“Do you want an apology? Is that it? Fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Okay?”
Cassie flinched at Emerson’s coldness, then watched in incredulity as Emerson went back to packing. Cassie opened her eyes wide and shook her head. “That’s it? Really?”
Emerson turned to her and held her arms out to the sides, silently asking, what more do you want? Something shot across her face then, a fleeting glimpse of emotion, but it came and went so fast, Cassie wondered if she’d actually seen it. She waited a beat, but it didn’t happen again, and Cassie’s heart began to ache.
“I don’t mean a thing to you, do I? The last three weeks? All the talks? The trek up Jones Mountain?” Cassie’s voice dropped. “That kiss? None of it meant a thing to you, did it?”
Emerson opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her ice-blue eyes stared past Cassie, then down to the floor. Finally, she dropped her arms to her sides and looked at Cassie. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Disappointment washed over Cassie in one big wave, and she looked at Emerson with pleading eyes. “I want you to say you’re sorry and mean it. I want you to say maybe we can talk about it, work something out. I want you to say you give a shit.”
Emerson just stared at her.
“This town invested so much in you, Emerson. I know it was a long time ago, and you don’t like to remember that, but it’s true. Maybe it’s time you return the favor, invest in the town now. Why not stay?”
Emerson shook her head, her mouth set in a tight line, and looked down at her feet.
Cassie stared for a long moment, willing it all to be different, willing Emerson to lift her head, to look at Cassie with those eyes, to show Cassie the warmth she’d seen yesterday with Mr. Kendall, the heart she knew was in there. She saw none of it now. Not a trace. Emerson’s face was carefully blank and it infuriated Cassie almost as much as it broke her heart. To protect herself from the sadness, she let the anger surge up again, to take over.
“People warned me about you, you know, told me to stay away.” Emerson’s head snapped up at that, and Cassie pushed on, thrilled to get a reaction of any kind. “They did. They told me you were a runner, that it’s what you do. You take the easy way out. When things get hard, Emerson runs away. They told me not to get too close, that I’d only get hurt. But I didn’t listen. Oh, no, I couldn’t be bothered because I thought there was something more to you. I was sure of it. But you know what? They were right. You don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself, do you?”
“Do not make this my fault,” Emerson snapped, her eyes flashing as she stabbed a finger in Cassie’s direction. “What kind of businesswoman doesn’t know who her landlord is? My mother owned the building; she never told you. That isn’t my fault. I told you the moment I arrived that I wasn’t staying. How does that make me a runner? Maybe this isn’t about me. Maybe this is about you. Maybe you just like to go after things you can’t have. Like me. Like Vanessa.”
Cassie literally took a step back as Emerson’s words sliced through her, unable to believe what she’d heard. She swallowed as her eyes welled up, crushed by the look of indifference on Emerson’s face, the face she’d grown so fond of, and the hurt made her take a shot at the jugular. “God, you’re so fucking cold,” she said quietly. “Your mother was right about you.”
She stayed only long enough to see the pain rip across Emerson’s face, the tears pool in her eyes, before turning away, not wanting to see any more of the damage she’d caused. She slammed the door behind her and ran bodily into Mary, who was standing on the pathway, looking stricken. Cassie mumbled an apology, then quickly moved around the innkeeper and hurried up the walk. She’d done what she needed to do. She’d said everything she wanted to say. She’d stood up for herself.
So why, then, did she feel so horrible?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emerson was exhausted, but could not sleep. She’d spent the rest of Sunday shifting from being angry at Cassie for the things she’d said, to being angry with herself for being the way she was, to being angry in general for knowing that Cassie had a point, to being angry that there was so much crap in her mother’s house to pack. Though she preferred the anger to the pain, she wasn’t clear on why she still felt it. In typical situations, she just felt numb. After years of pain pills, she’d become used to feeling nothing. This ire inside burned, made her uncomfortable and restless. She didn’t like it, yet couldn’t seem to shake it.
Your mother was right about you.
She closed her eyes, opened them again, stared at the ceiling.
