“Unless I’m mistaken, Emma has already mentioned that I have a chronic form of leukemia and the prognosis isn’t good,” she continued. “I went into remission for a few months, but since the end of April…” Smiling slightly, she shrugged, then reached across the table to take his hand. “That’s the real reason why you came home, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Clasping her hand tightly in his, Sam turned away as an unexpected rush of tears blurred his vision. “Emma wrote to me a few weeks ago. I came as soon as I could.”
“I’m glad Emma told you. It was unfair and very selfish of me to ask her to keep my secret so long. And I’m really glad you’ve come home.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly, then continuing in a conversational tone, changed the subject. “Galveston Island has always had a special place in my heart. Probably because that’s where I met your father. And because we always had such fun there—your father and I and you and Teddy—the summers before Caleb…died. I wanted to go back once more with you and Emma. I love you both so much, but we haven’t spent much time together, the three of us. We need to do that, Sam, and I can’t think of anywhere better than the beach.”
“You make it sound so…final. As if…as if you’ve given up hope,” he protested.
Surely the chance that she would benefit from additional treatment wasn’t as insignificant as she seemed to believe.
“There’s always hope, Sam. But I’m not fooling myself and I won’t fool you, either. Unless my condition has improved considerably in the past four weeks, chemotherapy could do me more harm than good. And if I only have a few months left, I want to have the strength to make the most of them.” She gave his hand another squeeze, then changed the subject yet again. “Now…let me get the brochure the real-estate agent sent. The pictures of the beach house I’ve rented are just lovely.” Standing, she reached for his mug. “More coffee?”
“Yes, thanks,” he replied, his voice rough.
“And another cinnamon roll?”
“Sure.”
Watching as she moved toward the door, her steps surprisingly brisk, Sam realized that she had made peace with whatever the future held for her. But he wasn’t quite that accepting. Until he had proof to the contrary, he wasn’t about to believe that nothing more could be done for her.
He would talk to Emma first, he decided, rubbing the moisture from his eyes with his fingertips. As close as she was to his mother, she had to know a lot more than she’d revealed in her letter. Then he would contact his mother’s doctor and hear what he had to say. And he wouldn’t stop there, either. He would read every article he could find about chronic leukemia and the various treatments for it. Emma could help with that—she was a librarian, after all. At the very least, she would be able to guide him in the right direction.
“Here you go.” His mother joined him again, two steaming mugs and a plate of cinnamon rolls on the tray she carried.
“You should have told me you planned to transport half the kitchen,” Sam chided, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table. “I would have gladly given you a hand.”
“I’m not completely helpless yet,” she retorted with a testiness he remembered well from his boyhood.
“I wasn’t implying you were. But I don’t expect you to run yourself ragged waiting on me, either.”
“I know.” She smiled fondly as she offered him the brochure she’d mentioned. “That’s why I enjoy doing it.”
Shaking his head in exasperation, Sam took the brochure from her and eyed the contemporary glass-and-wood-and-stone house set back behind the dunes edging the beach.
“Very nice,” he murmured approvingly as he reached for his mug.
“Emma thought so, too,” Margaret said. She settled into her rocking chair, helped herself to one of the cinnamon rolls, then added, “You know, along with satisfying my yen for the beach, I think going to Galveston will also be good for the two of you. You need to spend a little time together somewhere besides Serenity. Getting away from here for a few days will give you a chance to put the past behind you and make a fresh start.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible for us regardless of where we are,” Sam stated, edging his words with an attempt at finality.
From the moment he’d made the decision to return to Serenity, he had wondered how Emma would respond to his presence there. But no matter how he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to convince himself that she’d be happy. So far, it seemed he’d been right.
“Anything’s possible, Sam. Unless you’re the one who’s given up hope.”
“Not any more than you. But I’m not fooling myself, either. Not after what I did…”
“Despite what Emma said to you at the hospital, she’s never blamed you for Teddy’s death.”
“Only because she doesn’t know the whole truth.”
“Then tell her,” his mother insisted none too gently. “You didn’t act with malicious intent. You simply said what you believed you had to say to your brother that day. There was no way you could have anticipated how he would react. I’m sure Emma is capable of understanding that.”
“And if she’s not, she’ll end up despising me more than ever,” Sam countered angrily.
He wished he had as much faith in Emma’s compassion as his mother did. Then he wouldn’t hesitate to try to set things straight between them. But he hadn’t the courage to count on gaining her forgiveness—at least not yet.
“I don’t think that will happen,” Margaret said.
“But there’s no guarantee, is there?”
“There are never any guarantees in life. Sometimes we just have to believe….”
Aware of the futility of arguing with his mother any longer, especially when she had right on her side, Sam rocked slowly back and forth, nibbling on a cinnamon roll and sipping his coffee. Maybe he had given up too easily. Maybe he should trust that Emma was capable of giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe…maybe he should go soak his head.
Better yet, he could get started on the repairs he wanted to make. That would get his mind off Emma.
