Sam had to admit that the flurry of activity had lightened his spirits in exactly the way his mother had insisted it would. Though he’d had no real time alone with Emma since they had been together at her house—either back in Serenity or there on the island—he had felt much more relaxed around her.
Though he hadn’t delved too deeply into why that had been possible, he couldn’t help but believe that busy as he’d been in Galveston, he hadn’t had time to allow memories of the past mistakes he’d made to intrude with the same persistence or intensity as they seemed to in Serenity.
At the same time, Emma seemed more at ease in his company, as well. Again, he hadn’t sought out a specific reason. He was simply grateful that she had stopped making excuses to leave whenever he entered a room and that when she glanced his way, her look was no longer quite so guarded.
In fact, more often than not over the past couple of days, there had been a warmth in her steady gaze that had stirred the merest flicker of hope in his heart.
Had she, too, been better able to lay the past to rest here? Was she able to look at him as he had been able to look at her—without Teddy’s ghostly shadow hovering between them quite so insistently?
They had never been on the island together, the three of them, and so much had changed since he had been there with his brother more than twenty years ago. All the moments he and Emma had shared here with his mother belonged only to them. And with some gentle urging from Margaret, those moments seemed to have drawn them a little closer.
But how long would their new and oh-so-tentative bond last once they returned to Serenity? With the anniversary of Teddy’s death only ten days away, neither he nor Emma could avoid being reminded of what had kept them apart all these years. Then, all too easily, they could fall into their old patterns of behavior—patterns that had them fleeing each other’s company rather than sharing an indulgent smile at his mother’s latest bit of nonsense.
Guiding the Volvo down the two-lane road leading to the beach house, Sam wished their idyll could last forever. Not only because of what he feared would happen between him and Emma once they returned to Serenity. Margaret’s appointment with the doctor in Houston loomed ahead of them, as well. Try as he might, Sam couldn’t work up much optimism about the final prognosis.
He had read all of the information Emma had gathered, not once but several times over. He had also talked to the doctors his mother had seen—the ones in Serenity, as well as those in Houston. Sadly, he had come to the same conclusions as Emma.
Unless she had gone into remission again, drug therapy of some kind would be necessary to prolong her life. But those very drugs could also produce miserable side effects that would detract from the quality of whatever time she had left. Without the drugs, the disease would progress at such a rate that she probably wouldn’t live to see another summer.
For the short time they had been on Galveston Island, Sam had been able to set aside some of his concern about his mother’s illness. She had seemed more than ever like the woman he remembered. Her spirits had been high, her appetite for adventure keen. In fact, she had been so full of energy the past few days that he and Emma had been hard-pressed to keep up with her.
Now Sam wondered if she had merely been putting up a good front to allay their worries. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her. When she set her mind to something, there had never been any stopping her. She had so obviously wanted their time together on the island to be special.
But had she really been able to overcome the effects of her illness by sheer force of will?
That he would only know after her doctor’s appointment the next day.
The sun had begun to drop toward the horizon by the time Sam pulled into the beach house’s driveway. Set off by itself at the end of a narrow, sandy road, the multilevel, contemporary, wood-and-glass-and-stone dwelling offered a measure of privacy and peacefulness he had thoroughly enjoyed. Though more heavily used during the day by the families living in the cluster of houses almost half a mile away, the wide strip of beach beyond the dunes fronting the property was nearly deserted just after dawn and again just before sunset. Something Sam knew for a fact since those were the times he had chosen to take his solitary runs.
“It’s such a lovely evening,” Margaret said as he helped her from the car. “Why don’t you and Emma take a last walk along the beach?”
“You, too,” Emma urged. “We don’t have to go far, and maybe you’ll happen upon that elusive sand dollar you’ve been hoping to find.”
Years ago, Margaret had told them, she had found some of the most perfect sand dollars she’d ever seen along this very stretch of beach. She had been determined to add another to her collection during their current stay, but all they had been able to find were bits and broken pieces half-buried in the coarse, dry sand. Too many others searching for shells along her beach now, she had grumbled good-naturedly.
“Oh, no, I’ve given up on that.” She smiled placidly, patting Emma on the arm, then started up the steps to the deck. “I think I’ll just sit in a lounge chair and watch the tide roll in or out—whatever.” She paused, glanced back at them and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Now go along before the light fades completely.”
Sam stood at the foot of the steps, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, watching as his mother made her way up to the deck. The satisfied smile he’d glimpsed on her face assured him she was all right. At least all right enough to arrange for him and Emma to have some time alone together.
Not that he minded, but Emma might.
Much as he would love having her all to himself for a little while, he didn’t want her to feel obligated to keep him company. Just because his mother thought that would be an appropriate way for them to end the evening didn’t mean she had to, as well.
“We don’t have to take a walk if you’d rather not,” he said, eyeing her sideways as he shoved his hands in the side pockets of his tailored navy blue shorts.
“Actually, a walk would be really nice.” She glanced up at him, then away, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. “But I don’t mind going alone if you would rather not.”
