“Can we stay for a couple of days?”
“Sure.” She withdrew a crisp twenty from her wallet and pointed at the cashier near the front of the booth. “We’ll talk about it on the drive home. In the meantime, why don’t you pay for Latrice’s scarf? I’ll meet you outside.”
When he ran off to pay, she wandered out of the booth. Her smartphone rang. She scanned the display panel.
Michael.
“Darcy, hello. Am I catching you at a good time?”
Seeking privacy, she walked to the caramel apple stand across the way. “I’m at the craft fair with Emerson,” she said.
“Having fun?”
“My nephew is buying out the place.” A bee swooped out of the stand and flew toward her head. Swatting it away, she nearly dropped the phone.
“Darcy? Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“I wanted to thank you for last night. For answering my questions.” Michael hesitated. “It wasn’t easy for you, but I appreciate your willingness to talk things out. You cleared up a lot of my questions.”
“The least I could do.” The sincerity in his voice gave her the confidence to add, “I am sorry—for everything. Especially for leaving Ohio without getting in touch. Not my best move.”
“Hey, I didn’t call to wring another apology from you. In fact, I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean to grill you. Rehashing the past . . . it’s hard. Anyway, I hope you can forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. You were upset. For good reason.”
“Thanks for understanding.” He let the silence draw out. “Anyway, I wanted to thank you.”
“You did.”
“Great. Let’s put this behind us.”
“Already done.”
“I don’t want to lose my friendship with you, Darcy. I hope that’s okay. Remaining friends, I mean.”
“It’s more than okay,” she said, unable to conceal the pleasure in her voice. A ridiculous dose of elation spun through her veins. “I want the same thing. I’d hate to think I’d completely botched our relationship.”
“Not a chance. I’m glad we cleared the air.”
He didn’t appear ready to hang up. Neither am I, she thought ruefully.
“I’m glad too, Michael,” she agreed, happy to prolong the moment.
At the tap on her waist, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“May I say hi?” Emerson handed back the change from her twenty.
The request froze her smile in place. “Sorry, kiddo. Grandmother has to go,” she stammered, praying he hadn’t overheard the conversation. “She only called to check when we’re coming home.”
Prickly heat bled across Darcy’s face. Lying was a coward’s way out. But she couldn’t rustle up an explanation on the fly for why she was chatting with his personal hero.
Emerson sniffed out the deception with the skill of a hound dog. “You’re talking to Michael—you just said his name. Why are you pretending it’s Grandmother?”
Great. He’s caught me dead to rights.
At a loss, Darcy shrugged.
“And why is your face all red?” He wrinkled his nose. “You look funny.”
“Ha-ha funny, or guilty funny?” A ridiculous query. She’d obviously stumbled out of door number two. “Please don’t answer.”
“Why? Because you’re guilty?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you do something bad?”
“No!”
Michael, catching the play by play, chuckled in her ear. “Darcy, you’d never survive the Grand Inquisitor. Let me talk to him.”
She handed over the phone. Emerson walked off.
At intervals he glanced back, his feathery brows climbing his forehead with consternation. Strolling past the caramel apple stand, he spoke rapidly into the phone. It was just as well he’d walked out of earshot. From the looks of it, he’d switched from chatting with his personal hero to a full-on interrogation. How Michael was handling the dicey conversation was impossible to tell.
While she awaited her nephew’s return, Darcy put her nervous energy to good use by purchasing a trove of sugary treats from three carnival booths. Cotton candy, peanut butter fudge, the biggest caramel apple in the display. There was no harm in allowing Emerson to spend the drive back to Hunting Valley chowing down. If he did, there was an outside chance he wouldn’t pepper her with questions about her bumbling attempt at deception—or her beet-colored complexion.
A notion she quickly abandoned as Emerson, kicking up dust with his tennis shoes, trudged back across the crowded avenue. At least there was no mystery with kids, she mused. If they weren’t happy with you, they made their feelings plain.
