The Target

Molly slowly opened her eyes only when she was certain she'd continue breathing if she tried such a violent movement. Nothing happened. She blinked. Nothing continued to happen. She concentrated on returning to life as she knew it. She couldn't believe the utter dizzying pleasure

"No, you're wrong. I'm dead serious." "All right, but I don't know what you're talking about. What do you think?"

"I think being with you was beyond superb. It was so wonderful, maybe it should be taxed."

He nearly lost it right there. He gulped. He took a quick drink of his coffee and scalded his mouth. Then he clearly remembered how she felt and nearly shuddered his way off his chair.

Emma looked up from her printing and said, "What's my last name now, Mama?"

Ramsey looked at Molly, sex forgotten, sudden fierce possessiveness in his voice as he said, "I'd like you to be Emma Hunt now. What do you think?" "Could you print it out for me, Ramsey?" He took her pencil and wrote out Emma Hunt. Emma went to work. She said finally, looking back up, "It looks pretty good all written out. It's okay with me." She held up the paper for them to see.

Both Ramsey and Molly examined her effort. Ramsey said, "Well done, even good enough so I can read it. Emma Hunt. It has a ring to it." Emma grinned and went back to her printing. Ramsey lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, Molly. We never discussed it, but I want this very badly. I want Emma to be mine, legally and every other way as well."

"I'm torn," she said, cutting another slice of her grapefruit. "Louey wasn't ever around, but he was her father. It's like he'll cease to exist now."

"Let me ask you a question. If Louey were still alive and you'd divorced him and then married me, what would you decide?"

She forked down the grapefruit, then picked up a piece of wheat toast. She said quietly, so Emma couldn't hear, "I'd say he was a bum and never even wanted to see Emma anyway. Maybe I'd say he didn't deserve for her to carry a name that meant so little." She shook her head. "But because he's dead, I feel she needs to hold on to something. How about Emma Santera Hunt? We could ask Dr. Loo, but that sounds like a good idea."

"Emma will always know that he was her father." Ramsey asked Emma what she thought of having three whole names. Emma approved.

Molly said, "Are you going to eat your bacon, Ramsey?"

"No, you take it. You need to keep up your strength. I'm brimming with strength. The more times a man gets jumped, the stronger he gets. He gets pumped up. All his muscles start to flex. His fortitude increases exponentially. I can't wait to prove it to you."

"How do you think it looks, Mama?"

Molly looked away from her new husband, wishing she could fling herself on top of him and screw his brains out. "Ah, Em, let's see. Ah, you've printed it another six times. Each is better. Very good, love. Oh yes, that looks just grand. When you start the first grade this fall, you'll be Emma Santera Hunt."

"Miss Emma Santera Hunt," Emma said. "I won't be a Ms. until I'm eighteen."

Molly looked over at Ramsey, who knew what she'd been thinking. "And I'll be Mrs. Molly Hunt."

"That makes all of us Hunts," Emma said happily, then frowned. "I never even thought about a Hunt before Ramsey found me."

Ramsey called his parents. His mother and father spoke to both Molly and Emma. It went well, though Molly heard the disappointment after they'd gotten over their shock. They agreed to go back for a reception in their honor sometime toward the end of the summer.

"By that time, everything should be resolved," Ramsey said as he put the receiver back into its cradle. "You'll see how my mom treats all her daughters-in-law like they're perfect and gives grief to her three sons."

"Makes sense to me," Molly said. "I guess I should call my mom."

* * *

THEY returned to San Francisco the following afternoon. It was close enough to midsummer to be chilly, with the fog from the Pacific rolling in through the Golden Gate.

Emma was wearing a sweater, walking around her new backyard, examining the flowers that grew well in the protection of a sturdy redwood fence. Her piano was on a chair in the kitchen. An unmarked police car was parked across the street.

"I'll get her a swing set," Ramsey said, coming up behind Molly, closing his arms around her. He leaned down and kissed her ear. "Maybe I can hang a tire from that branch on the pine tree over there."

She turned in his arms. "I want to have my way with you," she said, and so she did, right there in his study, their clothes on, ever watchful because Emma was close by. They were standing together, still breathing hard, when they heard Emma call out from the kitchen, "Mama, Ramsey's got a room that's filled with all sorts of cans."