Emma jabbed a finger in the air. “Liar.”
Mary looked down at the sleeping child in her arms. The world had tilted on its axis for more than Paige and Imogene. Emma’s life had changed forever, too. “Did I hear you right when you said you’re planning to stay in Shellwater Key?”
“Yep.” Emma let out a gusty sigh. “I called Isabella a few minutes ago to let her know I won’t be coming back.”
“What did she say?” Mary asked curiously. She wished she’d had a chance to meet Emma’s mysterious employer. From the tales her daughter had told, Isabella sounded like a fascinating woman.
“Good luck.” A corner of Emma’s mouth tilted up. “I’m pretty sure she thought I needed it. Oh, and she said not to worry about the Queen’s Ransom. Isabella felt sure they’d have a replacement by the end of the week.”
“She can replace you so easily?”
“Chefs are a dime a dozen.” Emma sighed. “I loved that job, though. It will be hard to do anything else after floating on the high seas with a bunch of billionaires. I won’t have to put up with the groping, at least.”
“Groping?” Mary tried to sit up straighter without disturbing Paige. “Someone groped you?”
“Happened all the time.” Emma shook her head in bemusement. “It was the weirdest thing. It was like they were tom cats and I’d been baked in catnip.”
“Well, you’re beautiful…but Emma…how dare they touch you.” Mary wanted to go out and find those perverts and pulverize them.
Emma’s mouth quirked. “I’m not that beautiful, and for the most part Isabella’s guests were harmless. I took care of myself, and Isabella was protective, too.”
“I should hope so,” she said indignantly. “It’s not like she was operating a floating bordello.”
Emma chuckled. “No, but that would probably be a good money maker. I should look into it once the girls are out of the house.”
“Honestly, Emma,” Mary chided, through her own amusement. “So, what will you do now for work?”
Mary almost regretted the question when Emma’s expression darkened again.
“I don’t know,” Emma said. “I wonder if Shellwater Key has caught on to the food truck craze?”
The screen door bounced open again, and Imogene and Reece Casings emerged on the deck in a rush of anxiety.
Emma straightened. “Hi guys,” she called out. “Found her.”
Mr. Casings hesitated, squinting into the darkness.
Imogene didn’t wait a second before hurrying over and voicing her outrage. “Why didn’t you tell us? We’ve been looking everywhere.”
“Everywhere except here obviously,” Emma said.
Imogene’s nostrils flared like a bull that had spotted a red cape. Mary shook her head. Emma was going to have to learn to curb her acidic tongue. Sarcasm might work in a busy kitchen, but it could cause a major revolt in a teenager.
Emma must have sensed she’d stepped in it because she commenced back-pedaling. “Sorry. Paige is fine. She must have wanted a little time to herself.”
“Emma’s right,” Mary said. “This place is obviously special to Paige.”
Imogene’s shoulders dropped. “She used to come out here with Dad all the time.”
Mary nodded. “She told me about that.”
Everyone’s gazes sharpened, Emma and Mr. Casings’ more curious, while Imogene shimmered with mistrust.
“Imogene, why don’t you take your sister upstairs and help her into bed?” Mary said, trying to ease out of the awkward situation. “She’s worn herself out, poor thing.”
“I’ll come up in a little bit and check on you guys,” Emma offered.
“We don’t need you to check up on us,” Imogene said, her lips an inch away from a full-on sneer. “I can take care of Paige just fine.”
Imogene didn’t wait for a response, but moved closer to jostle her sister awake. Paige burrowed closer against Mary’s chest.
“Come on, angel, time to go to bed,” Mary said, shaking the child.
Paige stirred and looked up, her forehead crinkling in confusion when she saw everyone staring down at her.
“There have been a few people looking for you,” Mary said. “No one knew you’d come out here.”
Paige sat up. “Oh…sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Reece Casings said as he stepped closer. “We were just worried.”
Imogene pulled her sister out of the glider, and the two girls went back inside.
Mr. Casings looked back, his expression guarded as he looked at Mary. “Thank you. I can’t imagine this has been an easy day. You have every reason to resent Thomas’ other children.”
“I don’t believe in blaming children for the sins of their father,” Mary said. “Paige was hurting, and I couldn’t very well turn my back on her.”
“That’s very generous of you,” he said, with a quick glance at Emma.
Emma gave a good impression of Imogene’s lip curl. “I get it, Counselor. If my mom can be so forgiving, why can’t I?”
Even in the darkness, Mary detected color rising up his cheeks. “I didn’t—” His mouth firmed. “Never mind. Are you going to be all right alone here with the girls tonight?”
“Of course.”
He arched a brow. “Really?”
“It’s not like we have any other choice, do we?”
He sighed and looked back at Mary. “Good night, Mrs. Bertram.”
For the second time today, Mary bit back a wince upon hearing that name. Only here it seemed worse. Being called Mrs. Bertram in the second Mrs. Bertram’s backyard was a little too much to take. “Why don’t you call me Mary?”
He nodded, as if he knew exactly how she felt. “Mary.” He turned to Emma again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Can’t wait.”
He shook his head and beat a hasty retreat.
“You shouldn’t try so hard to get his back up,” Mary said.