But the sunny summer day held him in its thrall. Aside from the twitter of birds in the trees, the buzz of insects over the flowering shrubs and the occasional whoosh of a car passing by, all was quiet. Quieter than he remembered, but then most of his mother’s neighbors were elderly—
“I was wondering…” his mother began, interrupting his reverie.
“What?” Sam prodded reluctantly when she seemed to hesitate.
“How much longer do you think you’ll be stationed in Italy?”
“Actually, my tour of duty there is officially over. I’m being transferred back to the States. In fact, I’ve done all the paperwork already. I’ve requested an assignment at one of the air bases in Texas. I should find out exactly where I’ll be stationed within the next week or so.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” She turned to him, her eyes filled with concern.
“I know,” he assured her, aware that she wouldn’t have wanted him to make such a request on her account. “But I’ve been away a long time. I meant it when I said I was ready to come home for a while.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” Smiling again, she patted his hand.
“I do,” Sam replied, realizing he spoke the truth.
He had spent years trying to avoid the pit into which his father had fallen, feeling trapped in a small town, weighed down by a growing sense of futility. He had realized—too late—that everything he wanted was in Serenity, after all. And then, the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death had sent him into exile once again.
But he had a duty to his mother—a duty he’d been determined to fulfill. That had made it impossible for him to stay away. Now, having finally come home, he couldn’t imagine leaving again, especially for good. Not when his mother could be terminally ill.
And not when he hadn’t yet accepted that all had been lost with Emma. As his mother had said, anything was possible. But what chance wou
ld he have of making things right between them from half a world away?
More than anything, Sam now knew he wanted that chance. He had already admitted more times than he cared to count that there was too much standing between him and Emma and a future together. Yet he couldn’t seem to totally discount that possibility, either. And he wouldn’t… couldn’t. Not until he found the courage to be truthful with her. And surely that would come with time.
Filled with a sudden, inexplicable sense of exhilaration, Sam pushed out of his rocking chair.
“I thought I’d take a look at your garbage disposal and see if I can get it running again,” he announced. “Then I’m going down to the hardware store to buy some new washers for your faucets.”
“Oh, Sam, I’d really appreciate that.”
“While I’m busy, why don’t you decide whether you want the wooden fence across the backyard up or down. Unless there’s something else you’d rather I do first, I’ll work on that tomorrow.”
“But you’re supposed to be on vacation,” Margaret protested.
“That starts Friday when we leave for Galveston. Until then, try to think of all the work around here you’d like to have done and let me play handyman.”
“Well, if you insist…” she demurred.
“Absolutely.”
She considered him thoughtfully for several moments, then grinned at him, a wicked gleam twinkling in her eyes.
“Well, in that case, I’d better get a pad of paper and a pencil.”
Chapter 8
After the sleepless night she’d had, Emma wasn’t sure how she made it through Monday, but she did. Necessity coupled with sheer determination helped a lot. She couldn’t go off to Galveston on Friday with a clear conscience unless she did her utmost to make sure the Serenity Public Library ran smoothly in her absence.
Luckily, Marion Cole proved to be quite capable. Not only was she eager to learn, but she also caught on quickly. And with her cheerful personality, she got along well with the other members of the library’s small staff. Emma soon realized she couldn’t have found anyone better suited to help out over the summer.
With Marion running interference for her, Emma was also able to make a sizable dent in the new book orders that had piled up while Margaret had been in the hospital. By the time five o’clock rolled around, however, she felt like a zombie. It was all she could do to gather her things together and walk out to her car.
The lingering heat of the day dragged at her, increasing her weariness even more, and made the short drive to Margaret’s house—a distance she often walked in nice weather—seem interminable. What she really wanted was to go back to her house, but she knew that would cause Margaret more concern than it would be worth. Thanks to her friend’s efforts, she and Sam would be thrown together again anyway at the beach house Margaret had rented on Galveston Island.
They had talked about a long-weekend getaway, but with Sam’s return Emma had assumed the trip would be postponed for a while. Having been presented with a veritable fait accompli, she’d had no choice but to go along with it enthusiastically. Especially since she’d been too weary to put up any kind of argument.
But she had promised herself that once they returned from the island, she would go back to her own home until Sam left again. She could hold off that long for Margaret’s sake, but only for Margaret’s sake.
At the Griffin house, Emma paused in the kitchen only a few minutes to tell her friend that she wanted to lie down for an hour or so before dinner. On her way upstairs, she saw no sign of Sam, for which she was grateful. She changed out of her skirt and blouse into soft knit shorts and a T-shirt, stretched out on her bed and ended up sleeping straight through till morning.
She awoke just before seven, feeling more refreshed than she had in weeks. As she blinked the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes and stretched luxuriously, she realized someone had come in during the night and covered her with a quilt. Margaret, Emma assumed. She had been sleeping too soundly to know for sure, but she doubted Sam would come within five feet of her unless ordered to under pain of death.
