Is Emerson with him?
On a wave of hope, she reached the door.
“Where is he?” She swung her gaze across the shop. Her heart fell.
Michael switched off the table saw. “Are you looking for Emerson?” He removed his safety goggles. “He’s not here. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“Michael, call the house! Ask Nella if he’s inside.”
A quick call revealed the worst. Emerson wasn’t there.
Darcy’s breath stuttered. Above the long stretch of lawn, lightning streaked the sky.
She bolted toward the forest.
Chapter 24
Darcy was halfway across the back lawn when the sky opened up fully. Sheet after sheet of rain pounded her back.
Behind her, Michael screamed for her to slow down. To her left, she glimpsed Samson jogging down the property line, his arm hooked through Rosalind’s. Willing her body forward, Rosalind took uneven strides.
Darcy ran faster. Don’t wait for them. Emerson has a five-minute lead. There’s no time to waste.
She dashed into the forest. Forgoing the winding path to the oak tree, she bolted in a straight line. Heavy brush tore at her arms. Overhead, the canopy of leaves held off the worst of the storm—until she reached the clearing before the great tree. The lashing rain fell hard through the patches of open sky.
“Emerson?” She swiped at the droplets pelting her face. He was nowhere in sight. “Are you here?”
“Go away,” he said from somewhere near the tree.
She slipped on a patch of mud, nearly fell. She righted herself. “Tell me where you are.” She took careful steps forward, arms out for balance.
“Leave me alone. I don’t want to see anyone right now.”
From behind, heavy footsteps crunched through the underbrush. Then mingled voices. From the sound of it, Michael was circling around to help Samson lead Rosalind into the forest.
“Emerson, talk to me. We’ll go inside. You’ll feel better.”
“No!”
Overhead, thunder exploded. Thirty feet below, the river churned beneath the assault of the whipping rain. Darcy scanned the sloping hillside and then the steep drop behind the tree. She bit down on her lip, frustrated. There were too many places to hide. The storm was increasing in billowing gusts, making it nearly impossible to spot the upset boy.
At last she saw Emerson behind the tree. He stood just a few treacherous paces from the sheer drop where the stable ground ended. In the pouring rain, he was unaware he’d stepped nearly to the edge of the precipice.
Terror sank her to her knees.
“Emerson, listen closely. Start walking toward me. Don’t run.” Her commanding tone glittered like steel. She rose back to her feet and sidled to the left. “I know you’re upset. We’ll deal with it later. It’s not safe where you’re standing.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
He was a careful child. He’d never intentionally put himself in danger. But he’d done so now.
At her side, Michael halted. Sucking in an unsteady breath, he latched his startled attention on her nephew. Then he caught Darcy’s gaze with a nearly imperceptible nod. Better for him to remain silent and let her talk Emerson to safety.
“That’s right, kiddo. Start walking. Slowly.”
He took a tentative step. The terror mixing with Darcy’s relief didn’t stop her from lifting an encouraging hand. “Come on now.”
Another step, as carefully placed as the first.
“I hate rain,” he muttered. He squinted against the droplets batting his face. “I’m cold.”
“You’ll be warm and dry in the house.”
He paused, his tennis shoes sinking into the mud. Darcy’s stomach clenched.
Why has he stopped? He’s still too close to the edge, too far away for me to risk bolting forward and scooping him up.
Her confusion was short-lived. Footsteps clomped through the forest’s undergrowth. A soft gasp—her mother’s. She glanced over her shoulder as Samson pulled Rosalind to a stop.
The youth stared wide-eyed at Emerson. “Oh shit,” he blurted, the fear thick in his voice.
Rosalind broke free of his grasp. Panic tripped across her face as she assessed the situation.
“Emerson, come here,” she barked. “Do it, sweetheart. Now.”
A faint command—a miscalculation.
Anger brightened the boy’s face. He was already scared. The anger cut through his weak hold on his senses.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” he shouted. “You don’t make the rules!”
