In the days before the wedding, Sam had been so wrapped up in his own problems he hadn’t really paid much attention to Teddy’s behavior. Thinking back now, he recalled how quiet his brother had been. Granted, they had engaged in their usual horsing around, but Sam hadn’t been the only one who’d done so halfheartedly. And several times, Teddy had gone off alone without telling anyone.
Had he had doubts about marrying Emma? Doubts he had chosen not to voice for fear of hurting her?
They had been such close friends for so many years, yet they certainly hadn’t been in any hurry to marry even after they’d graduated from college. Though Sam hadn’t been home much during those years, it had seemed that everyone around town assumed they would…eventually. He certainly had, and he knew his mother had, as well.
Had Teddy and Emma been weighed down by those expectations? Expectations that had kept each of them silent rather than risk causing the other anguish?
That would explain why Emma had made no move to stop the wedding after the mad, passionate kiss they had shared. And now that Sam thought about it—really thought about it—that could also explain his brother’s erratic behavior that fateful morning as the two of them set out for the church.
Teddy had been the one to suggest they take a more roundabout route, and Sam had agreed willingly enough. He had been in no hurry to watch Emma walk up the aisle and into his brother’s arms. And self-involved as he’d been, he hadn’t questioned Teddy’s rather odd request.
Thinking back to that sunny summer day, Sam admitted he wouldn’t have been able to get to the church quickly enough had he been in his brother’s place.
Teddy’s foot-dragging should have alerted him to a possible problem. Instead, it had merely set the stage for the tragedy that followed. And Sam had all too willingly played his part, initiating the conversation that had driven his brother to make the fatal mistake that had ultimately cost him his life.
“Are you sure you want to go through with the wedding?” Sam had asked, only half-teasingly. “Sure you want to tie yourself down to a wife and family without ever having gone anywhere or done anything except teach high-school English in your hometown?”
“What do you suggest I do, Sam? Leave Emma standing at the altar? I couldn’t do that to her.”
“Well, I could always take your place. I’m already dressed for the occasion….” Any lingering trace of lightheartedness had vanished from his voice.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Teddy had eyed him without rancor, nodded once and unbuckled his seat belt.
“Then let me out of the car up there, just past the intersection. I’ll catch a ride back to the house, clear out my stuff and be gone before the service is over.”
“Teddy, don’t be silly. Emma loves you.”
“Not the way she—”
Not the way she should? But Sam would never know what Teddy was going to say. Before Teddy had been able to finish, a pickup truck had sped through the intersection, failing to stop at the stoplight, and plowed into Sam’s car. The sudden impact had sent Teddy hurtling through the windshield and onto the pavement.
Had Sam been paying attention to his driving, he might have been able to swerve out of the way. Or, even more important, had he simply kept his mouth shut, Teddy would have been saved by the seat belt he’d have still been wearing—
With a start, Sam heard the floorboards creaking overhead, warning that Emma was more than likely on her way downstairs. Not wanting to be caught where he hadn’t been invited, he turned away from the photographs in the wardrobe and hurried back to the kitchen.
He had just time enough to help himself to a bottle of beer and slouch into one of the ladder-back chairs by the antique gateleg table in the bay-windowed alcove. Emma bustled through the doorway, a file folder full of papers in one hand.
“Sorry I took so long. I wanted to give you as much of the information I’ve been collecting on leukemia as I could, but I didn’t have it all in one place.” She plopped the folder on the table, then crossed to the refrigerator and took out a beer for herself. “Ready for another?” she asked, eyeing his bottle.
“Not yet.”
She had also taken time to wash her face and comb her hair and—to his disappointment—change into a less revealing T-shirt while she was upstairs, he noted as he took a long swallow of the frosty brew.
“Thanks again for helping with the rosebushes.” She sat across from him, drank from her bottle, then set it aside with a slight smile. “Mmm, good.”
“Tastes the best after hard work on a hot day, doesn’t it?”
“Or with a plate of tamales and cheese enchiladas.” She hesitated, finally adding, “I think I might have a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa in the pantry if you’re hungry.”
“Not really, but you go ahead.”
“No, I’m not, either.”
She reached for her beer again as the silence stretched between them uncomfortably.
Sam knew he was getting very close to wearing out his welcome. He had held off asking about his mother as long as he could. Not because he dreaded what Emma might have to tell him. He had already come to terms with the seriousness of his mother’s illness. But once Emma had answered his questions, his reason for having her all to himself would no longer exist.
“You mentioned you’ve been collecting information on leukemia?” he began at last, gesturing toward the file folder on the table.
“Whatever I could find about the disease itself and the options for treatment. I wanted to be able to understand what the doctors were saying and also be able to question them intelligently.”
“Thanks for taking the time to do that.”
“Since Margaret insisted she didn’t want you to know, I thought someone should look out for her.”
“I would have done it if I’d known,” Sam said, holding her gaze.
