Taken Read Free

his game pieces but pulls his hand back without moving it to a new square. “I can’t do this ’til midnight, Gray. I’m too anxious.”
    “I’ll come with you,” I offer.
    He shakes his head and points at my chin. “You should get your jaw checked out. It looks worse compared to this morning.”
    I notice for the first time it’s already late afternoon. Had we really been playing that long, or are all lasts quicker by nature?
    “Fine,” I say. “I’ll stop by the Clinic.”
    He nods in approval, almost the way our mother used to, and then tosses my pack into my lap. He pulls on his new jacket, even though the air is now oppressive and heavy, and tousles my hair before leaving. I sit there, staring at the game pieces, Blaine’s clay tokens far outnumbering my wooden ones. Our last unfinished game.
    He would have won.
    The Clinic has several beds, separated by thin curtains that hang from wooden rods running the width of the building. The curtains aren’t being utilized when I arrive and I can see that Carter is not in. Her daughter, Emma, is there though, reorganizing a set of clay jars on the shelves at the far end of the room.
    I’ve known Emma since we were kids. Our mothers had been close, mostly on account of how sick I was as a child. Ma once told me that I’d seen nothing but the inside of our house until I was a year old; and throughout that time Carter visited often, fussing over me and working her magic. Whatever she did, she did it well. Half of Claysoot still stares at me like I’m some sort of miracle, like it should be impossible to be so sick as an infant and still come out on the strong side of healthy.
    Ma and Carter remained inseparable through most of my childhood, and as a result, I spent a lot of time with Emma. Sometimes Ma brought Blaine and me to the Clinic and we chased Emma around the wooden tables until she cried mercy. Other days, when Carter had less work, she brought Emma over to our house and we entertained ourselves with games like checkers and Little Lie.
    Emma was a scrawny thing back then, but she kept up with us. If we were getting good and dirty in the streets, she tagged right along. If we were climbing trees and scuffing our knees on rocks, she boasted the same battle scars. And even though we spent countless hours together as children, Emma was always closer to Blaine. I’ve never been able to shake the jealousy, but I suppose I brought it upon myself. When I was six and the two of them seven, I pushed Emma over and stole the wooden toy she was playing with. She favored Blaine from that day forward, and naturally that’s when it started. As soon as she favored Blaine, I favored her.
    At first it was a childlike thing, but my affection never faded. I watched her change over the years, abandoning her thin frame for the curves that now fill out her dresses. She’s become increasingly pretty as she nears eighteen, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve been interested in no one else. I’ve made my rounds in the slatings, but I’d be kidding myself if I said I didn’t want just Emma. I guess it’s fitting that I’ve never been paired with her. I probably don’t deserve it.
    “Is Carter in?” I call out.
    “She’s making a house call,” Emma replies, answering my hopes without even looking at me. “Give me a moment and I’ll be right over.”
    I sit on an empty bed and rub my jaw, wincing as my hands find an open gash. Blaine was right. I definitely need to have it looked at.
    I watch Emma as I wait, admiring how her steady fingers pluck jars from the shelf with ease. She moves so quickly but smoothly as well, her hands confident from years of administering care. They never falter, never slip. Her eyes, too, are focused, darting back and forth. Every time I look into their brown depths, I feel something in my chest heave.
    Eventually, when the jars are organized to her liking, Emma meets me at the bed. She has a beauty mark on her right cheekbone, and it