s*t*a*r*s 8 - pt 131

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To celebrate the fact that J*A*D*E*S h


            “Dad,” says Emma as she pulls out bread from the fridge, “do you want something?  I can make French Toast or…”

            “You have to get to work,” says Harry.  “I am quite capable of making myself breakfast.”

            Emma smirks.  “Breakfasts are our thing.”

            Harry pulls his iPad towards him, flicking it on and finding the news on the pad.  “Really?”

            Emma reaches for the iPad and takes it away from him.  “At breakfast, at the Scott’s house, we don’t have phones: no iPads, no computers, no Androids or Blackberries, just us.  Family time.  So what do you want for breakfast?” asks Emma.

            “I want candy!” says Rylee.  She sings the words, she sounds nothing like Spencer or Sydney but her voice is sweet.

            Harry turns to see Rylee, her eyes bloodshot and her face holding the look of someone who hasn’t slept.  “Did you stay up all night?” asks Harry.

            “I have a lot on my mind,” says Rylee.  “Do you need help?” asks Rylee to her mother.  “I can make the eggs.  Dad should be back from his run in about five minutes.  Don’t ask him about the blister.”

            Emma chuckles, hands Rylee the eggs and milk from the fridge and they start making breakfast silently.

            Harry watches them and reflects on their breakfast ritual: he and his wife reading a newspaper and Emma doing homework.  He’d never visited Emma and Mario much in Hawaii.  His work kept him busy and after his wife had died of a heart attack when Emma was twenty, he’d buried himself in work. 

            “Oh, did I tell you, Syd and I are in the Topaz dorm together now?” asked Rylee.

          “I heard,” says Emma.  Not saying that she saw it in a vision.  “I think Nat mentioned it.  You all packed?  Or did you leave everything there when we were at the funeral?”

            “It’s all there.  You just have to drop me off, Grandfather are you coming with us?” asks Rylee.  She pours the huge bowl of scrambled eggs into the pan with a practiced hand. 

            “I could go for a ride, would give me time with Emma on the way back.  My flight back to New York leaves tonight,” he says.

            “The offer of the beach house still stands,” says Spencer from the patio doors, her hands buried deep in her pockets and her voice is shy.  “I’m sorry to intrude.”

            Emma walks over and kisses Spencer’s cheek.  “You are never intruding, you are family.  Come have breakfast with us.  You can zap the bacon, right?”

            Spencer tries not to smile.  “I just have to talk to Rylee.”  She rolls her shoulders and Emma’s eyes cloud over and she resists the urge to touch her again. 

            “Mom, can you watch the eggs?” asks Rylee.  Her hands break out into a slick sweat and she rubs them on her long shorts.  She walks onto the patio just as her father comes in through the front door.  He raises a hand of greeting to Spencer and she waves back, a sad smile on her lips.

            “What’s going on?” asks Mario.  He takes over cooking the eggs without Emma having to ask.  He inclines his head to the patio.

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