“Yes, I know you would have. And I know now that I should have contacted you sooner. But I kept thinking she would get better, and I didn’t want to worry you needlessly, either.” Her tone defensive, Emma looked away.
“I’m not faulting you, Emma. You were only trying to do what you thought was best for everyone, especially my mother. I’m just glad I’m here now so I can give you a hand. You shouldn’t have had to deal with her illness on your own for as long as you did.”
“I didn’t mind. Really, I didn’t.” She faced him again, smiling slightly.
“I know.” Touched by the benevolence of her gaze, he wanted to reach out and smooth a hand over her hair. Instead, he pushed away from the table, stood and crossed to the refrigerator. “I think I’ll have another beer, after all. How about you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Is the offer of chips and salsa still good? I’m going to need a little something to sop up the alcohol or I won’t be able to walk a straight line.”
“It most certainly is.”
Crossing to the pantry, Emma retrieved the bag of tortilla chips and jar of salsa while Sam opened the beer bottles at the sink.
“Why don’t I give you a summary of the information I’ve collected,” she suggested when they were seated at the table again. “Then you can read through everything on your own later.”
“Sounds good to me,” Sam agreed, grabbing a handful of chips and dipping into the salsa.
“Basically, Margaret was diagnosed with a chronic form of leukemia that occurs primarily in older adults. The onset was gradual, as is usually the case. At first, her doctor thought she had a touch of flu. She was running a low-grade fever, she was achy all over and she didn’t have much of an appetite. When those symptoms lingered for several weeks and she also started complaining about feeling weak all the time, he assumed she’d contracted a bacterial infection while her defenses were down.
“He prescribed several different rounds of antibiotics, and eventually she seemed to start feeling better. When she had a relapse just before Thanksgiving, he fin
ally ordered a series of blood tests. The results came in, and he immediately made arrangements for her to see a specialist in Houston.
“She went through one round of chemotherapy then. That relieved her symptoms, and she seemed to go into remission. But the symptoms recurred again about two months ago. Since the original treatment she received produced only a very temporary improvement, her doctor ordered another round of chemotherapy using a different combination of drugs that ended up making her even more ill than she had been.
“At her age and in her weakened condition, there are only a limited number of options when it comes to treatment, and unfortunately, even a minor complication can be life threatening. A bone-marrow transplant is out of the question. She’s just not strong enough. Even the chemotherapy she’s received is of questionable value when it comes to actually prolonging her life. Considering how sick she was the last time, I can understand why. And I can’t say I blame her for not wanting to go through more of the same.”
“But if she’s no longer in remission and she doesn’t agree to additional treatment, then how long can she survive?” Sam asked, his brows furrowing.
“That would depend on how quickly the disease progresses from the chronic to the acute stage. A drug called interferon has been known to delay that happening in some people without unbearable side effects. But there’s no guarantee she won’t have an adverse reaction—one she might not survive.”
“So, damned if she does and damned if she doesn’t, right?”
“Something like that,” Emma admitted, eyeing him sadly. “And it has to be her decision. She’s the only one who can choose between taking the risk involved in whatever treatment her doctor recommends or letting the disease run its course over the next year or so.”
“That’s all the time she would have left?” Sam hardly recognized the sound of his own voice.
“Give or take a few months.”
He looked away, barely able to contemplate the consequences of either alternative. After a few moments, he asked, “What do you think she should do?”
“I think she should do whatever feels right to her,” Emma murmured.
At the touch of her hand on his arm, Sam met her gaze, then shook his head helplessly. He had thought he was prepared for the worst, but he’d been wrong.
“I saw what she went through in the hospital a few weeks ago,” Emma continued. “I’m not sure I want to see her suffer through something similar again. I don’t want to lose her that way. I don’t want to lose her at all…ever. She’s all the family I have left.”
“I know how you feel. She’s all the family I have left, too.” He covered her hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But I want her to be as comfortable as possible for whatever time she has left. Quality of life has always been so important to her.”
“I guess we’ll just have to trust her to know what’s best.”
“Maybe I’ll come across something in your notes. Or better yet, maybe her doctor will have good news for us next week.”
“I hope so.” Emma smiled again, then withdrew her hand from his hold to brush the moisture from her eyes.
With their shared closeness severed by her seeming retreat, Sam glanced at his watch, then reached for the folder.
“I suppose we should be getting back,” he said.
“You go on,” Emma urged. “I have a few things I want to do around here.”
“Anything I can help with?” File folder in hand, he stood.
“Thanks for offering, but I can manage on my own.” Without meeting his gaze, she pushed away from the table.
Sensing that she wanted to be alone, Sam took the car keys from his pocket, set them on the table, then headed toward the door.
“I’ll leave the car here for you. That way, you won’t have to walk back on your own.”
Emma seemed about to protest, but didn’t.
“Okay, fine,” she agreed instead. “I won’t be too much longer.”
“See you at dinner, then?”
“Yes, see you then.”
Relieved by her reply, Sam stepped onto the back porch, pulling the door shut behind him. He had been afraid she would find an excuse to stay there overnight, and then to move back permanently. She had every right to. He was more than capable of caring for his mother on his own.