“Emerson—”
“Shut up! I’m not listening to you, Grandmother. You boss everyone around. I hate it. Stop making rules—you’re not a judge anymore!”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “I’m not a judge anymore. I shouldn’t make all the rules.”
“You don’t listen to anybody. Why don’t you listen to Aunt Darcy? She’s smart too, you know.”
“You’re right.” Rosalind didn’t like eating humble pie, but she made the effort now. “I should listen. I should listen most to the people I love.”
“You don’t know how! Why won’t you let Aunt Darcy get you a new heart? You’re being stupid.”
“I am. I’m very stupid.” Rosalind hesitated. Slowly, she blinked. Her eyes went glassy.
She listed sideways. A dizzy spell. Her knees began to buckle.
Darcy charged toward her, arms out. She caught her before Rosalind’s knees scraped the ground.
With Michael’s help, she steered her mother into a sitting position. Samson hurried over, unsure how to help. It was a bizarre sight, Rosalind sitting in the mud with the rain slicking down her face. There wasn’t much to be done about it.
“Stay there,” Darcy whispered. Her mother gave a tight nod. Rising, she regarded her nephew. “Emerson, let’s do this,” she said. “Take your time walking over.”
He nodded.
A gust of wind barreled through the forest. The oak tree trembled against the blast. Handfuls of leaves showered down, a waterfall of bright green. High in the tree, a limb shook loose. It came down fast and struck Emerson on the shoulder.
He cried out as he was knocked backward. Dread gripped Darcy’s throat as he rolled toward the precipice.
The ground beneath him gave way.
With horror, Michael watched Emerson plummet thirty feet to the river.
Rosalind screamed. Darcy, her attention trained on the hillside with a hawk’s precision, sprinted to the left. She scrambled down the steep incline.
In the deepest section of the river, Emerson’s head popped up. Then his arms, flailing. Fear lanced through Michael—the boy wasn’t a good swimmer. Emerson slapped his arms against the water, searching for purchase on anything that would keep him from being swept away.
The wind howled, a demonic song to welcome the boy to his death. Michael sprinted for the hillside. Slipping, sliding, his fists grappling for saplings that snapped under his weight, he climbed his way down. Samson followed, bumping into him twice as they raced for the riverbank.
Darcy was already in the water, diving deep. Emerson screamed, the water rolling over him. He managed to swim to a rock and grab on.
Michael reached the riverbank. “Emerson—hold on!”
Darcy resurfaced not far from her nephew. A moment too late.
High above the boy, the storm pulled another limb from the oak tree. A heavier limb, fatter than the one that had sent Emerson spiraling off the precipice. A whoosh of threatening sound, and it hurtled down with ferocious speed. Emerson looked up, his eyes dark with understanding. He let go of the boulder to ward off the blow.
And was swept downstream.
Michael watched with his fists clenched and ice beating through his blood. He made the dreadful calculation. Darcy knew how to swim. She was safe for the moment, taking swift strokes to beat back the current.
Emerson would drown.
The decision sent Michael racing do
wn the riverbank. The water rushed by viciously fast, yet he managed to gain speed. Ahead, an outcropping of rock jutted into the river. He threw himself down as Emerson’s head popped up once again in the churning waves.
He caught the boy’s arm with so much force, he feared he’d dislocated his shoulder. A sliver of relief darted through him as Emerson, his eyes filled with terror, reached up for him.
“Michael, I’m here!” Samson flung himself down and began hoisting Emerson to safety. “Catch Darcy!”
Michael rose to his knees. Frantic, he scanned the river.
There.
Darcy knew the river better than her nephew. She’d beaten a path to another outcropping. Spitting out water, grappling to hold on—the sheer force of the oncoming water slammed her against the unforgiving surface.
Michael leaped to his feet.
“Darcy, I’m coming!”
He dove in. His knuckles scraped across the riverbed. Legs pumping against the current, he took long strokes, beating the river back with all the power his muscles could supply and the pure, clean rage centered in his mind.
I will not allow the river to take what is most precious to me. I will not.
Spitting out a mouthful of water, he swam to her side.
