“Dessert?”
“Yes. Traditionally something sweet we offer people after the main meal. Did you make anything? I can get a cake together if you want or I can run back into town and get one from The Breakfast Club.”
“No, no. I have a dessert.” She waved to the refrigerator. “I baked a dark chocolate cake yesterday. I just feel like I’m spinning out of control, Honor.”
“I know. I can feel your excess energy from here.“i
“Right. Energy.”
“Here. Lavender and honey.” Honor put a tea cup into Emma’s hands and propelled her into the living room. “Sit. Let me get some stuff done. Stop it. They’re only people, Emma. They raised the man you love. Now, just. Stop.”
For the next ten minutes, Emma drank her tea and took deep breaths to calm herself down.
After the short break, Emma entered the kitchen and gave her best friend a brief hug. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Honor waved her off. “I think we both have no choice but to be best friends for the rest of our lives. We’ve seen each other at our worse too many times.”
“And we could probably blackmail each other for millions.”
The short laugh was just what Emma needed and the two women worked side-by-side to set the table, finish cleaning the shrimp, and washing dishes.
“What are you making?”
“I’m cooking off sea scallops and shrimp in butter then covering them with broken up crab cake. Placing that under the broiler to crisp it up a little. Steamed asparagus. Jasmine rice.”
“And chocolate cake.”
“And chocolate cake.”
“It sounds delicious. Everything will be good. And if it’s not? Well, you laugh it off and go again. Because one dinner isn’t that important.”
“You’re right. Of course,” Emma said as she took a sip of her tea. She sighed with pleasure. “Okay. Let’s get my house in order.”
An hour later, the small bungalow was vacuumed, table set, and a pot of green tea awaited boiling water.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Emma said.
“You might want to take a shower,” Honor teased.
“Yikes! A shower. Jeeze, what would I do without you?”
“Hopefully, you’ll never know,” Honor said, hugging her friend one last time before leaving. “Just don’t forget your pants.”
“Pants. Check.”
Promptly at quarter to six, she watched as David pull into her driveway. He helped his mother out of the passenger seat and held the door for his dad.
Emma wiped her damp palms down her jean-clad legs and sent up a silent prayer she had remembered pants. Why was meeting someone parent’s this intense?
Because you want them to like and approve of you.
She stared at the serving pan sitting innocently on the stove before clicking on the broiler. She stared at the array of food and felt her stomach clench with nerves again. As much as she loved David and loved to eat, it was the absolutely last thing she wanted to do. What had she been thinking?
“What if I hold my fork the wrong way? What if they don’t like dinner?” she muttered to herself. “Stop it. They’ve been in the country over thirty years. It will be fine.”
Could she fake a sudden illness? Truth was, she did actually feel more than a little ill. Did she have time to look up the history of Vietnam? Because really, except for a war, she didn’t even know that much about where David was from.
Too late. It was time. Enter, stage left. Smile on. She sighed, pushed her shoulders back and opened the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen,” she greeted, warmly. “Welcome to my home. I’m so glad you could visit us.”
“Emma, this is my mother, Dao Nguyen,” David said, his dark chocolate eyes reflecting her own nerves back to her. “And this is my father, Danh.” David took her hand in his and turned to his parents. “Mother, Father, this is Emma. My girlfriend.”
“This is a lovely home you have,” Dao said. She handed Emma a small box which Emma accepted with a smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Nguyen,” Emma said. Taking a cue from David, she made sure she accepted the gift with both hands and gave the older woman a gentle hug once she had set it down. She wasn’t sure if the hug was proper etiquette but she was an Evans. They were an affectionate family.
She opened the gift, smiling when the box revealed an enameled tea pot and cup set. She gasped with delight. “Oh, this is lovely,” she exclaimed. The heavy enamel pot and cups were done in green and white with a gentle leaf design etched on the side. Her bright eyes lifted to David’s.
“David told me you enjoyed tea,” Dao said with a gentle smile. “I told him you should have a proper set to enjoy it from.” Her small tanned hands pulled the green and white pot out of the box. “Each piece of the set is hand shaped,” she explained. “Each one has its own charm and each one a little bit different from the others.”
“I am in awe,” Emma said, running her finger down the leaf etched on the green half of the pot.
“Each set has its own soul,” Dao explained. “The life and body of the tea cannot properly exist in mass produced tea sets where everything comes from a mold.”
“No, I can see that,” Emma said. “This is. I don’t have words. Thank you. So much.”
Emma breathed a sigh of relief that dinner made it to the table hot and tasty. She bowed her head when his proper Catholic parents offered up a prayer before passing the food and conversation flowed, if not smoothly, at least it was better than the stone silence of disapproval she had originally been afraid of.
“You do not have a full set of china?” Dao asked, indicating the mismatched set of rose china they ate from.
Emma’s eyes widened at this unexpected comment. “Um. No,” she said slowly, stretching out the two syllables in order to give herself time to think. But she had nothing to offer except the truth. “I actually prefer this. I shop at thrift stores and estate sales and look for rose patterned china. I think it looks charming and sweet. Like a garden when the table is set.”