But he wanted Emma close by for as long as possible. Wanted to know that—deep in the night darkness—she was only a few steps away. Even though he couldn’t yet allow himself to go that short distance.
Chapter 10
Once Sam had left, the silence that settled around Emma suddenly seemed…forlorn. Just as she had feared, he had filled her private, personal space as it had never been filled before, his vibrant masculinity casting a warm glow on the surroundings they had shared. And now the cluttered little kitchen she had always considered cozy echoed with the emptiness of an abandoned warehouse.
Sitting at the table again, Emma stared out the bay window, her gaze focused on the bright colors of her flower garden, and called herself a fool for allowing Sam’s presence—or rather, the lack thereof—to affect her so noticeably.
For heaven’s sake, they had been there together no more than thirty minutes, discussing his mother’s prognosis as pragmatically as they could under the circumstances. They hadn’t talked of anything that could be considered personal. And the only physical intimacies they had shared had been the touch of her hand on his arm, then his hand covering hers—gestures meant only to comfort and console.
Maybe that was what she was missing more than Sam himself, Emma decided. Having a shoulder to lean on in a crisis—any shoulder, even temporarily—was something she had sorely missed since Margaret had become ill.
Though Jane and Max Hamilton had stayed in Serenity until the end of January, Emma hadn’t wanted to cause them any concern. They had been so wrapped up in each other, their infant son and their newfound happiness that she had chosen to keep the worst of her fears for her friend to herself, not only then, but again when she and Margaret had visited them in Seattle several weeks ago.
Here at her house with Sam, however, she had finally been able to speak freely about Margaret’s illness, and thus shift some of the burden she had been carrying alone for so many months. Just as she could continue to do. Sam hadn’t disappeared completely. He was still close by. And he would be for a few weeks, at least.
She had no reason to feel so bereft just because she sat alone in the one place where she had more often than not been alone—by choice—for the past couple of years.
Why, Jane and then Max, too, had stayed with her for months, and while she had missed them when they returned to Seattle, having her little house all to herself again had been almost a relief. The place hadn’t been any less empty then than it was now.
It wasn’t as if she couldn’t have had company on a regular basis, either—masculine company. For a small town, Serenity had a fair number of single men. Several had indicated an interest in her over the years. But she hadn’t encouraged any of them. They were nice; they just weren’t…Sam.
“So, snap out of it,” Emma muttered as she pushed her chair away from the table.
She had the home she had always wanted, and she had made it her own as best she could. She had never yet been lonely there, and she wasn’t about to start now.
She had long ago accepted the fact that she would probably spend the rest of her life alone. Much as she wanted a family of her own, she refused to settle for second best. And what other choice did she have when the man she loved obviously didn’t love her in return?
“And just as well, too,” Emma added, stowing the bag of chips in the pantry and the jar of salsa in the refrigerator.
She needed the security that came with putting down roots, the kind of roots she had finally been able to put down in Serenity, Texas. And by choice born of his needs, Sam lived as rootless a life as any man possibly could.
Even if he had feelings for her, how could they ever have a life
together without one of them making a sacrifice that could so easily lead to bitterness and regret?
Emma didn’t want to end up like her mother, and from what Teddy had told her years ago, she knew Sam had a fear of ending up like his father. Love could conquer only so much. And where she and Sam were concerned, love—mutually deep and abiding love—didn’t seem to be a part of the equation.
With a soft sigh of resignation, Emma rinsed out the beer bottles and tucked them into the recycling bin under the sink. She had learned long ago that some things in life just weren’t meant to be. Why couldn’t she accept the fact that spending the rest of her life with Sam happened to be one of those things?
As she turned away from the sink, a glance at the clock on the wall warned that she had only an hour until she was expected back at the Griffin house for dinner. Time enough to sort through her clothes and choose a few things for the long weekend in Galveston, water her indoor plants and run a dust cloth over the furniture in the living room, dining room and upstairs bedrooms.
With Mrs. Beal, the housekeeper Margaret had hired to look after both houses, off on her own vacation the entire month of June, a little damage control seemed to be in order.
Unfortunately, she wouldn’t have enough time to do the one thing she had consistently put off doing since Jane and Max had left in January. Heading up the stairs, her gaze snagged on the closed door of the room they had outfitted as a nursery for their baby.
Max had generously offered Emma the beautiful, barely used furniture they had purchased in San Antonio—all except the rocking chair that had been Max’s special gift to Jane. Certain she would never have any need for the oak baby bed, chest of drawers and changing table, Emma had demurred. But Max had insisted that they wanted her to have them as a kind of promise for her own future when surely she would find the same happiness they had.
When she had still resisted, Jane had allowed that Emma could always donate the furniture to a church or homeless shelter. Unable to argue with that, Emma had finally acquiesced. Yet she had never made the call to the Salvation Army as she’d planned.
The Major and the Librarian Page 11