The Major and the Librarian

by Nikki Benjamin

  The baby furniture could be doing someone somewhere some good instead of sitting unused in one of her bedrooms. But—foolishly, she knew—she hadn’t been able to rid herself of it and the hope it had come to signify.

  Jane and Max had overcome enormous odds to find happiness together. And despite every indication that she was wishing for the impossible, Emma wasn’t quite ready to let go of her dream.

  Maybe when Sam left, she thought, moving down the hallway to her own bedroom. Surely then she would no longer have any reason to delude herself.

  Emma completed her tasks with almost fifteen minutes to spare. She used that time to take a quick shower and change into a pair of sunny yellow shorts and a crisp white camp shirt, then drove back to Margaret’s house feeling refreshed.

  She found Margaret and Sam in the kitchen, bantering playfully as he set the table and she put the finishing touches on the grilled-chicken Caesar salad she had decided to fix for dinner. At Emma’s entrance, both of them looked her way, Margaret with a wide, welcoming smile, Sam more warily, though Emma could have sworn she saw a hint of pleasure in his bright blue eyes as they alighted upon her.

  He, too, had showered and changed into clean clothes—khaki pants and an olive green cotton crew-neck sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

  “Talk about perfect timing.” Smiling, too, Emma gestured toward the table. “Can I help with anything?”

  “Pour the tea, dear,” Margaret instructed. “And now that you’ve finished setting the table, Sam, you can get the French bread out of the oven.”

  As they ate the simple but tasty meal, Emma answered Margaret’s questions about her garden in general and the planting she and Sam had done in particular. Then their talk turned to the weekend ahead and the shopping Margaret wanted to do prior to their departure Friday morning. Sam offered to go with her the following day since Emma had to work.

  “So you’re not planning on staying out all night?” his mother asked, arching an eyebrow as she gazed at him steadily.

  Stay out all night?

  Not only surprised but dismayed, as well, Emma turned her head and stared at Sam before she could stop herself.

  No wonder he was more dressed up than usual for a quiet dinner at home. He was going out tonight. With someone Margaret had assumed would keep him away until sometime the following day.

  Sam glanced at her thoughtfully, then met his mother’s gaze again.

  “No, I’m not,” he replied. Plate and glass in hand, he stood, adding, “But I’d better get on the road if I’m going to make it to San Antonio by eight o’clock.”

  Certain that he had read her mind, Emma glared at her empty plate as a blush warmed her cheeks. She should be glad he was going out with someone and she should let him know it. But the dull ache deep in her heart made that impossible.

  “Oh, yes, you should. I didn’t realize it was getting so late,” Margaret said.

  “Let me help with the dishes first,” Sam offered.

  “I can do that.” Roused at last, Emma stood, too. Forcing herself to smile, she dug Margaret’s car keys from her pocket, put them on the table, then took the plate and glass he still held and crossed to the sink. “You just go and have a good time.”

  “Well, if you insist,” he drawled in a tone that set Emma’s teeth on edge.

  She deposited the plate and glass on the counter none too gently. Turning back to the table, she saw Sam bend and kiss his mother on the cheek.

  “I won’t be too late,” he murmured, obviously for Margaret’s ears only, though Emma heard him, too. As he straightened, he met her gaze. “You two will be all right here on your own, won’t you?”

  “Of course we will,” Margaret answered blithely.

  When he still seemed to hesitate, Emma nodded her agreement.

  “We’ll be just fine.”

  “See you tomorrow, then.”

  Directing her attention to the dishes still on the table, Emma heard Sam leave through the back door. As the latch clicked, her shoulders slumped. Beside her, Margaret reached out and touched her hand.

  “There’s no need to hurry with the dishes unless you have plans for the evening, too,” she said in a kindly voice.

  “No, I don’t.” Emma dredged up a smile for her friend. “I just thought I’d get the dishes out of the way. Then we can sit out on the front porch for a while if you want.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Neither of them said anything more as Margaret put away the leftovers and Emma finished the dishes. But once outside, each of them sitting in a rocking chair, Margaret picked up right about where they had left off.

