“I’ll be going then,” I said. “And, uh, I’m sorry to have intruded. Really sorry.”
“Sit.” A clear order, not an invitation or something up for debate. “I made your tea.”
I hovered around the table, trying to read her expression. Her brow had unknitted, but there wasn’t a trace of a smile to be found. If she played poker, she cleaned up every single time.
“Are you sure?” I said. “I can go.”
“There’s no need,” Emily said. “It’s my own fault. I usually keep that door locked and—”
“You don’t owe me an explanation—”
“They’re of Hunter,” she said quickly, as if she needed to get the words out of her mouth before her brain stopped her. “My son. I’m sure by now you’ve heard he went missing.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.”
She nodded. “Nobody’s seen the paintings, except for Tyler. He says they’re too raw, too emotional. He won’t look at them anymore, and I don’t think he’s seen the most recent one.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think they’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Emily whispered.
A long moment passed where neither of us spoke, and yet, it didn’t feel uncomfortable, but like the silence between old friends who understand each other without having to say a word.
“I didn’t pick up a brush for almost two years after...after he went missing,” Emily finally said, gesturing again for me to sit, and I sank into the chair, unable to take my eyes off hers. “I used to dream about him every night, but when it became every second, and then every third, I painted two of those portraits in a week, because I was scared they’d stop.”
“Did they?”
“No. But since then I’ve only painted him once a year, and I always start the day after his birthday. That’s all my heart can manage.”
“I wish I could say something to make you feel better,” I said.
“You can’t,” she whispered. “I don’t think anybody can.”
We stared at each other in silence again, and neither of us moved until the sound of a phone ringing in the distance drifted out through the doorway and Emily got up.
“Please stay, Josh,” she said before slipping inside.
This was my chance, her mug a mere foot away. I could grab it and go, let her think I’d been embarrassed to be caught snooping and dashed off. Except I didn’t want to leave. What I wanted was to sit on the deck with her, and talk, all day if she’d let me. Before my brain could convince me to snatch the mug, Emily reappeared with the yard design envelope in her hands.
“I hope I haven’t made you feel uncomfortable,” she said. “I’d hate that.”
“Not even slightly, but I hope I didn’t upset you, either?”
Emily shook her head slowly. “No, I feel...okay with you seeing my paintings. I’m not sure why, but I do.”
“Does that mean you still want me working here?”
“Yes. Yes, I really would, Josh. But...I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention the paintings to anyone. I’m not ready to share them with anybody else.”
“Not a word, I promise,” I said, and Emily smiled before pulling her chair to the head of the table and sitting down, putting us at a right angle, our elbows almost touching.
“Shall we go over your designs now?”
“Sure, yeah.” I coughed to release the tension that had immediately caught itself in my throat at her nearness. Once I’d laid out the designs on the table, she traced a finger over the sketch of the rounded archway that framed the long reading bench I’d drawn at the back of the garden. “I think those colors are beautiful, Josh. And you’re right, lavender would work well. It seems...peaceful.” She looked up; she was so close I could smell her perfume, see the faintest of scars on her right cheek, a small line shaped like an arrow. I wanted to reach out and touch it, ask her to tell me the story of where it had come from, and the stories behind any other scars she had, too.
“It’s my favorite one, as well,” I said instead, trying not to stare at the plumpness of her mouth and its delicate cupid’s bow. I imagined how it might be to lean in and touch her lips with mine, cup her face in my hands as she slid her arms around my neck. I wanted to find out, was a mere heartbeat away from doing exactly that. The way she looked at me, her lips slightly parted, her eyes staring straight into mine, unwavering, full of...what was it? Not desire, not the sexual, rip my clothes off kind, anyway. It was a longing, a yearning, the need to connect I’d felt from her before—and which I had inside me, too—as if by doing so we could help one another heal.
It had happened to me before, when I’d met Grace that rainy afternoon, and it wasn’t something I’d expected to experience even once in a lifetime, let alone twice, and definitely not here, not now, not with Emily. We hadn’t moved, there hadn’t been the slightest touch, and yet the air between us shifted, crackled; the promise of something...
“Emily? Are you home?” A deep voice from inside the house startled us both, and Emily pushed her chair back as she stood up, almost sending it flying.
“On the deck,” she called out as Tyler appeared a second later dressed in workout gear, a towel slung around his neck, his skin shiny with sweat.
“Oh, hey, man,” he said when his eyes settled on me. “Josh, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Emily said, her face in a tight, professional smile. She smoothed down her shorts, touched her ear. “We were going over the designs. Want to see?”
“Maybe later,” Tyler said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
“I’d better get going,” Emily said. “Do you mind seeing yourself out, Josh? I’ll let you know about the yard after the weekend, if that’s alright?”
“No problem,” I said, avoiding eye contact with either of them before reconsidering. “Thanks for the tea, Emily. Nice meeting you again, Tyler.”
He didn’t answer, but when Emily looked at me she gave me the slightest of smiles and paused before looking away, and quietly going back into the house.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Despite having a DNA sample, getting away from the incessant rain that had come down again since midmorning, and the opportunity to spend the weekend in a relative sense of normalcy with Logan, leaving Faycrest didn’t come as a relief.
