by Diana Palmer
* * *
Time passed slowly. Emma felt her body changing. She loved the changes. She’d put a wash on her long hair to give it a red hue, and she’d chosen very roomy dresses and jumpers that showed nothing of her figure. She didn’t look like the old Emma now. She’d gained weight because of the baby. She had a beautiful complexion and a radiance about her that made people smile. She was happy.
Mamie had been away most of the four months Emma had been living at the house. She’d come home for a couple of weeks, just long enough to give another book to Emma to proof and fact-check. She kept busy.
Late in the August afternoon, she liked to sit on the edge of the lake, on that old log that she’d occupied the day Connor had come upon her. The memories were a little less harsh now with the passage of time. She still had problems with her leg. Mamie had wanted her to see a doctor, but Emma refused. She didn’t tell the older woman about the midwife, either. Mamie had done enough for her. She didn’t want to become a dependent. Perhaps she could find a part-time job somewhere to supplement her income and it would help pay the hospital bill when it came. The midwife, who was very knowledgeable, told her that hospitals could provide care for indigents, so she shouldn’t worry. But Emma worried just the same.
She’d learned to knit. She was producing hats by the dozen. She gave them away to children she met at the stores in town, to elderly people sitting on park benches. She gave some to the midwife to pass out at the medical clinic where she volunteered. She felt that it let her give something back to the world, a spot of color to brighten people’s days. She was surprised at how people reacted to the unexpected gifts. It made her feel bright inside.
She was drawing a pattern in the wet dirt near the log when a shadow fell over her. She looked up and there he was. Connor Sinclair.
“This is private land,” he said curtly. “You’re trespassing.”
She turned, with some apprehension, because he must surely remember a little about her appearance from when he was sighted. But his pale gray eyes were hostile. There was no recognition in them.
Emma gave a sigh of relief. He didn’t know her. Of course he didn’t. She was wearing a shapeless tent dress that was two sizes too big for her. Her face was rounder than it had been. And her hair, tinted red, was piled on top of her head. He would remember a thin blonde woman. Emma had changed with her pregnancy. She wondered why he was back at the lake house in August, when he only came here in September. Had he come to see someone who wanted to buy the house? She didn’t know.
Surely he didn’t remember how she looked after all these months. He’d only really seen her once or twice. She relaxed, just a little. She got to her feet with visible effort, leaning heavily on her cane, the one Bess had given her. “I’m really sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t know anybody lived here. There’s a For Sale sign—”
He scowled. “Do you live on the lake?” he interrupted, and the look he gave her was disbelieving. He obviously thought she was a street person.
She should have been insulted, but she wasn’t. It made things easier. She drew in a breath to steady her. She leaned heavily on the cane. “My husband’s godmother lives there.” She pointed to Mamie’s house. “She’s letting me house-sit for her while my husband is in Saudi Arabia. He works on oil wells.”
He looked down at her shapeless dress. It didn’t hide the thrust of her belly. “You’re pregnant.”
She forced a normal smile to her lips. “Oh, yes, six months along,” she lied, because that was two months earlier than she really was, and it would keep him from making connections.
The pregnancy reminded him of all he’d lost. He averted his eyes to the lake. “I suppose your husband is happy about it,” he said.
“He’s very happy,” she agreed. “We’re hoping for a boy.”
“They can do tests. Don’t you know the baby’s sex already?”
“We didn’t want to know,” she said simply. She drew in another breath. It was getting hard to breathe as the baby grew and pressed against her diaphragm. “I have to go. Sorry about trespassing. I won’t do it again.”
He frowned. There was something so familiar about her. Red hair. Six months pregnant. No way that could be Emma. But he wished...
She turned slowly and started back down the shoreline. “Who are you?” he asked suddenly.
“Mary Kathryn,” she said without turning. It was her real name. She’d never told Connor.
“Mary Kathryn what?”
“Kilpatrick,” she lied. “My husband is Irish.”
He watched her go, every step obviously painful. “What’s wrong with your leg?” he asked abruptly.
“I was in an...accident,” she said. “At least I still have a leg to walk on,” she added, trying to make it seem as if the accident had almost amputated her, to throw him off the track. “Good night.”
He didn’t reply. He shouldn’t have made her leave. He wished he could will her to come back. He wanted to talk to her. She reminded him so much of Emma. He’d forgotten much about her appearance. While he was blind, he’d learned her scent, her voice, her soft hands, the feel of her body in his arms. When his sight came back, it was full of the woman who’d hit him with the motorboat.
He vaguely remembered what she looked like. Blond hair, almost platinum, straight nose, pretty mouth, medium height, big brown eyes. But the memory was fuzzy, like something out of a dream. It had been so long since he’d seen her that he wasn’t sure he’d recognize her on the street. Sad, because that had been Emma. That shadowy woman whom he’d cursed as the cause of his blindness had been the same woman who sat with him when he had blinding headaches, who’d never left him until they went away. Emma. Emma!
