Emily, reared by a religiously fanatical grandmother after her parents were taken from her by a freak accident, grew into young adulthood under-developed in self-esteem, social skills, and knowing much about sex, except whatever her older cousin would impart. Until the night of her grandmother’s funeral. Her awakening, regarding passion and sex, began with a dream.

A heavy breath of air slid from her mouth. Swallowing hard, a flash from her childhood crowded uninvited into her mental visuals.

A young Emily sat in a tall wooden chair wanting to disappear through the slats as she pressed her slender back against them. Her grandmother’s sallow face was just inches from her own, a saggy mask of bulging eyes and stretched out mouth full of yellowed teeth. Sour breath blew into the wide-eyed face as the old woman screeched out her warning.

Darkness hovered around the perimeter of the kitchen unable to venture too close to the dim rays that drifted from the hooded bulb over the table. Sitting on the edge of a wooden chair, Emily leaned into the protective glow, with elbows propped on a worn, ragged mat. Glancing down at the quilted fabric, she saw frayed edges and broken threads that reminded her of seedlings reaching up to catch the light. She understood that need, but looked away, tightening her grip around the mug she held pressed against her cheek.