She grinned. “But it’s kinda fun. His back is so stiff.”
“Just remember, he’s your ally. The girls are obviously close to him, and if you don’t win him over you’ll never make any headway with them.”
Emma’s brows drew together again. “Will I really be able to do this?”
Mary reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “Yes, you will. You’re strong enough to get through anything.”
“I’m scared…no…terrified I’m going to screw this up and ruin those girls for life.”
Mary gazed at her daughter, reflecting that this moment was where being a mother could become one giant pain. “You won’t, and I won’t let you.”
Emma’s gaze sharpened. “You won’t?”
Mary took a deep breath and mentally plunged into unknown territory. “I’m not about to leave you here on your own,” she said, before she could talk herself out of the impulse.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m staying here to help,” Mary said. “At least until you’re more settled.”
“Are you crazy?” Emma blurted out. “You want to help raise Dad’s kids?”
Perhaps not, but I don’t have any other choice. “No, I’m being a mother.”
Emma was shaking her head. “You’d leave your house and your life behind just to help me? What about your job?”
Oh, yes…that. “I wouldn’t be leaving a job behind. There were budget cuts in the school system, and you know the arts are always the first to go.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Mom, when did this happen? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“The end of the year, and I didn’t say anything because it hurt too much,” she said. “I’ve been trying to figure out what I’m supposed do with my life ever since. The idea of going out and trying to find a new job at my age is pretty terrifying.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to move here and be surrounded by memories of all the things you lost.” Emma moved over to the glider. “You don’t have to be a martyr for me, Mom. I know I’m goin
g to stumble and mess things up, but I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not throwing myself on the pyre, and maybe I need to face those memories. I’ve been stuck in the past for so long – and so have you,” Mary said, recognizing the truth in them. She had turned her back on Shellwater Key, but the hurt had never really been healed. Perhaps now she could find closure.
“Are you sure?” Emma took her hand. “I may not act like one all the time, but I am a reasonably capable adult.”
“I know you are, but this seems right. I feel like I have a purpose,” Mary said, and strangely enough, the more she said it, the more right it seemed.
Emma blew out a gust of air and stood. “Well, I still think you’re crazy, but I’m not stupid enough to turn down your offer.”
Mary stood too, and embraced her daughter.
Emma pulled back. “This is part of being a mother, right? The sacrificing, I-don’t-want-to-do-this-but-I-have-to part?”
Mary cupped her daughter’s cheeks. “That’s right.”
Emma bit her lip. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
Chapter 6
Day 1 of Captivity
Emma stared at the clock on the bedside table.
7:03 A.M.
Actually, she’d been staring at the numbers most of the night. Her body was in full ‘what-the-heck-time-zone-are-we-in-anyway?’ mode. In the waters near Hong Kong, with the thirteen-hour time difference, the crew of the Queen’s Ransom would be gearing up for another well-into-the-morning party for Isabella’s guests. Emma would have spent the day preparing gourmet dishes, concentrating on creating the most scintillating concoctions possible to please people who had dined with celebrities and royalty. She would know exactly how to go on.
Instead, she’d spent half the night tossing and turning, wondering how she would ever figure out how to mother two girls who resented her and who certainly didn’t trust her. The other half had been spent trying to forget her bizarre reaction to Reece Casings. Around 3:25 A.M. she’d concluded that it must have been a combination of grief, guilt, and a wicked case of jet lag.
There could be no other explanation.
Since sleep refused to take hold, Emma threw back the covers and got up. She went to the window and looked out over the back yard. The back yard of her father’s house, where she would apparently be living for the remainder of the girls’ formative years.
How could this be her life now? Her father had somehow believed she was the best option if the worst were to happen, but how could she ever hope to fill the void left behind?
Emma shook off the wave of despair and resolved to move forward as best she could. Starting with breakfast. A shower went a long way to making her feel human again. Then she padded downstairs, walking past her sisters’ closed bedroom doors. She gave a passing thought to knocking, but decided to let the girls sleep. She’d cook and then wake them up.
She tried not to acknowledge her cowardice in wanting to avoid Imogene’s accusing glare a little while longer.
Once she set foot in the kitchen, the tension released from her shoulders. At least in here, things made sense. No matter what was going on in her life, cooking had always served as a release valve. The disaster six months ago, with the prick she refused to think about, had almost destroyed her one true love, but thankfully she’d been able to recapture her joy on board the Queen’s Ransom.
Coffee was the first order of business. She set a pot brewing and then focused on determining a menu. Her first thought was Eggs Benedict, one of her particular favorites. Of course, she now lived in a house that subsisted almost exclusively on boxed, canned, and pre-prepared food. Which meant no lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, Canadian bacon, or even English muffins. Thankfully, she was able to find eggs, cheese, and flour so she settled on omelets and biscuits from scratch.
Once the biscuits were in the oven, she went looking for a bowl to whip the eggs. As she was reaching for the handle of the cupboard, her gaze landed on a hand-written note taped to the outside.
