Emma bookended Sophie’s affection by squirming against his other arm, and Jackson kissed the top of her head and breathed in the clean vanilla scent of her brown hair.
“To Jackson and Emmy!” Gavin exclaimed, his glass high in the air, and the others chimed in with their own good wishes for the happy couple.
“Thank you, Gavin,” Jackson said, lifting his glass toward his future father-in-law. “And I want to assure you that I’d choose you if given the choice.”
“Fortunately, no one gave it to you.” Gavin guffawed, and Avery nudged him again, shaking her head and laughing. “You just take care of our Emmy, Jackson, and we’ll be square.”
“I promise.”
Emma turned her full body toward Jackson and slipped one arm around his neck. “Kiss me,” she breathed, and he did. When they parted, she held her eyes shut for a few seconds before they fluttered open. “Oh, you’re so good at that!”
“You still want to marry me, then,” he surmised.
“Who said anything about that?” she teased him. “But I never grow tired of your kisses. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not quite,” he answered, and he kissed her again.
The metallic jingle of a bell rang softly in his ears, originating from the brass bell in Harriet’s hand.
“Dinner is served,” the uniformed fixture at Norma’s home informed them.
“Thank you, Harriet,” Louis replied.
“All right, you two!” Gavin exclaimed. “There will be time enough for smooching later. Jackson’s sister has put together a feast fit for kings. Let’s all indulge, shall we?”
Jackson offered his arm to Sophie, and he walked her into the dining room, followed by Emma on her father’s arm. When he pulled out Sophie’s chair and waited for her to sit down, she paused and looked up at him with a meaningful countenance.
“We’ll talk privately later, Jackson,” she whispered. “All right?”
“Of course.”
“Do you have to go so soon?”
“Vanessa’s with the baby,” Sherilyn stated, and that was enough for Emma. Despite the fact that she’d somehow managed to raise Andy, Emma suspected that his mother’s experience with babies included a nanny or two. “But we had a great time, Em. I’m very happy for you.”
“Even though I’m marrying the enemy?” Emma asked her with a grin.
“Even though . . . You look tired.”
“I am. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Love you,” Sherilyn offered with a hug. “Where is the enemy, anyway? I want to say good night.”
“Out on the veranda with my aunt Sophie. Their heads have been together for quite some time.”
“I won’t interrupt then,” she said. “Just tell him for me.”
Once she’d walked Sherilyn to the door and shared an embrace with Andy, Emma set out for the veranda.
“What are you two whispering about out here?” she asked as she joined them.
“Never you mind,” Sophie told her. “You don’t have to know everything about everything, Emma Rae.”
“I don’t? Because it feels like I do.”
Her aunt smiled at her as she struggled to stand up. Jackson helped her to her feet, and she kissed his cheek when he bent toward her.
“I’m going to ask Sissy to take me home,” she announced. “I’m tired now.”
“Well, thank you for coming, Aunt Soph. It wouldn’t have been a celebration without you.”
“I could have sworn you two were already married,” she muttered on her way into the house.
“Wait, you mean we’re not?” Jackson teased, and he wrapped his arms around Emma’s waist and drew her close to him.
The two of them stood there for several minutes, looking out at the midnight-blue sky beyond the lawn and falling under the spell of the flickering canopy of silver stars overhead.
“When I was a kid, I thought the sky was like a tent over us,” she told Jackson. “And since the sky was so many millions of years old, I figured it must be wearing thin. Proven, of course, by the stars, which were just pinholes of light shining through the worn fabric from the other side.”
“Not very scientific,” Jackson observed. “But quite creative.”
“Do you think Norma would get her feelings hurt if we cut out?” she asked.
“No, why?”
She took a deep breath and then leaned into him as she exhaled. “I don’t know. I’m just so tired all of a sudden.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Jackson took her hand and led her into the house. Guests milled about the dining room and adjacent parlor, and Emma simply allowed Jackson to lead her past them.
“Emma’s worn out,” he announced. “I’m going to get her home so she can get some rest.”
“Oh, all right,” Norma sang. “You get a good night’s sleep and you’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”
“Thank you so much for tonight,” Emma told her. “I’m so happy you’re going to be my new sister.”
“It’s not new at all,” Norma said as she hugged her and swayed her from side to side. “We’ve been sisters since the day we met.”
“We’re going to hit the road as well,” Gavin told them.
While Gavin helped Sophie into her coat, Avery appeared at her side and smoothed the hair away from Emma’s face with a gentle hand.
“You’re a little pale, dear,” she said, taking hold of Emma’s hand. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Eighteen hours of uninterrupted sleep?”
“Can you ease up a little, maybe sleep in late tomorrow?”
“No, I’ve got a full schedule from 9 a.m. and on through the day,” she replied with a sigh.
“Jackson,” Avery said as he stepped up beside them. “Emma Rae is pale, and her hands are a little clammy. Is your blood sugar low, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know how it could be, with everything I ate tonight,” Emma told her. “But I’ll check my glucose level as soon as we get into the car.”