Hard currents rolled over her shoulders as she held fast to the boulder. “This sucks,” she announced. A rivulet of blood snaked down from her mouth. She didn’t dare brush it away as she searched Michael’s gaze. “You caught Emerson?”
“He’s fine. Samson’s with him.” He scanned her face. “Anything broken?”
“No.”
“Can you swim?”
Her teeth chattered. “I hit my head on something. When I dove in.”
“You can swim, Darcy. You’ve always been a great swimmer.”
“Right.” She rested her cheek against the boulder, the currents washing away the rivulet of blood. “I feel woozy,” she admitted.
Adrenaline coursed through him. He’d be damned if he’d let the river take her. Even if she passed out and became dead weight in his arms, he would get her to safety.
“We’ll do this together. We’re only twenty yards from shore.” Icy currents pounded his back. Carefully, he maneuvered around the side of the boulder. With his right arm, he gripped her tightly. Kicking off his shoes, he planted his feet against the rock. “When I push off, you swim as hard as you can. Got it?”
“You won’t let go?” Despite the peril, she laughed. “To be honest, I’m not sure I can make it on my own.”
“I won’t let go.”
In the third-floor corridor of the children’s wing, a male nurse smiled faintly as Nella hurried past.
The alarming text from Latrice had arrived less than twenty minutes earlier. Immediately, Nella drove to Geauga County’s Saint Jerome Hospital. She’d left a confused Tippi alone in the laundry room, folding linens. Nella resolved to call her mother once she knew Emerson was fine.
She paused in the doorway of the two-bed hospital room. The bed closest to the door was empty. A green privacy curtain separated the two halves of the room. If Rosalind was on the other side, the chances were high that she’d ask Nella to leave at once.
Rosalind’s longstanding enmity no longer matters.
The fear scattering through Nella’s blood would never abate until she was certain that Emerson wasn’t badly injured.
With newfound determination, she stepped behind the privacy curtain.
On the other side, Latrice and Rosalind were seated near the wall, a few inches from the bed. Emerson was fast asleep. Nella’s stomach lurched. Gauze encased his left wrist. A series of bruises peppered the side of his face.
“Nella. Hello.” Appearing strangely embarrassed, Rosalind produced a welcoming expression. “It’s good to see you.”
The greeting left Nella speechless. Brows lifting, she assessed Rosalind’s silver hair, plastered in wet clumps around her face.
“Were you in the forest?” she blurted. It was definitely something Latrice should’ve mentioned in the text.
“I wasn’t much help. If your son hadn’t followed Darcy to the oak tree, I can’t bear to imagine what might have happened.” Strong emotion rippled across her face. Fending it off, she motioned at the cramped space beside her grandson’s hospital bed. “We seem to have run out of seating. Is there a chair on the other side? I can look, if you’d like to sit down.”
The conciliatory remark took Nella aback.
Is Rosalind extending an invitation for me to join them?
Absurdly, she felt like Alice being dropped down a rabbit hole in a strange Wonderland.
Her confusion wasn’t lost on Latrice. Beside the proud judge, the housekeeper allowed her head to drift back toward the wall—and out of Rosalind’s line of vision. With a grin, she rolled her eyes skyward.
Amusement tickled Nella. Concealing it, she said, “I’m fine. Thank you. I don’t mind standing.”
Affection and worry pulled her toward the bed. Taking care not to wake the sleeping child, she feathered the lightest caress across the soft tufts crowning his head. Rosalind’s gaze followed her with interest as she kissed his brow. She was thankful for his deep slumber after the terrible ordeal.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Nothing broken, thank goodness.” Leaning forward, Rosalind smoothed a hand down the white blanket tucked around him. “His legs are badly scraped. He won’t be running around for a few days.” She hesitated. “Where’s Darcy? I’m embarrassed to admit I haven’t gone looking for her yet.”
