“What else did he tell you?”
“Not much else. Just that you had secrets you wouldn’t share with him. That’n there was a whopper. You should’ve 'fessed up.”
Emily sighed. “So I’ve been told.”
Rita stepped away from the table and returned with a bag of chips. She offered some to Emily, who shook her head. She didn’t even want her sandwich anymore.
Rita grabbed a handful and put them on her own plate. “I told him women have secrets. And we do best to keep them to ourselves. But once you let a doozy like that get loose, a man’s gotta wonder what else you’re hiding. He’s going to wonder if he can trust you. You’ll need to tell him.”
“I’d love to, if he’d ever give me a chance.” Emily’s lips tightened. “He won’t talk to me. And I really messed it up between us when I turned Spencer Milligan in for starting the fires.”
“That was you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid so.”
“Scott know?”
Emily nodded.
“You know for a fact the boy did it?”
“Yes.”
Rita leaned back in her chair and studied her. “Scott loves that boy.”
Emily’s throat tightened, squeezing off her ability to speak. She bowed her head.
“He loves you, too.”
Without looking up, Emily slowly shook her head.
Rita put her hand on Emily’s arm. “Honey, I know my son. He’s hurting. He’s confused. But once he gives his heart, it’s gone for good, and he gave his heart to you years ago.”
Emily’s tears spilled over, and she couldn’t stop the flow.
Rita patted her arm. “He’s got to process everything, but he’ll come around. Give him a little time.”
“I have no choice.” She sniffed and reached for her purse. “I have his coupons here, too. Would you mind giving them to him? If he likes them, you can call me. I don’t need them back, I just need to know whether to prep them for the auction or have Lauren redesign them.”
“By the time I see him, the auction will be over. He only comes by on Sundays. Maybe you should take them out yourself.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s almost noon now. If you catch him, you can have lunch with him, too. Sure hope you’re hungry.”
She wasn’t. By the time she left, she felt drained. She couldn’t share Rita’s belief that Scott loved her. His coupons still occupied a slot in her purse, right next to Micah’s. When she pulled up to the intersection, she couldn’t decide between left for the ride to the clinic or right toward home.
Her cell phone jangled, and she jumped. As shaky as she was, she didn’t need to be talking and driving, too. She turned right, then right again, into a parking lot, and answered her phone.
“Well, you’re scheduled,” Connor announced. “Visitation is Thursday, 3:00 to 5:00 PM.”
Emily’s nerves locked with dread. No matter that she’d wanted this, that it was her idea. The thought of seeing Wade again scared her.
“Emily? Are you sure you want to do this?”
“No, of course I don’t want to do it.” She drew a breath and spoke what she knew in her heart to be true. “I have no choice. I have to know what’s going on in his head, or I’ll never be free from this fear.”
“Do you want me to go with you? I could clear my schedule and drive you out.”
“Thanks, Connor. I appreciate the offer, but I think this is something I have to do by myself.” She hit the end button and leaned back against the headrest. If she was going to conquer her fear, meeting with Wade was definitely something she’d have to do herself. So was meeting with Scott. She had to be able to shove her feelings aside and tend to business.
She took a moment to buy a soda for her dry mouth and then headed out for the clinic.
35
No Monday in recent history compared to this one. Scott’s head throbbed with tension, and every high-pitched yap the Yorkie on his exam table emitted pinged through his cranium. He inserted a thermometer into the dog and then squinted at the clock. Nearly noon. Judging from the line of critters he’d seen in his waiting room, he’d have to snag a power bar from his desk drawer—and a strong pain killer.
He palpated the Yorkie’s stiff belly and questioned the owner about the dog’s diet, only partially hearing the answer. He already knew. Pudding, the Yorkshire terror, had a bacon addiction and when indulged, she swelled to the size of a pot-bellied pig. A quick glance at Pudding’s chart told the truth of how frequently she was indulged.
“Mrs. James, you can’t keep giving in to your dog. At her age, she shouldn’t be eating fatty foods.”
The silver-haired widow twisted her hands. “I know. You’ve told me. But she begs so, and I can’t help but to give in.”
“Try, Mrs. James. She’s miserable, the same as she is every time you let her have her way.” He gave her his sternest look but had to temper it with a gentle smile. At the slightest sign of discord, the woman would cloud up and sob into her Irish lace hanky until he was totally at a loss how to soothe her. He’d learned to tread lightly. “Do you have any bloat medicine left?”
“Yes, some.”
“I’ll write you a new prescription. You know what to do, don’t you?”
“Yes. I know what to do.”
“And no more bacon, right?”
“I’ll try.”
Scott lifted a brow. “Mrs. James?”
She sniffed. “No more bacon. I promise.”
She gathered her purse and the prescription he handed her, and lifted Pudding delicately into her arms. “Mustn’t beg, Pudding. Mustn’t beg!” She toddled down the hall.
Scott finished charting his notes and rubbed his temples. His headache could no longer wait. When he stepped toward his office, Dani hollered for him.
