Bonnie sits next to me and takes my hand. “Because you are one of those men who loves with your whole heart. I knew that about you when you hired me. What Amanda did was horrible. Inexcusable. But you stuck by her side. You stuck by her side, even when I thought you shouldn’t.”
“Can I tell you something?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“I know it seems impossible, but I think I love Emma more than I loved Amanda. Isn’t that crazy? I’ve only known her for four months and I love her more than the mother of my child.”
“It’s not crazy. But that’s why it hurts so much.” She moves to the kitchen for a bottle of water. “This too shall pass.” She flips off the light, leaving me in darkness, and goes upstairs.
I get up and obsessively look out the window, knowing it’s stupid to do it, but I do it anyway.
I watch all the people pass on the street. Couples. Families. Single people heading out for a late night on the town. People living their lives. Yet here I sit stuck in some limbo I can’t get out of.
Then I see her. Emma appears with a man. They walk up her steps. He looks like a goddamn banker in his tailored suit. She’s being escorted home by Richie Rich.
I stand up and almost yell when she opens the front door, and they both go inside. What the fuck?
Evie’s light is on. She’s still awake for cryin’ out loud. So now Emma is introducing men to her daughter?
I chug the rest of my beer and go to the kitchen for another when my phone pings with a text.
Evie: She’s not taking him upstairs.
Me: What are you talking about?
Evie: Oh, come on. I saw you standing in the window watching my mother. You saw them go inside. I just wanted to tell you she’s not taking him upstairs.
Me: We really shouldn’t be discussing this.
Evie: You don’t want to know what they’re doing right now?
Me: Of course not.
I return to the window. Evie’s in her room, looking at her phone. How pathetic am I? A twelve-year-old is spying for me. I’ve truly hit rock fucking bottom. The fact that I’m thinking that while texting her does not escape my attention.
Me: What are they doing?
Evie: She asked for his jacket. He spilled something on it at dinner, and she’s going to try and get the stain out.
Typical. The old spill something on your clothes so you have an excuse to take them off trick. I try to think of anything but what might be going on in her kitchen.
Me: Tell me about Greta. How is she?
Evie: She’s amazing. So much better than I imagined. She’s not stuck up, like a lot of my friends’ big sisters. We text all the time and call once a week. She even called me her BFF yesterday.
Me: I’m so happy for you.
Evie: She’s teaching me German. Oh, and she’s coming to visit next month with her mom and stepdad. We’re going to have two whole days together. I wish you could be here for it.
Me: I wish I could, too.
Evie: Just so you know, I don’t think my mom likes this guy at all.
Me: How can you tell? You’re in your bedroom.
Evie: And I’m staying here until he leaves. I don’t want to meet him. I know she doesn’t like him because I can hear her fake laughing. Like how you do when something’s not funny, but you laugh anyway.
I move away from the window and sit on a barstool as we text for several more minutes, her telling me about how cool sixth grade is, and me telling her about some of the strange calls I’ve gone on in the past week.
It’s odd, yet at the same time not, being friends with her.
Evie: I think he’s getting ready to leave.
I race to the window, watching Richie Rich step onto her front porch. He leans in and tries to kiss her. She backs away at first, and I could swear she glances in my direction, but then she lets him kiss her.
It’s not a long kiss. Not a deep one either. It’s more like a peck on the lips. Anger crawls up my spine as someone else kisses the woman I love.
Evie texts me again, but it’s evident she didn’t see what just happened.
Evie: He’s gone now. I told you there was nothing to worry about.
Me: Yup. Nothing to worry about. I’ll talk to you later, squirt.
Evie: Goodnight, Brett.
Richie Rich bops happily down the street, and I decide I’m tired of being the guy who’s sitting at home, feeling sorry for myself. I pick my phone up and text Bass.
Me: The girl you told me about? Ivy’s sister? Go ahead and set it up.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Emma
I finish cleaning up my centers and sit at my desk to prepare tomorrow’s lesson plan. I look around my classroom, happy to be in a place I love. But I can’t help feeling like something is missing. Maybe I’ll never feel the same here after what happened last May.
As if I’ve been dropped back in that very nightmare, I hear a bloodcurdling scream and then people running in the hall. Kenny Lutwig’s face clouds my vision. Is he back? Did he get released from jail and wants revenge on me for calling 911 from the storage closet?
I drop what I’m doing and hide under my desk. Damn it. My phone is in my purse in a drawer on the other side of the room.
Oh, God, my name is outside the door. And my door is unlocked. But I can’t get myself to move. I’m frozen.
Someone opens my door and I tense as bile rises in my throat. “Emma?” a woman calls out.
I peek around my desk and see Lisa standing there. Then I hear faint sirens in the background.
“What’s happening?” I ask, still shielding myself behind my heavy metal cover.
“Come quickly. It’s Jordan. He’s hurt.”