Dao nodded once and Emma’s eyes flicked to David for reassurance. He nodded gently, letting her know she was doing just fine.
“I was hoping you could share some of your favorite recipes with me,” Emma said to Dao. “Or, maybe we could cook something up together for a family dinner.”
Dao smiled at her. “I’d like to see my Danh eating my recipes again.” She turned to her son. “Perhaps I can make everyone pho before we leave.”
“That would be amazing,” David said. “And I’m sure Emma’s family would enjoy it. We can go grocery shopping for everything you need tomorrow. Okay?”
He turned to Emma. “Pho is a traditional soup made from a rich broth.” He licked his lips thinking about his mother’s broth. “Rice noodles and meat. Then it’s served with mint, cilantro, bean sprouts, and lime. That way everyone has a bowl served just the way they like it.”
Dao reached over and touched her son’s hand. “Then I will make it for you.” She closed her eyes thinking. “I will need at least twelve hours to make the broth.” She opened her eyes and looked at Emma. “Will three days be good for your family?”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Emma agreed.
Conversation lagged for a moment and Emma raked her memory, searching for a new conversation. “David says you’re an undertaker,” Emma said to Duc.
“Yes, I am a funeral director. My partners and I manage a small funeral home that caters to the area’s Vietnamese population,” Duc clarified. “Our traditions are very different from Western or American traditions. It’s my job to help guide a family through this time of sorrow. That is precisely why our traditions surrounding death are important to us. To help equip the family and friends with strength they may not have known they even had. I help them confront their most heart-wrenching emotions.
“That’s beautiful,” Emma said. “How are they so different?”
Duc took a sip of tea and folded
his hands formally before beginning. “In the United States, most mourners wearing black or dark grey to a funeral. Sometimes, the widow even still wears a black veil.”
Emma nodded. “Generally, yes. Men dressed in black suits and dark ties. Women in black dresses or some other dark color. That’s not universal?”
Duc shook his head. “In my culture, the immediate family of the deceased wears white.”
“Really? Why?”
“Traditionally, we are cremated. The color white symbolically represents the ashes of the deceased. It’s more appropriate for funerals than black.”
“Interesting. I guess I never thought about that. Never thought what it must be like to live and die so far away from my people.” Emma said. She slipped her hand into David’s and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “What you do is very important. I’m sure your client’s families are thankful.”
“To us,” Dao began, “death is very much a part of life. As important as life is to death; death is to life. It’s a delicate interwoven tapestry and cannot be separated.
“There is a balance as fine as a silk thread which we revere. Americans are often horrified to find that we take pictures at funerals.”
“Oh,” Emma said, taken aback. She’d never thought about taking pictures at a funeral.
“But when we take pictures of our funerals or wakes, it’s not to be macabre. To us, it is a quiet reverence. The pictures show the deceased was just as important in death as they were when they lived. And the promise exists for our old age. When we are older and our memories begin to fail, it brings us comfort to know that we have our pictures to show us the full panoramic view of our loved one’s life. Birth to death.”
Tears filled Emma’s bright blue eyes. “That’s beautiful,” she said softly.
“Danh says you own a business,” his father said.
“Yes,” Emma said with a rush. “I’m part owner with my brother Thorne and our mother Brenda. We have a small diner in town. Perhaps you passed it on your way…through…”
Her voice drifted off as her eyes flared a bright preternatural blue as a vision struck her and overwhelmed her.
A bright blast. The echo reverberating through her ears. A burning sensation.
Blood.
“Thorne,” she cried, her bright blue eyes going wide as they sought out David.
“What’s wrong?” David demanded as he got to his feet.
“It’s my brother. He’s in the hospital,” she said in a rush. “I’m sorry. I need to —.”
“Go,” David said. “I’ll clean up here and you can text me the details later.”
She nodded and got to her feet only to find them as wobbly as old carrots. David caught her as she went down.
“Are you okay to drive?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just the shock of it.” She hugged him for support. To feel his heat press into her. To feel his love strengthen her. “I’ll call my parents from the road.”
David lifted his cell phone. “I got your parents. You concentrate on getting to the hospital in one piece, okay? I need you Em.”
“I. Okay. You’re right. I need to go.” She turned to Dao and Duc. “I am so sorry. I need to — my brother,” she said.
“Of course,” Dao said, patting her hand. “Go.”
She grabbed her phone and keys and ran towards the door, but didn’t miss the questioning look his parents shot David. Would they understand? Or think she was a freak?
Chapter Seven
The scent of a hospital never changes, Emma thought as she walked into the Emergency Room waiting area. The distinct odor of sickness, helplessness, confusion, fear, uncertainty, and anxiety which all become secondary to the overwhelming stench of disinfectant.
It didn’t matter why a person came to a hospital — to visit a friend, have a baby, or be admitted yourself. The sharp and unmistakable odor triggered a wealth of emotions.
She rushed to her mother’s side and hugged her seventeen-year-old sister Brooke. “I am so sorry, Mom. I don’t know why I didn’t get a vision in time to stop this.”