“Michael told me,” he said. He handed back the phone.
The cryptic announcement hung between them. There was no telling if Michael had simply mentioned having drinks with her last night, or had given her nephew a rundown on their long-ago and star-crossed romance. She was still attempting to muster up the courage to ferret out the details when a toddler with pigtails and a fistful of cotton candy lumbered into her nephew’s legs. The tot was scooped up by her apologetic mother. Emerson seemed oblivious to the assault.
“What did he tell you?” Darcy heard herself say.
“About the lovey-dovey stuff.” Emerson shuddered with boyish disgust. “You were Michael’s secret girlfriend?”
So Michael had come clean. “A long time ago.” Her mouth felt drier than the Sahara.
“He said you kissed him. Lots of times. When you were his girlfriend.”
“Well, I could reasonably argue that he kissed me. It’s hard to tell who starts the monkey business when you’re dating.”
“Kissing is disgusting. I won’t kiss girls until I’m really old. Maybe not even then.”
A smile toyed with her lips. “You might feel differently once your hormones kick in.”
“What are hormones?”
She chastised herself. Why drag biology into this? Skirting a discussion of sexuality until he entered junior high sounded like a good deal.
“Never mind,” she muttered. “Can we discuss something else?”
“No, we cannot. I’m disappointed with you.” Donning his adult persona, Emerson crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me about the gross stuff with Michael?”
“Gee, thanks. Dating isn’t gross. People do it all the time. Besides, there’s nothing to tell.” At her wits’ end, she held out the treats. “Your choice. Take whatever you want.”
Licking his lips, Emerson leaned closer. Then he snapped back. “Why do grown-ups use candy to make up with kids?”
“Because it works?” Cluing in to his meaning, she dredged up a more serious tone. “I never mentioned dating Michael because it was a secret, and it no longer matters. You were just born when we dated. That’s how long ago it was. More important, I’m not obligated to share every detail about my life. There’s lots of personal information adults don’t share with children. Nor should they.” She sighed. “I am sorry you’re upset.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Apologizing. Grandmother never says she’s sorry, even when she should. I really hate that.” He patted Darcy’s arm. “I’m proud of you. Michael says a boy doesn’t become a man until he has the guts to say he’s sorry.”
She wasn’t a boy or a man, but she caught his drift. “So we’re good?”
“I guess.”
Hoisting the bags up, he started toward the entrance gate. They were halfway across the parking lot when he came to a standstill.
“Aunt Darcy?”
“Hmm?”
“Michael is my friend. You know there’s lots of fish in the water, right?”
“You mean ‘fish in the sea.’”
“Whatever.” He tapped his foot with the impatience of scholar instructing a dull student. “You know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, she did. Emerson needed a father figure, and Michael was happy to fill the role. Ther
e was also Rosalind’s care to consider. Darcy needed to prepare for the worst even as she continued lobbying her mother to consider a heart transplant.
Romance? Not now.
Her life required the focus of warrior pose.
Still, it seemed wrong to make an ironclad promise. Granted, no one sensible reignited a romance that had ended badly the first time. But forever was a long time.
She gave the thumbs-up. “Right. If I go fishing for a boyfriend, I won’t cast my net anywhere near your buddy.”
With relief, her nephew smiled. “You’re the best, Aunt Darcy.”
Plucking the cotton candy from her arms, he resumed walking.
Chapter 19
Pausing at the front door, Darcy made a quick count of the bags. “Emerson, there were four bags in the back seat. You missed one.”
“I’ll get it.” He started back down the steps, then hesitated. Climbing back up, he grabbed the green container tucked against the railing. “Might as well check the bird feeder. I forgot to add seed this morning.”
“Need help?”
“No thanks.”
Darcy tossed the car keys on the table in the foyer. She detected the low murmur of the TV. No one in the Goodridge household watched TV in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. At this hour, Latrice was usually preparing dinner. Rosalind was either reading or sequestered in her office by the library, sorting through paperwork and bills.
