“C’mon, Ma.” Sammy pushed open the door and joined the group, stabbing at the balloons on the way.
Em chuckled. Kids, how quickly they adjusted. She reached for her bag and the gift and stepped out into the heat, just as Roger walked toward her. He nodded at her, a curt acknowledgment of her presence, before passing with his arms loaded with gifts.
For several moments she stood there, her hand braced against the door, expecting a smile similar to the one he’d given her the previous day. He walked past her without a backward glance. Didn’t he remember her from yesterday? She jerked her hand from the car’s scorching surface.
“Idiot!” she scolded herself under her breath. “He’s probably figured out who I am and doesn’t want a thing to do with me.” She shook her hand in an attempt to ease the burn, took a deep breath, flipped her sundress strap back into place and headed for the party.
The moment she reached the backyard, Sammy said, “Ma, can I go in the pool? Ya brought my suit, right? Chip and Chaz need me to help drown girls.”
“Chip and Chaz? Oh—so you made some friends.” Em searched through her bag and handed him his suit. Without answering, he turned and headed for the pool, waving it over his head. A moment later he disappeared into the house with several young boys.
Someone screamed. “Emmy Lou!” Em turned as Jodie, with outstretched arms, raced toward her. Her short dark hair was held back in several tiny butterfly snaps.
After a quick hug that nearly crushed the birthday present, Jodie hooked her arm in Em’s and directed her toward the gift table. She waved and shouted at another group of people standing under a tent. “Harve, look here. I want you to meet one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
In an aside to Em, Jodie added, “And if you ever need to get divorced again, call Harve. He’s the best lawyer in the state.”
The remark startled Em. She had no intention of marrying a second time. Once more Jodie grabbed her arm, and they headed for the tent.
Introductions went on for several minutes as all the parents welcomed her to Phoenix. Jodie zeroed in on a few single parents, men and women, clustered around a tent pole, and pushed Em into the group. Most of their children would be attending the same school as Sammy, so Em asked questions about what she could expect.
After some pleasant conversation, Em began to relax with the help of a cool glass of lemonade. She hugged one corner of the tent’s shade and watched Sammy frolicking in the pool with several children his age. She had slathered him with sunscreen before coming. Too much sun with his light skin...
She was about to venture over to the pool to check on him, when she saw Roger. He circled the pool, shouting warnings and avoiding the splashes aimed at him.
No man had a right to look that good. He hadn’t changed much in the past fifteen years at all. His hair was shorter but still fell over his forehead in that delightful wave that made her fingers itch. How many times had she dreamed of pushing it aside and raining kisses...?
Stop it, Em. You’ve grown up. Get a life!
She returned her attention to Sammy. She had a life. She had her son, her mother, a job and divorce papers that said she’d never have to pay another dime of her ex-husband’s bills. Life was pretty darn close to perfect.
Sammy disappeared under the water, and for a moment she couldn’t see him. One hand gripping her large bag, the other clutching her throat, Em started for the pool. A second later he came up—choking.
Instantly her heart started to race. Not another asthma attack. Before she could reach his side, Roger pulled him out of the water and began pounding his back.
“Stop that!” Em shouted. Her boy needed assistance in breathing, not bruises. She kneeled by Sammy’s side and handed him his inhaler. But instead of taking it the way he usually did, the boy pushed her hand away.
“I’m okay,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He looked up at her with pleading eyes that tore at her heart. He wanted so much to be like all the other kids, with no weaknesses that might make him different. But she’d seen minor incidents like these escalate without proper care. She wasn’t about to risk another trip to the hospital.
She pushed the inhaler toward him again. He turned away. Frustrated by Sammy’s reluctance, Em sat back on her heels, her full skirt billowing around her ankles.
“I think he just swallowed a little water,” Roger said, in a low voice.
His calmness helped quiet her nerves. Maybe she had overreacted. Her son’s coughing had stopped, and his new friends waited for him in the water. She dropped the inhaler back in her bag and sprang to her feet.
“Be careful. I’ll be near the tent if you need me.” Without another look in Roger’s direction, she headed for the cool shade.
“You okay?” Jodie asked when she reached the group of adults. “You look all flushed.”
“It’s this Arizona sun. I haven’t adjusted yet.”
“I’ll get the kids out of the water. It’s time they downed some hot dogs and hamburgers.”
Once Sammy was on dry ground, Em felt she could find a restroom and compose herself. But on her way to the house, one of the single parents, a divorced man she had recently met, intercepted her.
“You embarrassed the boy,” the man said.
Momentarily stunned, Em stuttered a reply. “He...he has asthma.”
“Come on. I saw what happened. He swallows a little water, and you come on like the Red Cross in an earthquake emergency.” He chuckled. When she still remained silent, the man continued. “Boys don’t like to be babied in front of their friends by their mothers.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” Em took in a deep, calming breath and forced a smile despite the pain it caused in her cheeks and jaw. “Ben, isn’t it?”
