by Becky Melby
Not exactly a gift, but at least he wasn’t empty-handed.
He should be out looking for a scared cat. He had the perfect excuse for spending the rest of the daylight hours in a kayak, and yet here he was—in a place that felt as familiar as his basement bedroom and equally depressing. If he stopped making everyone else’s problems his own he just might be able to squeeze out a couple of hours for a life.
He kicked the bottom of the wall with a plaster-splotched boot, turned around, and pushed the button.
The elevator moved too fast for his liking. He hadn’t figured out what he was going to say because he hadn’t figured out what he was really doing there. His mom could have made this trip for him.
The door opened on the second floor and his phone rang.
“Hey, Topher. ’Sup?”
“Who is she?”
“She who?”
“The hot chick you buzzed out of here to see. Never even said good-bye.”
He hadn’t? Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “No hot chick.” Really? “Had to pick up something for the Foster job.” He hadn’t shared any of the details of the past forty-eight hours with the guys in his crew. In a matter of days he’d need Topher to start mudding and sanding and he’d meet the “Foster job” face-to-face.
“So you’re free to hang out tonight? I’m throwing some bratwurst on. Everybody’s bringing something. Six work?”
Jake glanced at his watch. “Sure. I’ll grab chips and stuff.”
“Bring the chick, too.”
“Chicken?” Jake yelled over the static from the bag he crinkled next to his phone. “Sure, I’ll bring chicken. Bye.”
With a grin he couldn’t repress, he walked down the hall. At the door to 254, he took off his cap and walked in. She was sitting almost upright, staring out the window. He cleared his throat. “Hi.”
Her head jerked toward him. “Hi. You scared me.”
He shrugged. “I scare myself sometimes.” He held out the bag.
“What is … oh! A phone! You got me a … my phone?” She pushed a button on the side. “It works. How in the world?”
“Kitty litter.”
“What?”
“I sealed it in a bag of kitty litter and left it in the hot truck all day. It’s a little trick I learned after dumping my kayak.”
Her face lit with a hero-worship kind of look that doubled his pulse. There you go again, Braden. Some guys were adrenaline junkies. His personal addiction was a wistful sigh and a you’re-so-wonderful gaze. My name is Jacob Braden and I’m a rescue addict.
“Thank you.” Emily opened her phone and let out a sigh. Of relief, not awe.
Jake sank into a chair. Maybe this was where his addiction ended. She certainly wasn’t doing anything to feed it. “You’re welcome.”
“And you’re wonderful.”
Oh brother. “I just figured you might need it. I’d be lost without mine. Don’t have anybody’s number memorized.”
“Me either. I know my parents’ and my friend’s in California. That’s it.” She clutched her phone to her chest. “So now I have to make this up to you, too.”
We’re up to two dinners and two movies now, right? “You could make it up to me by not making me knock down any more walls.” Except yours.
Emily coughed, grabbed a tissue, and held up one finger until the spasm receded. Eyes watering, she shook her head. “Sorry about that.”
Clever how she ignored his request. “I found about three pounds of rice in the dining room wall. You have, or had, mice. I know where you can get a cheap cat. Assuming we can locate it.”
“I’ll take her. A good watch cat is hard to find. That’s only a temporary solution, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Temporary. As in not worth it. But did it have to be temporary? He counted IV drops. The antibiotics dripped healing into her veins. So different from the parade of liquid spheres he’d counted as they flowed into Abby’s arm and did nothing but dull her pain.
“You must be exhausted.”
He nodded. “It’s been an interesting week.”
“Can you take some time over the weekend to do something fun?”
“I’m hoping to get out the kayak.”
“What kind do you have?” Her eyes took on a higher sheen as she leaned toward him.
The girl had active listening skills down pat. “It’s just a little lightweight thing I can throw in the back of the truck.”
“Sea or touring?”
“Sea. You’ve kayaked?”
Was there a rheostat connected to those eyes? She laughed. “I’ve spent some time on the water. I was on the women’s rowing team in college.”
His turn to laugh. “That explains a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
“Adam was totally impressed with your skills—couldn’t believe a female could figure out how to make a paddle. And he said you didn’t row like a girl at all.”
“Now there’s a compliment.” She held up her arm and squeezed her bicep. “There was a time I had some respectable upper body strength. I need to work on it. I plan on spending a lot of time on the water in California.”
There it was again. Temporary. “Do you have a job waiting for you out there?” Or a guy?
“Nope.” Her hands flipped open, palms up. “That’s what makes this an adventure. I have a friend living out there, so at least I’ll know one person.”
He friend or she friend? “What’s the draw? I mean, besides year-round summer, white beaches, incredible views, ocean air?”