Packing had been a giant pain in the ass. But she’d done it. The kitchen was packed up. The living room. The rest of Caroline’s clothing–all packed. She’d taken a lot to the rehab hospital, but there were a few things Emerson was shipping to her place in L.A. A couple roomy sweatshirts, her slippers, and an oversized flannel shirt that had originally belonged to Emerson’s grandfather. Emerson could still picture her mother throwing it on when she was chilly, its blue-and-black-plaid flannel threadbare in spots, the sleeves needing to be rolled up six or seven times before she could see her hands.
In bed now, Emerson was warm and comfortable, albeit wide awake, just as she had been for the past three-and-a-half hours. A glance at the clock told her it was barely six. The sky was still dark. The birds hadn’t even awakened, the lake and trees silent outside the window. She got out of the bed, ran quickly to the window, and opened the curtains wide, then hurried back on her toes to avoid the cold floor, and dove under the covers. She wasn’t ready to get out of bed yet, but wanted to watch the sun come up, if it had any plans to do so. Despite the early hour, it was brighter out than usual, thanks to the new snowfall that had blanketed the town overnight. Emerson propped herself into a not-quite-sitting position and just gazed out the window into the white stillness and beauty of Lake Henry beyond.
I wish you could see the snow, Mom. You’d love it.
Shifting positions in the bed, she winced as aching muscles made themselves known. Her knee wasn’t throbbing, but it was definitely sore. She’d worked her ass off yesterday, staying busy being the only way she could keep her brain from alighting on all the things Cassie had said. Emerson was shocked by how angry the woman was. When Cassie left, Emerson had been seconds from bursting into tears, something she rarely did. Thank goodness Mary had then knocked on the door and entered, asked if everything was all right. Emerson had no choice but to tell her what was going on, so she’d pulled herself together and had done so. She told Mary all of it, even about the sale of the inn. Mary hadn’t seemed surprised. Even she hadn’t known which building Caroline had owned.
A quick phone call to Brad Klein had answered all of Emerson’s questions. Apparently, the building had belonged to her grandfather, who’d been using the same rental agency for ages. Caroline had seen no reason to change things, and therefore, just left it all as it was, let it be run the same way it always had been when her father had been alive. The money went into an account from where any necessary maintenance was also paid for, and her accountant took care of it all. Caroline took a set amount from it each month, popped her monthly statements into a folder, and never looked any further into it. She had no need to.
How ridiculous that such a simple and innocent setup could cause so many problems later on.
Caroline must have lain in bed and gazed out the window just as Emerson was doing now, because she’d mounted a bird feeder just outside. Mr. Gruffton must have kept it filled, as Emerson had no idea where the birdseed was, but it was nearly half full now. Two chickadees and a handful of sparrows flitted around, taking turns at the seed, chittering in their little bird voices. Caroline loved birds, Emerson remembered now. A very vague memory of looking through a bird book when she was little struck Emerson then, flipping pages, scanning photographs, trying to find the bird with the right color and body shape. A lump appeared in her throat, and she had to clear it several times before it abated.
The emotio
n had been so close to the surface recently, and it was freaking Emerson out a little bit. She’d been focusing on the anger simply to keep the emotion at bay, but now felt like she might be losing the battle.
She was meeting with Cross this morning at nine. Concentrating on that helped her push the sensation of tears and sadness back into the dark recesses of her brain. She’d looked over the paperwork a dozen times now, and it all seemed to be in order. Klein had said the offer was more than fair, and she trusted him. He’d been her mother’s attorney for many years. Caroline wouldn’t have stayed with him if she didn’t trust him to keep her best interests at heart.
Emerson was surprised at the early hour of the meeting, given Cross’s long drive. He was clearly anxious to close the deal. And she was confident this was the right thing to do.
Wasn’t it?
She flashed back to when she’d told Mary and how the innkeeper didn’t seem upset, though Emerson detected a hint of…disappointment?
“Do you know what Cross plans to do with the inn?” Mary had asked quietly, not looking at Emerson.
“I don’t.” Emerson was a little embarrassed that she hadn’t asked, though it wasn’t really her business.