  “It’s not what you’ve been thinking,” she began, her words punctuated by the rhythmic creak of her chair runners against the porch’s wooden floorboards.

  “What isn’t?” Emma asked as she stared dully into the falling twilight.

  “Sam’s going off to San Antonio. He’s not meeting a woman, though I imagine that’s the impression I gave. Just a couple of fellows he knew at the Air Force Academy passing through Texas on their way to the West Coast. They called right after he got back from your house and asked him to join them for a drink down on the Riverwalk.”

  “Oh, really? How nice. Not that it makes any difference to me why he’s going there.” Somehow, she managed to sound nonchalant, though the relief zinging through her was almost palpable.

  “That’s funny. Loving him the way you do, I could have sworn it would make all the difference in the world.”

  Stunned, Emma whirled around and stared at her friend, but in the growing darkness Margaret’s expression was unreadable.

  “What did you say?” she asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “You heard me, Emma.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “I’m not blind, dear. Although sometimes I could swear you and Sam are. Blind as bats, the two of you. And stubborn as mules, too.”

  “Margaret, don’t be ridiculous,” Emma protested, her face burning with embarrassment once again. “Sam and I aren’t…we can’t…”

  “No, Emma, you won’t. Neither one of you. But I hope you will before it’s too late,” Margaret stated cryptically.

  The moments of silence that followed were unbearably tense for Emma. But Margaret seemed totally unaffected by the possible repercussions her little speech might have. She rocked placidly, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Emma, on the other hand, could hardly contain the questions brimming on the tip of her tongue. Questions she dared not ask because she was afraid of what the answers might be.

  “Well, it’s getting late, and I have a busy day tomorrow. I think I’ll go on up to bed,” Margaret said, though she made no move to leave her chair.

  “Margaret…?” Emma began uncertainly, suddenly realizing that if she didn’t speak up now, she might not have another chance.

  “You’re a courageous young woman, Emma Dalton. You’ve had to be to overcome the obstacles you have over the years and get to where you are today. But even the bravest among us sometimes fail to act out of fear. Usually fear of making a mistake. Or for the more kindhearted like you—and Sam, too—fear of hurting another. And sadly, that failure to act all too often results in a paralyzing sense of guilt. Guilt that is wholly undeserved.

  “Teddy loved you, and I know you loved him, too. But Teddy is dead. Not because of anything you did or didn’t do, or because of anything Sam did or didn’t do. He was killed in a tragic accident.

  “Call me fatalistic, but I have to believe it was simply his time to leave this world. Nothing can change that, and nothing ever will. And Teddy of all people wouldn’t want his death to cast a shadow on anyone’s future happiness, especially yours and Sam’s. And he most certainly would never have wanted the circumstances of his death to keep you apart.”

  Tears prickling at the backs of her eyes, Emma stood and walked to the porch rail. Crossing her arms over her chest, she drew a ragged breath.
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br />   Margaret’s quietly spoken words, words filled with undeniable conviction, echoed in her mind as she watched the lights go on in Mr. Bukowski’s house across the street.

  Teddy loved you…wouldn’t have wanted to cast a shadow…happiness…yours and Sam’s…never have wanted to keep you apart…keep you apart…keep you apart….

  “But he’s not,” she murmured at last, more to herself than to Margaret.

  “What’s that, dear?” her friend asked, coming up beside her and slipping an arm around her waist.

  “Teddy,” she began, then paused to take a shaky breath. “He’s not…he’s not keeping Sam and me apart. Sam doesn’t…he isn’t…interested.” Again, she paused as a sob caught in her throat.

  “I can’t speak for Sam. It’s not my place. And for reasons of his own, Sam isn’t quite ready to speak for himself yet. Not in words. But I can assure you that if you listen with your heart, if you trust what you hear and reach out to him, he will say what needs to be said. Believe me, he will.

