by Leigh Riker
She glanced up to see Emma in the kitchen doorway.
“Good morning.” Frankie straightened with a snap of her spine.
Emma was already dressed for work and Frankie couldn’t fault her. In fact, she would never say so, but she envied Emma. She had her business, even though it seemed to be in trouble, while Frankie only had her charities to keep her busy. To keep her from thinking too much.
Today Emma wore an attractive skirt, knee length, with a gathered top. Laying her jacket on her chair, she poured coffee into one of Lanier’s mugs at the counter. And Frankie wrinkled her nose. She’d never start her day using anything but the delicate cups from her best china. She didn’t believe in shutting beautiful things away...except in two cases.
Frankie pushed the newspaper aside, then picked up the list she’d been making and waited until Emma took her seat at the table before she spoke.
“The other night Christian told us about his foundation.”
Emma took a sip of coffee. “We talked about that, too.”
“And I said—”
At that moment Christian came into the room and Frankie fought the strong maternal urge to send him back upstairs. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt, a T-shirt underneath that showed just above its collar. His hair was covered by a ball cap with a sporting goods store logo. “Really, Christian. I raised you in collared shirts.”
He only grinned and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “I’d look pretty weird driving to Louisville in a three-piece suit. Or even wearing a polo shirt and khakis,” he added. “Can you see me at some truck stop?”
“You know I can’t.”
Christian sent Emma a quick look as if to gauge her mood. Frankie’s inner security system flashed an alert.
“Emma and I were just talking about your foundation,” she said.
Christian glanced at Emma and when she avoided his gaze, his shoulders tensed. So they hadn’t come to an agreement on that. Frankie couldn’t understand why not, but then charitable organizations were her forte. Maybe Emma was upset about working on the party with Frankie. They’d had to order more invitations again—Frankie’s list kept growing.
“Emma, we think you’d make a perfect chairperson,” she said, surprising herself all over again. Or was she simply trying to follow Lanier’s suggestion and not commit to every charity obligation she was offered? She looked at Emma in time to see her eyebrows rise.
“Really.”
Frankie smoothed the cloth napkin on her lap. “You have a personal stake in the foundation’s success.” That wasn’t her only reason but it would do for now. “Using the club for the launch, as well, makes sense.”
Emma looked outnumbered. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Christian grinned. “Mom’s just happy the anniversary party won’t be the sole event that night.”
“There is that,” Frankie agreed.
Emma said, “I’m uncertain about taking on any kind of chairmanship.” She paused. “But I talked to someone recently. Jody made me see that Owen does need to be remembered—openly, maybe now in this special way. So first, let me help you with planning the launch.” She scanned Frankie’s latest list, then tapped a finger on the top entry. “I do like this caterer. Theirs is a much better bid than we got from the others for your anniversary party. This is a great menu.”
Frankie smiled. The new foundation would make her feel more in her element, and she’d enjoyed working with Emma on the party when they were able to agree.
“Emma’s right,” Christian said, “and from where I’m standing, I opt for the filet mignon.”
His cheeky grin told her she’d already lost that battle.
“Very well,” she said. “If you must.”
* * *
STANDING OUTSIDE HENNEN’S restaurant later, Christian finally caught sight of Emma. She was walking toward him through the parking lot on the other side of Chestnut Street.
“Let’s eat,” he said when she’d reached him. “Then we can drive to the mall, look at appliances. The stores are all open till nine.”
“No,” she said, “let’s go to the house after dinner. I’d like to take another look at the kitchen before we buy the new cooktop.” She didn’t have to tell him they hadn’t gotten that far the other night.
Over dinner the mood seemed more relaxed than it had been since the night she and Christian walked the Walnut Street Bridge. Before that evening had been spoiled by a quarrel. Maybe, with his mother’s help that morning, he’d made some progress. Or he and Emma were just tired of not being in sync with each other.
Tonight the normally busy restaurant wasn’t filled and the bustle of waitstaff, the conversations of strangers, even the clatter of pots and pans from the open kitchen, seemed muted.
“Emma,” he said. “I didn’t mean to spring the foundation on you like that before. I was excited, but I know the very idea must kick up a lot of things you don’t want to confront.”
“I said I’ll help with the launch event, but after that, I’ll decide what role—if any—I want to play.”
“Fair enough. Just don’t let my mother make you crazy in the meantime.”
He finished his steak, then met her eyes. She’d been watching him across the table, her expression unguarded, even warm, and that morning, when they’d left for work, he’d caught her looking back over her shoulder before she got in her car. Twice he’d blown her a kiss and felt the old, familiar awareness warm him inside. Or was he only seeing what he wanted to see?
“Be grateful you have Frankie,” Emma said. “She may not be the easiest person, but she’s always been there for you.”
He’d heard this story before. “Your mother wasn’t.”
“Not often. And not for long.” Emma toyed with her fork. “She liked her social life more than she liked being a parent.”
“She left you alone,” he said, “when you weren’t much older than Owen was.” His jaw tightened. “She brought men home.”
