by Lori Foster
Later, after the food had been devoured and everyone, except the kids, was feeling a little more lethargic, Sawyer seated himself near Emma. She and Casey were on the porch swing, their hands entwined, talking quietly.
"So, Emma, I hear you've been busy."
Her brown eyes warmed with a gentle smile. "Dr. Wagner has scheduled several massages, and so has Ms. Potter. They're both very nice."
"I hear the wives have been in line as well."
She laughed. "Morgan too. But I enjoy it."
Sawyer nodded, having noticed that she was indeed a "toucher." If Emma was near someone, she touched – rubbing a shoulder, hugging the kids, stroking the animals. She was very sweet, very open and friendly, and Sawyer liked her, yet still he worried. "How's your dad doing? Any word on when he might get to come home?"
"They tell me it's still too early to know for sure." Her expression grew troubled. "He had shown so much improvement at first, but this past week there's been no real progress. If anything, he seems more sluggish. They're adjusting his medicine, trying different therapy, but... I just don't know."
Casey kissed her knuckles. "I went with her last night, and she saw him again this morning. He's still talking, not real clear though."
Emma looked away. "He was crying this morning."
Damn. Sawyer glanced at his son and shared his look of concern. But he was a doctor, not just a father, not just a friend, so he put on his best professional face and tried to reassure her. "That's not uncommon with stroke victims. I'm sure the doctor explained it to you?"
She nodded. "Emotional lability, he called it. He said depression is common. I just wish there was some way I could help."
"Hey." Casey put his arm around her. "You're helping a lot. You're here with him. You've rearranged your life. I'd say that's plenty."
"I'd say so too," Sawyer agreed.
She didn't look convinced. "He's lost so much weight."
That wasn't uncommon either. Sawyer asked. "They still have him strictly on IVs?"
"Yes. They're not sure yet how well he can swallow. I forget what they called it..."
"Dysphagia." Sawyer knew one side of Dell's mouth was weak, so they likely had to be careful of the increased risk of choking. "Emma, it hasn't been that long. Try not to worry too much, okay? He's talking, and he recognizes you. That's pretty miraculous and a good indicator right there." He patted her hand, but he didn't promise her that everything would be all right, because he really didn't know.
A loud beeping broke the quiet, which had Morgan and Damon both reaching for their cell phones, then coming up with frowns because it wasn't theirs. Honey pointed to Emma's purse. "I think it's yours, Emma."
She came off the swing in a rush and fairly dived off the porch to reach the bag she'd left at the picnic table in the yard. Casey stood to watch her, Sawyer beside him. It was the first call that she'd gotten to Sawyer's knowledge and, naturally, it alarmed everyone.
After Emma said a tentative "Hello" into the phone, her lips parted and she slowly sank onto the bench seat at the wooden table.
Casey bounded off the porch steps in one leap and was at her side before she could say, a bit shakily, "I see." He stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Damon sat down beside her. Everyone waited, alert.
Avoiding all the curious gazes, Emma said, "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Reider. Yes, of course, I'll be right there." She closed her eyes. "Yes, I understand."
Mrs. Reider? Sawyer thought. He'd presumed it was the hospital, that her father had taken a turn for the worse. But instead...
Emma pushed the disconnect button on her small phone, tucked it back into her purse and stood. "I'm sorry to rush off, but I need to go." At the word go, B.B. hurried to her side.
"I'll take you," Casey said.
She looked horrified by that idea. "No—"
"I'll take you." He wasn't about to be dissuaded, and Sawyer understood why.
Emma looked to Damon, received his nod, and finally agreed. "All right. I suppose you might as well."
He might as well? What the hell did that mean? Sawyer wondered. And why did she look as if the rug had just been pulled out from under her?
Reaching for his shoes and socks, Damon said, "I'm coming too."
"But..." With everyone watching the poor girl, she gave up. "Fine. But I do need to hurry."
Honey worried her bottom lip. "Your father is okay?"
"Yes – that is, he hasn't had a change," She patted the dog, but her smile was a bit self-conscious. "That wasn't the hospital."