STORE
Laundry detergent
Cereal
Milk
Orange juice
Toilet paper
Peanut butter
Jar of spaghetti sauce
Frozen waffles
Bread
Corn
Chocolate chip mint ice cream
A grocery list, in Mona’s handwriting. The reference to spaghetti sauce in a jar and frozen waffles was disturbing, but the last item on the list stopped Emma cold. Chocolate chip mint was her dad’s favorite ice cream.
She traced the words, and then as if in a trance, went to open the freezer. There was still one in there, though only a spoonful remained. Her mother used to complain about her dad leaving such a miniscule amount. Why didn’t he just eat the last bite and then throw the carton away?
Emma slammed the freezer closed, wishing it were as easy to shut out the memories. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the disturbing thoughts. Unfortunately, the next thing she saw was a framed picture of her dad, Mona, and the girls on the windowsill.
Even knowing a closer look would be like ripping open an old wound, Emma picked up the frame. Everyone was smiling and carefree. She focused on her dad’s face, on the eyes she shared with him. He looked happy. Emma tried to remember if he’d looked as content when he and her mom had still been married. Of course, she’d been a teenager. As far as she’d known, everything had been fine.
Until the day it suddenly wasn’t.
An acrid smell penetrated her morbid thoughts, and Emma turned back to the oven. Letting out a curse, she opened the door, revealing the charred remains of her homemade biscuits.
Cursing, Emma reached for an oven mitt, but it slipped, and she ended up burning her hand. The baking sheet crashed to the floor with a loud clatter and bang.
Which called for more cursing.
“Emma…what on earth!”
Emma screamed and whipped around, the oven mitt flung out in front of her as the only weapon available. Mary Bertram yelped right back.
“Mom…” Emma groaned. “What are you doing?”
“I think I asked you first,” her mother returned, holding a hand to her heart. “I thought you were being attacked.”
Emma sighed and shook her head. “I burned the biscuits.”
Now, it was her mother’s turn to sigh. “That’s all?”
“It was biscuits,” Emma said, pointing at the downed sheet, as if it had jumped to the floor just to spite her.
Her mother’s lips twitched. “Everyone has little mishaps in the kitchen now and then.”
“I don’t, at least not with something so simple.” Emma held up her damaged limb. “Plus, I burned my hand trying to get them out.”
“You burned yourself?” Concern replaced amusement, and her mother marched over to examine her hand. “Oh, honey, you have to be more careful. Go run cold water on it.”
Wow, way to feel ten-years-old again. “Mom, I think I know what to do.”
“What’s going on?”
For the second time that morning, Emma nearly jumped out of her skin. She managed not to curse again as she regarded the two, wide-eyed girls in the doorframe.
Great, what now?
A glance at her mother offered no help, other than a hand puppet-like, ‘talk to them’ gesture. So, Emma attempted a carefree smile. “Good morning.”
Imogene didn’t return the greeting, but then opening her mouth might have upset the delicate balance of her scowl. Paige didn’t smile, but at least she didn’t look as if she’d sucked on a lemon the way her sister did.
“It smells like something’s burning,” Paige said.
Emma glanced down at the floor. “Yeah, I lost track of the time. Burned the biscuits a little and then my hand.”
Finally, a smile bloomed on Imogene’s face; only it was a gleeful, you-are-so-pathetic grin. “You burned something as simple as biscuits?”
Emma splayed both hands in the
air. “Apparently.”
“I thought you were supposed to be this big, important chef,” Imogene said, her lip curling in a sneer. “It’s why you could never came home, right?”
“Even big, important chefs make mistakes in the kitchen,” Emma said. “So do big sisters.”
The bid for understanding and forgiveness went unheeded as Imogene shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
Remember she’s a grieving teenager. Remember she’s a grieving teenager.
The chant didn’t do much to alleviate the sting of rejection, but Emma was determined to get through somehow. She decided to ignore the bad attitude, as well as the searching look from her mother. No doubt, Mary Bertram thought things were worse off than she had imagined when she’d made the amazing offer to stay in Shellwater Key.
“I can make more biscuits, and I have omelets coming up, too,” Emma said. “Since you’re already here, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get everything ready?”
Imogene folded her arms. “I hate biscuits.”
“How could anyone hate biscuits?” Emma asked in shock.
Another shrug. “I just do.”
“Fine, then you can eat an omelet, and I’ll—”
“I hate eggs, too.”
Of course she did. Emma considered calling BS, but honestly didn’t have the mental energy to break through the wall Imogene had erected this morning. “All right, find something you do like and eat that.”
“I’m not hungry,” Imogene said, before spinning on her heel and marching off.
As her sister’s footsteps thundered up the stairs, Emma finally glanced over at her mother again. “That went well.”
“Genie can be cranky in the morning,” Paige said.
“No kidding.” She thought “cranky” might be Genie’s go-to attitude twenty-four hours a day. Emma focused on the one sister who didn’t seem to hate her.
“I hope you’re hungry?”
Paige looked at the floor, grinding her toe into the tile. “I’m not sure if I can eat,” she said, looking so miserable that Emma’s heart broke. She lost her appetite when she was upset, too, but skipping meals never helped anything. “Why don’t you try? Maybe once you start, you’ll realize you really are hungry.”
Straight on Toward Paradise Page 6