Other than her daily phone calls to see how Emma was doing, Rose was giving Emma space. It was a first, and she appreciated it. But eventually her mother was going to want to see her.
Eventually she’d have to tell Rose about Detective Miller’s investigation. The detective had agreed to contact her first, before contacting Rose, but she didn’t want to have to tell Rose at the last minute. Still, she felt she needed more time to herself before she got around to that.
It had been exactly one week since Emma had decided to change her life, and here she was, in her car, driving away from school toward a long weekend filled with fabric squares.
She would not panic.
And she most definitely would not drink. The new Emma was not to be trusted. She had some maturing to do before she got the reins again.
Her cell phone barely got half a ring in before Emma pushed the green button to answer the call.
“Hello?” Pulling into a lot not far from the high school, Emma put her car in park.
“Em? I’ve missed you, sweetie. How are you?”
Damn. That’s what she got for not checking caller ID.
“I’m fine, Rob.” Hang up. Hang up. Hang up. “How are you?”
“Not fine at all. I can’t get a handle on a life that doesn’t include you, Em. Nothing tastes right. Nothing feels right.”
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care. “Did you find a place to stay?”
“No. I’ve got my things in storage and I’m at that little motel around the block from the office.” He spoke to her as though they were still together. With the warmth that spoke of lifelong partnership. “I’ve looked at some houses, but I don’t know. I just keep thinking that those cupboards won’t work because your Pfaltzgraff, stoneware and Corelle won’t fit. Or the space for the refrigerator isn’t big enough for our side-by-side.”
My side-by-side. I bought it.
“Or the kitchen will be perfect but the master closet won’t have room for all of your jackets. And then I wasn’t sure you’d like the neighborhoods. One was too new. One was older, like you like, but I thought you’d think the houses more run-down than finely aged.”
Her townhome was finely aged. Sixty years old, with updated wiring and plumbing, but original hardwood floors—even on the stairs—and white, solid-wood slated cabinets.
Breath caught in her throat. She was all alone. And she didn’t need to be.
The world was filled with male sharks. Rose had driven that fact home to Emma from the time she was seven and had a crush on a boy in her class.
Rob was not a shark.
An occasional philanderer, yes. But he knew Emma. Really knew her. He paid attention to her likes and dislikes. More than she’d ever realized and…
“What do you want, Rob?”
“To see you, of course. To make our life right again. I want to come home, Em.”
Her beautiful old home awaited her. Rearranged to her taste. And devoid of him.
“We’ve already been—”
“Let’s just meet for drinks,” he said. “Let’s see each other. Talk. Then if you still feel like you don’t want me back, I’ll move on.”
She’d already given away his desk. His shot glasses. She’d thrown out the extra razor blades he’d left in the linen closet. Cleared him out of her house.
Had she made a mistake? Been too hasty?
She’d slept with another man.
And he’d left her alone in a hotel room with no way to contact him.
Looking down at her tan slacks and low-heeled pumps, the turquoise silk blouse she’d worn to work that day—an outfit Rob had picked out for her—Emma wondered if she should just quit fighting and accept herself as she was. Rob apparently did.
She stared out at the parking lot and gave in to the inevitable. “Can you be at the Dragon in ten minutes?” The lounge wasn’t far from her house. They’d met there for dinner many times after work before going home together.
“Give me fifteen and you’re on.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMMA DROVE AROUND the block several times. She was not going into another lounge to sit alone. Not even for five minutes. As soon as she saw Rob’s silver Ranger pull into the lot, she circled one more time and parked.
He was waiting at a table for two in the shadowed back half of the room where they’d be least interrupted, overheard or even noticed.
The type of table Emma always chose.
A glass of white zinfandel sat in front of the empty seat. Rob had a vodka and orange juice in his right hand as she walked up.
He stood. Pulled out her chair. Leaned in for a kiss and, when she turned her head, kissed her on the cheek. He held her hand as she sat down. And brought it with him to the top of the table.
“It’s good to see you, babe. I’ve missed you.”
She’d missed him, too. But was it because he was Rob? Or because sitting at a quiet, obscure table and having your favorite wine waiting for you felt normal, and normal felt safe? Still she said, “It’s good to see you, too.”
He’d been a part of her life for a long time. A partner to her in many ways.
“I called Cal Whittier,” she told him almost as soon as she sat down. She’d been bursting with the news and had no one to confide in.
“Oh, Em! How’d it go? Was he civil to you, I hope?”
“Better than that,” she said, smiling at him—a real smile that she felt all the way to her frozen core. “Crazy as it sounds, it was as if we were kids again. I felt…close to him. Like I did then. Like he really was my brother just as we believed back when we were young.”
