“Sunday…” he repeated, reaching out and tracing a finger along the line of her jaw.
Sunday… Almost a week away…
She wanted to tell him she couldn’t wait that long, that if he took her in his arms this very minute, it wouldn’t be nearly soon enough. But she couldn’t seem to say the words aloud. Couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him know how much she needed him when he might not really care.
Drawing a deep breath, she nodded once, then slipped through the door.
That night, the peace Emma had always found in her little house eluded her completely. The silence pressed down around her, echoing off the walls—a silence heavy with heartache and laced with loneliness.
All because of Sam, she told herself as she paced restlessly from one room to another.
She should have never written to him. Should have never asked him to come home. There hadn’t really been a need for him to make the trip. Margaret was going to be just fine.
Unfortunately, Emma couldn’t say the same about herself. Truth be told, she would probably never be fine again. Sam had come back into her life, stirring in her all sorts of impossible hopes and dreams.
Hopes and dreams she had been foolish to entertain even for a moment. Hopes and dreams that would haunt her long after he had left her once again.
Chapter 13
As he had every night since their return to Serenity, Sam tossed from side to side on the narrow twin bed in his room. He had slept, eventually, those other nights. Even Sunday after Emma’s all too short, all too bright and cheerful visit.
She had breezed in late that afternoon, and had stuck close to his mother the entire time she was there, chattering like a magpie about the blessed lack of side effects Margaret had experienced from the new drug, various happenings at the Serenity Public Library, the state of her garden, the state of his mother’s garden. All the while, she had directed little more than an occasional nervous glance his way.
After five days, days during which he’d had to force himself to stay away from her, Sam had been looking forward to her company, to maybe having the opportunity to spend some time alone with her. But he had been disappointed all around.
They had made such progress on Galveston Island. That night on the beach, she had responded so favorably to his overtures. And Monday, at Dr. Rozan’s office, when he had been too wrapped up in worry to do more than stare out the window, she had reached out to him with such tenderness and concern that he’d finally begun to believe she might truly care for him, after all.
But he hadn’t wanted to push his luck. Hadn’t wanted to come on too strong, and maybe scare her off by voicing his consternation when Margaret sent her home. And evidently, from how eagerly she’d agreed, neither had Emma.
Sam had told himself that perhaps they would be wise to have a little time apart. Time when they could consider, individually, where they should go, where they could go next. He hadn’t expected her to retreat from him so completely, though. To be honest, he had assumed she would be just as anxious as he was to pick up where they had left off.
He hadn’t taken into account the possibility that she didn’t want or need any more from him than what he’d already offered her. Or the possibility that she did, but was afraid to let him know it.
Whether intentionally or not, he had rebuffed her in the past—the not too distant past, he reminded himself as he shifted onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
At the coffee bar along the Riverwalk in San Antonio, when she had first spoken of Teddy’s death, and again on the stairs here in his mother’s house, when she had tripped and fallen into his arms, Emma had not only made her feelings known, but had also given him the chance to do the same. But he had held back, as he continued to hold back, because he had yet to be totally honest with her.
Until Emma knew the truth, the whole truth, about what had happened the day his brother died, there was only so far their relationship could go. As long as that particular secret stood between them, they could be friends, rather reserved friends, and nothing more.
Which brought Sam back to the present moment. It was now Tuesday night—actually, very early Wednesday morning, and officially the fourth anniversary of Teddy’s death.
He should have known better than to think he would be able to sleep, especially here in his mother’s house. He had coped much better when he’d been hundreds, sometimes a thousand or more, miles away. Although his method of coping the first two years had more to do with the blissful insensibility he’d found at the bottom of a bottle of booze.
Last year, he’d been in the midst of a grueling seventy-two-hour training mission, so his awareness of the exact date, even the exact time, had been somewhat muddled. This year, however, he’d been able to think of little else from the moment he had come home. And since he’d gone to bed just before midnight—still amazingly sober despite going eye to eye with a bottle of Scotch for several hours after his mother retired for the night—he had been overwhelmed with memories that tore at his heart.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so prudent. What could a few drinks hurt, after all? He wasn’t on duty and wouldn’t be for another ten days. He was in the privacy of his mother’s house in the even greater privacy of his own room. No one would know how he’d chosen to ease his pain.
No one but him…
Ready to crawl out of his skin, Sam threw off the quilt and stood up. He had to do something, anything, to work off the tension that was drawing him tight as a bowstring. Anything but start drinking…
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was almost four-thirty. An odd time to be out running, but he doubted anyone would notice.
Swiftly, before he had a chance to change his mind, Sam pulled on a pair of gray knit shorts, a white t-shirt, thick socks and running shoes. He tucked his keys in his pocket, crossed to the bedroom door and opened it as quietly as he could.
He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of leaving his mother completely on her own, but she hadn’t been having any problems, either with sleeping through the night in general or, in particular, with the medication Dr. Rozan had prescribed for her. And Sam didn’t plan to be gone all that long. Not at the pace he intended to set for himself. He should be ready to crawl back to the house, exhausted, in about an hour, maybe an hour and a half max.