The cozy scene in the living room brought Darcy to a standstill. On the couch, Samson and her mother were drinking mugs of hot chocolate and sharing a bowl of popcorn. She noticed the fluffy blanket tucked around Rosalind. Worry darted through her.
“Your mama is feeling poorly,” Samson explained. “She told me not to make a fuss, but I didn’t like the way she was shivering. I found the blanket upstairs in the hallway closet.”
“You left work early?” Most days he worked for Michael until dinnertime, Monday through Friday.
“Michael went to a meeting in Chagrin Falls. I came home a couple of hours ago.”
Home.
The contentment in Samson’s voice warmed her. She doubted he’d ever felt a sense of belonging until now.
Are we both settling into my mother’s house? Darcy realized that they were.
Rosalind snuggled deeper beneath the blanket. “Did you enjoy the craft fair?”
“Emerson brought home tons of stuff. Toys, lots of gifts, and a goofy craft piece to hang in his bedroom.” She described the art fashioned from brightly painted coat hangers. “Where is Latrice?”
“She popped a casserole into the oven before she left. She’s running errands for the party. They’re expecting a large crowd this year.”
Every year, the homeowners on Latrice’s street held a block party on the first Saturday in August. The Chagrin Falls Police Department had set up a permit for them to cordon off the street until nightfall. Over time, the party had expanded to include families on nearby streets, in the pretty development east of the town center. Samson was keen to meet teenagers his age. Emerson planned to spend part of the day hanging out with him and the rest of the time with Nella. No doubt the energetic Nella would spend the bulk of the afternoon taking Emerson from one street game to the next.
Rosalind would be none the wiser.
When Darcy had begged off, Latrice hadn’t faked disappointment. By silent agreement, they no longer felt comfortable leaving Rosalind alone in the house. Her dizzy spells were becoming more frequent. She often felt weak. Like Emerson—who rarely discussed his worry over his grandmother’s declining health—Rosalind pretended the frightening symptoms were a passing inconvenience.
Emerson came into the living room, his arms laden with bags. “We bought the place out, Grandmother. You won’t believe all the stuff I found!” He grinned at Samson. “There was a lady at the fair who makes stars. They have glow-in-the-dark paint, and squiggly wires to hang them. They’re big! I bought ten stars for you.”
“Samson can’t wait to see everything.” Rosalind waved them off. “Go on upstairs. Spread it all out on your bed.”
“Don’t you want to see what I bought for you?”
“Surprise me at dinner.” She smiled fondly at him, but Darcy noticed the weariness in her tone. She wasn’t having a good day. “I’ll savor the anticipation.”
“Okay.” Juggling the bags, he trotted out.
Samson waited as she took a last sip of cocoa, then handed him the mug. He hesitated. “Do you need anything else, ma’am?”
“I’m fine.” She tugged the blanket higher up her waist. “You’re very thoughtful. Thank you for spending the afternoon with me.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
After he left, Rosalind placed the half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Your young friend is a treasure, Darcy.”
“He is.” It was heartening that her mother had noticed. Samson was special, and he went to great pains to please Rosalind.
“He reminds me of Elizabeth. Bashful and considerate. And engaging. While we were watching TV, he shared an amusing story about finding his North Star.”
“His favorite topic.” Darcy smiled.
“He was so animated! Why are people bred in the South such fine storytellers? I suppose he meant he’s in search of his destiny. A realistic enough pursuit for an eighteen-year-old.” The furrows on Rosalind’s brow deepened. Then she surprised Darcy by adding, “Do you remember when Elizabeth found the four-leaf clover while you were camping in the backyard? She believed it would bring her good luck.”
They rarely discussed her late sister. The topic was too painful. Darcy knew her mother would never forgive her for Elizabeth’s death.