Sam was not only surprised by her response, but also deeply pleased. He had given her the out he thought she might want, but she hadn’t taken it. Hadn’t even seemed inclined to take it.
“No, a walk sounds good to me, too,” he assured her, trying not to sound too eager.
He would take whatever time he could have with her, here on the island, as well as back home in Serenity. Back home…
How long had it been since he’d thought of the small town in the Texas hill country that way? Not since he had gone off to the Air Force Academy, he admitted.
But now…
Even faced with the possibility that Emma would distance herself from him again once they returned, Sam knew there wasn’t anywhere else he would rather be. Had known since Tuesday night, when he’d joined his buddies in San Antonio. Long before he had arrived, he’d already been thinking about how soon he could make his excuses and start the long drive back. Because of Emma…Emma…
The memory of her hand on his arm that afternoon, of how she had sensed his anguish and reached out to him, had chased away any desire he might have had to party the night away. Instead, he had wanted only to go home to her. And once he’d arrived…
How great had been the temptation to open her bedroom door, to confront her once and for all with his deepest, darkest desires. Only by reminding himself of the untold truth still hanging over his head had he managed to stop. But he hadn’t been able to banish thoughts of what could have been—what could be.
Not quite meeting his gaze, Emma nodded. Then with casual ease, she tossed her purse on the bottom step, slipped out of her sandals and started toward the narrow wood-plank walkway that formed a bridge across the grassy dunes.
Kicking off his loafers, Sam followed after her, lengthening his stride so they were walking side by side by the time they reached th
e cool, wet, hard-packed sand where the lick of the gently lapping waves had left a line of froth.
As if by mutual agreement, they turned together, moving along slowly, the setting sun at their backs, Emma with her head bent, eyes scanning the debris tossed ashore and Sam with his gaze locked on the distant horizon.
Though he was no more anxious to speak than she seemed to be, Sam didn’t find the silence stretching between them all that comfortable. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much that needed saying, but he hadn’t any idea where to begin. Nor could he anticipate where their conversation would lead.
More than likely, some places they would be better off not going just yet. He didn’t want to risk spoiling what little time they had left here by dredging up the past. He had waited this long to tell her the truth about Teddy’s death. He could—would—wait a while longer.
“I wish I could find just one,” Emma murmured after a while, pausing to sift through a heap of broken shells and tangled seaweed with her bare toes.
“What’s that?” Sam asked as he turned to face her.
“One perfect sand dollar for your mother.” The evening breeze tousling her curls and swirling the calf-length hem of her lime green sundress, she met his gaze and smiled wistfully. “As a sort of talisman…for good luck tomorrow.”
“You’ve been concerned about her, too, haven’t you?”
“I’ve tried not to let it show. I didn’t want to spoil the weekend for any of us. But yes, I’ve been very concerned. And I’ve felt so…helpless.”
Looking away, Emma started walking again, and Sam fell into step beside her.
“She’s seemed so full of energy and she’s been in such a positive frame of mind. I keep wanting to believe the doctors have made some terrible mistake, or that they diagnosed her condition correctly, but by some miracle she’s beaten the odds,” Sam admitted. “But I’ve read everything you gave me and I’ve talked to her doctors myself. I know she has leukemia, and I know there’s nothing I can do to change that. And I would do anything if only I could.”
“So would I, Sam,” Emma said, her voice thick with unshed tears as she paused again. “So would I.”
“I know, Emma.”
Touched by her sadness and despair, he reached out for her without thinking. Standing at the water’s edge, he put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side. She hesitated for only the barest moment, then looped her arm around his waist and leaned against him.
“What are we going to do without her?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
Brushing his cheek against her silky curls, Sam closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. There in the fading light of what had been a beautiful day, he wanted first to rage against fate, then to weep for all the losses he had endured, as well as for those yet ahead. But he had learned long ago to accept with unwavering stoicism those things he knew he could not change.
“It’s not fair,” Emma muttered angrily after a while, butting her head against his chest. “It’s…just…not…fair.”
Smiling at her unaccustomed display of petulance, Sam hugged her closer for a long moment, then took a step away and eyed her quizzically.
“So, tell me—who, exactly, guaranteed you life would be fair?” Slipping a finger under her chin, he tipped her face up so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Well, nobody.” She looked at him sheepishly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “But aren’t we due a break every now and then?”
“One can only hope so,” he answered fervently.
“Yes, one can only hope so,” she agreed, glancing away again.
“It’s getting late. We’d better turn back.”
His arm still around Emma’s shoulders, Sam gestured toward the house, now no more than a dark, distant outline against the lavender hues of early twilight.
“Yes, I guess we—” With a sharp intake of breath, Emma slipped her arm from around Sam’s waist, turned slightly, bent and scooped something from the sand at their feet. “Oh…oh, Sam…look.”
Grinning broadly, she held out a perfectly formed sand dollar about the size of a fifty-cent piece.