He started out of his bedroom, and as he seemed to do each time he found himself in the upper hallway, he glanced at the closed door of Teddy’s room. The one place in the house he had avoided for over two weeks now.
Sooner or later, he was going to have to go in there. Sam wasn’t sure why. He simply knew that he must. And, he reasoned, now would be as good a time as any.
With his mother asleep, he wouldn’t be taking the risk of disturbing her by his intrusion there. She had never indicated that she considered his brother’s room to be sacrosanct. But she hadn’t opened the door since he had been home, either.
That didn’t necessarily mean she intended for him to stay out. She could have just wanted to spare him as many unhappy memories as possible. Still, he would rather do what he had to do without her knowledge.
Before his resolve could waver, Sam reached out and turned the doorknob. The door swung open easily, he stepped inside the room, then quietly closed the door again. There was just enough light filtering through the slats of the blinds on the windows to guide him to Teddy’s desk. He stood beside it, hesitating a few moments, then switched on the lamp, blinking in the sudden, bright glow.
As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he turned slowly, looking around the room, taking in its unaccustomed tidiness. Many of his brother’s things still lined the bookshelves. Trophies he had won at swimming competitions and soccer tournaments years ago. Books, too, both fiction and nonfiction, on a vast array of subjects. Many more than Sam had ever owned.
Teddy had always loved to read, anything and everything. Somewhat taken aback, Sam now noted that many of the books were travel and adventure oriented.
<
br /> There were posters still hanging on the walls, too—all of faraway places: Africa, India, China and Australia. Again, Sam felt an odd jolt of surprise, and then another as his gaze drifted to the bulletin board above Teddy’s desk.
It was covered with pictures of Sam in his flight suit, helmet in hand, standing by the jet he flew, as well as the postcards he had sent over the years—postcards from all the places he had been.
Sam hadn’t spent a lot of time in Teddy’s room when he was home, and he hadn’t been home that often once he’d gone off to the Air Force Academy. Now he realized how close to the truth his careless comments in the car on the way to the church must have been. He could also understand why Teddy had responded the way he did.
Had Teddy, too, longed for a life somewhere besides Serenity, Texas? But then, why had he come back here and settled down as if it were all he’d ever wanted? Had he done it because he felt that one of them had to stay behind to look after their mother, and Sam had already been long gone?
To Sam’s knowledge, his brother had never let on that he considered himself to be under such an obligation. But to whom could Teddy have vented his feelings?
As Sam had just admitted, he had been gone for years. And Teddy wouldn’t have said anything to worry their mother or upset Emma. Instead, he would have done what he believed to be his duty, quietly and without complaint. Just as he had until Sam gave him the excuse he wanted, needed, to escape.
Unwittingly, Sam had offered to take Teddy’s place that day four years ago, to take on his responsibilities. And Teddy had jumped at the chance to finally be free. Not because he didn’t love his mother or his wife-to-be, but because he’d been dying inside. He had hidden it so well, good son that he’d been, that no one had known it.
Until Sam dangled the ultimate temptation before him in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to once again get what he wanted, and everyone else be damned.
“Oh, God, Teddy, I’m so sorry….” Sam muttered, his eyes blurring with tears.
He should have come home more often all those years ago. Surely then he would have realized how stifled his brother had been feeling. And he could have done something to help.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda…
“But you didn’t. Not until it was much too late, and then only to serve yourself, you bastard.”
Unable to look any longer at the evidence of his failure, Sam switched off the lamp and somehow made his way through the darkness to the door. In the hallway, he moved as quietly as he could, stopping only to assure himself his mother still slept before he headed down the staircase.
He let himself out through the front door, locked it carefully, then walked down the porch steps, glad of the lingering predawn darkness. He paused on the sidewalk for a minute or two, swiping at the wet patches on his cheeks as he tried to get his bearings. Finally, he started off at a gentler than anticipated lope, heading in the direction he most often took on his runs through town.
Up to the corner, then left three blocks, and right onto Bay Leaf Lane. To Emma’s house, where the windows would more than likely still be dark at this early hour of the morning. He had run past there so many times, late at night or just before dawn, since the day she had given him directions. But never once had he dared to stop. He had simply gone past, blending into the shadows, silently cursing his foolish obsession.
When Sam reached the corner, however, he hesitated, coming to a halt under the street sign. Then, as if pulled by a force he could no longer resist, he turned right instead, setting off on a course he hadn’t followed once in the past two and a half weeks. A course that would take him to the north side of town, up past the high school and the hospital, out to where the houses stood farther and farther apart and small yards gave way to fields.
Sam ran steadily, putting one foot in front of the other, pacing himself so that he could go the distance. As the sky lightened to a pale shade of gray and the first faint reddish glow skimmed along the horizon to his right, he finally saw the narrow gravel track he’d been seeking just ahead, marked by a small wooden sign.
