37

I was confused. “Isn’t he alive?”

She shrugged. “I think so. I have no idea.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t have a normal childhood. My parents were, for lack of a better term, gypsies. They hated to stay in one place. My grandmother stayed with us since they were always off on some adventure.”

“She’s the one who taught you to make scones?”

A glimmer of a smile tugged at her lips. “Yes. She was the one constant I knew.” Emmy’s smile faded. “She died when I was young.”

“I’m sorry.”

She pulled out a tattered book from her rucksack. “This was hers.”

I took the handmade cookbook and looked at the pages covered in writing, notes and sketches. I glanced up, nodding at her to keep talking.

“After she died, my parents were forced to stay home more. I was ten, and Jack was fifteen. For the next two years, they were miserable. To this day, I don’t know why they had kids. They were lousy parents, and more concerned with what quest they were missing out on than how their actions affected us. Th