“I’ve been drifting in and out. I hate to waste so much time sleeping.”
She struggled to sit up, and Nate hurried over to help, stuffing extra pillows behind her back. “You deserve to sleep in after the party yesterday,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I can’t wait to be rid of this exhaustion,” his mother said on a bone deep sigh. “I hate being tired all the time. Being a burden on everyone.”
Nate stilled as her words sunk in. For the first time he could remember, his mother spoke of dying as a relief. An end to all the pain and disappointment she’d gone through. She spoke like she was ready to go.
“You’re not a burden,” Nate said, clutching her hand like he’d done as a little boy when they were crossing the street.
Maybe if he held on tight enough, he could give her the will to keep fighting. Doctors didn’t know everything. God healed people.
As if she’d read his mind, his mother placed her other hand over his fist. “I think my fate is decided. You need to concentrate on your life now. How you’re going to live it.”
“Ma, that’s not important right now.”
“Of course it is. If you care for her, it matters more than anything.”
Nate’s mind skittered to a halt. Her? How had a simple conversation veered off onto the topic of her?
“What are you talking about?” he asked, hoping his hunch about the her in question turned out to be wrong.
His mother had the gall to laugh. “Don’t try to fool me, Nathan Cooper. Emily, of course. Or was there another young woman here yesterday you couldn’t stop watching? That is, when you weren’t avoiding her. The avoidance actually caught my attention first.”
So, he wasn’t wrong on the hunch.
“Don’t go inventing a romance in your head,” Nate said. “Nothing’s going on.”
“And who decided that?” she asked, though her tone said she knew the answer already.
Nate had forgotten how well his mother could read him. “There was no decision. Emily is a friend. More like someone who needs a keeper. You wouldn’t believe the trouble she gets into. You heard about the incident at the bakery, and that happened after she lit herself on fire with a torch. She climbed up on a ladder to cut a tree branch at Old Lady Johnston’s house and nearly gave herself a concussion and a broken neck. The day of your last treatment, she came into the hospital after getting bit by a spider. She passed out in my arms.”
“Good. Emily is someone you can take care of. You’ve always loved being a hero.”
Nate shot her an incredulous look. “I think you have the wrong son. Or wrong family.”
“Honey, you’ve been taking care of me since your father left. It’s as natural as breathing to you now.”
Keeping up with Emily’s disasters was an adrenaline rush. Better than boring dinner-and-a-movie dates—
No, not going there. Stop it.
“She thinks I’m not good enough for her,” Nate said, throwing out the statement in the hopes of somehow derailing the mother matchmaking train.
“Did Emily say that?” she asked, her tone remaining unchanged.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be offended on my behalf or something?”
“I will be if you want me to. If Emily is too high and mighty to see beyond your job and your lifestyle, then she’s not the person I thought. I don’t think I’m wrong, though.”
“Ma, don’t be ridiculous.” Nate tried to massage the sudden tension from his neck. “Why are we even talking about it? Emily has no intention of living here. She could take off tomorrow.”
“I have to talk about it, and I have to do it now.” All traces of teasing left her face. “Nathan, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Maybe I should have said things before and not waited. I didn’t want to push or make you angry.”
“Angry about what?”
“About the fact that you have let your father and your ex-fiancée control too much of your life. They’ve made you afraid to open up.”
“I’m not afraid,” Nate said through clenched teeth, making his denial ring hollow.
“You are, and I don’t blame you,” she said, shaking her head. “What kind of example did I set? I never got over my broken heart. I held on to bitterness, when I should have moved on and perhaps tried to find happiness with someone else. Maybe I could have showed you it’s possible to heal.”
Nate leaned over and cupped his mother’s cheek. “You taught me everything I need to know about getting through tough times. You still are.”
Her eyes filled, and she covered his hand with her own. “I always thought there would be time. I’d get to see you marry and have a family. Now, I’m afraid you won’t even try. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you do Emily. I want to hope that you’ll take a chance with her and be happy.”
He hoped she hadn’t read his mind when he watched Emily. No man wanted his mother to know those things. “How do I look at her?”
“Like you’re about to unwrap a gift. I remember when you’d get a present as a child. You’d shake the box and try to figure out what was inside. Then you’d rip off the paper with such a smile on your face.”
Great. So I looked like a fool around Emily Sinclair.
“I think you’re seeing things,” he said, trying not to squirm. “Emily is a puzzle, I admit, but I’m not in love with her. No way. And she’s definitely not in love with me.”
“Stubborn,” his mother muttered.
“How do you think I got so stubborn?” he shot back, a teasing smile taking out any sting.
“I mean the two of you.” A line formed between her eyes, and her mouth pulled down. “Stubborn as mules.”
Nate didn’t want his mother to waste one second of her time left worrying about his fate. So, he did the only thing he could to calm her down. “Listen to me. I promise, if I meet the right woman, I won’t push her away.”
Seemed a safe enough promise. If left a lot of wiggle room.
“Even if the woman is a famous author who seems to be in trouble all the time?” she asked.
Sneaky, Nate thought, even as he answered the only way possible. “Yes.”