Yet she’d brought her up now, in a manner than appeared sincere. Without judgment.
Gingerly, Darcy took a seat on the couch. “She hated whenever I convinced Latrice to camp with us in the backyard. Listening to the owls hooting at midnight scared her.” Treading carefully, she added, “She found the four-leaf clover the next morning. She couldn’t wait to show you.”
“How old was she? I can’t recall.”
“Eight,” Darcy said. “Latrice let us sleep outdoors the first week of June, to celebrate the end of the school year. Father was at a week-long medical convention in Florida. You were busy with a murder trial.”
“A murder trial in June, and your sister was eight . . .” Rosalind’s voice drifted away as she sifted through her prodigious memory. “Of course. The Ganley trial. How could I forget?”
“Was the trial difficult?”
“Upsetting, more than anything. Such a horrible business. The defendant was convicted of murdering his pregnant wife. He believed she was unfaithful. She was four months pregnant.”
The disclosure chilled Darcy. “That’s horrible.”
“I presided over a depressing number of murder trials with sexual jealousy at the root. There is no passion more dangerous.” She gave Darcy a meaningful look impossible to decipher. “Thankfully, most people are less inclined to lash out. When betrayed by their beloved, they choose to die a little instead.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I pray you never do.” Her expression growing distant, Rosalind smoothed a hand across the blanket. “I was right in the middle of the Ganley trial when Elizabeth left the four-leaf clover on my desk in the library. I was preoccupied with the trial, working long hours, coming home late most nights exhausted. I don’t recall tossing it into the garbage. She was heartbroken. I was too, once I understood what I’d done.”
“It was an accident.”
The forgiving remark lifted her mother’s eyes. “I’ve been wrong about you, Darcy. In many ways. You’re making a real difference in Emerson’s life. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Darcy wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. Even when her mother edged toward a compliment, she couldn’t resist adding a dash of criticism.
“I’m sorry you don’t have more confidence in my abilities.” Hurt competed
with the defiance swelling inside her. “You’ve always underestimated me.”
“Only because I don’t understand you. I never have.”
“We’re nothing alike.”
“No, we’re not. You’re impulsive, and more carefree than I can easily comprehend. You’ve been home for almost two months, and I don’t have the slightest idea of your plans for the future. Do you have ambitions?”
The habit of pushing and prodding was so well ingrained, her mother seemed unaware of the injury her judgments inflicted. But they were having a real conversation, perhaps their first ever. Losing the opportunity to connect didn’t appeal. She feared they wouldn’t receive many more chances.
“Just because I didn’t follow you into a legal practice or choose a career in medicine like my father doesn’t mean I don’t have ambitions. My dreams are more life-centered. I want to earn a decent living, but I don’t view work as the end-all. It’s a means to an end, nothing more. After the accident, when I moved away . . . I didn’t have much but the nine-to-five and an empty apartment.”
“You were unhappy?”
“I was isolated, cut off from people. I didn’t know how to stop grieving and move on. I’m still learning how.” The disclosure made Darcy’s heart lurch. Ignoring the bruising pain, she added, “I want to reestablish the friendships I left behind, and make new ones. Find a good job, with flexible hours. Mostly, I want to raise Emerson. I love him so much.”
“He loves you too.”
“I hope so.”
Furtively, she studied her mother. It was a risk to pose the question dogging her for weeks now. Did she dare? Doing so might spark an argument.
The desire to learn the truth overrode her fear.
“There’s something I’ve been wondering about.” With a bravado that didn’t quite reach her bones, she caught her mother’s imperious gaze. “What would you have done if Emerson hadn’t run away? About me, I mean. You must have known Latrice had my number. It was a reasonable enough assumption. And you’d received the diagnosis. You knew the amyloidosis would progress quickly. How long would you have waited before getting in touch?”
“I’m not sure.” Rosalind sank against the sofa’s deep cushions.
The Road She Left Behind Page 22