When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

5. Emmy

Chapter 5

Emmy

I follow Ruby through her house, the gentle peal of the wind chimes sounding a soft farewell as we step outside. The glass and ceramic sculptures—swirling, reaching shapes giving the sense of perpetual motion—pop out between wild tendrils of green, the effect captivating and slightly unsettling this time.

A gust of wind rushes past, the air crisp and filled with the scent of the sea. We walk down the path crossing her front yard where a plume of smoke rising on the horizon over the Pine Barrens becomes visible. Pausing, squinting against the bright sunlight, my heart skips a beat.

“Is that a fire?” A hint of worry threads through my voice.

Ruby glances over her shoulder, following my gaze. “Oh, that?” Her tone is nonchalant. “That’s just the local fire crews doing controlled burning. They manage the Pines to prevent bigger fires. My son is out there. It’s all pretty routine, nothing to worry about.”

The smoke holds my attention a moment longer—her words are reassuring, but the smoke is no less fascinating. I lived in Philadelphia my entire life up until my abrupt move to Harbor’s Edge, and while I’ve seen plenty of wildfires on the news and socials, there’s something different about seeing smoke with your own eyes, smelling a hint of it on the wind.

Then I’m turning away from the smoke, following Ruby to the neat house next door. My suitcases are still on the porch where Mike left them earlier. A case goes in each hand, the weight familiar and somewhat comforting, while Ruby picks up the last one, a look of surprise crossing her face.

“Is this all you brought with you?”

“That’s all.”

At the front door, Ruby doesn’t hesitate. She knocks firmly and calls out in a sing-song voice: “Granny Sloane, it’s me!”

Almost immediately, a voice from inside responds. “Come in.”

It’s hard to get a read on the voice. It sounds vaguely annoyed, with a polish of politeness. Ruby pushes the door open and ushers me inside, before indicating to put the suitcases down by the door.

Crossing the threshold marks my entry into a completely different world to Ruby’s vibrant and eclectic home. Granny Sloane’s house is meticulous, with not a single item out of place, the air inside still, almost preserved, with a gentle aroma of lavender and polished wood.

The walls are adorned with framed prints of lush Irish landscapes and quaint cottages, while the furniture is classic and coordinated, everything going together perfectly, like whoever decorated the place knew exactly who they were and what they wanted.

Ruby leads me through to the kitchen, where an elderly lady is seated at a small wooden table, a walker parked beside her. As we approach, she doesn’t rise but fixes me with a look so intense that it stops me in my tracks. She appears frail, but her eyes—sharp and sparkling—reveal an undiminished spirit.

A newspaper is spread out in front of Granny Sloane, open at a half-finished crossword, a ball-point pen in one hand and an Oxford dictionary beside her. The ball-point pen gives me an instant measure of her character. I’ve never been game to start a crossword with anything other than a pencil.

“I wasn’t expecting company.” Granny Sloane’s voice is calm but strongly suggesting her preference for prior notice of such things.

With white hair styled neatly, pulled back into a bun, her body is slightly slumped to one side, her movements a little slow and unsteady, the pen shaking in her hand as she places it on the table.

Her clothing is tasteful, with a beaded necklace and matching bracelet finishing her outfit, and she obviously takes pride in her appearance, despite her physical limitations. She continues to look at me with an intense expression, and there’s no doubt she’s a force to be reckoned with.

Ruby smiles, undeterred by Granny Sloane’s tone and the look on her face. “This is Emmy. I hired her to help out around here.” Her voice is smooth and upbeat, but the tension in her posture is unmissable.

Granny Sloane’s eyes narrow slightly, and her jaw tightens, lips thinning. She turns her sharp gaze between me and Ruby. “Is she here to do the ironing, then?”

I glance at Ruby, uncertain how to respond, feeling suddenly like I’m treading on very thin ice. But Ruby quickly jumps in.

“Actually, Emmy is a nurse. She’s going to move in to help look after… things.”

Granny Sloane’s demeanor shifts visibly, her politeness giving way to frustration. “I am not an invalid , Ruby. I don’t need a nurse hovering about. Getting in my way. I’m doing perfectly fine as I am. You and Patrick are more than enough.”

Ruby sits down at the table, reaching for her hand. Granny Sloane pulls it out of reach, sending the pen skittering to the floor. We all watch it until it disappears, coming to rest under the refrigerator.

“I know you’re not an invalid. But you could use a little help, and Emmy is wonderful. You’ll like her. Just give her a chance. ”

Granny Sloane’s initial frostiness melts into something hotter, more volatile. “Like I said, I manage perfectly well with Patrick’s help. If you’re too busy to occasionally get my groceries, that’s fine. I do know how to use the internet, you know. I’m not a total Luddite. I can order what I need and have it delivered.”