“What about him?” Rob’s gaze was piercing, protective. “Do you think he felt the same?”
“I know he did. Rob, he’s coming to Comfort Cove. He’s going to come with me to the police station to drop off the box of hair ribbons.”
“So you decided to give Ramsey the DNA?”
Rob had been insistent that it was the right choice. Emma had been the one wavering.
“Yes. If he can’t get Claire’s, I’ll give him mine. It won’t be an exact match, but it could be close enough.”
He smiled. “Good for you, Em. I’m proud of you.”
Tilting her head, she asked, “Why?”
“Because it’s a big step for you. A potentially painful move.”
She recognized the woman he was describing. Saw her clearly. And didn’t like the image.
He took her other hand, holding both of them between his. “This is what I’ve always wanted for you, Em. To be able to do what you know is right without fearing the consequences.”
“Fear serves a purpose,” she said. “It protects you from danger.”
“Yes, in the case of jumping out of an airplane without a parachute, or walking into a dark alley alone. But it also prevents you from experiencing so much of life.”
Like spending the most sensual, unforgettable night in the arms of a man she didn’t know?
Or waking up alone the morning after?
“Where’d you go just now?” Rob was frowning.
Shaking her head, Emma pulled one hand free, and took a sip of her wine. After a week of abstinence to recover from her overindulgence, the sweet liquid tasted good. Felt nice and warm going down.
“So will I get to meet Cal when he’s in town?” Rob asked. “I’d really like to.”
Part of her wanted him to.
“I…”
Rob’s phone rang. Still holding her hand, he pulled the cell phone out of his case, looked at the blinking screen and said, “Sorry, hon, I have to take this.
“Look, Tiffany, I told you, don’t keep calling me,” he said into the phone.
Tiffany. Emma felt completely blank. On the inside and out.
“What happened last week was a mistake. A huge mistake. The biggest of my life. I love Emma. I’m sorry.”
Last week. Tiffany was the woman in her bed? And he’d taken her call? Now?
As the woman on the other end of the line said something, Emma pulled her remaining hand away from Rob’s.
The alarm in his eyes as he stared at her, pleaded with her, was too reminiscent of other times he’d had to face up to his indiscretions.
“If you call me again, I’m going to block your number,” Rob said next.
Emma wondered why he hadn’t already done it.
Had he been keeping that window open in case her door remained firmly shut?
“Thanks for the wine. I have to go.” Gathering her purse, Emma stood, leaving Rob to work things out with Tiffany, and walked out of the restaurant.
* * *
CHRIS WORKED UNTIL his shoulders ached and his knuckles were scraped and bleeding.
And then he did something he rarely did.
He bought a bottle, took it down to the Son Catcher with him, anchored down in a cove just below his house and drank just enough to put him to sleep.
* * *
RAGING AT HERSELF this time, more than at the man who couldn’t be faithful if his life depended on it, Emma found the courage to be brave.
Her desire to break the chains that had bound her to Rob took her out of that restaurant and back to her car.
If she wasn’t happy, she had only herself to blame. She got what she’d asked for. Because she didn’t ask for enough for herself.
She was the one letting herself down.
Spurred by Rob’s phone call, by the fact that he’d recognized the number and taken the call because he somehow thought Emma would understand, Emma drove to the tourist district.
What if Chris had been thinking about her this week? What if their night together had lingered in his mind as it had in hers?
He had no way of finding her. No way of tracking her down. She’d paid cash for her wine last Friday night. She’d told Chris her first name, and nothing else about herself.
She’d been a woman with no previous identity. No past.
Emma parked the car in the lot across from Citadel’s and marched across the street.
She paused on the sidewalk, trying to see in, to see the bar and the piano dais—or more accurately, to see who was sitting there.
She could make out a few shadows at the bar and nothing else. The streetlights were too bright, and the interior of Citadel’s too dim, for her to see who sat at the piano. With a pounding heart, Emma pulled open the door.
Citadel’s was crowded. Piano music filled the room. From what Emma could see, all of the dining tables were occupied so she didn’t approach the host to be seated.
Still, she couldn’t just stand there.
And there was an empty stool at the bar. Less than a minute after she sat down, Cody was standing in front of her with a bottle of wine in hand and his eyebrows raised in question.
She nodded. What the hell.
She’d always liked wine. And she’d read an article this week—while she was checking on the effects of overindulgence after her night of craziness—about how a glass of red wine a night was actually healthy for women. The grape seed extract in red wine was reportedly a powerful antioxidant that was good for the heart among other things.
When Cody placed the glass in front of her, she picked it up and sipped.
Her movements were calculated. She had it all planned out.
