The Target
Page 19
"Your name's Em? Is that short for Emily?"
"No, Emma," she whispered. She was wearing one of his gray T-shirts, washed so many times it was softer than goat leather. She turned to the woman. "Mama, it's all right. Ramsey saved me. Really." She put her hand on his shoulder. She said again in that small tired voice, "He saved me, Mama. He wouldn't let anybody hurt me again. He gets really mad whenever he even thinks about it."
The woman slowly lowered the pistol, but he could tell she didn't want to. "Who are you?"
He picked up Emma and rose, aware that his leg wanted very much to give out under him. "Forgive me, but I've got to sit down. My leg hurts like the devil."
The Detonics pistol jerked up again. "Don't you move, damn you. Put her down."
6
HE IGNORED HER. She wouldn't shoot him now. He was holding her daughter. He carried Emma to the sofa and sat down. Only then did he say to her, "I've got lots to tell you. My name's Ramsey Hunt. You can trust me. Please."
"Give me my daughter. Let her go."
He set Emma on her feet, and she ran to her mother. The woman came down on her knees. He watched her as she crushed Emma to her. Tears streaked down her face. She kissed Emma, all over her face, ran her hands all over her, smoothing her hands over her hair, squeezing her until she squeaked.
Emma finally pulled back. She lifted her hand to her mother's hair and lightly patted it. "I'm okay, Mama, really. Ramsey saved me. He took care of me. You look like GI Joe. I like those black gloves."
The woman laughed as she pulled off the black leather gloves. "I'm your mama again and not a soldier." He watched Emma lace her fingers through her mother's. He saw the close-clipped nails, several broken off. The back of her hands were red and chafed from the cold.
He felt incredibly relieved. And suddenly very tired. He sat back, stretching his leg out in front of him, watching them. Finally, when she was sitting across from him, Emma in her lap, held tightly against her chest, the woman raised her head and said, "Thank you. I'm sorry I nearly killed you. If I had, it would have been wrong." She sounded only mildly sorry. He didn't mind. He could imagine something of what she'd gone through, what she'd thought.
"Yes, very wrong. I'm glad that Emma isn't mute. But you know, we've gotten along just fine. She draws really well."
"Why didn't you say anything, Em?"
She shook her head, then frowned. She whispered, "Nothing would come out. Nothing until I thought you'd shoot Ramsey. I couldn't let you shoot Ramsey. I didn't know what to do so I just talked. Ramsey wanted me to write my name but I couldn't do that either. He didn't think I could write. I couldn't do anything, Mama, except draw pictures."
"You did well," her mother said and kissed her not once, but half a dozen times. "Oh, Emma, I love you so much." She settled the child again in her lap.
"I'm glad to see you, Mama. I didn't think I'd ever see you again until Ramsey found me. It was scary, Mama. I was so afraid." Emma threw her arms around her mother's neck. She was crying now, deep low sobs that rent the silence.
"It's all right, baby. We're together again. It's all right. I'll never let you go again, I swear it. Oh Emma, I love you. Oh God, I nearly lost hope."
He turned away, giving them what privacy he could, but he listened to them both crying, Emma's sobs, strangely, deeper than her mother's. He waited until they'd begun to quiet, listened to the sniffs, then tossed her a blanket. She pulled it over both of them. She said blankly, "Emma's wearing a man's undershirt."
"Yes, I forgot to buy her some pajamas. At least she doesn't trip over the undershirt."
Ramsey rose, his leg screaming. "Let me lock the door. We can't take any chances."
She didn't say anything, content to wait, he supposed, since she had her daughter back. He knew she watched him closely as he stared through the window, then fastened the chain and flipped the dead bolt. When he turned, he watched her pull off a close-fitting black knit cap. Red curly hair spouted out, most of it in a braid, the rest a riot around her thin face, a pretty face, one that was changing even as he watched. The tension was leaving her face, bringing color to her cheeks. Her mouth was curving into a smile, her eyes were growing lighter even as he stared at her.
There was so much to say, so much to ask, but what came out of his mouth was, "Would you like some coffee? It will just take a minute to make. We're really basic here."
