by Lynn Rae
“What’s wrong now, Dad?”
“I pulled up at my daughter’s house and it looked like a major crime had been committed. That strikes me as a pretty unacceptable situation.”
“Sorry to ruin your evening.” Courtney dismissed him as she turned her head back to her phone, its display shifting with incoming messages. Paul suddenly remembered Emily and dinner. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he pulled out his own phone and checked the time. Seven o’clock. He was half an hour late. His daughter was studiously ignoring him, so he edged out of the kitchen before he called.
She picked up on the second ring. Christ, she was probably staring at the phone and wondering why he’d ditched her.
“Hi, Paul. Is everything okay?” Her soft voice buzzed in his ear, and he realized this was the first time they’d spoken on the phone. She sounded good.
“Emily, I’m so sorry. Something came up with my daughter. I’m not going to be able to make it for dinner tonight.”
“Is she all right?” The concern in her voice was clear.
“She’s fine. It’s just going to take me a while to sort things out.” Paul paused as his thoughts ground to a halt. What exactly did he have to sort out here? Jordan was gone for the night, and Courtney was back to her usual behavior.
“I understand.” Emily’s quiet voice drew him back into the conversation. With a glance at the kitchen, Paul lowered his voice.
“I am sorry. I was looking forward to dinner.” He had been. Before Courtney’s frantic telephone call, his anticipation had been building to a pleasantly nervous level. Getting to spend a few hours alone with Emily, able to have a conversation with her uninterrupted by others, had felt like a glowing reward in the past few hours since they’d made plans. “I’ll make it up to you.”
She laughed. “You don’t owe me one.”
Great, she wasn’t interested in trying again. He’d blown his chance at something. What, he didn’t know. Some desperate impulse made him speak up.
“When are you free this week?”
Emily made a small sound, and he wondered if she was buying time to come up with an excuse.
“Tomorrow is clear.”
A rush of triumph made him smile. She wasn’t mad at him. She still wanted to spend time with him. “Tomorrow it is. Same time?”
She agreed and he ended the call with a much better outlook than when he’d started it. Now it was time to deal with his daughter.
He returned to the kitchen to find Courtney again tapping away at her phone. He’d have to check up on her page tonight, just to make sure she hadn’t posted something potentially libelous. His daughter wasn’t especially good at thinking things through.
“Who was that?”
“Who?” Paul wasn’t sure what she was talking about as he rummaged in the cupboard for a can of soup. He saw no evidence she and Jordan had prepared supper before the fight had occurred, so the least he could manage for her nutrition would be some tomato soup with crackers.
“Whoever you just called. It sounded like you were breaking a date.”
She’d been listening in? Paul was sure he’d been quiet when he spoke, and the fact that he’d walked away before talking should have indicated to her he wanted privacy.
“I was going to have dinner with someone but all this came up.” He tried to look stern with her, but she rolled her eyes. “Besides, we need to talk about what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on with me.” Courtney’s easy dismissal of the recent upheaval almost shocked him, but she was very good at moving on. Paul found a solitary can of soup and checked the expiration date before grabbing the can opener. Karen had always fixed tomato soup and grilled cheese whenever Courtney had a bad day at school. He’d come home from work to those familiar scents and had known there had been tears and comforting. As he crouched down to pull out a pan, he spoke up.
“So, what triggered the fight?” He could have used a kinder term, like disagreement, but his unhappiness with the fact that the police had been called was coloring how he was dealing with her. He had no energy to go gently.
“I don’t know.” Courtney sighed and watched him shake the gloppy cylinder of soup from the can. “Oh, I remember. He lost his house key and wanted to borrow mine to get a duplicate made. I told him forget it, because he’d probably lose it on the way to the hardware store. It just went downhill from there. He just makes me so mad. I think he enjoys it.”
Her voice was unconcerned, as if she’d been describing an encounter she’d had with a friend from high school at the grocery. From her recounting, there hadn’t even been raised voices.
“How loud did it get?”
“Loud enough for someone to notice. I think it was that smelly, old man who lives behind us. He always has his windows open.”
There was no milk in the refrigerator, so Paul filled the can with water from the tap and poured it over the soup concentrate before he set it on the stove burner. He could have been at the Grille right now enjoying an appetizer with Emily, but instead, he was faced with bland soup and a perplexing child.
“Courtney, this relationship doesn’t seem to be working for either of you.”
She tilted her head and stared at him. “It was just a fight. I love him, Dad.”
He didn’t understand how Courtney had come to the conclusion that unhappiness and discord equaled love. “Any time you talk about him, it’s to complain. I just don’t understand why you’re pouring so much energy into this.”
“He gets me, more than anyone else since Mom.” Her tone had sharpened, and Paul realized he needed to draw back. Her comment stung. He’d tried to be there for her, was here for her now, but it didn’t seem to register.
“I’m just saying you’re young, you have plenty of time to find someone else, maybe spend some time on your own and figure out what you want for your future.” It was entirely reasonable advice, but his daughter wasn’t hearing it. Courtney’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t want to find anyone else. I don’t want to be alone like you.”