Brenda Evans hugged her daughter. “I know, sweetie. Sometimes the visions are more a burden than a help.”
It was on the tip of Emma’s tongue to argue with her mother but figured this was definitely not the time or place. But after losing her gift for weeks, she would never complain or take it for granted again.
“What happened? My vision wasn’t clear.”
“He was shot,” Brenda said, crying into her husband’s shoulder. “He was at that bar down off the highway and he was shot.”
Emma swallowed and hugged Brooke a little tighter. “Where’s Amy?” she asked, looking for her younger sister. Her arms shook slightly.
“She’s home with Tabitha,” Clayton Evans said. “Tabby was already in bed and I didn’t think we should wake her up.”
“This is insane,” Brooke said, her arms remaining tightly around her oldest sister. “Who would want to shoot Thorne? He’s such an easy-going person.”
Brenda looked at Emma. “Did you see anything?”
Emma shook her head, as bewildered as her family by this turn of events. “No, not really. There was music. A woman. The shot and then his pain.”
“He was shot by a woman?” Brooke demanded.
“No, I don’t think so,” Emma said. “But there was a woman there, at any rate.”
A police officer approached them. “I’m Detective Daniels,” he said, introducing himself.
“I know you,” Emma blurted. “You’ve been in the diner, haven’t you?”
He tilted his head to the right. “You work at The Breakfast Club,” he said as realization hit his eyes.
“We own it,” Emma replied. “My mom Brenda, Thorne, and I. Can you tell us what happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.” He turned to Brenda. “Did your son have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt him?”
Brenda grasped her husband’s hand and they looked at each other. Drew strength from each other. “Thorne is such an easy-going person. I can’t believe he was shot like this. Do you have the shooter in custody?”
“I’m just trying to figure out the events of the night. Why your son was at Freddy’s tonight and if he had a history of problems there.”
Brooke whimpered slightly. “Freddy’s? Is that where he was tonight?”
Detective Daniels looked at her with shrewd brown eyes. “Do you know something, miss?”
Brooke’s hands shook as she clung to Emma. “I don’t know anything for sure,” she said. “Just, he got a phone call about an hour before he left.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
Brooke shook her head. “I only heard his end of the call. But he was talking to a girl, I think. Poppy or Piper or something like that. And I think he went to go help her.”
Detective Daniels wrote something down on his pad and nodded. He asked a few more questions, but when no one knew any more details, he handed them his card and left.
“What do you think that was all about,” Emma asked.
“I guess we’ll have to wait for Thorne to— ” Brenda’s voice caught with pain. She took a deep breath and began again. “We’ll have to wait for Thorne to recover before we find out,” she said with a forced calm.
A young man approached them. “Mr. and Mrs. Evans? I’m Dr. Guinto. I’ve been treating your son, Thorne.”
Clayton stood and shook hands with the doctor and listened while he discussed Thorne’s case. “We have him on an IV and got X-rays so we know what we’re dealing with. Harper General isn’t a trauma center but we can get him stable. Stop any bleeding. I just wanted to check with his family before we take him to the OR. Does he have any allergies? Latex, anything we should know about?”
In a daze, Emma listened as her parents talked to the young emergency room doctor. He explained it could be hours before they were done, but naturally, they were welcome to wait.
To add to the s
urrealism of the evening, David and his parents came into the waiting area. Emma stood and ran straight into her David’s arms and held on for all she was worth. In a sudden, changing world where her brother could actually be shot, David was a lifeline. Strong and stable.
“What happened, Em?” he said, soothing her chestnut hair away from her pale face.
“He was shot,” she mumbled against his chest. “What kind of world do we live in where my brother gets shot in a club?”
“Was he at Freddy’s again?”
Emma looked up and into his dark eyes. “Do you know something?”
“There were rumors,” David said “Nothing confirmed but Thorne seemed to think one of the waitresses was in danger of being turned to do more than just wait tables. She’s young, but that doesn’t stop these assholes.”
“That’s terrible,” Emma said. “That’s going on right under everyone’s noses? How is it not being cleaned up?”
“You’ll have to check with the town council. Maybe talk to the local LEOs. But there’s nothing illegal about strip clubs.”
Emma set her chin in a determined fashion that told David that even though strip clubs were not technically against the law, Emma was going to do all she could to keep it out of her town.
“Leos?” Duc asked.
“Law enforcement officers,” David clarified.
Emma crossed her arms over her chest as she began to think. “I didn’t really care about the place one way or another but now I wish they would close it down.”
“Emma?” Brenda said, joining them. “Maybe you could introduce us all.”
Emma nodded but stayed burrowed into David’s warmth for another long moment. She was tired and afraid and thankful beyond her ability to express that she had a loving family.
And David. David’s quiet assurance gave her strength.
She looked up at him and smiled. A brief one, but still a smile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything. I needed you.”
He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. “I needed you right back,” he said, touching his forehead to hers.
Honeysuckle and Roses (Harper's Mill Book 5) Page 6