Mary gave a slow nod and said simply, “Well then.”
She let Mary go through Caroline’s things, told her to take anything she might want, anything that held memories for her. She took a corkscrew, a couple of wine glasses, a stack of books from the shelves, and a basket of yarn and knitting needles, chuckling sadly about how she’d given Caroline all the supplies for her last birthday and then attempted to teach her the craft, only to find out Caroline had no talent for it whatsoever and even less patience. Emerson had helped her pack everything up and watched with mixed emotions as she carried it back to the main office, her shoulders weighed down with her box of memories.
“It’s fine,” she said loudly now, suddenly throwing off the covers and jumping up. The need to shake this melancholy feeling was intense. Emerson dressed in sweats and a hoodie, stepped into Caroline’s slippers, and went out into the living room. She clicked on the fireplace and just stood, looking at boxes, at the photos still on the wall—the last things she had to pack up—and bent backwards slightly to stretch her spine.
The next couple hours dragged by, and Emerson did anything she could to speed them up. She wanted to walk around the lake, but was apprehensive about who she might run into while doing so. Instead, she wandered down where the dock usually was (Jack had taken it out for the winter the day before), looked out over the water and took in the fresh air and early morning quiet. It seemed to settle her, even if it was only slightly. Then she took a very hot, very slow shower and didn’t hurry to get dressed, ironing her pants and suit jacket, wishing she’d packed another, as Klein and Cross had both seen her in this one already. There was nothing to be done about that, though she was happy to have found a red silk blouse among her mother’s clothes. It was tighter than Emerson would normally wear, but the blouse was exactly what she needed to go into this meeting with calm and confidence that she wasn’t quite feeling. Red was her power color; she wore it often at work to close sales.
The clock finally made it to 8:45. She took one last look in the mirror, ran her fingers through her short hair, tugged on the hem of her suit jacket, and slipped into her pumps. Just a little mascara brought out her eyes, and she added a light coat of lip gloss. Her mother’s diamond earrings finished the outfit, and for the very first time in her life, Emerson wished she physically resembled her mother a bit more. She’d always been very happy with her father’s Swedish genes…her height, her light coloring. Today, she missed Caroline, and the thought made her swallow hard. Blinking rapidly, she pulled on a dressier wool coat she’d found in the closet, took one last look around the cottage, and closed the door behind her.
The day had dawned bright and sunny, the overnight snow melting slightly. She knew from her childhood that it wouldn’t be long before the sun disappeared for days, sometimes weeks, on end. People would be out enjoying it as much as they could today, as if trying to store it up for the upcoming winter. She drove the opposite way around the lake so as not to drive past The Sports Outfitter. She’d been fairly successful at blocking out her entire conversation with Cassie, but now things were creeping back in. The edge in Cassie’s voice, the sounds of anger and betrayal. Worse, the pain in her eyes. She’d tried to hide it by playing the tough guy, but Emerson had seen it, had known she put it there.
Literally shaking her head to rid herself of the memory, she followed the road around Lake Henry and within five minutes, came upon the parking lot for Brad Klein’s office. A sleek, silver Town Car was parked in the lot, the neatly dressed driver holding a newspaper open across the steering wheel. He glanced up at Emerson, gave a curt nod, and went back to his reading. Cross had come early.
“Figures,” Emerson muttered, again pulling her unnecessary briefcase out of the passenger seat. She waited until she was in the foyer of Klein’s building—where nobody could see her—before she smoothed a hand over her hair, her chest, her hips. Deep breath in, slow breath out. “Let’s get this over with,” she said to nobody.
The office was still warm and inviting, not adjectives Emerson would normally expect to describe a lawyer’s office, but it was true. Klein’s receptionist was on the phone, but smiled when she saw Emerson and held up a finger, the universal sign for “hang on just a second.” Emerson took a seat and let her gaze wander the room.