“Still in the emergency room, arguing with the doctors. They insist on admitting her overnight for observation. Michael is with her. Samson is too.” Nella’s phone buzzed. Reading the text, she chuckled. “According to Michael, Darcy just lost the battle. She’s filling out the admitting paperwork now. They’re sending her to a room on the fifth floor. Once Michael has the room number, he’ll let us know.”
“He saved my daughter’s life—and my grandson’s.”
“Yes, he did.”
“I must thank him.” Rosalind blinked rapidly, her eyes moist. Latrice produced a tissue, and the shaken judge dabbed at her eyes. “I should go to find Michael, but I can’t make myself leave Emerson just yet.”
“Stay here, Rosalind. I’ll convey your message when I see him.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Latrice eased herself to her feet. “Will you both stop fancy-footing around each other? This is going to be a long night. I need coffee. Do either of you want anything from the cafeteria?”
They both shook their heads.
To Nella’s astonishment, the housekeeper offered a parting zinger from the doorway.
“You behave, Rosalind. This is the perfect opportunity to kiss and make up. I expect you to do most of the kissing. Don’t let me down.”
She left, and the silence grew full. Nella wasn’t sure how to break it. At the foot of the bed, she wavered.
Rosalind patted the chair Latrice had vacated. “Get off your feet, Nella. I’d much rather beg your forgiveness while we’re sitting together.”
“You want to apologize?”
“I’ve been pondering where to begin. Chronologically, or by degree of offense?”
“Rest your case, please. I have no interest in convicting you for past crimes and misdemeanors.” Immensely relieved, Nella squeezed past and sat down. In the cramped space, their knees almost touched. “May I ask what brought on this change of heart?”
“Darcy. This morning, she shared a host of facts I should have discovered on my own. I am sorry, Nella.” She glanced at her sleeping grandson. “What happened between you and Jack, I assumed—”
Nella laid a comforting hand on her knee. “There was only the one time. Just once, Rosalind. I will carry the shame to my grave.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Rosalind inhaled a timid breath, her expression fluid. On the exhale, she said, “Darcy wants me to get on a transplant lis
t.”
“I know. My son mentioned it.”
“As did Emerson. In the forest . . . right before I nearly lost him.”
“Are you considering it?”
“The odds aren’t good.”
“They’re good enough. Get the heart transplant.”
Rosalind sighed. “I’m not sure how I feel about it. I need time to think.” She studied her hands. Frightening blotches of red were sprouting across the skin. “I left my leather gloves in the house when I ran into the forest. This blasted pain. I’m miserable.”
Nella was fearful of touching Rosalind’s hand and making the situation worse. Instead, she pressed a kiss to her own fingertip. Gently, she pressed the kiss to Rosalind’s cheek.
“What can I do to help? Name it. I’m at your beck and call.”
“At the moment? Give me a thorough talking-to. Why did I leave my gloves in the house? And why am I exhausted this early in the day? It’s barely noon.”
“You’re exhausted because you’re in pain. Should I find a nurse? Can you take OTC meds?”
“Stop, will you? I don’t require a nurse.”
Pride, Nella mused, is an exceptional hardship. Like carrying a block of cement on your back for all your natural-born days.
“Fine,” she decided. “I won’t get a nurse. Give me your house key. I’ll drive over and fetch the gloves. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
“Don’t bother. I should leave soon, take a nap. By dinnertime I’ll be as good as new.” Rosalind plucked at her sweater. Mud stippled the fabric from her ordeal in the forest. “I’ve had two dizzy spells since Emerson and Darcy got to the hospital.”
“Let me drive you home. No arguing. I’ll stay with you tonight. Camp out in your living room. Latrice can go home and sleep in her own bed.”
At the suggestion, Rosalind angled her neck. “Nella, you amaze me. We’re both too old for a slumber party.”
“Guess again. After today’s excitement, we both need to blow off some steam.”
“Must we invite Tippi? She’ll root through my liquor cabinet, then sing Italian ballads off-key. I’m afraid I have no desire to hear your mother sing ‘That’s Amore’ while she’s liquored up. Or has Tippi given up her penchant for brandy?”
The Road She Left Behind Page 27