“Dr. Barlow, Emily’s he—”
“Shh, don’t bother him. I’ll just leave these here.” Emily’s hushed tones diverted him from his mission, and he changed course for the receptionist desk. The sound of her voice washed him with a relief from...homesickness. Being separated from her had made him homesick. He hadn’t realized.
“Nonsense. He’ll want to see you.” Dani lifted her voice again. “Doctor—”
“He can call me later,” Emily said. “Just be sure he gets those.”
Scott reached the front desk in time to see Emily scuttle out the door. The shaft of light bouncing off the concrete pavement outside made him wince and halt his pace, but when the pounding in his head eased, he strode to the door to follow her.
She sat in her car with the engine running as she strapped her seatbelt on.
“Emily!”
She pulled out of her parking space and drove away.
He eased the door shut and clamped his jaw against the pain. Whether his head or his heart hurt worse, he couldn’t tell, but surely a pain reliever would help one of them.
In the waiting room, a young woman shushed a Peke-a-Poo with watery eyes, and another woman stroked a panting Chihuahua. His morning appointments had waited patiently far beyond their time slots. With a smile and polite nod to the Chihuahua lady, he stepped to Dani’s desk.
“What did Emily want?”
“Just to show you these.”
Happy dogs and cats adorned “degenderization” and flea dip coupons for the auction. Three coupons each. Scott snorted. “Degenderization.” Lauren had coined a new word.
“Give me a minute before you send the next appointment back.”
“Sure. You going to call her?”
“Non’ya business, Dani.”
“You know I’ll snoop.”
“Then snoop me up a sandwich from somewhere. Those power bars don’t sound good today.”
At his desk, Scott balanced the phone on his shoulder and rummaged for the pain medication. Three rings on Emily’s cell phone, and she still didn’t answer. Four. Five. Voice mail. “Emily, the coupons are great. They’ll work just fine for the auction. Hey, I, um...I’d like to...uh...”
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Before he could figure out what he’d like to do, her phone beeped. Disgusted with himself, he disconnected. What would he like to do? Apologize? He probably should.
But she should, too. And she should explain. Something she should’ve done long ago.
Still, he hadn’t really given her a chance lately. Maybe he could catch her later in the day, and they could sit and talk and hash things out until everything became clear in his mind. Maybe he could hold her again, feel her next to him, kiss her memories of Houston into oblivion.
Maybe he could get rid of his headache before then. He downed the pills and massaged his temples again.
****
Emily didn’t want to go. After the emotional morning, she didn’t want to take the short drive from Scott’s clinic to Micah’s parsonage. He might not be there anyway. He could be at the hospital or the nursing home or a homebound invalid’s house. He was a working man, after all. His job didn’t end on Sundays.
She scowled and sat up straighter in her seat. If Micah wasn’t at the parsonage, he might be at the church, and if he wasn’t in either place, she could leave the coupons with his secretary.
Emily needed to quit making excuses and find him. She had work to do and couldn’t afford to give in to self-pity.
His car wasn’t at the parsonage, so she drove farther until she reached the church. She stared up at the twin spires and felt a tinge of melancholy. The few times she’d dared return to the church with Scott had touched her with a sense of coming home. In a way, it was like coming home, back to the church she’d been raised in.
Micah hadn’t been the pastor when her parents passed away, but their services had been held in the sanctuary, and they’d been laid to rest in the tiny cemetery at the back of the church property.
She’d been denying herself a return to her church home because she’d been ashamed. But she hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t the one who’d lied. She wasn’t the one who’d taken money from generous, unsuspecting people. And because they’d had so little time between the simple ceremony and the charity ball, they’d never consummated her fraudulent marriage. She’d never been with Wade that way.
Now if she could only convince Scott of that.
She lifted her purse from the passenger seat and headed into the back of the church and toward the pastor’s office.
Micah was hunched over his desk, pen in hand, surrounded by opened volumes of thick books. His glasses sat on the end of his nose; he looked over them at Emily and then slapped his pen down and shoved from his chair. “Emily. This is a nice surprise.”
The hug he gave her felt right—comforting, parental, just like the hug she’d received from Rita. A lump clogged her throat when she realized she might never receive hugs from these two people again if she and Scott didn’t patch things up.
“What brings you out this way?”
From her purse, she pulled a coupon sporting a grinning fish jumping out of the waves and handed it to him. “Lauren made this for you for the auction, but I’m tempted to keep one for myself once we get them made. I haven’t been fishing in years.”
“Pretty soon, we’ll be family, you and I, soon as you marry Scott and I marry his mama. You could come fishing any time you want. You can, anyway.” The broad smile on his lips didn’t undermine his compassion. The hint for her to respond, to open up to him, was far too obvious. He apparently knew what had happened between her and Scott—Rita had undoubtedly told him, if Scott hadn’t.
But she wasn’t ready to discuss it, so she kept her own smile in place. “Then we just saved a coupon for the actual bidders.” She offered a light laugh, and he chuckled in return. “Do you like it?”
“I think it’s great. Is this what the winning bidder will get?”
“Something similar, yes. Just bigger and laminated. If you like it, I’ll get it ready.” She turned to go, and he walked her out. “You’ll be at the auction?”