Ruby makes a frustrated sound, her cheeks going red, and it’s clear this isn’t the first time they’ve had an argument like this. I’ve been privy to plenty of family disagreements—when you work in the same home long enough, people soon drop their facade of civility, almost forgetting you’re even there, but this is the first time a patient has been completely opposed to my presence.

Stepping back until I hit the wall, I rummage in my handbag, pulling out the directions I’d printed the night before, pretending to read them, but neither woman pays me any attention. Ruby runs a hand through her hair, her patience fraying, and the more flustered she becomes, the calmer Granny Sloane looks.

“Patrick can’t be here all the time. You need someone around more often. And he’s been so busy with work. He’s being pulled in all kinds of directions.”

Granny Sloane’s eyes flash at the mention of her grandson, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I tell Patrick all the time that I can manage by myself. I don’t need any of you.”

“You need someone . And we both know how stubborn he is. He’s running himself ragged trying to please everyone.”

“So focus on your son and tell him to leave me to my own devices. My Paddy would never have gone behind my back like this.” Granny Sloane’s voice is rising with emotion, her hands shaking more than before, despite being tucked under her arms.

Ruby’s face softens, and her voice cracks as she responds. “But Paddy is gone. I miss him too, every day.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a painful acknowledgment of a loss that neither of them has fully accepted. From the brokenhearted look on Ruby’s face, the way she twiddles her gold wedding band, I’m guessing it was her husband, and maybe Granny Sloane’s son.

At first I think it’s over, that their shared grief has pulled them back together, their anger leaked out and replaced by sadness. The loss isn’t recent. It’s settled deep in the nooks and crannies of the house, in the dust on top of the cabinets, in the matching lines around their mouths, in eyes that have cried too many tears and been wrung dry.

But the tension spikes as Granny Sloane, propelled by a fresh wave of anger and sorrow, attempts to rise abruptly from her chair. Her movement is too quick, her balance off, and she teeters, about to fall. Reacting fast, Ruby grabs the walker and Granny Sloane’s arm at the same time, sweeping the walker in front of her.

Granny Sloane grabs it, her expression one of humiliation and frustration as she tries to maneuver the walker and herself out of the kitchen, her right leg not following as it should. Her face hardens with each awkward, halting step, the visible struggle marking deeper lines in her face.

Granny Sloane stops and the room falls silent. The distant sound of wind chimes reaches us, and Ruby reaches out, tentative at first, before gently squeezing her arm in a silent offer of comfort. Granny Sloane’s shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her as her limitations become undeniable.

While she clings to her independence, she doesn’t understand that a little help from me could actually improve her autonomy. Feeling deep sympathy for Granny Sloane, I step forward to the kettle. The simple act of filling it with water and setting it to boil feels grounding, a small domestic ritual that brings a bit of normalcy back to the charged atmosphere.

Ruby and Granny Sloane return to the table wordlessly. The kettle whistles, and soon the tea is ready, a hint of herbal aroma filling the kitchen. A teaspoon of honey in each, stirring softly, then I pick up the mugs and carry them over.

“Here we go.” A mug is set gently in front of Granny Sloane, within easy reach, the handle turned to face her. “There’s nothing like a good cup of tea.”

“My Irish mom used to say the same. Thank you, dear.” Her voice is softer now, the earlier sharpness smoothed over.

“You know,” I choose my words carefully. “I’ve always believed that a little help isn’t about taking away independence. Sometimes, it’s just about making sure we have the energy to enjoy the things we love most without worry.”

Granny Sloane sips her tea, considering my words. The steam from the cup veils her face for a brief moment.

“I suppose you might be right.” Though the admission seems to cost her.

She continues to speak in low tones, laying out her ground rules if I’m to stay, which I accept without argument. She tells me I’m not to offer help more than once. I’m to leave the house for several hours each day and longer on the weekend, so she can have her space and privacy.

“And just because you have a pretty face, doesn’t mean you can get away with anything around here.”

“Of course not, Mrs. Sloane.” A smile lifts the corners of my mouth and she smiles back.

“Call me Granny Sloane. And you’re not to do the crossword in the paper, ever. In fact, you’re not to get the paper from the front door at all. That’s my job.”

“Understood.”

Granny Sloane looks at Ruby. “She’s so gorgeous. The boys are going to love her. We’ll have to find a young, eligible bachelor to sweep her off her feet.”

“I think I know just the one.” The two women exchange a meaningful look.

“Oh no, I’m not interested in any kind of relationship.”

My words come out quickly and Granny Sloane stares at me, like she can see right through me, can see the pain I’ve been working so hard to contain, but which pulses and expands whenever I think about my sister and my parents, the way I was sent away to contain the fallout from what happened.

She gives a nod which is hard to interpret, before going back to her list of rules. As Granny Sloane speaks, Ruby reaches across the table and the two women hold hands, the air filled with a kind of acceptance, a reweaving of bonds that had become strained by fear of change and an unknown future.

And as they both turn their genuine smiles in my direction, the sensation of being exactly where I’m supposed to be surges through me.