Her smile seemed to tighten. Her gaze settled on the blanket hills formed by her knees. “It’s far away.”
“From family?”
“That. And everything.” She blew out a quick breath and shot him a closed-lip smile that seemed to apologize for the break in her voice. “I used to run a preschool. I spent my days playing Freeze Tag and Leapfrog. I can’t keep up with four-year-olds anymore.”
“So you’re starting a whole new life.”
She nodded. “There’s something I want to accomplish before that, but essentially, yes. California will be the beginning of the new me.”
“And what about now?” He hadn’t really intended to ask the question out loud. But now that she was listening in on his thoughts, why stop? “If you’re not the old you or the new you, what does that make you?”
“Good question. In limbo, I guess.”
“Or in transition. You can’t be static. My football coach always said if you’re not striving to improve, you’re regressing. There’s no coasting in life.”
Emily nodded. “I guess flipping this house is my striving. It’s moving me toward my goal.”
“But what about personally? Socially?” His subconscious agenda unveiled as the words formed on his tongue. “You can’t be in relationship limbo either.” Too strong. “Don’t you think people are made to be in community?”
“Yes.” The single word was bathed in caution. “When we’re in a place where we can put down roots. Until then, relationships don’t make sense.” She bit down on her bottom lip. “That didn’t come out right. I so appreciate you and your mother. But I’d planned on not getting to know anyone here. What’s the point when I’ll be leaving?”
“Nothing wrong with long-distance friends. I have college friends from Idaho to the Bahamas. Gives me an excuse to travel.” He shrugged. “Well, it did. Until my sister died. My life’s in a bit of a holding pattern until we figure out what’s happening with Adam and Lexi.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom and I hope to take guardianship away from Ben. If we can just prove he’s the creep we know he is. I’m hoping to adopt them.”
“You? Not your mother?”
“My mom’s got fibromyalgia. I guess she told you about that. That and her age would work against her in a custody battle.”
Her lips parted. Her eyes told him once again how amazing he was. He turned away. Lord, kill my pride.
She tipped
her head like a little girl watching the last scene of Cinderella. “That’s a huge sacrifice.”
He shrugged and took a mental spear to the ego monster. “Anyway, I have some understanding of putting off your life until the dominoes start falling.”
“Interesting place to be, isn’t it? How do we keep from regressing?”
Jake laced his fingers and stretched his arms. “Maybe it’s okay to live while you’re waiting for life to begin.”
“Maybe. We don’t want to get rusty or out of practice.”
He felt his Adam’s apple rise and fall like a blip on a heart monitor. “We sure don’t.” But rust would be safe. “Tina said she invited you to the barbecue.”
“She did.”
Picking up his cap, he stood. “Good place to practice living.”
CHAPTER 14
This wasn’t working.
Jake lay on his back, projecting his frustration onto his black ceiling.
Lexi’s bed sat on the other side of the spot he’d stared at four nights in a row. Lexi’s bed with Emily in it.
What had his mother been thinking?
He knew the answer to that. But how was he supposed to sleep with her right there, eight feet above him? And it wasn’t just lack of sleep causing him grief. Things he’d done for thirty-three years without thought—things like chewing and swallowing—suddenly seemed to take conscious effort with those huge blue eyes across the supper table.
She wasn’t his type. His parameters had changed some since he’d gotten serious about God, but he still liked the playful kind, girls who loved the cat-and-mouse, tug-of-war games of courtship. Emily Foster was beyond challenge. There were walls, and then there were walls. There wasn’t a loose brick anywhere in hers. It would take the sledgehammer he’d pummeled her dining room with to make even a dent.
She was so not his type.
What about Heidi? He punched his pillow, forcing it into a U-shape to cradle his stiff neck. Okay, truth be told, there were two kinds of women he was drawn to, all still under the heading of “challenge.” When it came to needy damsels, he was a total sucker.
Common sense turned to rubber right along with his knees the first time he’d looked into Heidi’s eyes. She was in trouble—out of a job, out of rent money. And he’d been out of his mind to hire her. Topher told him so the first day. It took Jake another month to believe him.
He shivered, shutting his eyes against the memory of the time and money he’d sacrificed.
No more needy women.
Behind the walls, Emily was as needy as they came. Something lurked behind those eyes, some secret or loss, some reason she was all alone in a strange town, working her way toward a place where she couldn’t say what she’d be doing.
But Emily was different. She wasn’t asking for help.
He threw the covers off, knowing he had to get out of his house before she woke. Out of his house … to spend the day at hers. The upside of this ongoing torture was that he was working faster than he’d ever worked before. He grabbed his jeans off the desk chair and took one final look at the ceiling. Did she always sleep on her back the way he’d found her in her attic? Hair in a ponytail or splayed across her pillow? Pajamas? Nightgown?