“Rita and I wouldn’t miss it. What about you? Will you be here for midweek service Wednesday night?”
From the door at the back of the church, Emily could see the small cemetery. She hadn’t been back there since her parents died—they weren’t there anyway, just their shells. But memories of them crowded this chapel, and she seemed more aware of them while Scott wasn’t here to distract her.
She sighed. “I’d like to. I’d really like to come.”
“So what’s holding you back?”
He gave her that look again, the knowing look, the talk to me look. She might not be ready to respond the way he’d like, but she did feel ready to return to church. “Nothing is holding me back. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
****
Emily pulled into her parking place behind the refuge. Even though it was only three-thirty, she wouldn’t go out again today. She’d change into her grubbies, pop some popcorn, and settle down in front of the old movies channel. A comedy was coming on at four, and she needed a good laugh.
The answering machine light on her home phone blinked, and she jabbed the button.
“Uh, hello? My daughter’s birthday is coming up and I’d like to get her a pet. Do you have any kittens left? You can call me at...” Emily grabbed a pen and wrote the information on a scratch pad beside the phone. Since she’d retired Millie, she didn’t have any more kittens, and she’d become so attached to Daisy and Bulldog, she couldn’t part with them. Scott usually had notices of free kitties tacked on his cork board at the clinic. The lady could call Dani.
After the beep, Lauren’s bright voice perked her ears. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to call your cell all day. I’ve got a surprise for you. Call me?”
The computerized voice said, “End of messages.”
Emily grabbed the cordless and poked in Lauren’s number. Then, while she waited, she checked her cell phone. The battery was dead. While she plugged it in to recharge, Lauren answered.
“Hey, ladybug,” Emily said. “What’s the surprise?”
“I’m coming home.”
“In time for the auction?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emily squealed. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and the freedom allowed her a little dance in the kitchen. “When are you coming?”
“Friday morning.”
“What about Tracy? Surely her legs haven’t healed that fast.”
“No, but the doctor recast them with those walking dealies on the bottoms, so between those and the crutches, she can get around a little easier. Besides, with the kids in school, there isn’t that much for me to do anymore. David rearranged his schedule so he can pick them up and do the errands.” This time it was Lauren’s turn to squeal. “I’m so excited! I’m anxious to get home. I feel like I’ve been exiled for an eternity.”
“I can’t wait to see you. You’ve got to call me as soon after your homecoming with Roger as possible.”
“Of course. Let’s plan on lunch at the diner.” Emily agreed. Then Lauren’s voice took on a business tone. “Now, catch me up. Where are we on the auction? What needs to be done?”
Emily recited her list, which they discussed, and then recalled the one detail she’d been dreading most. “We still need the autographed golf card and book from Paul and Amber Goodrich.”
“Oh, it’s a good thing I’m coming home. You leave that for me. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“I can’t say I was looking forward to it, but those two items could bring in a good bid.”
“Has he talked to Wade yet?”
“I was hoping you would know.”
“Me? How would I know?”
“Well, if Wade talked to Paul, Paul would probably talk to Scott, and undoubtedly Scott would tell Roger, and Roger told me he tells you everything. So-o-o...”
Lauren laughed. “What a grapevine. Yes, as far as I know, Rog does tell me everything, and this particular subject hasn’t come up. Do you think Paul backed out?”
“Backed out? No way. Not that hound dog.�
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“Maybe he hasn’t done it yet—or even better, maybe he has done it, and Wade didn’t give him the dirt he wanted, so he let it drop.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Emily sighed. “But I can’t picture it happening. Wade was unscrupulous to begin with, and he was furious with me during the trial. I can’t imagine him passing up an opportunity like this.”
“Did you ever talk to Scott? Explain your side to him?”
“I quit trying. He won’t answer his phone.” Emily wandered into the den and dropped onto the couch. “But I’ve made a decision. I’m going to confront Wade.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No, I’m not. Think about it. Everything that’s wrong in my life right now centers on my fear of that man. And I don’t even know if I have a reason to be afraid. He’s a con-man, not a murderer.”
“Yes, but he’s still the man who can feed Paul Goodrich a line of bull. What if Paul believes him? What if Scott does?”
“I’ll just have to figure out a way to counter whatever he says.”
“Can you do that?”
In her mind’s eye, Emily pictured an old file where she’d packed what was left of her entire relationship with Wade—which boiled down to newspaper articles of the fiasco, a marriage certificate, and an annulment decree. But it was enough. “Yes. I think I can.”
36
By the time Scott tended his last patient, the clock had ticked an hour past closing. In between appointments, he’d tried Emily’s cell phone, and when it became obvious he couldn’t reach her that way, he’d tried her home phone—which buzzed a busy signal in his ear every time he called. Here they were in the twenty-first century, and Emily didn’t have call waiting?
He discovered she didn’t have call forwarding either, when he’d finally got her phone to ring, and she never picked up.
Or was she screening him?
Turnabout was fair play. He’d avoided her calls for days; maybe it was payback time. Still, he needed to see her and had every intention of going to her apartment. He’d barge in, if he must. The time had long passed to settle things between them.
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