“Good,” his mother said, resting her head back with a sigh. “Emily will surely keep you on your toes.”
Or smash them to bits.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“That plant has a dead leaf on it,” Aurora said.
Emily made a point of looking in every direction, taking a mental survey of the billion and one plants inhabiting Aurora Johnston’s conservatory. The old bat had demanded she be brought in here so she could enjoy the natural perfume of the blooms. As for Emily, the competing scents of a thousand varieties of roses, lilies, and other flowering gems added up to a massive headache.
Aurora had been on a tear all morning. After settling into a chair, she’d commenced ordering Emily to move every single plant in the room. Throughout the process, Aurora had complained about the speed at which Emily moved, the angle of the pots, the smudges of dirt left on the leaves. She’d even accused Emily of breathing too hard on the plants.
Breathing too hard? Emily was carting around a thousand pounds of greenery, but she wasn’t allowed to exhale on them?
Now brown spots were on the march.
Emily squeezed the bridge of her nose, trying to banish the darts of anguish shooting through her skull. She did not need this kind of aggravation on top of a sleepless night and a bruised and pulverized heart.
“Aurora, try to be more specific about which plant,” Emily said. “Or am I supposed to go around and check them all? If so, I demand a raise. A big one.”
Aurora’s nostril’s flared. “My dear girl, you are not as witty and cute as you think.”
Emily counted to ten while she contemplated taking up the gardening spade as a weapon. “Just tell me which plant has offended you by having the nerve to turn brown.”
Aurora pointed to one of the infinite varieties of ferns about a hundr
ed feet away. Emily walked over and inspected the leaves. Sure enough, there were some darkened spots. She plucked the stem out.
“Don’t yank it out,” Aurora said on an outraged gasp.
Emily held up the wilted, brown carcass. “You wanted the dead part out, right?”
“Are you as ignorant on matters of gardening as you are about manners?”
“Excuse me for not picking up a copy of Idiot’s Guide to Pruning and Appeasing Cantankerous Old Bit—”
“Watch your mouth, young lady,” Aurora said. “Foul language is even less attractive than your insolence.”
Emily opened up her hand and allowed the dead leaf to drop to the ground. “You know what? I’m done. I’m done with you, with this job, and maybe even your whole stinking town. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, when you and I both know the requests were ridiculous. What does it matter if you kept sixty years’ worth of catalogues around for another couple years? And how was one tree branch keeping you from reading? Why was I out digging in the dirt the other day when you have enough money to hire a dozen gardeners?
“I’ll tell you why,” Emily said, voice rising. “Because you like torturing people. I thought maybe everyone had misjudged you and the whole mean lady act was all for show. Boy, did I peg you wrong. You’re a miserable, lonely, mean person. Well, you can be miserable and lonely and mean all by yourself.”
Finished with her tirade, Emily let out a muffled scream of frustration and stomped past her now former boss.
“I don’t want to be miserable,” Aurora said. “Or lonely or mean. It’s become such a habit I don’t know how to stop.”
The words, spoken in a near whisper, brought Emily to a halt. She’d never heard any tone beyond officious and demanding come out of Aurora’s mouth. Never heard softness. Vulnerable could never be a word used to describe her. Until now.
Aurora sat with her head bowed as if its weight had become too much to hold up.
“I never wanted to become such an ugly person,” Aurora said, fingers tangling in the blanket on her lap. “I used to smile and even laugh.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Because God took my daughter,” Aurora said, finally raising her head.
Emily flinched at the burning agony buried in the depths of the elderly woman’s pale eyes.
A tiny piece of the Aurora Johnston puzzle clicked into place.
Aurora swallowed. “It’s her birthday today.”
Thus, the drama with the brown leaf.
Emily drifted closer. “Did she die recently?”
“No, years ago. A lifetime ago. She was only four.”
A baby. The words ripped through Emily’s heart like a bullet, and she gasped at the physical blow. “How?”
Aurora’s gaze shifted, grew more distant. “Drowned. In our pool.”
“You don’t have a pool.”
“Not anymore. I had it covered over.”
Emily knelt in front of Aurora’s chair. “What happened?”
“Madalynn had snuck out while I wasn’t looking. We’d just had the pool put in, and she wanted to go swimming, but I was hosting a party and didn’t have time.”
A rattling breath escaped her lips. Emily held hers, even as she reached for Aurora’s hands. They were cold, the joints stiff as the old woman tried to hold in her emotion.
“I had time to polish silver and arrange flowers, but not an extra second for my daughter,” Aurora said. “So Madalynn went out there and tried to swim on her own. We found her only because she didn’t come for her lunch. She was floating face down and—”
Emily closed her eyes and shuddered. She couldn’t begin to imagine. Didn’t want to think of a sweet child taken from her mother. No wonder Aurora covered up her grief with vitriol. Emily would have torn the whole house down, brick by brick.
“I am so sorry,” Emily said. “I don’t know how anyone handles something so tragic.”