“Right. There’s my son Carlie.” He grinned, pointing to one of the boys in the pool. Em could pick him out by the fiery red hair and zinc ointment on his nose that duplicated his father’s. “Jodie thought maybe we could, you know, have dinner or something.”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” Holding herself erect, she pushed past him and went into the house.
Roger watched her walk away after overhearing the conversation. Ben didn’t have a clue. The look she’d given him was enough to turn this heat into a frost, but Ben followed her movement, entranced, as though he still had a chance.
She certainly wasn’t the Em Roger remembered. If he’d roused her ire fifteen years ago she’d have thrown him in the pool. Ben went unscathed, although his callous remark about her son deserved a good punch.
Roger watched the swish of her skirt, an intriguing bounce of colorful flowers over legs that went on forever. She had changed and all for the better. Who would have guessed it? Maybe there was hope for Samantha, after all.
* * *
“OH, I SURE could use a cigarette.” Em pushed back a few strands of hair that had pulled loose from her ponytail and glared at herself in the bathroom mirror. That darn strap was down again. She shoved it into place.
“Men! What makes that jerk think I’d ever go out with him?” She planned to grab Jodie first chance she got and tell her not to provide any dates. She wasn’t looking, and she certainly could do better than Ben!
“What does he know about my son and his problems? Nothing! Has he seen him in a seizure so bad he can’t breathe? Has he had to rush him to a hospital?”
Em emptied her purse onto the sink vanity. She’d given cigarettes up years ago because they created problems for Sammy, but she carried gum or mints for the occasion when the craving became all consuming. This was definitely one of those occasions. No luck. She tossed the contents back into her purse and went outside.
The pool was empty. Everyone had assembled under the tent and strains of “Happy Birthday” floated toward her. The tent looked crowded, with Ben motioning her to
join them. The glaring sun made the rest of the yard totally uninviting.
She wanted more time to herself to regain her composure. If not, she might say something she’d later regret. Sammy sat with his friends at the picnic table, so she could afford to take a few more moments for herself.
The whiff of smoke had her spinning in several directions before she honed in on its source. A path led around the house. Em followed her nose to a small patio surrounded by walls of white stucco. Arms of leafy bougainvillea with magenta blossoms clung to the wall.
A young woman Em’s height with a bob of brown curls smoked a cigarette. She wore a baggy man’s white dress shirt that practically hid her shorts. These were former jeans, ragged out to create a fringe. It barely covered a rose tattoo on her thigh.
“Ahem,” Em said, hoping not to startle her. The woman turned around and immediately stubbed out the cigarette against the wall. “Oh, I wish you hadn’t done that. I came here specifically to enjoy the smoke.”
“It’s not good for you, you know.”
Em had to chuckle. She was aware of all the dangers, but she never expected a lecture from another smoker. Especially not one sporting a tattoo.
“I know, and I’ve quit. It’s just every now and then I get this agonizing urge.”
“It’s the nicotine.” The woman flipped the pack and a cigarette came halfway out. “Want one?”
“Thanks.” Em took it and bent over to accept a light. After a swift inhale she straightened, released the smoke and sighed. Magic. Already she could feel the tension drain away. But it wasn’t worth the guilt she’d feel if Sammy found out. He had a sense of smell like a bloodhound and would surely notice the scent of smoke on her clothes and hair. One more puff and then she’d put the cigarette out.
About to toss it, Em paused when a door opened behind them. As Roger stepped onto the brick patio the woman next to her casually dropped the pack of cigarettes to the ground. The moment she saw him, Em’s tension increased, and she took another long drag.
* * *
“HERE YOU ARE, Samantha,” Roger said. He couldn’t tolerate the makeup that made her look so old, but Sophia had said it was the only way she could get the girl to come with her. Why was it getting harder and harder to tow Samantha to family gatherings? “Don’t you want to join the party?”
He noticed Em then, puffing on a cigarette like a coal-burning locomotive. God, she had the worst habits. You’d think she’d be aware of all the health hazards. He bent down, picked up the discarded pack and handed it to her. “You dropped these.” He used all his control not to crush the pack in his fist.
While taking the pack from him, Em glanced at Samantha, and he followed her gaze. The girl shook her head ever so slightly. Had he interrupted something? “Thanks,” Em said, then slipped the pack into her skirt pocket.
She’s probably up to two packs a day by now, he thought, recalling the summer when Em had turned Jodie onto the addiction. Suddenly, a frightening thought struck him, and he turned to his daughter. “She didn’t offer you one, did she?”
“No, Dad. I offered them to her.”
Sarcasm. That’s all he got lately. Before making any remark, he paused. It was sarcasm, wasn’t it? His attention turned to Em, who had started a choking fit.
“You okay?” he asked. He felt as though he should do something, swat her back, as she continued to choke. She moved away, possibly anticipating that he’d do just that.
She nodded and dropped the butt, crushing it beneath a dainty sandal. Everything about her was delicate. One of her straps had slipped down her arm, and he drew his hands into fists to avoid readjusting it for her.
“Smoking’s a hard habit to break,” Samantha said.