“Jackson, you’ll watch her closely, won’t you?”
“I will, Avery.”
It seemed like a long path from the good-nights to the passenger seat of Jackson’s car, but when she finally reached it, there was no mistaking her sense of relief. After Jackson rounded the car and slid behind the wheel, he picked up her purse and handed it to her.
“Is your meter in here?”
“Yes.”
He flicked on the overhead light while she pulled out the small blue case that held her supplies.
“So what was that talk about with Aunt Sophie?” she asked him as she pricked her finger.
“Oh. She’d like me to lobby for her as your maid of honor.”
Emma giggled. The small screen flashed with the number: 109.
“It’s a little low after such a big meal,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s worth worrying over. I guess I’m just really, really tired.”
“How about we ask Fee to handle things in the morning? You have a good healthy breakfast and come in later.”
“No, Jackson, I can’t do—”
“Yes, you can. And you will, Emma.”
“Hey,” she said with a sigh as she leaned her head against the car seat and closed her eyes. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Well, actually, I am.”
“Oh. Right.”
Emma set her cup of tea on the table and slipped down into her favorite perch, the brown leather easy chair that had once sat in the corner of her father’s library. From the arm of the chair she grabbed the coral throw Aunt Sophie had crocheted and wrapped it around her shoulders before picking up the cup and taking a sip of chamomile tea.
The soothing scent took her back. Chamomile. Her mother’s lifelong answer to anything that ailed a child . . . a girl . . . a woman. This morning, she’d turned to the old friend when, after nine hours of sleep, she awoke still feeling tired and out of sorts.
The newscaster had announced that this would b
e one of the last chilly mornings before the Atlanta area peeked through the window at spring. Although she’d been holding vigil for spring ever since she and Jackson had set their wedding date, Emma acknowledged that she might actually miss crisp mornings like this one. If she felt better, she’d go for a run. Instead, she opted for chamomile tea while she awaited Jackson’s arrival.
The thought of him sent her hand instinctively into her hair, raking through it with her fingers. She returned the cup to the tabletop, then grabbed a gray scrunchie from the drawer and combed her messy hair back into a neat ponytail. She rummaged deeper into the drawer until she found a tube of tinted lip balm and quickly applied it. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she could eat anything; but the fact that Jackson had called earlier and offered to stop by and cook for her brightened the morning considerably.
She picked up the cup again, holding it between both of her hands and pressing the warmth against her face. From the dinner at Norma’s to Hildie’s well-being to the wedding cake decision that still eluded her, the anxious hum of Emma’s thoughts bounced her around like a ride in the back of a pickup truck on a bumpy country road. Then came the unexpected pothole of adrenaline as her mind crashed into the imminent sale of The Tanglewood.
Just about the time she began to question how Jackson could have come to such a decision, his familiar three-part knock sounded at the door. She carried her teacup with her and tightened the coral throw around her shoulders as she padded in stocking feet across the soft rug to answer the door.
“Morning,” she said and kissed his cheek.
“How are you doing?” he asked as he closed the door behind them. “Do you feel all right?”
“I do. Just a little tired.”
“Emma.”
The serious lilt to his voice made her turn back and look at him. “What?”
“This is more than a little tired.”
“What do you mean?”
His answer came in the form of action as he took the cup from her and placed it on the table, guiding her with his free hand toward the chair. “Sit down.”
She obeyed, but she couldn’t help herself from laughing. “Jackson, are you preparing me for bad news? Because really, unless it impacts the next forty-eight hours or so, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
Jackson knelt down on the floor in front of her and took both of her hands in his.
“Didn’t we already do this? I think I said yes.”
“Hush.”
Emma blinked hard, arching both brows. “Hush?”
“Yes. Hush.”
Hush. This must be earth-shaking, she told herself. Better brace yourself.
“No sugar-coating, no smart retorts, no denials,” he said by way of instruction. “I want to know what’s going on with you. Right now. Straight out.”
“Jackson, I don’t know what you mean. Really, I don’t.”
He sighed. “Emma, you’re not right lately.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you aware that your hands are moist and it’s fifty degrees outside? You’re pale, you’re exhausted, and how many headaches have you had in the last couple of weeks?”
Emma didn’t speak for a long moment as her mind raced over the recent past.
Maybe he’s right? I haven’t been feeling . . .
“I don’t want you to fight me on this, Emma. Please. Call your doctor and make an appointment.”
She sighed and lifted Jackson’s hands to her lips and kissed one of them.
“I will.”
“I’m going to make us some breakfast. You make the call.”
Jackson rattled around in the kitchen behind her while Emma pressed number 6 on the speed dial.
“Hi, Stephanie. It’s Emma Travis.”
“Emma, how are you doing?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. I think I need to see Dr. Mathis. Just for a check-up. I’m not feeling quite right.”
“How’s your glucose?”
“It’s running a little low most of the time. Not in the danger zone, but lower than normal. And I’ve been having a lot of headaches.”
“Feeling tired?”
“Exhausted,” she replied.
