The Target

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."

    She nodded. "That would be wonderful. I'm so cold I think it's permanent now."

    He walked to the kitchen. He felt Emma's hand on his knee. She'd followed him out, his gray T-shirt nearly dragging on the floor and a pair of white gym socks pooling around her skinny ankles. He watched her walk to the small table and measure the coffee into the waiting pan. Then he poured the water over the coffee and set it on the stove. They'd gotten this routine down as of four days ago.

    He looked over to the woman standing in the doorway, staring at them, more dazed than not. He didn't even know her name, but at this moment, it didn't seem to matter. What mattered was creating an air of normality. He said to her, "Emma and I are a good act. We got the coffee thing down first thing. We're just about ready to take it on the road. Hey, Emma, who gets top billing?"

    "I don't know what that means, Ramsey."

    "Does your name go first on the signs or does mine?"

    "I'm the youngest. I should go first."

    He laughed and ruffled her hair. He looked over at her mother. She was just standing there. He could tell she was trying to make sense of things, not just coming to understand the relationship between her