Em quickly nodded again. “Yes. I’ve been working at it.” Her voice was hoarse, as though she could barely get enough air to speak. Smoking could do that to a person.
Vivid recollections of the lectures he’d given Samantha about cancer came to mind. He thought of repeating them to Em, but he had no right to lecture her. Besides, he doubted if she’d listen.
“So, this is your daughter?” Before he could introduce them, Em offered her hand. “I’m Emmy Lou Turner, but everyone calls me Em.” Except her ex-husband, who never gave in to her preference. All the years they were married, he continued to call her Emmy Lou.
“Like the alphabet?” Samantha beamed, showing off a set of braces. “Samantha Holden, but you can call me S.”
“Anything except Sam. She hates that name,” Roger offered.
“Oh, really? My son’s named Sammy.”
“How old is he?” Samantha asked.
“Seven.”
“Another little kid.” Samantha’s smile immediately disappeared. “Why can’t we have anyone here my age?”
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
Roger didn’t bother to correct her since she’d have a birthday in a few months.
“I was about your age when I met your father.”
“Em was a handful,” Roger said, recalling the many times they had fought.
“Maybe,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “But I never got a tattoo.”
Samantha covered her mouth and giggled, suddenly acting her age. Once again he wondered how she could do that, one minute the twenty-year-old femme fatale, the next his thirteen-year-old little girl? She licked her thumb and ran it over the pattern, smearing it across her leg. “Daddy won’t let me get the real thing—yet.”
“Ever,” he said, emphasizing the point. So far she hadn’t defied him on that, but she still threatened to pierce something—a nose, an eyebrow, her navel. Roger shuddered. What got into kids these days? How could he survive the next few years without a clue?
“You coming Samantha? You, too, Em. They’re about to open presents.”
“You go along, Dad. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Roger hesitated. He wasn’t too sure he should leave Samantha alone with Em. She had been everything he didn’t want his daughter to become. Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m losing it. What possible damage can she do in a few short minutes?
“Okay. But don’t wait too long. You won’t want to miss all the fun.”
Em breathed a sigh of relief when he left, although she wasn’t too pleased to be stranded with his daughter. His daughter! Samantha couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen if Em’s math was correct. And here Em thought she was bumming cigarettes from someone who could legally smoke them.
“Fun.” The word came out like a curse. “As if a bunch of little boys tearing wrapping paper is a treat.”
“I suppose you want your pack back, but frankly, I wouldn’t feel right returning it to you,” Em said as she pushed her strap back over her shoulder. A refreshing breeze began to stir the bougainvillea, and Em moved out of reach of the thorny branches. “You’re not legally allowed to smoke.”
“That’s okay. You keep it. You need it more than me.”
“I’ve quit, remember?”
“Yeah. Right.” Samantha looked down at her feet and whispered, “Thanks.”
“For what?”
She looked up and Em noticed the prettiest brown eyes—Roger’s eyes. “For not telling my dad the cigarettes were mine. He’s got this big thing about smoking because my mom died of cancer.”
“As I recall, you told him they were yours.”
“Like he listens. He only hears what he wants to hear, even if nobody says it. As if my mother’s cancer had anything to do with smoking. She had breast cancer, not lung cancer or anything like that.”
“Still, it’s not good for us. He’s right about that.”
“Well, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not smoking anymore.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to get so h
ooked I can’t stop when I’m old.” Samantha paused and a stricken look crossed her face. “Not that you’re that old.”
She might not rival Methuselah, but Em suddenly felt very old, very old indeed.
CHAPTER THREE
“DON’T CALL ME Sammy. It’s a girl’s name.”
Em didn’t give in to the urge to laugh, because her son looked so serious as they rode home from the party. “Why do you say that?”
“Chaz says it’s his sister’s name.” He had talked nonstop about the twins he’d met. They would be attending the same school as her son, even though they were first graders, a grade behind Sammy.
“Oh, his sister must be Samantha. I met her today.”
That meeting came back in all its clarity. Her embarrassment at learning the girl was Roger’s daughter had sent her into a choking fit similar to her son’s asthma attacks. She’d actually felt sorry for Roger. He showed such love and concern for his children, and hadn’t had the slightest clue what that little vixen had been up to. Nonetheless, Em admired her spunk, even if it did mean Roger had a rough ride ahead of him.
“Well, I got other names.”
That he did: Bradley Samuel Turner, Jr. Her husband, Bradley, had chosen to use the baby’s middle name because he never knew if she was talking to him or the baby when she said Brad. She had grown to like the name Sammy. It provided less of a reminder of her husband after he left.
“What do you want to be called? Brad or Bradley?”
“I want a nickname like Chaz or Chip. That’s neat.”
Remembering her alphabet discussion with Samantha, she tried another approach. “How do you spell junior?”
Sammy thought for a moment. “J.R.”
“How’s that for a nickname?”
He concentrated, chin on fist, then turned to her with a beaming smile. “I’m J.R. Wait till I tell Chaz.”
Just Like Em Page 3