Her words hurt, and he knew she’d meant them to. Yet again, he felt the weight of failing to communicate with his child. Karen had made it seem so effortless. Courtney slid off her chair to open the refrigerator and grab herself a diet cola. She wasn’t meeting his eyes, and he wondered what was going through her head.
“I know I’m not as good as your mom was at this stuff. I’m just trying to help. You seem very unhappy lately.”
She opened her drink with a metallic snap of the tab. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve just been really stressed with the car and work.”
“Have you seen your therapist lately?” He was changing the subject, but Paul hoped he’d be able to do an end run around her defensiveness.
“No, Dad, I’m fine.” His daughter did meet his gaze then and stuck out her chin with defiance. “You’re sounding just like that cop who suggested I get some anger-management counseling. I don’t need to express my emotions or explore my motivations, whatever talk therapy crap is popular these days.”
“We’re talking right now. I’m a good listener.” He smiled even though he wanted to frown as he collected bowls and spoons and ladled out the soup for them. Courtney looked at the comfort food with dismay.
“What’s this?”
“Dinner. We can eat and talk.”
“I’m not hungry. In fact, Becca and Julie are on their way to spend the night with me. They know I need company.” Courtney slid her bowl to the middle of the table with one finger then snatched up her phone to tap on the screen and frowned with concentration. Dismissed.
Emily had felt strange all day. It was probably residual emotions from the day before. She hadn’t slept well, which was nothing new, but this sense of something looming over her was unusual. She’d made it through the workday with no major disasters and had purchased the last container of mascarpone at Palmer’s grocery when she’d stopped in on her way home, so no bad luck there. The tiramis
u she’d impulsively decided to make after work had turned out well, and now she needed to call Paul and alter their plans. He’d sounded so distressed last night when he’d called, she’d wanted to do something nice for him, a small reflection of how many times he’d been nice to her since she’d met him.
She dialed the number and waited for him to pick up, wondering if she was making a mistake.
“Hi, Emily,” Paul answered with a slight hesitation in his voice. “How are you?”
“Fine. Great. Ah…” She knew she was babbling but couldn’t help herself. Why was she unsure? Paul was a nice man. They were going to have dinner together and she’d made him tiramisu. Nothing monumental about any of that, but her throat was still tight with anxiety. “I’m hoping we can change our plans a little.”
“Oh.” Paul’s voice dropped with what sounded like disappointment.
Emily huffed out a nervous laugh. “Nothing drastic. I was hoping it would be all right with you if I came by your house, instead of you picking me up here.”
His relieved agreement relaxed her nerves, and she loosened her hunched shoulders. “That’s fine. I live out on the western end of Locust Street. My truck is parked out front.”
“Okay. I’ll be there at six thirty.” Emily nodded her head and turned the glass dish holding the tiramisu. Maybe it was a clichéd dessert and out of fashion, but she liked it. Hopefully, Paul would too. She wasn’t the world’s most talented cook. “How’s your daughter?”
He sighed. “It’s complicated.”
Emily opened her mouth to say she understood, but he surprised her. “I’ll tell you about it when you get here. An hour from now, right?”
Emily glanced at her clock and agreed, surprised it was so close to the time she needed to leave. Nerves returned; now, she needed to decide what to wear and avoid anxiety over how her hair looked. Hopefully Nate didn’t show up as she was leaving and beg for some of Paul’s dessert.
Paul wasn’t sure what he’d gotten himself into. He was showing Emily his garden as she’d requested as soon as she’d gotten out of her car. He’d taken a food container from her and stowed it in the refrigerator and come back outside to find her standing deep in the middle of a planting along his side lawn, up to her elbows in flowers.
She’d peppered him with questions as they’d wandered among the plants, and by the time they’d reached the backyard, which did look impressive with all the end-of-season blooms and seedpods glowing in the last golden light of sunset, she was hopping like a kid in a candy store. She was a kid. Paul admonished himself to stop looking at that band of smooth skin revealed by her open shirt-collar.
“Oh, this is so wonderful. You have so many plants, and they’re all so happy.”
“It’s kind of a mess.”
“No, it’s vibrant and lush,” Emily enthused, as she took a few steps toward a tall stand of helianthus nodding their heavy gold heads. Paul thought the woman in front of him was more vibrant and lush than all the flora in his garden combined. An unexpected rush of warmth filled him, and he breathed deeper as he watched her lean toward some bright pink echinacea, a smile curving her lips. “I love places like this. I always expect to see a gnome scuttling away.”
Paul grinned at the idea of some grumpy enchanted creature living in his backyard. Emily smiled back and walked farther down his ill-defined path toward a more shady area.
“Do you have a gnome?” Emily stopped next to a showy stand of ornamental grass and raised an eyebrow.
“Not even a fake one.”
She shook her head in mock disappointment and cupped her hands around a late-blooming rose. It was one of the old holdouts of the former yard, and he’d planned to remove it but was now glad he hadn’t.
“So, how is your daughter?”
He took a moment before he answered. “She’s what I would call borderline troubled. Or immature. Don’t get me wrong, all the basics are there. She has a job, her own place, pays her bills for the most part, but she’s not very focused and makes mistakes. It’s just, since her mother died a few years ago, she’s been floundering. I guess I’m not doing as well at guiding her as Karen did.”