My mind kept replaying the moment at the house with Emily, how we’d looked at each other, the silent connection we’d shared—more than once—and the way she still made me feel, hours later. My guilt toward Grace for thinking of another woman came and went in waves. One minute I hated my own guts, and the next I reminded myself I hated parts of Grace, too.
I sighed when I pulled into the driveway and parked the truck, said a quick hello to Lisa and Ivan who were in the den—deftly avoiding their immediate onslaught of questions—before creeping upstairs to Logan’s bedroom. A smile spread across my face as I saw another drawing of him and Cookie stuck to his door, and as soon as I stepped inside his room, Logan whipped off the covers, jumped out of bed and flung his arms around my middle.
“Dad!” He hugged me, let me go so I could drop to my knees, then squeezed me again over and over, pushing the air out of me as if I were a human accordion. “I missed you, Dad,” he whispered as Cookie put her front paws on my thighs, her little wet nose snuffling around my fingers, licking and nibbling them with her sandpaper tongue.
“I missed you, too, kiddo,” I said, giving him a one-armed squeeze while patting Cookie with my free hand. “I can’t believe we almost went a week without seeing each other. Did you forget my face?”
“Da-ad.” Logan laughed. “Don’t be a silly sausage.”
“Why aren’t you asleep? It’s way past your bedtime.”
“I was waiting for you.” Logan grinned again, climbed back into bed and patted his Avengers duvet. “Can you stay with me, Dad? For a bit? Please?”
; I made an exaggerated grunt as I climbed onto his bed before letting my head fall on the pillow and lifting Cookie on my chest. His room felt comforting, familiar and warm with its glow-in-the-dark moons and stars on the ceiling, the Lego figurine men neatly lined up on his shelves above the desk, and the space-ship curtains we’d chosen together. Within seconds my body melted into the mattress, daring me not to move until morning, or ever. How could I even imagine him not being in my life?
“Wake me up if I fall asleep, will you? Or roll me onto the floor.”
“Nope,” Logan whispered. “You’ll stay with us. We don’t mind, do we Cookie?”
“You will when I turn into the snore monster,” I said with a laugh, and Logan giggled, his hair tickling my nose as he snuggled up closer. I put my arm around him, breathed in the scent of his berry bubble bath. “You’ve had a good week, huh? How was the rest of camp?”
“Awesome.” Logan twiddled the fabric of my shirt between his fingers, something he used to do when he was tiny, and fighting to stay awake. “I made so many friends, and we went swimming, and we did archery—”
“Like Katniss?”
“Uh-huh. I got a bull’s-eye.”
“I wish I’d been there to see that. Did you meet any cute girls?”
“Da-ad.” Logan rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue so hard I had to stifle a laugh at the maturity of his disdain. “That’s what Ivan said. Aunt Lisa told him to shush. I’m a seven-year-old kid, for goodness’ sake.”
“Yes, my sister would say that, wouldn’t she?”
“She’s nice. And Ivan, too. We had fun.” He fell silent, his brow furrowing.
“What is it, kiddo? You’ve got that look...”
“Is it true you’re going away again? Aunt Lisa said you will.”
“Yes, but hopefully just for another week—”
“That’s what you said last time and—”
“No, Logan. I said one week maybe two. And I’m not leaving until Sunday night. Don’t forget you’ll be at camp, so time will fly by, you’ll see.” My words of reassurance missed their target because Logan’s eyes narrowed even more. “What camp did you choose for next week? Alien studies?”
Logan’s pout slowly lifted. “No.”
“Lion taming? Dragon flying?”
“Ultimate sports.”
“Again?”
“Uh-huh. And Ivan said he’ll take me swimming.” Logan shut his mouth again, tried—and failed—to contain a yawn.
I hugged him, kissed his head. “You get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, alright?”
“Okay,” Logan whispered, his eyes blinking slowly. “Night, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I said, lingering in the doorway as he gave me a final wave.
“You can shut my door now,” he said, rolling onto his side and putting a hand under his cheek. “I don’t mind the dark when you’re home.”
Back downstairs I grabbed a glass of water and padded to the den, where Ivan immediately switched off the television and Lisa leaned forward, waiting to speak until I sat.
“Did you get them?” she said. “The samples?”
I pressed my palms over my eyes before silently going to the hallway, where I pulled out the research file and Felicia’s glass from my bag. Back in the den I held them both out to Lisa. “This is Felicia’s. And can you burn these papers? I don’t need them anymore.”
Lisa nodded. “What about Emily?”
“I met her a few times,” I said, “but, uh, it didn’t work out.”
“Jesus,” Ivan said. “You met her, too? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I’m hardly going to give you a blow-by-blow account of my day,” I said. “I’ve got enough going on as it is.”
Lisa stared at me for a second. “You’re going back then?”
“Yes.”
“But what did you think?” Ivan whispered. “Could she have taken one of those boys?”
I looked away, thought about Felicia’s hay fever, Emily’s gift for art, Tyler’s allergy to dogs. While I hadn’t met Felicia’s ex-husband, Gavin, it would come as no surprise if I found some similarity between him and Logan. After all, there were commonalities between Logan and Grace, and Logan and me, too. But as to how much of each was nature versus nurture...