Aurora’s mouth worked as she struggled to tell her story. “I didn’t handle it at all,” she said, her voice rasping like sandpaper against a wall. “Anger welled up inside me like a volcano, and it would spew out of my mouth. I couldn’t control it. I pushed everyone away. All my friends. My husband. I had another child. A son and I pushed him away, too. He eventually left town. I think the only reason my husband didn’t follow was because of the scandal it would have caused. We lived here as strangers for forty years, until the day he died. He was only sixty-two, and I think he went just to get away from this terrible house and me. Now, I’ve been alone here for fifteen years.”
“You know, it’s not too late to change your life,” Emily said. “You don’t have to stay locked up in your fancy mausoleum. You don’t have to refuse to be happy.”
“I’m too old to be anything else.”
“It was a tragic accident. Maybe it’s time you forgive yourself.”
Aurora flinched and pulled her hand away. “There’s no forgiveness for me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Emily watched as the curtain came down behind the older woman’s eyes. Vulnerable Aurora instantly tucked away behind the tough shell.
“I don’t want your pity, either,” Aurora said, lips curling in a snarl. “Why are you still here anyway? I thought you quit. I distinctly remember you stomping your feet like a child and heading for the door.”
Emily sat back on her ankles, amazed by the quick fire transformation. “Sorry for thinking I could help. Silly of me to hope there was a trace of softness in you.”
“There’s no room for softness anymore.”
Emily heard an aching sadness behind the acidic words. “No. I guess I understand why, but it seems to me Madalynn would be awfully sad if she knew what you’d become.”
With a resigned sigh, Emily stood. Aurora refused to look up, instead directing her gaze out the window. There wouldn’t be any more dark confessions today. The wall had been put back in place.
At the doorway, Emily paused and spared one more glance over her shoulder. “See you around, I guess.”
The statement finally got a reaction. Aurora swung her head around. “Why? You won’t be coming here again. Go back to your fairy tales where you belong. I don’t need you.”
Emily tried not to let the words pierce her already damaged heart. They did anyway. She padded through the empty house, her footsteps echoing off the walls.
“Don’t let her drive you away.”
Emily screamed and almost vaulted through the wall. Hortense stood in the shadows of the hallway, and she stepped into the light.
“What are you doing skulking in the corners?” Emily asked, scowling at the housekeeper.
“I didn’t want her to know I was listening,” Hortense said, taking another step closer. “She’d be right upset.”
“I imagine so, but then upset seems to be Aurora’s normal state.”
“She was different with you here. More even-tempered.”
A brow shot up. “That was even-tempered?”
“You know the story now. Miss Aurora can’t help being nasty on account of her baby. No mama should have to bury a child.”
Emily tried not to let her resolve soften. “I agree.”
“Madalynn was such a sweet little girl. Never gave anyone a lick of trouble.”
“You were here back then?”
“I was the one who found her.” Hortense’s chin wobbled as tears filled her eyes. “I screamed bloody murder. Mr. Johnston, he jumped in and pulled Madalynn out, but it was too late. Aurora went plum crazy. Wailing and carrying on something awful. The doctor gave her a shot, and when she woke up, it was like the old Aurora had died, too. Things got real bad around here.”
“She’s been like this ever since?”
Hortense squeezed her hands together. “If anything, she grew worse. Like she didn’t know how to stop being angry, but she’s been different with you here.”
“Don’t tell me she can be worse than what I’ve seen. Have I been dealing with
the nice version of Aurora?”
“No, I think Miss saves her best barbs for you,” Hortense said, allowing a small smile. “The thing is, there’s no real heat in her words. I think she likes sparring with you.”
“A week ago I might have agreed with you, but if you listened in long enough today, you heard plenty of heat.”
“Aurora told you about her baby. She’s never done that before. She trusts you.”
“So what?”
“So, don’t let her push you away,” Hortense said. “She’s embarrassed now, but I don’t think she wants you to disappear forever.”
“Hortense, I’m not a miracle worker or a Pollyanna character, transforming the angry old lady. Besides, I’ve got my own issues to deal with, and I’m not up for taking on Aurora’s.”
Hortense’s hopeful expression fell. “Oh? I surely did think different of you. Hoped maybe—” She broke off and pulled her lips into a tense line. “Guess I was wrong. Go on and take care of your life, E.J. Sinclair.”
Hortense shuffled off, and the weight of her disappointment settled on Emily’s shoulders. Great, yet another person she could think of with regret.
She let herself out of the house. The click of the door latching sounded almost forlorn. A failure again, it said. No good at baking, no good at being a Girl Friday, no good at writing anymore either.
With heavy steps, Emily walked to her car. She collapsed into the seat and relaxed against the headrest, with her eyes closed to block out the world.
“Hey, God, it’s me Emily,” she whispered in the stillness of the car. “I know it isn’t fair that I keep praying when I’ve ignored you all my life, but I’m so tired. I could use some answers. A tiny bit of direction… Okay, well, thanks for listening.”
She opened her eyes, wondering if God thought her prayer had been as stupid as it had sounded. Tears of pity welled up, capping an already glorious day.
Emily’s gaze fell on the house one last time. Such a majestic house. If the two chimneys stuck up a little more, they could almost be turrets.
Her vision blurred and shifted. Funny how a sheen of tears created a kind of moat around the house.
A moat?
Imagine That Page 19