He wondered how much more to say, how personal he wanted to get with Emily. If he said too much, it might turn her off, and he knew deep in his gut he didn’t want that. Emily sighed, and her eyes clouded with sympathy.
“I’m so sorry about your wife. I can’t imagine losing my mother when I was young, and how much that might have changed everything for me. How old is Courtney?” Emily glanced back at the house like she expected to see a little girl come rushing out.
“Twenty-four.” Paul walked closer to Emily and pretended to look at a finch feeder hanging nearby. He could hear the small, golden birds fussing in quiet chirps from their favorite big pine at the back of the yard. “Last night she and her boyfriend got into such a bad argument a neighbor called the police. No one was arrested, but it was still a big mess.”
Emily pursed her lips. “I guess you could say she’s still growing up, right? I made a lot of false starts and wallowed in misery when I was that age.”
Emily was kind to give Courtney the benefit of a doubt, but Paul was starting wonder exactly how much of his daughter’s troubles were simply self-inflicted. Then he caught on to the last nugget in her sentence. “What do you mean? You’re still that age.”
She shook her head and brushed a grass seed head against the palm of her hand. “Hardly. How old do you think I am?”
Paul closed his lips and shook his head theatrically. He wasn’t responding to that one.
“I’m thirty-three. Very mature and well aged. Like wine and cheese.” With tilt of her chin, she reached out and tapped at his arm like she’d scored a point. She was older than he’d guessed but still too young. If she thought thirty-three was mature, he’d have to classify himself as utterly decrepit. He had books in his library older than her.
“How old did you think I was?”
“A gentleman never speculates.”
Some of the teasing light left her eyes, replaced by something more speculative. Just as Emily opened her mouth to reply, she flinched back when one of the famished finches dove past her head twittering.
“It’s all right. They’re hungry, and we’re too close to their feeder for comfort.”
Emily moved back toward the house and edged to him. She sighed and looked around the backyard. The end of season crickets chirped loudly in the long grass. “This is so peaceful. I’m nearly relaxed now.”
“What’s holding you back?”
“Basically everything in my life. I feel like I never accomplish much because my to-do list is always longer by the end of the day. I’m afraid I’m a big disappointment to your sister.” She shrugged, and Paul wanted to give her a hug. That wouldn’t be wrong, would it? Instead of making that big of a gesture, he instead tried a comforting pat on her back. Emily glanced up and leaned his way, bumping her shoulder against him. So, it was simply the most natural thing in the world to slide his arm around her. He felt her breathe, and everything in the garden around them seemed to brighten. He liked her too much.
“Don’t worry about Shelly. No one has ever lived up to her standards. You seem like you have everything under control.” He strove for a light tone.
“It’s a front. I’m like the Wizard of Oz. ‘Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain.’”
She waved her hands and looked up at him and he swayed, mesmerized by her green eyes. Everything in his body tightened and veered her way.
Another finch flashed by them, and Emily jumped and grinned. Instead of shifting away, she moved closer and ducked her head. Paul automatically reached up to cup a hand around her hair, and the fine strands tickled along his fingertips and palm. Desire and recklessness burned away his reservations about how appropriate this was. She raised her head, and he leaned her way, telling himself to kiss her cheek but instead finding her lips instead. She was warm and soft and still in his arms, and as so
on as he’d made contact he decided to draw away and act like nothing had happened. It was for the best, despite how perfectly she fit him.
Before he could withdraw, Emily pressed her hand to his shoulder and kissed him back, slanting her lips against his with a gentle pressure. She made a little sound deep in her throat, and his noble idea of keeping this caress platonic flew away, along with the tittering finches circling them.
It’s been so long was the only thought his heated brain allowed as he tasted Emily. It had been so long since he’d felt this potent rush of hormones, pleasure, and responsiveness to another person. Her mouth curved as she moved in a leisurely ebb and flow against his lips, returning every move he made with one of her own.
His arms circled around her and she pressed herself against his chest, her breasts moving with every shallow breath she took. He felt the late-fall sunlight beating down on his head but it couldn’t compare to the heat filling him. Her thighs pressed against his. If only he’d thought to bring a blanket out, they could be on it now, surrounded by the flowers and birds. Karen had never wanted—Stop it, don’t think about her now, Paul warned himself, but it was too late.
Great kiss, this is a great kiss. Emily couldn’t recall a better one. She was still shocked it was even happening. Paul’s long fingers splayed against her back and scalp, and she wanted him to tighten his grip, pull her closer. Unaccountably, he eased back, loosened his hold on her, and finally, moved his mouth from hers with a little sigh.
Confused and a little incoherent from accelerating lust, Emily blinked up at him.
“We need to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m old enough to be…” Paul stopped staring at her and got a faraway look in his eye. “Almost old enough to be your—”
“Don’t say it. You aren’t.” Emily adjusted her feet. She’d somehow gotten tilted during the kiss, and she didn’t want to lose her balance and tip them over into a clump of blushing roses.
Paul shook his head and moved his hands away from her body. “It’s not right.”