“Is he shot?” I ask in confusion, wondering why she’s standing in my doorway and not taking cover. “Where’s the gunman?”
“Gunman? No, he fell down the stairs. He’s bleeding badly. Becca was screaming for me to get you. She said you could help.”
I finally come out from behind my desk, conflicting emotions of relief and alarm coursing through me. “Where is he?”
“In C hallway. Come on.”
As we run over there, I ask, “Why did she think I could help?”
“Maybe because you helped that Carter kid when he was bleeding.”
“I’m not the one who helped him, Lisa.”
We turn the corner and I stop in my tracks, sickened by what I see. Jordan is lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a pool of blood around his head, and he’s convulsing.
“Somebody help him!” Becca screams.
I have no idea what to do, and neither does anyone else. I drop to the floor and try to stabilize his head so he doesn’t get injured any further. The door at the end of the hall flies open and firefighters come through, one wheeling a gurney.
Brett won’t be with them. I know his schedule, and he isn’t working today.
“Move aside,” one of them says.
“Can someone tell me what happened?” another asks.
Becca is sitting against the wall sobbing, her hands covered in Jordan’s blood. “He f-fell. There were s-some papers on the floor at the top of the stairs. He slipped on them and tried to steady himself, but he was c-carrying all my stuff.” She looks at her hands and screams. “Help him!”
“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am.”
The firefighters push everyone back, creating a perimeter in which the paramedics can work. They pull a bunch of medical equipment out of their bags.
Lisa stays on the floor with Becca while I try to see what’s happening. They put a collar around his neck and open his eyelids.
“His left pupil is blown,” one says.
“I’m losing his pulse,” says another.
A paramedic puts his hands on Jordan’s chest. “Starting CPR.”
“What’s happening?” Becca cries.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “They’re trying to help him.”
Jordan is lying life
less, his blood all over the paramedics and floor. He bounces up and down with every chest compression. They have a bag over his mouth to force air into his lungs.
“I have a weak pulse,” someone says. “Let’s get him on the gurney.”
They put him on a backboard and then lift him onto the gurney.
“Where are you taking him?” I ask.
“He needs a level-one trauma unit. We’ll take him to Med across the bridge.”
I motion to Becca. “She’s his wife. Can she go with him?”
“I lost his pulse,” someone says.
A woman climbs on top of the gurney and does CPR again.
Becca cries and gulps and looks sick. I take her in my arms.
One of the firefighters looks at Becca and then at me. “You’ll have to get her there yourself,” he says. “We need all hands on deck in the ambulance.”
They wheel Jordan down the hall, leaving bloody footprints behind. I shield Becca from the scene, not wanting her to see the massive amount of blood on the hallway floor. “Come on,” I say, walking her in the opposite direction. “We’re going to the hospital.”
~ ~ ~
Becca and I are in the waiting room. She doesn’t want anyone to talk to her. She keeps looking at pictures of their honeymoon on her phone.
There are a dozen people here from work. The whole Taco Tuesday bunch. Our principal. Some of the school counselors.
I rub Becca’s back, recalling how only a few weeks ago, she was doing the same for me.
An hour after we arrive, a doctor comes into the waiting room. “Mrs. Kincaid?”
Becca stands.
He motions to a door. “Can we speak in private?”
My heart sinks. That can’t be good. If Jordan were okay, he’d just tell her right here, right now.
More tears roll down her face. She looks at me, terrified. “I can’t.”
I get up. “I’ll go with you.”
I realize she’s about to get some bad news. I just don’t know how bad. And none of her family is here. None of his family is here.
We’re escorted into a small private room and asked to sit on a couch. The worst possible words come out of the doctor’s mouth. Words like brain death and organ donation.
The doctor tries to comfort Becca, but she’s hysterical. He calls in a nurse, who gives her a mild sedative. Then he leaves us with organ donation papers.
“I apologize,” he says. “But there is only a small window of time. A decision has to be made soon.”
Shortly after he exits the room, both sets of parents show up, and I have to watch them experience what Becca went through. It’s the most devastating thing I’ve seen since the day my father died.
Becca leaves all decisions to Jordan’s parents. She’s practically a zombie after the sedative kicks in.
“We’re going to take her home to White Plains,” her mom says. “She needs to be with family.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, knowing full well there’s not.
“You’ve done everything you can. Thank you for being here with her.”
I give her my number. “I’ll always be here for her,” I say. “Day or night.”
I find a bathroom and wash the blood off my hands, feeling sick all over again as I watch the water turn pink and swirl down the drain.
Lisa comes in behind me, mascara running down her face. “I can’t believe it. One minute he’s here, they’re happy and married, and now she’s walking out of here a widow. It’s not fair.”
I look at myself in the mirror. “I have to go home. I have to hug my daughter.”
What if Evelyn fell down the stairs? What if my mother did? I make myself crazy thinking of everything that can go wrong in the world.