His breath coming in gasps, the muscles in his legs burning from exertion, he made the turn, then slowed to a walk. Around him, shadows seemed to sway and twist as a warm breeze rustled through the oak tress and rippled across the neatly tended lawn. But the place held no fear for him.
Despite the semidarkness, Sam found his way quickly, easily among the headstones, drawn inexorably toward the tall, square, granite monument that bore his brother’s name. Leaving the gravel track behind, he started across the grass, his footsteps muffled.
For several heartrending moments, Sam stood before his brother’s grave. Then he knelt down, buried his face in his hands and wept.
Not only for all he had done, but for all that he’d only just realized he had failed to do.
Chapter 14
Emma couldn’t say for sure what woke her. Nothing disturbing, she was certain. Not a weird dream—at least, not one she could recall. Nor any strange, scary noises, which would have had her staring into the darkness fearfully, her heart pounding in her chest. She had simply come awake slowly, drifting from sleep to full awareness, her sense of well-being relatively intact.
A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was just after five o’clock. Much too early to start the day, considering she’d been up well past midnight.
Unable to fend off the myriad memories—some happy, others incredibly sad—that had sprung to mind as they did each year just prior to the anniversary of Teddy’s death, she had been too restless to settle. Only after hours of digging in her garden, pacing through the house, then indulging in an unaccustomed bout of tears, born of regret and remorse, had she dozed off at last.
The rest she’d gotten had been fitful at best, and nothing near refreshing. But she knew that staying in bed wouldn’t do her any good. Even if she managed to fall asleep again, the self-reproach that hovered in her soul wouldn’t magically disappear.
Today, of all days, she had to face up to the consequences of her selfishness. Today, of all days, she had to acknowledge just how tragically her failure to act had touched the lives of those she had professed to love.
Better to get on with it than to hide under the bedcovers like the coward she had proved herself to be once already. Better to make what peace she could with herself and try to do no more harm in the hours ahead.
She would have to see Margaret and Sam later that morning. They were expecting her to go with them to the special Mass of remembrance at St. Mary’s Church, then on to the cemetery—a ritual she and Margaret had begun three years ago.
Emma had taken the day off expressly for that purpose, and she had no intention of copping out. But at that moment, she felt a sudden, overwhelming need to go to Teddy’s grave…alone.
Maybe there in the predawn darkness she could come to terms with her feelings for Sam once and for all. And maybe there she could finally find the courage to reach out to him, to reveal what was in her heart, or forever hold her peace.
She couldn’t go on as she had been, especially the past week, waiting in vain for him to come to her. He’d had plenty of opportunity, yet he hadn’t come anywhere near her. Whether out of his own uncertainty or bland indifference, Emma had no idea. And she’d never been much good at guessing.
Nor could she continue to pretend that his detachment didn’t matter to her. Her playacting Sunday afternoon had left her with a roiling stomach, as well as a lashing headache that had lasted well into the following day. She absolutely refused to put herself through anything like that again.
But neither would she let Sam see her torment. She would rather avoid his company altogether, at least after today, than give him a reason to feel sorry for her.
Filled with a sudden sense of determination, Emma rolled out of bed and crossed to the bathroom.
Since she wasn’t sure how long she’d be gone, she took a shower, but she didn’t bother to dry her hair or put on makeup. Her curls would
spring to life on their own in the morning breeze, and any attempt to hide the dark circles under her eyes would have been futile anyway. She dressed in a long, slim, denim skirt and a pale blue T-shirt, slipped her feet into sandals, grabbed her purse and went down to the kitchen.
There she walked over to the refrigerator and retrieved the bouquet of pale yellow roses she’d cut last night. She had planned to take them to the cemetery when she went with Margaret and Sam, but she didn’t want to wait that long. She wanted Teddy to have the roses now, her personal gift to him.
She had loved him—would always love him in a way that would forever be unique. She could only hope he had known that, especially in his last moments.
The drive to little Mount Grace Cemetery took only a few minutes. In the pale gray predawn light, the streets were mostly deserted.
Only when she turned onto the gravel track leading to the grave sites, did Emma suffer a momentary pang of misgiving. While Serenity had always been a fairly safe place, the cemetery was somewhat off the beaten path, and she was there alone. But Teddy’s grave was just a few steps off the gravel track. She could always scurry back to her car if anything seemed to be amiss. Although who would be lurking about, up to no good, when it was almost daylight anyway, she had no idea.
Chiding herself for being silly, Emma switched off the engine, doused the headlights and let her car roll to a stop a few yards from the tree beneath which Teddy was buried. The headstone was still in deep shadow, but she was no longer hesitant to leave her car and walk the short distance to where it stood.
Not bothering with her purse, she picked up the flowers, opened the car door and started across the lush, dew-damp grass, head bent, watching where she was going so she wouldn’t trip over a fallen tree branch or stumble into a hole. Only when she was almost to the headstone did she finally look up.
The Major and the Librarian Page 15