Ceily sidled up next to Damon and asked, "Then what's wrong?"
Emma hesitated a long moment before admitting, "It's my mother. She's at the motel where Damon and I are staying. She wants to see me."
Damon looked far too grim, leading everyone else to wonder why a visit from her mother mattered so much. "You ride with Casey," he told her. "I'll drive your car."
Since that was how they'd arrived, she merely nodded.
"Emma?" At Sawyer's query, she turned. For a young woman who'd been smiling moments before, she now looked far too world-weary. It didn't make sense, and filled Sawyer with compassion. "Let us know if there's any way we can help." And he thought to add, "With anything."
She stared at him a long minute before nodding. "Thank you. Dinner was wonderful. Everything was wonderful. I... Thank you."
And then Casey led her away. Sawyer watched until she and B.B. had gotten into his son's car before turning to his wife. Honey hugged his waist. "I'm worried about him, Sawyer."
Sawyer knew exactly how she felt, but he repeated his brothers' reassurances, saying, "He knows what he's doing."
Honey nodded. "I know. But does he know what she's doing?"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE PAST WEEK and a half had been wonderful, but now it was over. All the secrets, all the pretending. She didn't know how or why her mother had sought her out, but she knew their reunion was bound to be difficult – just as her relationship with her mother had always been.
"I don't want you to come up with me."
Casey didn't bother to glance at her. "Why?" His hands were tight on the steering wheel, his expression dark.
What could she tell him? That she didn't want everything to end with such an unpleasant scene? "She's my mother and I'll deal with her."
"You think I would interfere?"
"No, but..." She drew a breath and gave him part of the truth. "It embarrasses me."
Casey pulled the Mustang into the gavel lot. He put it in Park, started to say something to Emma, but then stalled as his gaze lit on something. "I'd say it's too late to worry about that."
Emma followed his line of vision and saw her mother. She was half slumped at one of the picnic tables, holding her head with one hand, a lit cigarette with the other.
Emma's heart got caught in her throat. Regardless of anything else, of the past and the hurt feelings and the dread, she was seeing her mother again for the first time in years. And she was choking on her hurt.
Her mother's brown hair, like Emma's only shorter, was caught back in a blunt ponytail. She wore dark jeans, a short-sleeved white blouse and sandals. Seeing her like that, she could have been anyone's mother. She could have been a regular mother.
She could have been a mother who cared.
Emma knew better though. Ignoring Casey, she opened her door and stepped out. Her mother noticed her then and stood. She swayed, unsteady on her feet, and had to prop herself with one hand on the tabletop.
Of course, she was drunk, just as Emma had expected.
"Where the hell have you been, young lady?"
The slurred words were flung at Emma without regard for the quietness of the lot or the spectators close at hand. Somewhere in the back of her awareness, Emma knew Damon and Ceily had arrived. She knew Casey was close behind her, leading the dog. She knew Mrs. Reider and a few guests watched from the motel-lobby door.
It's not me, Emma told herself. What she does, who sh
e is, doesn't project on me. She knew it, had lived with that truism all these years past, but still her shame bit so deep she could barely see as she made her way to the picnic table.
Her voice sounded wooden as she said, "Mother."
"Don't you call me that," her mother sneered, and Emma saw that familiar ugliness in her brown eyes, in the dark shadows beneath, in the pasty sheen of her skin and the spittle at the side of her mouth.
"All right." Sick dread churned in her belly. She knew her mother would humiliate them both. What she didn't know was how to deal with it. As a child, she'd begged, hidden, run away. But she wasn't a child any longer, and her mother was now her responsibility.
"A daughter would have come to see me by now. You know I'm all alone. You know I needed you. But no. You're too good for that, aren't you?"
"You have my number," Emma reasoned. "You could have—" No. Emma stopped herself. She knew from long experience that there was no reasoning with her mother in this condition. It would be a waste of breath to even try, and would only prolong the uncomfortable confrontation. "Why don't I take you home?"