“I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “Fifteen minutes ago, I was searching so intently, and here it was all along, only a glimpse away, just waiting to be found.”
Moved by her whimsical delight in something so simple, Sam smiled, too. Taking the sand dollar from her, handling it gently, he admired its fragile yet amazingly unspoiled beauty. Light as a whisper in the palm of his hand, the shell didn’t appear to be as sturdy as it had to have been to survive the roiling waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
Like Emma, he thought, more mindful than ever of her close proximity as the flowing skirt of her sundress, teased by the evening breeze, brushed against his bare legs. She seemed so very fragile, yet he knew how strong she was. And how very, very lovely…
“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” she asked, tracing a finger over the sand dollar’s delicate surface.
“Yes, perfect,” Sam agreed, his gaze locked on Emma as he spoke.
“I wish I had something to wrap it in—some way to keep it safe while we walk back to the beach house.”
“I just happen to have a clean handkerchief in my back pocket. How about that?”
“Oh, yes.”
Emma took the shell from him so he could retrieve the neatly folded square of white cotton. Opening it, he held it out so she could place the sand dollar in the center. Then he refolded it and offered her the little bundle. Almost reverently, she took it from him and tucked it into one of her pockets.
“Now we really should head back,” Sam advised, starting off into the deepening twilight.
“Yes, of course.” For several moments, she walked along beside him, her steps light. Then she added, “I know you probably think it’s silly, but I’m so glad we found the sand dollar.”
“I don’t think it’s silly at all,” he assured her quietly. “But…”
Sam hesitated, not wanting to burst her bubble. Yet he couldn’t let her pin too much hope on the power of her chosen good-luck charm, either. Her disappointment would be all the harder for her to bear if it didn’t work as she seemed to expect it would.
“But what?” she prompted.
“It’s my understanding that reports of the sand dollar’s mystical properties have, on occasion, been greatly exaggerated,” he replied, couching his words in a teasing tone.
“I know,” Emma murmured, then startled him by reaching out and taking his hand in hers. “But maybe this won’t be one of those occasions.”
“Maybe not.”
Savoring the warmth of Emma’s touch, Sam threaded his fingers through hers, bonding them even more tenderly as they walked along unhurriedly in the deepening twilight.
Heartened by the closeness she had initiated, he finally ventured to put into words something he’d had on his mind since she first mentioned it while they were in San Antonio.
“Remember a week ago you said Margaret was the only family you had left?” he asked.
“Yes, I remember. You said the same was true for you, too.”
“I did,” he acknowledged. “But I’ve been thinking that doesn’t necessarily have to be true. Not if you’re open to the possibility of considering me family, too. I know I’m asking a lot. Especially after everything that’s happened, but—”
“No, you’re not,” Emma cut in quickly, her tone emphatic.
Halting, she turned and faced him squarely. Surprising him yet again, she reached up with her free hand and gently touched his cheek.
“I would be honored to consider you family, Sam Griffin, deeply honored,” she continued. “But that means you’ll have to consider me family, too.”
Though her features were barely discernible in the darkness, Sam sensed the sincerity of her softly spoken words.
“Now I’m the one who’s honored,” he replied, trying with only a modicum of suc
cess to keep his voice steady.
“I’ll always be here for you, Sam,” Emma vowed with a solemnity that made his heart ache.
He told himself she meant it only as a friend. But somewhere deep inside, he clung to the growing seed of hope that something more might be possible for them, after all.
“And I’ll always be here for you, Emma,” he acknowledged quietly.
“Thank you.”
Then, so quickly that later he was afraid he had only imagined it, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, her lips soft and warm against his skin. Without another word, she started off again, striding ahead almost blithely, tugging him along, her hand still firmly clasped in his.
Dazed, Sam kept pace beside her in silence—a new and different silence—unlike any they had yet to share. A silence softened by the sudden, astonishing glow of expectation.
Just ahead, lights shone in the windows of the beach house, beckoning to them. Once there, he knew they would go their separate ways, to their separate rooms and their solitary beds. But tonight that thought didn’t cause him quite the same anguish that it had in the past.
They had bridged a gap tonight, he and Emma. A small one, all things considered. But Sam couldn’t deny, wouldn’t deny, the promise that solitary step brought with it.
Emma hadn’t shot him down as he’d feared—actually, quite the contrary. Now all he had to do was find the courage to keep putting one foot in front of the other until all the obstacles still standing between them had been overcome.
As they reached the beach house, Emma gave his hand a last squeeze. Then, letting go, she started up the steps, calling out to his mother.
“Margaret, you’ll never guess what Sam and I found on the beach.”
“What’s that, dear?” Margaret asked, joining Emma as she reached the deck.
“A sand dollar, a perfect sand dollar.”
“Oh, let me see it.”
Climbing the steps more slowly, Sam watched as Emma pulled his handkerchief from her pocket. Unfolding it, she revealed her treasure.
“I’m hoping it will bring you luck,” Emma said.
The Major and the Librarian Page 13