way. I've been wearing a cumbersome plaster cast since they set my wrist. I've become surprisingly adept at maneuvering my life around it.
"Your landlord was here earlier," she says as he pinches the bridge of her nose. It's a gesture I've seen countless times since I was a child. It's a physical sign of the emotional toll something is taking on her. I'm guessing that she's tiring of being my roomie as much as I am.
I push myself up so I'm resting on my right elbow. "What did he want?"
"Your lease is almost up." She leans her leg against the mattress. "I think you should move back to Connecticut with us."
I bite my lip to ward off the undeniable urge to list the myriad of reasons why that would be the worst possible decision of my life. I, instead, opt for logical over emotional. "I'm going to look for a new place this week. I can afford something better now."
"You can afford something better?" she parrots back as she sweeps her hand in the air. "This place is a dump and it costs a small fortune, Bridget. You can't afford to live in this city."
I actually can. I still have my job at the pub and even though I'm out of commission for the next few weeks, Elliott assured me, when he visited me last week with a bouquet of flowers in hand, that my job was there as soon as I was ready. Until then, the money that my drawings have brought in has given me a cushion in my savings account that I've never had before. "I'm staying here, mom. I don't want to go back."
"I've already talked to a friend back home and there's an available job for a program coordinator at a family center."
Not one word in her statement interests me in the least. I've long abandoned the notion that I'd use my degree to help others. If I do that, I'll be sacrificing my own happiness and goals. I'm finally starting to see some positive recognition for my work. Granted it might all be because I was run down by a police car, but it's not how you got there, it's more about what you do once you're there, right?
"I'm going to stay here and draw."
Her head darts to the left so she can look directly at me. I've seen the same look in her eyes before. When I was young I attributed it to her anger over the fact that I didn't complete my chores or I failed to get the grade she expected me to get on a test. Now that I'm older I see it for what it really is, concern. "Bridget, you barely know him."
It's a conversation leap that might have been disorienting if not for the fact that she's brought up my relationship with Dane at least twice a day since I was released from the hospital. He's visited almost daily and each time he's been nothing but courteous and kind to her. She, on the other hand, has taken her time warming up to him.
"I want to be an artist, mom," I say genuinely, making a conscious decision to keep Dane's name out of this. "I have to stay here to build on the interest in my work. This is a turning point for me."
"You can do that back at home." Her voice is breathless. "I'm worried about you."
I'm twenty-three-years-old. If I'm going to forge ahead with a future for myself it has to start with pushing her to let me go. "Trust me, mom. I'm doing what I need to do."
Her bottom lip trembles and just as she's about to sit on the edge of the bed, my father appears in the doorway. "Bridget will be fine. We'll come back next month to see her. It's time to go."
Chapter 2
"I thought she'd never leave." Dane's arms are around me as soon as I close the door to my apartment. "I like your mom, but the woman should get a job as a bodyguard. She never left us alone."
She hadn’t. For the past three weeks my time
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