“Is there anything we can do for Becca?” Lisa asks.
I shake my head. “We can be here to offer her support. But it’s going to take time. Lots and lots of time.”
Maybe even more than nineteen years, I think.
When I arrive home, my mother sees me before Evelyn does. She’s horror-struck when she sees the blood on my clothes. “Lord, what happened to you? You can’t let Evie see you like this. Is that your blood? What happened? Do I need to call the police?” She drags me upstairs.
As soon as she shuts the bedroom door behind us, I break down in her arms, telling her everything that happened. When I finish crying, she takes me into my bathroom. “Get in the shower. I’ll make you something hot.”
Twenty minutes later, she’s back with a cup of steaming chamomile tea.
“What did you tell Evelyn?” I ask.
“The truth. That one of your best friends lost her husband today, and you’re very sad about it.”
I sip the hot tea, then sit on the chair in the corner. “Oh, Mom. They were perfect together. And then he slipped and fell and now he’s gone. Why did this happen?”
She sits on the arm of the chair and sighs. “Sweetie, you know better than anyone that there isn’t an answer for that. Life happens. Death happens. And no matter how hard we try, we have no control over it. And it’s useless to live our lives in a way that we think we can.”
I know exactly what she’s trying to say. I get up and go to the window, putting my palm against it. I look out into the street just as the streetlights come on. I gaze into Brett’s house. Bonnie is playing with Leo.
“How can Brett survive a massive fire while Jordon dies walking down a hall?” I look at her. “Did I screw up?”
“No, sweetie, you didn’t. You did what you thought was best for you and Evie. But it’s nothing you can’t fix. It’s not too late. But one day, it will be.” She crosses to my bedside table and touches the picture of my dad. “I wouldn’t give up the time I had with your father for anything. Even if I had known what would happen to him, I still wouldn’t change a thing. He was—is—the love of my life.”
I go over to her and stare at his picture, and it’s as if everything I ever thought or felt changes in an instant. Big tears escape my eyes. “I’ve been a terrible daughter.”
“Nonsense. You’re a wonderful daughter.”
I shake my head. “Not to you. To Daddy. I’ve blamed him. All this time, I’ve blamed him for leaving me.” I sit next to her on the bed. “I was so wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”
She wraps her arms around me. “Shh. It’s okay. He knows you love him.”
“How?” I say. “How can he know when I never go see him?”
“Oh honey, he knows. Believe me.”
When I’m all cried out, I straighten and try to gain some resolve. “I was wrong about a lot of things,” I say, looking over at my window.
She smiles at me. “I was wondering when you’d come to your senses.”
I return to the window, then immediately hide behind the curtain when I see Brett on his front porch, talking with a woman. A woman who gives him flowers. What kind of woman brings a man flowers?
My forehead meets the wall as I curse myself.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“It looks like I may be too late.”
She goes to the window and looks out.
“Mom!” I pull on her arm. “Don’t stand there. He’ll see you.”
I run over and flip off the light, then look out the window again. Brett is dressed up in khakis and a button-down shirt, and the woman is wearing a pretty dress. Definitely a date. He stashes the flowers somewhere in his foyer and then waves to someone inside—Bonnie and Leo, I presume. Then he motions for the woman to lead the way down his front steps.
They stroll down the street, smiling and conversing comfortably. When she throws her head back in laughter, a spear goes through the center of my heart.
When they’re out of sight, Mom grabs me by the shoulders. “You know what I would do in this situation?”
“Bake?”
She laughs. “Yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of a grand gesture.”
“You don’t think it’s too late?” I ask.
I do what she says. And she was right. She was right about all of it.
So, for the rest of the night, I bake.
I bake for Evelyn.
I bake for Becca.
I bake for the grand gesture mom was talking about.
I just hope it’s not too little, too late.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Brett
“I forgot to ask you yesterday how your date with Holly went,” Bass says.
I shrug. “Good, I guess. She’s a lot of fun.”
“Fun?” Justin wiggles his eyebrows. “I know what kind of fun can be had with Holly Greene.”
I throw my breakfast bagel at him. “I didn’t sleep with her, you tool.”
“Why the hell not? You aren’t still itching for that teacher who blew you off, are you?”
“Dude,” Denver says, kicking Justin under the table. “Sometimes you need to know when to shut the hell up.”
“Hey, speak of the devil,” Bass says.
My eyes go wide when Bass nods his head to the door behind me. I turn around and see Emma standing there with two arms full of baskets. She looks at the floor and shuffles her feet. “I, uh, didn’t know what to make, since you seemed to like it all, so I brought a little of everything.”
I frown. “Are you talking to me?”
She nods.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Justin says, going over to her. “Damn, girl, we sure have missed you around here.”
“Justin, get over here,” Denver chides. “Give them some space.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Extending the olive branch. Or maybe the breadbasket.”
Engulfing Emma (The Men on Fire Series) Page 28