"No, Emma," she whispered. She was wearing one of his gray T-shirts, washed so many times it was softer than goat leather. She turned to the woman. "Mama, it's all right. Ramsey saved me. Really." She put her hand on his shoulder. She said again in that small tired voice, "He saved me, Mama. He wouldn't let anybody hurt me again. He gets really mad whenever he even thinks about it."
The woman slowly lowered the pistol, but he could tell she didn't want to. "Who are you?"
He picked up Emma and rose, aware that his leg wanted very much to give out under him. "Forgive me, but I've got to sit down. My leg hurts like the devil."
The Detonics pistol jerked up again. "Don't you move, damn you. Put her down."
6
HE IGNORED HER. She wouldn't shoot him now. He was holding her daughter. He carried Emma to the sofa and sat down. Only then did he say to her, "I've got lots to tell you. My name's Ramsey Hunt. You can trust me. Please."
"Give me my daughter. Let her go."
He set Emma on her feet, and she ran to her mother. The woman came down on her knees. He watched her as she crushed Emma to her. Tears streaked down her face. She kissed Emma, all over her face, ran her hands all over her, smoothing her hands over her hair, squeezing her until she squeaked.
Emma finally pulled back. She lifted her hand to her mother's hair and lightly patted it. "I'm okay, Mama, really. Ramsey saved me. He took care of me. You look like GI Joe. I like those black gloves."
The woman laughed as she pulled off the black leather gloves. "I'm your mama again and not a soldier." He watched Emma lace her fingers through her mother's. He saw the close-clipped nails, several broken off. The back of her hands were red and chafed from the cold.
He felt incredibly relieved. And suddenly very tired. He sat back, stretching his leg out in front of him, watching them. Finally, when she was sitting across from him, Emma in her lap, held tightly against her chest, the woman raised her head and said, "Thank you. I'm sorry I nearly killed you. If I had, it would have been wrong." She sounded only mildly sorry. He didn't mind. He could imagine something of what she'd gone through, what she'd thought.
"Yes, very wrong. I'm glad that Emma isn't mute. But you know, we've gotten along just fine. She draws really well."
"Why didn't you say anything, Em?"
She shook her head, then frowned. She whispered, "Nothing would come out. Nothing until I thought you'd shoot Ramsey. I couldn't let you shoot Ramsey. I didn't know what to do so I just talked. Ramsey wanted me to write my name but I couldn't do that either. He didn't think I could write. I couldn't do anything, Mama, except draw pictures."
"You did well," her mother said and kissed her not once, but half a dozen times. "Oh, Emma, I love you so much." She settled the child again in her lap.
"I'm glad to see you, Mama. I didn't think I'd ever see you again until Ramsey found me. It was scary, Mama. I was so afraid." Emma threw her arms around her mother's neck. She was crying now, deep low sobs that rent the silence.
"It's all right, baby. We're together again. It's all right. I'll never let you go again, I swear it. Oh Emma, I love you. Oh God, I nearly lost hope."
He turned away, giving them what privacy he could, but he listened to them both crying, Emma's sobs, strangely, deeper than her mother's. He waited until they'd begun to quiet, listened to the sniffs, then tossed her a blanket. She pulled it over both of them. She said blankly, "Emma's wearing a man's undershirt."
"Yes, I forgot to buy her some pajamas. At least she doesn't trip over the undershirt."
Ramsey rose, his leg screaming. "Let me lock the door. We can't take any chances."
She didn't say anything, content to wait, he supposed, since she had her daughter back. He knew she watched him closely as he stared through the window, then fastened the chain and flipped the dead bolt. When he turned, he watched her pull off a close-fitting black knit cap. Red curly hair spouted out, most of it in a braid, the rest a riot around her thin face, a pretty face, one that was changing even as he watched. The tension was leaving her face, bringing color to her cheeks. Her mouth was curving into a smile, her eyes were growing lighter even as he stared at her.
There was so much to say, so much to ask, but what came out of his mouth was, "Would you like some coffee? It will just take a minute to make. We're really basic here."