Shoving away all thoughts of him almost as swiftly as they came to mind, Emma crawled out of bed resolutely, headed for the bathroom with only the slightest glance at Sam’s open bedroom door, showered and dressed for another day at the library. She still had a lot left to do. Allowing herself to be sidetracked emotionally, even for a few minutes, was a waste of much-needed time.
In the kitchen, Margaret sat alone at the table, dressed in a denim skirt and bright red shirt that set off her silvery hair. She looked up from the morning paper, smiled and gestured toward the coffeemaker on the counter.
“I just brewed a fresh pot.”
“Thanks—for the coffee and for looking in on me last night.” Emma helped herself to a mug, then put a slice of bread into the toaster. “I must have been more tired than I realized.”
“You’re welcome—for the coffee. But it was Sam who checked on you. When you didn’t come down to dinner, he offered to go up and make sure you were all right. When he came down again, he said you were fast asleep.”
“I must have been,” Emma muttered, momentarily flustered by the thought of Sam entering her bedroom and covering her with the quilt, all without her knowledge.
Just doing his duty—looking after her at his mother’s insistence, she told herself, recalling how resolutely he’d distanced himself from her on the staircase Sunday night.
“You should have something more than that,” Margaret said as the toaster popped. “Especially since you missed dinner last night.”
Though no easy task, Emma brought herself back to the present moment.
“You’re right,” she admitted, patting her growling stomach as she crossed to the refrigerator. “A piece of toast just isn’t going to be enough this morning. How about some scrambled eggs?”
“No, dear. Don’t fix any for me. I had a bowl of cereal earlier with Sam. Then he took off for the lumberyard north of town.”
“The lumberyard?” Emma eyed her friend questioningly as she whisked eggs and milk together in a small bowl.
“He’s going to replace those rotten boards in the fence across the backyard for me today. Yesterday, he repaired the garbage disposal, put new washers in all the faucets that have been leaking and ran something called a snake down the drain in my bathroom so it won’t keep clogging up.”
“He’s been busy, hasn’t he?” Emma commented, stirring the egg mixture into a pan on the stove.
“And he will be the next few days, as well. He insisted that I make a list of things I need done around here, and I did just that. Told me to let him play handyman, so I figured, why not? No sense letting him sit around getting bored.”
“No sense at all.” Smiling, Emma spooned her scrambled eggs onto a plate, added the slice of toast and joined Margaret at the table.
“I’ve got enough to keep him busy around here for the rest of the week. But when we get back from Galveston, he’s going to have some time on his hands. Maybe he could give you a hand with some of the work you’ve been wanting to do around your place. Painting and wallpapering goes much faster when you have a little help.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask him to do that,” Emma protested, hoping she didn’t sound as dismayed by the idea as she felt.
She had already decided she didn’t want Sam anywhere near her house. Not even for the few minutes it would have taken to unload her rosebushes Sunday evening. How could she possibly have him there for days on end while they worked closely together hanging new wallpaper or painting the woodwork? Talk about letting him invade her space. She would never be able to forget him—as she knew she must—if she allowed him into her home in such an…intimate way.
“Nonsense,” Margaret replied, waving her hand dismissively. “He appreciates everything you’ve done for me. He’s said so several times already. He certainly wouldn’t mind doing something for you in return. Especially something you’ve had to postpone becaus
e I’ve needed your help.”
Try as she might, Emma couldn’t think of a way to respond as she wanted without sounding churlish. She had never expected any kind of payment from her friend, but Margaret was a proud woman. Emma knew she had worried about taking advantage of her. And now she obviously saw a way for her son to cancel the debt she seemed to feel she owed.
“Well, let’s see how things go next week,” Emma finally said as she finished her breakfast. “We may end up spending several days in Houston, you know.”
“Perhaps,” Margaret murmured noncommittally.
Emma glanced at her sharply, but suddenly Margaret seemed engrossed in the day’s headlines.
Had she begun to lose hope? Emma wondered, gathering her dishes and crossing to the sink. She had seemed so much better the past week or two—more so after Sam’s arrival. Had she actually been feeling worse than she’d let on? Or was she simply afraid of going through another round of treatment after the problems she’d had last time?
Emma knew better than to press for answers. Margaret believed in putting on a brave face regardless. And she would never say anything that might cause those she loved what she deemed to be needless worry.
Pausing by the table on her way out to give her friend a quick hug, Emma decided she had better ask Sam what he thought. He was her son, after all. Maybe she had confided in him in a way she didn’t feel she could with her.
“Full day again today?” Margaret asked, reaching up to give her hand a squeeze.
“I’m taking off at three this afternoon. Thought I’d let Marion work a few hours on her own while I’m within shouting distance—so to speak. And I really need to get my rosebushes in the ground, too.”
“Ah, yes. Can’t let them sit in those containers too long, can you?”
“Not at this time of year,” Emma agreed. “And the sooner they’re planted, the better they’ll do next spring.” She slung her purse strap over her shoulder, then added, “Call if you need anything and Sam’s not back, okay?”
The Major and the Librarian Page 9