"Oh no, missy. I don't damn well wanna go home now." She took an unsteady step forward. "I want you to take me to the store, and then we're goin' to the hospital to see Dell."
Emma's heart nearly stopped. Take her mother to the hospital? Not while she was drunk. "I won't buy you alcohol." She didn't bother to reply to her other request.
Her mother looked stunned at that direct refusal. Her eyes widened, her mouth moved. Finally, she yelled, "You just get me there and I'll buy it myself. I'm worried about your father and sick at heart and God knows my only daughter doesn't give a damn." As she spoke, she tottered around the table toward Emma. Ashes fell from the cigarette, which was now little more than a butt.
Just as she'd done so many times in the past, Emma braced herself, emotionally, physically. Even so, she had a hard time staying upright when her mother's free hand knotted in the front of her shirt and she stumbled into her. "You'll take me," she hissed, her breath tainted with the sickly sweet scent of booze and the thickness of smoke, "or I'll tell everyone what you did."
A layer of ice fell over Emma's heart. It was now or never, and she simply couldn't take it anymore. "What you did, you mean."
The shock at her defiance only lasted a moment. "No one will believe that." Her mother laughed, and tugged harder on Emma's shirt. "You, with your damn reputation. You don't have any friends around here. Even that nosy sheriff was always checking up on you. He'll believe whatever I tell him. And you'll go to jail—"
"I'll take my chances."
Enraged, her mother drew back to strike Emma, but her hand was still in the air when Casey pulled Emma back and into his side. Her mother's swing, which would have left a bruise, given the force she'd put behind it, missed the mark by over a foot and threw her off balance. She turned a half circle and landed hard on her hands and knees in the rough gravel. Her cigarette fell to the side, still smoldering.
Emma had automatically reached out to break her fall, but she pulled back. She could feel Casey breathing hard beside her, knew he was disgusted and shocked at the scene – a scene he'd probably never witnessed in his entire life, but that was all too familiar to Emma.
B.B. went berserk, barking and snarling, and Emma, feeling numb, caught his collar to restrain him. She whispered, to the dog, soothing him while staring down at the woman who'd birthed her. She waited to see what else she'd do. Her mother could be so unpredictable at times like this.
But she stayed there, her head drooping forward while she gathered herself. Eight years had apparently taken a toll on her too. When she twisted around to look up at Casey, it was with confusion and anger. "Who the hell are you?"
Thinking to protect Casey, Emma said, "He's the sheriff's nephew."
"And," Casey added, his own anger barely under control, "I heard everything you just said."
Slumping back on her behind, slack-jawed, her mother stared from Casey to Emma and back again. Slowly, her lips curled and she pointed at Emma. "Did she tell you what she did? Do you know?" She hunted for her cigarette, picking it up and using it to light another that she fetched from her pocket. She took a long draw, looking at Casey through a stream of smoke. "She tried to burn down the diner."
Emma closed her eyes on a wave of stark pain. She'd held a faint, ridiculous hope that her mother wouldn't take it that far, that she'd only been blustering. That somehow she'd care just a little about her only child.
Barely aware of Casey taking her hand, Emma sorted through her hurt, pushing aside what she could to deal with the situation at hand. Mrs. Reider didn't deserve this scene. She ran a respectable business in a dry county. Having a drunken argument in her lot would probably go down as one of the worst things imaginable.
Slowly, Ceily came up to Emma's other side. She wasn't looking at Mrs. Clark, but at Emma. "You're the one who called and reported the fire that night, aren't you?"
It was so damn difficult, but Emma forced herself to face Ceily. When she spoke, she was pleased that she sounded strong, despite her suffocating guilt. "Yes. I'm sorry. It's all very complicated and I didn't mean for any of it to happen..."
"Your mother started it?"
Amazed that Ceily had come to that conclusion without further explanation, it took Emma a few moments to finally nod.
"That's a lie!"
Ceily ignored her mother's loud denials, speaking only to Emma. "Why? I barely knew your folks."