“Strangers she called my ‘uncles.’ They never lasted long. But then, neither did her attention span with me.”
He laid a hand on hers. “I’m sorry you had to grow up like that.”
“But I did. And because of her, I tried,” she said, “to be a better mother myself. If only—”
He squeezed her hand. “You were, Emma. You are now—to Grace. I shouldn’t have said what I did about Owen spending too much time at your shop. You were there for him then. You never left him alone like your mother did with you.”
“Except once.”
After that, he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t upset her or destroy these few close moments with each other. Her lips were already trembling and her eyes had filled. She was right. His life with Frankie had been far better than her childhood. How had he forgotten that?
And after losing Owen...
“Em,” he said, “maybe this launch will do us both good. Yesterday at Max Barrett’s shop, I did some painting. Not that he had to twist my arm. And while we were working, we talked. He’s helping me to focus my thoughts about the new foundation.”
Christian recalled his father’s words the day he’d stepped away from Mallory Trucking. You have good ideas.
“And?” Emma pulled her hand from his.
“I know exactly the logo I want to use...” This might be his way to honor his own memories without drowning in them.
“Is Frankie involved in that, too?”
“I’m telling you first,” he said, then waited before going on. This could be a make or break issue for Emma. “I’d like to use an image of the General—no, hear me out—”
“A horse?”
He reached for her hand again. “Well, a stylized version of the carousel pony Max carved.”
“It’s going to be sold,” she said, her
tone brittle. “It should have been by now. So how could it represent your foundation in the future? Why did you think this was a good idea?”
“Owen would like that. The General’s not dangerous—he’s not, Emma.” At her skeptical look, Christian released her fingers. Your foundation, she’d said, not ours. After such a good start to the day, and dinner tonight, after he’d seen her watching him with what he’d been sure was the old love in her eyes, he sighed. “I want you to be part of this. Your role in the launch will be great, but I hope you’ll become even more active after that. I think it’s important—for us, too.”
Emma hadn’t touched the lemon sorbet she’d ordered. “I don’t see how that’s possible. You’re trying to pretend he’s still with us...and after what that animal did...”
“And you’re trying to pretend he’s not.”
She stood. “Let’s go up to the house. We can’t keep putting that off.”
“Wait.” He fished for his wallet but Emma was already saying good-night to the hostess at the front desk and walking out the door. He caught up to her in the parking lot. “Emma. If you’re upset about this, let’s talk. I shouldn’t have blindsided you the other night but you shouldn’t turn away from me now.”
That stopped her. But when she turned to him, he almost couldn’t bear the living sorrow he saw in her eyes. In the glow of streetlights, her skin looked dusky rose and her hair gleamed softly. He wanted nothing else but to take her in his arms and make her sadness go away. His, too.
He cradled her face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Em. But if I didn’t tell you—and you saw the logo later—”
“Let’s concentrate right now on getting our kitchen done. I don’t know how many more nights I can sleep in Frankie’s house instead of my own.”
My own, not ours.
Without quite touching her, Christian guided her to her car’s passenger side. “Let’s take yours,” he said, “and leave my truck here. We’ll pick it up later before we go back to Mom’s house.” He helped her in, then shut the door and leaned for a moment against the cool steel of the roof. He didn’t know what to do, what else he could say.
He guessed for now he was just going to pick out some appliances.
* * *
DURING THE DRIVE, Emma knew Christian was trying to smooth things over by playing light jazz on the car stereo system, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as if to reassure her that tonight hadn’t collapsed, taking them down with it. How on earth could his foundation—or a carousel pony logo—make everything right? Normal? And what is normal, Em?
She must have been crazy to agree to co-chair the foundation launch instead of letting Frankie do it herself. One step at a time, she reminded herself. Keep trying for that new normal. Tomorrow she and Frankie would talk with the caterers.
At the house she got out of the car and waited for Christian.
Inside, when the lights flashed on, Emma saw new kitchen cabinets, already installed. She couldn’t help smiling.
“Wow,” Christian murmured behind her. Together they marveled at the progress that had been made in a few short days. The scent of fresh wood filled the air rather than smoke. The area had been thoroughly cleaned. Things were starting to look good again. Maybe she and Christian could be all right, too. She needed to work harder on that. Beginning now.
“Christian, I didn’t mean to sound negative at dinner.”
He drew her to him. “Let’s leave the foundation for tonight, okay?” His head lowered to hers. “How about a...kiss for new kitchen cabinets?”
“I’m sorry about before,” she said. “I’m grateful that you understood about my mother. I don’t want to quarrel again.”
When his mouth met hers, the old thrill ran through her, perhaps even more strongly because of their argument earlier. If she lived for another hundred years, would she ever stop needing this man?
She twined her arms around his neck, leaned in to savor his warmth. Hadn’t she promised herself she’d do something more, something different, to help them heal?