“I don’t know,” I said.
“I don’t know how you can do it,” Lisa said. “It must be so incredibly odd thinking one of them might be his mom. What were they like?”
“Felicia’s smart and funny,” I said. “She reminded me a lot of you, Lisa.”
“I’ll take that compliment. What about Emily?” she said.
“She’s...broken,” I said.
Lisa looked at Ivan, stared at me. “I know that look. Be careful. She’s not yours to fix.”
“Yeah, I get that, thanks,” I snapped. “And you’re missing the point.”
“Then what is the point, Josh?” Lisa said, her voice calm. “What happened?”
“Nothing. There was...” I rubbed a hand over my face and sighed. “The only way I can explain it is that there’s this... connection.”
“Connection?” Ivan said. “Are you saying you like her? Christ, Josh. That’s crazy—”
“Yeah, and hello, she’s married,” Lisa added, jumping in. “Or have you forgotten that bit?”
“I know,” I said. “Nothing happened.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t want it to,” Lisa fired back. “Have you thought that maybe this isn’t about Emily at all? That it’s got nothing to do with her?”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“Think about it. You’re angry at Grace, you feel guilty that you do, so you’re latching—”
“I’m not doing anything, Lisa,” I said. “And, for the record, you’re really pissing me off.”
“I’m looking out for you, Josh,” she said. “It’s not real, it’s rebound. Just remember that.”
“It’s a shit lot worse than rebound,” Ivan said. “The woman’s husband is an ex-cop.”
“For the last time, nothing happened, okay?” I said, raising my voice as much as I dared without waking Logan. “Calm the hell down, both of you. The whole situation is messing with my brain enough already, and I didn’t drive four hours to be given a hard time by you two.”
“Okay, man,” Ivan said.
“No, it’s not okay,” I said. “Because I don’t need this crap. What I need is a good night’s sleep, so whatever else you have to say about a whole load of nothing, save it, yeah?”
Lisa’s eyes narrowed as I got up and headed for the door, but for once she didn’t say anything when I walked away.
* * *
Instead of sleeping in the next morning, I was up before seven and headed out for a run. The summer heat was already bearing down on the city, grabbing at me with its giant, sweaty hands, the humidity levels zooming past comfortable, straight to excruciating. I pushed myself hard, took increasingly long strides, arms pumping by my sides. I headed to the park, tried to deafen the voices in my head, the ones insisting Lisa was right; whatever I felt for Emily was rebound, or generated by the fear of losing Logan, making me grab on to whatever—whomever—I could find.
No matter the reason, it was a complication I didn’t need, something best left ignored, and yet, every time I closed my eyes I pictured Emily. The dimples in her cheeks, how her hair fell over her shoulders, the diamond-shaped beauty spot on her left cheek. Her voice, her laugh, the way she blushed when I paid her a compliment. The list was bloody endless. For goodness’ sake, it was only Saturday morning and I was counting the hours until I might see her again.
“You’re being a stupid idiot,” I said, running faster, stumbling on the curb as I crossed the road, almost plowing into a trash can and a man with three dogs. “An idiot.”
>
Why? the voice in my head whispered. Can’t you tell she’s not happy with Tyler?
The next image I saw was of Emily, Logan and me sitting around a breakfast table, eating French toast and telling jokes. A happy, picture-perfect family. Ludicrous to feel that way about someone I’d just met, but we’d both felt something between us, I knew we had. I stopped running and put my hands on a bench, breathed heavily.
Although I hadn’t known what to expect from my trip to Faycrest, one thing was absolutely certain. Falling for someone—especially the woman who could be Logan’s mother—sure as hell hadn’t been part of the plan.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Lisa and Ivan took off on Sunday, and I spent most of the day with Logan at Lincoln Park. We flew his kite, played catch and chucked a Frisbee around as Cookie bounced between us. The fact I’d soon leave my son behind again settled over me like the Faycrest storm clouds, refusing to shift despite filling the day with as much fun as humanly possible. All too soon it was time to go, and Logan’s eyes filled with tears when he watched me pack up my things.
“But why?” he said. “Why do you have to leave again?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, promise.” I didn’t dare look at him because he couldn’t change my mind, and I worried he’d see it in my eyes, think it was something he’d done. That realization pumped anger into my veins, which I took out on Grace’s puppy slippers that still, pathetically, sat under the armchair in the bedroom, as if she’d come home.
I picked them up and launched them to the back of the wardrobe, deciding none of her things had a place in our house anymore. Not a single piece of her clothing, none of her jewelry or any of her books, everything needed to disappear. If I’d had the time, I’d have yanked all of her stuff out of the wardrobe, cleansed the entire place of every single one of her possessions. I sank down on the bed, breathing hard knowing I couldn’t erase her from my life, or from Logan’s, even if it was the best thing for both of us. Not for the first time over the weekend I felt the need to escape, craved my life in Faycrest, which was, paradoxically, simpler because it was a place where I could pretend everything was somewhat normal.
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