Nothing had changed since her last visit, though she was pretty sure the potpourri had been rejuvenated, as the smell of cinnamon seemed stronger than she remembered. The last time she was here, she hadn’t had time to notice small things like the framed photos on the receptionist’s desk. In one, two teenagers, both blonde, both with mouths full of metal, smiled at the camera. The other showed a German Shepherd lying in the grass, his friendly brown eyes full of love and trust. Next to that was a wooden sign painted navy blue. Its lettering was white.
“Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.” –Henry David Thoreau
Emerson stared at it, then read it again. She felt as if the words floated off the wood in a line, danced through the air, and morphed right through her eyes and into her brain, like they might in a cartoon. She was still staring at them when the receptionist hung up and spoke to her, but Emerson didn’t hear her.
“Ms. Rosberg?”
Emerson blinked rapidly, pulled out of her trance by the woman’s voice. “I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat, collected herself. “I’m sorry. You caught me napping.”
The receptionist smiled and pointed down the hall in the same direction as the last visit. “They’re waiting for you in the conference room.”
Emerson smiled. “Thanks.”
Steadying herself at the door, she grasped the knob and turned it.
“Ms. Rosberg.” Brad Klein looked handsome as always in a nicely tailored navy blue suit and striped tie. He held out a hand and shook Emerson’s quickly.
Arnold Cross stood, and Emerson had to give him credit. It couldn’t be easy for a man of his stature to stand in front of a woman of Emerson’s and not feel…well, small. They shook hands, Emerson smiled, though she knew it didn’t reach her eyes, and they all sat.
“Coffee?” Klein asked.
“No. Thank you.” She set down her briefcase and felt…unsettled was the only word she could come up with. Her chair faced the window. Outside, the sun sparkled on the water of Lake Henry even as patches of white snow were still visible.
“So,” Klein said. “We’re here to finalize the sale of both the Lakeshore Inn and the rental property at 217 Main.” He slid a few papers around on the table in front of him. He continued to talk and he and Cross bantered a bit back and forth, but Emerson only half-listened. She was too busy gazing out the window, watching the water and hearing words resonate in her head, which was weird because nobody had spoken them aloud.
“Never look back unless
you are planning to go that way.”
“Ms. Rosberg?”
Emerson blinked, her eyes tearing slightly, and she turned her focus to Klein. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it?
“Are you okay?” he asked with concern.
She looked at his face, only slightly lined, ruggedly handsome, clean shaven. He may have been smiling, but his eyes showed worry and something else she couldn’t quite pinpoint, and for a moment, she got the impression he was not happy to be there.
Turning her head, she took in Arnold Cross. He was happy to be there. Very happy. Too happy. His smile was so wide, it was almost laughable, but even so, his jowls pulled the sides of his face toward his lap just enough to make his expression more artificial than he probably intended. Emerson’s eyes darted from one man to the other as if she were watching a ping-pong match.
“Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.”
That was it. The thought, third time’s the charm, zipped through her head just as she felt something crack open inside her, and much to her horror, her eyes filled with tears. She pushed her chair back roughly and clamped a hand over her mouth as a sob threatened to bubble up and out from her chest.
Arnold Cross began sifting through papers, and wasn’t looking at her as he spoke. “This is a very good day for you, Ms. Rosberg. Your family’s hard work is about to pay off, and you are going to be a wealthy woman. Your mother would be proud.”
“Ms. Rosberg?” Klein stood, his concern multiplying, and came around the table. “Emerson? Are you all right?”
Emerson held out a hand to hold him back as she looked up at him. “Would she? Be proud? Is this what she wanted?”
Klein cocked his head slightly to the side and said quietly, “I don’t know. I do know that she loved Lake Henry. And that she wanted you to be happy.” He reached for her.
“No,” she managed, still pushing a hand in his direction. “No, stay there. I don’t…I can’t…” She sobbed one more time, eyes wide, and began to shake her head from side to side even as her breathing increased and her heart began to pound. Collecting herself enough to speak, she said, “I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.” She turned away from Arnold Cross, whose face had gone from overly joyful to angry betrayal in a matter of about three seconds. She thought she detected a ghost of a grin on Klein’s face as she turned and fled his office, but she couldn’t be certain.
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