  “In the meantime, be brave, Emma. More than that, be bold. Don’t deny what you want, what you need. Square your shoulders, lift your chin and go after it,” Margaret commanded, hugging Emma hard a moment for emphasis.

  “But that’s just it,” Emma countered, brushing at the tears on her cheeks. “I’m not sure what I want, what I need. For years and years, I thought I knew. A home of my own, a place to put down roots, a safe, secure life with a safe, secure man in a safe, secure little town—Serenity…serenity…

  “I have almost all of that now. All but the safe, secure man. And Sam…Sam is anything but safe and secure. Life with him would be a roller-coaster ride, full of thrills and spills. And going on that ride would mean giving up everything else that’s ever mattered to me. Assuming he would even ask in the first place.”

  “Not necessarily,” Margaret said. “Sam has changed a lot over the years, become more himself than the image of his father everyone always insisted he was. Yes, physically, he resembles Caleb, and because of that he’s had to battle certain demons that weren’t necessarily his own. Demons he had to flee Serenity to leave behind.

  “Because of his looks, he was given a part to play by many people, including me. And so was Teddy. Sam was the wild, rebellious one, the one who was supposed to enjoy living on the edge. And Teddy…Teddy was left to play the role of the good son—mild-mannered, unassuming, steady, safe and secure.

  “Years too late, I’ve finally realized what a mistake that was. I think there were many, many times when they would have liked to change places if only they could. I also think Teddy had a streak of wanderlust just like his father’s buried deep inside him. And that home and family and even Serenity, Texas, always meant more to Sam than he was ever able to admit.

  “Not that he doesn’t love flying for the air force. Now, however, he can finally acknowledge that he wants more than that, as he has to me since he’s been home.”

  “But only on his terms, of course.” The faintest trace of bitterness edged Emma’s voice as she remembered her own parents’ marriage.

  “Years ago, I mistakenly believed that I couldn’t be happy anywhere but here. I was born and raised in Serenity, and selfishly, I refused to leave even when I saw that life here was stifling my husband’s spirit. Too late, I realized that I could have made a home for us anywhere if only I hadn’t allowed my head to block out what my heart was trying to tell me. I got what I thought I wanted. I’ve lived my entire life in Serenity. But I paid a very high price. I lost the only man I’ve ever loved.

  “I can’t tell you what’s right for you, Emma. Only you know that. And I’m not suggesting you give up everything that matters to you. Sam certainly wouldn’t expect that of you. But compromises are possible. I could have made a home for myself and my family anywhere. I know you could, too. As I’ve said, you’re a courageous woman, and where there’s a will, there is always a way.

  “Now, I’m going up to bed.” She hugged Emma again, then turned to the door.

  “Margaret…?”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder hesitantly. What could she say? Words of commiseration seemed so lacking. But neither was she ready to make any promises. Much as she wanted to listen to her heart, she couldn’t dismiss her past history so easily. Margaret kept insisting she was courageous, but in truth she still feared ending up like her mother.

  Yet she didn’t want to end up like Margaret, either—alone with what she thought she wanted, yearning for what she really needed.

  “Yes, Emma?”

  Her friend stood by the door, her hand on the latch, a questioning look in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” Emma answered at last.

  “Why, you’re very welcome.” Margaret smiled sweetly, then opened the door. “Good night, dear.”

  “Good night.”

  Alone on the porch, Emma leaned her head against one of the posts and stared into the night, her thoughts whirling. She had no idea what time it was. Not too late, she supposed. Maybe ten-thirty or eleven. Still, she should go in herself.

  It would probably be hours before Sam returned. But just in case he chose to make an early night of it, she’d rather not run into him. In fact, given a choice, she would rather not be alone with him, day or night, until she’d had a chance to mull over all that Margaret had said.

  How much did she know about what had happened between Sam and her four years ago? More than she had let on, Emma ventured to guess. Otherwise, how could she have spoken with such certainty about their feelings for each other?