“Let me check the schedule. Can you hang on?”
“Sure.”
While the tinny hold music clanked in her ear, Emma strolled toward the kitchen. She sat on one folded leg at the dining table and grinned at Jackson, who was draped in a white apron and whisking a bowl full of eggs.
“Emma, we have a cancellation at three thirty this afternoon. Do you think you can make it?”
“Today?” she said with a cringe, but Jackson nodded vehemently with that I-mean-business stance of his. “I’ll make that work, Stephanie. Thank you. I’ll see you then.”
“Good girl,” he said as she disconnected the call. “I think that deserves a veggie scramble and wheat toast, don’t you?”
“Can I have jam on the toast?”
“A little.”
“All right, then, I accept my reward, and I want to thank all the little people who made this breakfast a reality . . .”
“Wiseacre,” he remarked, shaking his head and grinning.
After breakfast, Jackson washed the dishes while Emma called Fee to give her a heads-up.
“I need to see the doctor, and they have a cancellation this afternoon, so I won’t be coming in today after all. Can you cover for me?”
“Sure. You don’t do that much around here anyway,” she teased, her dry wit shining through.
“Well, I figured as much.”
“Hey. Are you sick?”
“No, not sick really. I just want to see Dr. Mathis and get checked out.”
“Glad to hear it. You haven’t been yourself lately.”
“Really? You’ve noticed it, too?”
“Oh, yeah. I think this is a good move.”
Emma swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Call me if you need me?”
“Yep. What about you? You need anything?”
“No. Jackson is here now, and I think I’m going to take a nap after he heads for the hotel.”
“A nap. Dude, can you save me some of that?”
“I’ll seal it in Tupperware for later.”
“Awesome.”
She laid the phone down on the table and turned back toward Jackson as he removed the apron and dried his hands on it.
“My hearing is doing something funny,” he told her. “I thought I heard you say you were going to take a nap.”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You heard right. I thought I just might.”
“It’s a little hard for me to picture,” he said, taking her hands and guiding her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist, clasping his hands behind her, then smiled down at her. “Emma Rae Travis . . . taking a nap. Next thing we know, lions will lie down with lambs, and dogs and cats will run and play together. And then the global anarchy.”
“Let’s not go that far, bud. It’s just a little something new I thought I’d try and see what it’s like.”
“Be sure and let me know how it works out for you,” he said and kissed her. “I have meetings with the lawyers all afternoon, but I can probably get away around six. I’ll pick up some dinner and head over here, if you’re in the mood.”
“That sounds good. I’ll call you after my appointment.”
Emma watched Jackson as he descended the stairs and headed for his car. His long, lean legs needed half the strides that she required to close the gap between the front door and the street.
I love everything about that man, she thought as he slid behind the wheel. He looked back and waved at her one last time before pulling away, and a flock of butterflies swirled around inside her as he did.
Although she meant to take that nap she’d touted, when she reached the bed and noticed the sketch pad leaning against the bottom shelf of the nightstand, Emma couldn’t help herself. She pulled it out, grabbed the small box of colored pencils s
itting next to it, and began to draw.
Biting her lip, she lost herself in the mission of putting the cake in her head to the sketch pad: three simple squared tiers, a rich purple fondant with thick lavender ribbons at the base of each of them, perhaps some of those sugar trumpet lilies Fee had recently mastered.
The bottom layer quilted with pearls . . . The middle tier ruched . . .
Classic. Easy. Just like the love she shared with Jackson.
11
Emma, I’m not going to mess around,” Dr. Mathis said as she rolled the leather-cushioned stool in front of her and sat down. “I don’t like what I’m seeing here. Your glucose is too low, and Stephanie noted that you’ve had symptoms for at least two weeks.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say—”
“You’re two months overdue for your blood work, but the headaches alone should have been a good indication that you needed to come in. And it’s no wonder you have headaches. Your blood pressure is sky-high.”
Dr. Mathis began scribbling on her prescription pad as she continued, “I want you to go in to the lab first thing tomorrow and do a fasting blood test. While you’re there, we’ll get a urine sample.” She tore off the sheet and handed it to Emma. “And I want you to slow down.”
A burst of laughter popped impulsively out of her throat. Slow down.
“Emma, this is serious. Type 1 diabetes is nothing to take lightly. We’ll know more once I get a look at your lab results, but I suspect we’re going to find that your glucose levels have been spiking due to stress. You’re only taking notice of the low swings because they cause the most profound symptoms. But those headaches and the high blood pressure indicate to me that your levels are hopping around. You need to pay attention to your body, Emma. Take it easy.”
Emma surprised herself when her eyes brimmed with tears.
“What’s going on in your life?” the doctor asked, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Not the everyday, short-term stress points, but the chronic ones. I know you’re getting married soon.”
Emma nodded. “In a few weeks.”
“But I was married at The Tanglewood myself,” Dr. Mathis said with a smile. “I imagine Sherilyn is handling just about every detail on your behalf.”
Always the Baker, Finally the Bride Page 12