After her third sip, she glanced over at the piano. But she already knew Chris wasn’t there.
The music was good. Really good. But it wasn’t art.
So she waited.
She was going to stay uptown again tonight. But she was going to get her own room. And stay sober. No more foolishness. She was going to take a long hot soak in a tub. And make certain she wasn’t home if Rob tried to contact her again.
She knew he would, and she didn’t want to deal with him tonight.
Tonight was for her.
“He’s not coming tonight.”
Jumping in her seat, almost tipping over her wineglass, Emma looked at Cody. The bartender had appeared in front of her again without her being aware of him. He stood, shining a glass with a white towel, and she was pretty certain he was pitying her.
“Who?”
“Chris.”
She considered pretending that she didn’t know what Cody was talking about and concocting some story about how she was waiting for someone to join her. Or about coming back for the music.
The actions of a coward.
“He told you that?”
“He called.”
“I hope everything is okay.”
“Yeah, it’s not very often that he misses a Friday.”
“And he didn’t say why he was missing tonight?”
“No, but then he doesn’t generally let us know if he isn’t going to be here to play. All the pianists are here on a voluntary basis.”
“Then why did he call?” Because of her?
“Because he’s bringing an extra catch in the morning for a private party the owner’s hosting tomorrow night.” Cody didn’t point out that it was none of her business.
“An extra catch?” she asked.
“Of lobster.”
She’d only had three sips of wine on top of the half glass she’d consumed at the Dragon, and yet she felt as if she’d stepped into a slow-motion film. “I don’t understand.”
“Chris is a lobsterman. Didn’t he tell you?”
“A lobsterman?”
“Yeah. I thought he’d have told you or I wouldn’t have said anything. You know, last week… I thought the two of you were hooking up.”
Grabbing the bottle of wine, he tilted it over her nearly full glass, topping it off. “I’m really sorry, ma’am,” Cody said. “I assumed you were here to see Chris again and…”
Emma smiled. “No problem,” she said. “I’m just here for the music.”
Chris was a fisherman. From the local docks. Her mother had forbidden her to frequent them. For very good reasons.
Far more than being a danger to her libido, Chris was a dangerous man. In a dangerous profession.
Cody had just saved her from herself.
With that thought, Emma ordered a soda and, an hour later, ordered a third. But not until after she’d left the bar long enough to secure a room for herself at the inn next door—a less-expensive family establishment, not the glitzy place Chris had taken her to.
She’d nurse her pop. She’d hang out at Citadel’s until bedtime. She’d show them all that she really was just there for the music.
And then she’d go sleep off another Friday night in the tourist district.
* * *
“HEY, BEAUTIFUL, HOW’S life?”
“Life’s just peachy, Chris. How’s my favorite guy doing?”
“Great. Things are great.” He was leaning against the bow of the Son Catcher, the fourth Saturday in September—two weeks after he’d left a beautiful dark-haired woman in a hotel room. Holding a half-empty bottle of orange soda, C
hris peered past the dock to the ocean that had come between him and Sara. “Got the engine overhauled. Replaced the pistons to the tune of a thousand bucks.”
“Thank God. I was getting kind of tired of hearing you whine about the damned thing. How long did it take?”
“Couple of weeks.”
“Whoa!”
He held the phone away from his ear as Sara Bailey yelped. “You went a couple of weeks without fishing?” Incredulity turned to sobriety as she asked, “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m fit as a fiddle and as ornery as ever.”
“You don’t have an ornery bone in your body, Christopher Michael Talbot. Now tell me what’s wrong. And don’t give me any bullshit. I know you, remember? I’m the woman you were going to promise to love and cherish until death did us part. The one who lost out to those damned lobsters of yours. There is no way in hell you’d miss two weeks of fishing before the snow hits.”
“I didn’t miss fishing, smarty-pants,” he said with a swig of soda and a grin, and then he sobered, too. “We lost a man a few weeks back, a young kid from Alaska who’d signed on with Trick Havens. Havens was there, tried to save the kid, but couldn’t get to him in time. He’s pretty shook up. Anne called and asked if I could help fill his orders for a bit so I made a deal with her. I’d fish for both of us if I could use his boat.”
“You’ve been bringing in two hauls?”
“I’ve had some help.” Havens had the money to hire hands, even with the low prices Manny was paying. Trick’s father-in-law dabbled in things Chris didn’t want to know about.
“And you’ve been working on the Son Catcher every day after hauling in two loads?”
“Utility lights work wonders.”
“You been sleeping at all, Chris?”
“Enough.” Hard work had always cured whatever ailed him. Far more than lying sleepless on a mattress staring at the ceiling had ever done.
“I worry about you.”
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