He yanked the door handle. It slammed into his big toe. With a yelp, he kicked it with his good foot.
What part of “impossible” don’t you understand, Braden?
Emily woke just before seven with one thing on her mind.
Pancakes.
A tiny glimmer of something akin to joy stirred inside her, a few inches above her rumbling stomach. She was hungry! And she knew what she wanted to eat.
Veronica would be ecstatic. She’d woven “How’s your appetite?” into every session, as if the day Emily announced she’d eaten something just because it sounded good would be the day she was healed. No more guilt, no more panic. Hunger trumps it all.
Flat on her back in Lexi’s bed, she stretched. Her hand bumped something soft and fuzzy. Her stomach grumbled again. Pancakes. Maybe with strawberries. “Celebrate the victories,” she whispered to a stuffed purple hippo. “No matter how small.”
In no hurry to get up, she turned on her side. Wide stripes, purple and lime green, covered the walls. Gauzy butterflies with sparkles on their wings perched on the walls and ceiling, some as small as Emily’s hand, others a good two feet wide. Hot pink, bright yellow, dotted with colored glass jewels and sprinkled with glitter.
There was something magical about this house. After the second night, she hadn’t needed a sleeping pill. She felt relaxed with Jake’s mom. She liked Blaze’s “clean enough to be healthy, dirty enough to be happy” philosophy. So unlike the atmosphere she’d grown up with. Jake’s mom somehow struck the perfect balance of making her feel both at home and like an honored guest. No eggshells, no fake smiles. They’d shared a few tears and a lot of laughs.
Her stomach growled again. Would anyone be up yet? She got out of bed and, with only a few stretches, moved with relative ease. Her lungs felt clearer and the weakness she’d felt since getting out of the hospital was fading. After a trip to the bathroom, she walked out to the kitchen.
Jake stood by the back door, boots on, hat hooked on one finger, scarfing down a bowl of cereal.
“Morning.” She laughed at his stance. “Where’s the fire?”
“Gotta finish up a job so I can get to your place before the lumber arrives.” His tone was all business.
“Sure you don’t have time for pancakes? Strawberry pancakes? I know there’s a box in the pantry and it won’t take—”
“No.” He opened the door and set his bowl on the counter. A dozen Kix still floated on the milk. “Thanks. Gotta go.”
The door opened and he exited before Emily could say another word.
Rude man.
“Whoa!” Adam sat cross-legged on his grandmother’s living room rug, eyes riveted to Emily’s laptop. “You could have ghosts in your house!”
Emily leaned on a couch pillow and chewed the last bite of her BLT. She bounced her eyebrows at Adam. “Cool.”
“I’m serious. Have you been to Chances yet?”
“No.” The restaurant was only a block from her house, but it wasn’t the kind of place to visit alone.
“It used to be the Old Union House and”—hazel eyes widened through a dramatic pause—“it was linked to the Underground Railroad Movement.”
Emily shot a message-laden look toward the kitchen door and pressed her index finger to her lips.
Adam nodded. “They hid runaway slaves,” he whispered. “The walls are eighteen inches thick.” He estimated the width with his hands. “It was built in 1843. A plank road ran from Racine to Janesville, right through Rochester. Slaves were brought up the Fox River during the night and just before dawn they’d go back through a tunnel from the river to the hotel. The next night the slaves would be taken back through the tunnel to the river to continue their journey north.”
“And their ghosts still stalk the tunnel at night.” Emily wiggled her fingers in the air and let out a subdued but eerie wail.
It was good to hear the boy laugh. He was here today because tennis practice, which he claimed he hated, had been cancelled. His stepfather didn’t know he was here, and Blaze felt no compunction to tell him. She’d been baking cookies and singing to herself for the past hour.
Adam squinted and cocked his head to one side. “I bet that’s why you’re living here. You heard the ghosts and you’re scared to go back.”
“I’m not living here. I’m going back this afternoon.”
“Maybe.” Blaze stood in the doorway. “But first she’ll go to the barbecue with us.” She brought something from behind her back. “Or she’ll miss out on Black Forest cake.”
Blaze twirled her chocolate heaven-on-a-plate under their noses. They groaned in duet. “What’re you two looking at?” She peered over Adam’s shoulder.
“Adam’s giving me an education on Rochester history.”
&nbs
p; “Look, Grandma. When they remodeled Chances back in the seventies, they found a crawl space that went all the way under the ground to the river. They say there are tunnels all over under Rochester, and years ago they were sealed off because of the howls and screams that came out of them in the middle of the night. The locals thought the tunnels led to hell and had them sealed with a warning sign to never open them.”
Emily faked a shiver. “Creepy.”