It would help, Emma thought, if she had a good solid reason to give, some explanation that would make sense. She didn't have one. "You weren't a target, Ceily. The diner is just the first place she came to where she thought she might find either a drink or money to go get a drink."
Ceily shook her head. "But I don't serve alcohol, and I cash out every night before closing up."
"I know. And if she'd been thinking straight, she might have realized it too. But alcoholism...it's a sickness and when you want to drink, nothing else matters..."
Her mother began protesting again, her every word scraping along Emma's nerves until she wanted to cover her ears, run away again. But she no longer had that luxury. She had to deal with this. "She broke in, and things went from bad to worse...I didn't know what to do."
Damon stepped up and looped his arms around Ceily so that she leaned into his chest. It dawned on Emma that Ceily didn't look accusatory as much as curious. Of course, her reaction would have been vastly different eight years ago, the night it had all happened. The shock, the anger and hurt had likely been blunted by time.
"How did you find her?" Ominous overtones clouded Casey's softly asked question.
Emma winced. Because the fire and Emma's visit to his house had happened on the same night, Casey had a right to his suspicions. "Earlier that day, I'd convinced my father that we had to stand together, to get her help. It was the worst argument we'd ever had. She was furious, and...I couldn't take it. So I went out. But I always cut through town coming home." Here Emma gave an apologetic shrug to Casey. "Your uncle had warned me that he'd run me into juvenile if he caught me out so late again."
"He worried about you," Casey told her with a frown.
"I know." Emma smiled, though she felt very sad that only a stranger had worried, and only because it had been his job. "I came home behind the businesses, as usual, because that way I was less likely to be seen from the street. I found my mom coming out of the back of the diner, and I realized what she was doing. Then I smelled the smoke."
"She'd already started the fire?"
"Not on purpose. It was her cigarette, but..." Wanting to finish it, Emma rushed through the rest of her words. "The fire was small at first and I tried to put it out. But she kept fighting me, wanting us to leave before we got caught."
"Dear God," Casey muttered, and he glared at her mother, who gave him a mutinous look back.
Emma spoke to Ceily. "I knew I couldn't do that. I told her she needed help and that I though
t you might let her just pay for the damages if she agreed to go to the hospital for treatment. But she didn't believe me and when I finally got the call through, she..."
"She threatened to blame you?" Casey asked.
Emma turned to him. "Yes. She said she'd tell everyone that I did it. I was...scared. I wasn't sure who might believe her."
"No one would have."
"You might not have blamed me, but—"
"I wouldn't have either," Ceily said.
Damon leaned around to look at Ceily, slowly smiled at her, then gave her a tight squeeze.
Emma couldn't believe they were being so nice. In so many ways, it might have been easier for her if they'd hated her and what she'd done. "I'm doubly sorry then, because I was a coward. The fire was already out of control. I made the call anonymously, went home with my mother and...things got out of control."
"That's how you got beat up that night, isn't it?" He sounded furious and pained and...hurt? Because she'd been hurt? She glanced at him, but didn't reply because she didn't want to involve him further. "I made plans to leave."
"You came to me."
She shook her head at Casey. He couldn't seem to get beyond that, and she was beginning to think he put far too much emphasis on that one small fact. "With the intent of only staying one night."
"If I'd known that, you never would have gotten away."
"I had to leave. If I'd stayed until morning when everyone started talking about the fire, well, someone would have figured it out. Then I wouldn't have had the option to go."
He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and appearing very displeased with her assessment. "How the hell did you get out of town so fast anyway?"
Knowing he wouldn't like the answer, Emma winced again. "I hitchhiked once I got on the main road. Neither Morgan nor his deputy saw me, of course, because they were still busy with the fire. With a lift from two different drivers, I got as far as Cincinnati, then caught a bus the rest of the way into Chicago."
Ceily stared at her in horror. "Dear God. You could have been—"
Damon interrupted Ceily. "But she wasn't. Instead, she found my family and she's now a part of us." He reached out and touched Emma's chin. "And she's suffered a lot over this."