He didn’t even have a photograph of her. He’d made Marie burn them all, every single one that had been taken at the wedding. He felt that loss now, when he wanted so desperately to feed his empty heart with a picture of the woman he’d lost. But it was too late.
The photograph wouldn’t be of any use, because that woman walking away from him wasn’t his Emma. She was six months pregnant and married, and she had a distinct limp. Emma, if she hadn’t lost the baby, would have been over eight months along by now.
So the woman on the lake was a stranger. He watched her go with mixed emotions. Her husband should be with her. He should be taking care of her. He grimaced. It was none of his business. None at all. He turned and walked back to his own house.
* * *
It was three days before he saw her again. She was wearing a sunhat. She and a little girl were putting something into the water. He heard them talking softly to each other. French. He recognized it.
“Will it sail, do you think, mademoiselle?” the child asked.
“Bien sur. It will certainly sail,” was the laughing reply. “One of my great-great-grandfathers came to North Carolina by way of Scotland, and he was a shipwright. Sailing is in my blood.”
The little girl laughed. “Very well, then.”
Emma put the tiny boat in the water and pushed it out. It floated. She laughed softly. So did the child.
Connor moved closer. Emma saw him and flushed. She scrambled to her feet.
“Oh, dear,” she said, “are we on your property? I’m sorry. We only wanted a place to put the little boat in the lake.”
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “I don’t mind.”
She shifted restlessly. “It’s time for us to go, anyway. Adele, can you find my stick, s’il vous plaít?”
The little girl handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, and forced a smile. “We must go.” She glanced nervously at Connor. He was standing on the shore, his face quiet and sad, just watching them.
She nodded at him and tugged the little girl along beside her. They made their way down the shore.
�
�You forgot your boat,” he called after her.
“It’s just made of twigs and leaves and some vine we found,” Emma called back. “It will sink eventually.”
She kept walking.
Connor waited until they were out of sight before he went to the water and picked up the little ship, turning it in his big hands to see the intricate method of its construction. It was pretty. He carried it inside and put it on a shelf.
Marie, his housekeeper, gave it a glare.
“Aaaaah,” he cautioned. “Don’t you touch it.”
“It’s just twigs...”
“It’s a rare example of vine and leaf art,” he argued. “Just leave it alone. It has...sentimental value,” he added, without quite understanding why he said that.
“If you say so, sir.”
“I do.”
He walked to the phone he’d left lying on the table. He picked it up and dialed his lawyer.
“Sims, call the Realtor and tell her to come get the For Sale sign,” he said.
“I can do that. Changed your mind about selling it?”
“I think so.” He sighed. “Memories are portable. I can’t evade them by selling the house where they live.”
“I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.”
“Have you heard anything about Emma?” he added.
“No.”
“She went to Texas, didn’t she?”
“Yes. I took her to the bus station myself and watched her buy a ticket.”
He felt the sorrow like a living thing. He stared at the floor. The woman on the lake bothered him. There was something so familiar about her, about her voice. Red hair could be created. She could have lied about her husband and her due date.
“Why are you asking me these questions?” Sims wanted to know.
“Mamie van Dyke has a house sitter,” he said. “She...looks like Emma. I think. But she says she’s six months pregnant and married. Her husband is Mamie’s godson.”
“Emma is in Texas,” Alistair repeated with more assurance than he actually felt. He’d run into Emma only recently and felt so sorry for her that he’d sworn he wouldn’t tell Connor that she was living at Mamie’s and was still pregnant. She said there was no telling what Connor might do to her. He might want the child terminated, so that he wouldn’t have to support it. That might be true. The man was a mystery even to his own attorney. Alistair couldn’t break Emma’s confidence. Not after all she’d been through.
“Yes. I guess she is in Texas. And even if she was still here, she wouldn’t speak to me,” Connor said huskily.
“Not likely,” he agreed.
“Poor Emma,” he said, his voice thready and distant. “I landed her in hell and never even looked back.”
“Life is hard,” was all Alistair would say.
“Hard as hell and never gets easier,” came the reply. He looked out the darkening window. “This woman’s damned husband is in Saudi Arabia, working on oil wells.”
“A dangerous profession, although it’s lucrative. I know a man who went there and now drives a Rolls.”
“The point is, she’s pregnant, and he’s not here!” he shot back. “What the hell kind of man deserts a pregnant woman?”
“I suppose he has to keep his job, and that’s the only way. Besides that, a lot of men put business before family obligations.”
“Damned idiots,” Connor muttered. He let out a breath. “Okay. Call the Realtor.”
“I’ll do that. Call if you need me.”
“Count on it.”
He hung up. It saddened him to learn that his neighbor couldn’t be Emma. The evidence was strongly against it. Still, he was drawn to the woman. He felt sorry for her. She was all alone. Well, maybe she spent some time with that little French girl. But she was alone in Mamie’s house. What if something went wrong with her pregnancy?