After a few deeper kisses, he raised his head, his eyes clear and steady on hers. Christian grinned. “Trying to have your way with me, are you, Mrs. Mallory?”
Emma nestled closer but tears threatened. Oh, how she’d missed this, missed him. The teasing, the love.
There’d been too many nights of sleeping apart, of letting Bob into their bed like a convenient wall between them.
She leaned back in the circle of his arms.
“We haven’t been together like this in weeks. Even staying at the end of Frankie’s upstairs hall doesn’t make us quite alone. Maybe we should forget those appliances again.” She paused. “Maybe we shouldn’t hurry back.”
Christian was still grinning, their earlier argument—if that was what it had been—eclipsed for now. “So, what do you have in mind?”
“Well, this is our home.” Taking his hand, Emma started toward the stairs.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IT WAS FINALLY Reveal Day.
This morning, after she and Christian kissed goodbye (more than once), Emma met Frankie at the caterer’s downtown office to finalize their menu for the combined foundation launch/anniversary party.
Emma actually began to feel excited. The event promised to come together smoothly—it wouldn’t dare do otherwise with Frankie involved, even though she did tend to dominate. Emma was prepared for that. Today she was thankful for her mother-in-law’s experience with lavish charity functions. That would be very different from reorganizing Melanie’s twins’ room.
Trying to seem oblivious to her mother-in-law’s sharp gaze, Emma focused on sampling the dishes that were delivered for their tasting and comment. Finally, Frankie seemed unable to resist any longer.
“Where were you and Christian all night? You didn’t come home and your dog whined for hours. I barely got any sleep.” Despite the harsh words, Frankie smiled.
“Bob’s having a nervous breakdown,” Emma admitted. “But you’ll be happy to learn our kitchen should be done soon.” That is, if they ever bought appliances.
After the tasting, she headed for Signal Mountain. Bypassing the small van parked in front of Melanie’s house, Emma opened the front door.
She slipped through the hall, then up the stairs, chasing the familiar sounds of work being done. In the girls’ room her crew was putting on the finishing touches and Emma could only stand and gape. She hoped Melanie liked what she’d done...
“Hey, boss.” Derek turned to her, a hammer in his hand. “How’s it look?”
“Just as I hoped it would.” He and Stan had already hung pictures above the beds, and on the wall by the door was a colorful guide to measure the twins’ heights as they grew.
If this met with Melanie’s approval, Emma might begin to see more business. She might still find new office space—her latest trek with Nicole through several empty buildings on the south side hadn’t worked out—but she was hopeful. She had some ideas for better marketing, too.
She heard Melanie coming up the stairs. Emma fought the urge to shield the room from view, as if she could. “You were supposed to call before you came back,” she said but with a smile. “We’re not quite done.”
“I couldn’t wait another minute.” In the doorway Melanie stood, arms folded, surveying the room. After a moment her whole face lit up. “This is so much more—so much better—than I even envisioned. This puts every redo I’ve seen on HGTV to shame.”
“I hope the girls will like it, too.”
She’d barely said the words before the twins pushed past Melanie and raced into the room, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to jump on their new beds, which today were complete with new linens. The girls bounced up and down on the lavender-and-pink duvets, arms flung wide, shrieking in delight.
“I th
ink they do like it,” Melanie murmured. “Girls. Go back to your Dora the Explorer video in the guest room until Mrs. Mallory and I are finished here. After that, it’s all yours.”
Their protests were brief. Each of the girls snatched a pillow from the beds and the new Barbie dolls in sparkly evening gowns that Emma had bought them before they left the room, chattering in their own special language. She gazed after them.
“They’re beautiful,” Emma said.
“And at times overwhelming.” Melanie tilted her head. They waited until Derek and Stan had gathered up their tools. Melanie thanked them for the great job they’d done, and the crew clattered down the stairs, on to the next project. “Is something wrong, Emma?” she finally asked.
Emma didn’t know what to say. For weeks she and Melanie had stepped around the subjects of her marriage to Christian and their loss. Maybe today, their last together, allowed for a more frank discussion.
“I can’t help thinking. If your marriage to Christian had lasted, the girls might have been his and yours.”
“I doubt the judge would like that.” Melanie’s quick smile faded. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you living in Frankie’s house. That would be difficult for me, too, and we get along very well most of the time.” She drew Emma down beside her onto one of the twin beds. “I don’t know quite how to say this—but please don’t envy me. I’ve been afraid you do, but that’s the last thing I want.”
“Melanie, you don’t have to—”
“Apologize for being close to Frankie? As I said before, that wasn’t easy for me either...at first. Or should I say I’m sorry my second marriage is happy? I can’t pretend I’m not over the moon about my four, yes, beautiful children.”
She looked thoughtful. “But Christian and I were never a pair, not in the way my husband and I are now. Christian knows that, too. We differed even in smaller ways,” she went on. “I wanted to buy our first house right here on Signal, but he wanted to stay in town. I’ve always wondered how you two ended up on Sequoia Mountain. Good work, Emma,” she said.