  She had seemed so sure that Sam cared for her. But did he, really? And if so, where could that possibly lead? Where did she want it to lead? She had to be sure—very, very sure—before she let down her guard and reached out to him as Margaret had urged.

  She didn’t want to deceive him, and she certainly didn’t want to deceive herself.

  The unexpected flash of headlights at the top of the quiet street caught Emma by surprise. Like a mouse scampering for a bolt-hole at the approach of a big, hungry cat, she hurried across the porch, opened the door and stepped inside.

  All the way up the stairs, she chided herself for being silly. But only when she was safe in her room did she let out the breath she’d been holding.

  It couldn’t possibly be Sam. He would be out carousing with his friends till the wee hours of the—

  The distant sound of an outside door closing, followed shortly by footsteps on the stairs, reached her ears through the solid wood of her bedroom door. Footsteps that slowed in the hallway, then stopped just outside her bedroom door.

  Again, Emma held her breath, waiting—for what, she did not dare to name. Long seconds ticked by—one minute, then another passing before Sam finally continued down the hallway.

  Reach out to him…be brave…more than that, be bold…

  Margaret’s words replayed in Emma’s head, urging her to go after him, to open her door, step out into the hallway and call his name. Instead, hands clenched at her sides, she stood motionless until she heard his bedroom door close. Then, with an odd mixture of relief and regret, she sank onto the edge of her bed and switched on a lamp.

  Sighing deeply, she took off her glasses, set them on the nightstand and rubbed her eyes with her fingertips.

  “What am I going to do?” she murmured, more confused than she’d ever been in her life. “What on earth am I going to do?”

  No answers came immediately to mind. At least none she had the courage to act upon.

  Margaret had been wrong. She was a coward, a quaking, quivering coward. Had been and probably always would be—at least where Sam was concerned.

  Chapter 11

  “I don’t know about you and Emma, but if I eat any more seafood, I’m afraid I’m going to start growing gills,” Margaret announced from the back seat of her car. “As sorry as I am to see our weekend on the island end, I suppose it’s just as well we’re leaving in the morning.”

  “So I guess that means you’d rather
not stop for a crab omelet on our way out of town tomorrow,” Sam said, his tone teasing as he glanced in the rearview mirror and met his mother’s gaze.

  Beside him, Emma shifted in the passenger’s seat to look his way, her green eyes glinting with amusement.

  “I wouldn’t try that if I were you,” she warned. “Your mother’s been talking about the Seaside Café’s crab omelets from the moment we arrived.”

  “All right, all right.” Margaret waved a hand at them dismissively. “If you insist, I suppose we can indulge one more time.”

  “If we insist?”

  Sam offered his mother a devilish grin, then glanced at Emma. Smiling, too, she shook her head in mock exasperation.

  “We can’t win, can we?”

  “Not often,” he agreed.

  “About time you realized it, too,” Margaret interjected, her voice smug.

  Obviously assuming she’d had the last word, she settled back in her seat and looked out the side window. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Emma’s smile widen, but she didn’t say any more, either, seeming as content as his mother to gaze at the scenery passing by.

  Focusing his attention on the road ahead, Sam thought back over the past few days with a surprising sense of satisfaction. As his mother had predicted, getting away from Serenity seemed to have been good for all of them.

  Margaret had thrived on the air of fun-in-the-sun gaiety that imbued the island from one end to the other. They’d hardly had time to deposit their suitcases in the beach house—which had more than lived up to the brochure’s promise—before she was busy organizing outings of one kind or another.

  At Moody Gardens, they had explored the rain-forest pyramid and viewed both movies offered at the IMAX theater. They had taken an island tour on an old-fashioned tram, rode the passenger ferry to the Bolivar Peninsula, spent an evening at the outdoor amphitheater enjoying a rousing version of the musical Annie, Get Your Gun, shopped at the various stores lining the Strand, splashed in the surf and, of course, sampled a wide selection of the seafood offered at the island’s many restaurants.