It bothered him that he cared. She wasn’t Emma, he had to admit that. But she reminded him of the woman he’d treated so badly. Perhaps he could find a way to help her without being obvious. He gave Emma a thought, living in Texas, with a cousin. He wanted so badly to go to her on his knees, and apologize, beg her to come back. But after what he’d done to her, he doubted that she would even open the door to him. Regrets were all he had left.
* * *
Emma walked when the pain got bad. It probably wasn’t the thing to do, but her leg throbbed sometimes, despite the fact that it looked healed. Maybe the injury had been deeper than they thought. It seemed that more damage had been done than the harried doctor realized. He’d had so many patients in the emergency room the day she was brought in. But it was a moot point. She had no money for specialists. It was going to take every penny she could save to pay the midwife.
She stopped at the log she liked to sit on. It was big and roomy and somehow comforting. Long before Connor became her reason for living, she’d sat here to look at the lake in the late afternoon. There was something comforting about night sounds, lonely places. Even now, when she closed her eyes, she could hear faraway traffic on the highway, dogs barking, even a train going by.
She sat down gingerly on the log and propped her stick beside it. She loved the sounds. Heaven knew where she’d be by autumn. She would have to leave, if Connor was moving back to the lake so soon. It was curious that he’d taken down the For Sale sign. He only stayed on the lake rarely. Why keep the cottage?
“It’s late for you to be out here alone, isn’t it?” Connor said from behind her.
She jumped involuntarily as he came into sight around the log. He was wearing slacks and a red pullover knit shirt. He looked elegant and expensive.
“I like the lake at night,” she said hesitantly.
“I like it, too,” he replied. He drew in a long breath. “I’ve been in Europe. I thought I could outrun my conscience and my guilt.” He laughed. It had a hollow, haunted sound.
“Conscience?” she asked, pretending not to understand. It shocked her that he even felt guilt. He’d been vicious when he ordered her arrested.
He nodded without looking her way. “You’re too young to know it, but back in my mother’s day there was a song about a big yellow taxi.” He smiled to himself. “The gist of it is that we don’t know what we’ve got until it’s gone. And that is a fact.”
“You lost something?” she prevaricated.
“I lost the most precious thing in my life,” he replied quietly. “And I didn’t know that I had, until it was gone. Until it was too late to undo the damage.”
“Was it a woman?” she asked.
“Yes. I lashed out in an alcoholic daze and did something unforgivable. I thought I was justified. But I wasn’t.”
“That must be bad,” she said noncommittally.
“Hell on earth.” He turned toward her. “Have you ever lost something that was worth your own life?”
She nodded.
“A man?” he prodded.
She smiled sadly. “I’ve still got him. He’s in Saudi Arabia.”
“But you lost him?”
She hesitated. “We had a small difference of opinion. I wanted a baby. He didn’t.”
“Good God!” He moved a step closer, scowling. “Why doesn’t he want the child?”
“He didn’t say.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and seemed to mean it. “So you’re alone.”
She stared at the lake. “I’ve always been alone. You get used to it.”
He thought of how alone he was since Emma left. Sometimes the silence was painful. He missed her in every room of his house. Everything reminded him of her. The pain grew by the day.
“You’re very rich, they say,” she remarked. “I suppose you have hot and cold running women all over your house.”
He laughed unexpectedly. �
�No. Not anymore.”
“Pity.”
“No. It isn’t.” He drew in a long, slow breath. He was looking at the lake, not at Emma. “I went through life trying not to be trapped, as so many of my friends were. Trapped into marriage by seductive women who wanted diamonds and minks and were willing to get pregnant to get them. Women can be as unscrupulous as men.”
“You don’t want children?”
He bit down hard on his grief. “I didn’t.” He hesitated. He looked down at his feet. “Regrets don’t get us anywhere, really. Things are what they are. I can’t go back and fix the mistakes I made. It’s too late.”
“That’s sad.”
“I suppose it is.” He turned. “What are you going to do about your husband?”
“He thinks a little separation might help to work out things,” she said simply. “So there’s hope. He’s not divorcing me. Not yet at least.” She smiled. “He might want the baby when he sees it,” she added wistfully.
He frowned as he looked at what he could see of her in the faint light from a quarter moon. “What a damned fool,” he said softly.
She looked up at him, surprised by the remark.
He moved closer. “When is Mamie coming home?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “She really hasn’t said.”
“When you’re due to deliver, you need someone to call if you go into labor. You don’t have a car, do you?” he asked abruptly, without any apparent motive. He’d driven by the house with Barnes several times. There was never a vehicle in the driveway.
“No,” she said without thinking. “But Mamie left a balance at one of the limo companies, so that I could call a car when I needed it. She’s very fond of my husband,” she added. “She’s been kind to me, too.”
“I’m right next door,” he told her. “If you need help, call me.”
She laughed. “You’re one of the richest men in the country,” she reminded him. “I don’t expect your number is listed in the phone book.” That was a lie. She’d called the number after she’d hit him, to make sure he was all right.
