“Why didn’t you study music in college?”
He looked at the instruments and released a breath. “Because I didn’t. An accident may have derailed your life. Obligation derailed mine.”
Michael met her gaze. It was like standing before a dam of memories seconds before it was about to give way. He remembered the smile on her face and her sweet, bubbling laughter as he sprinted through the rain toward her. He remembered drifting off to sleep to the sound of her playing the violin late into the night as the music escaped through her open bedroom window and fluttered over him like whisper-soft kisses.
“I should go,” she said. But she didn’t move.
He knew she felt it, too. Their history filled the space between them. Memory after memory popped and cracked like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
He took her hand. “Em, let me help you.”
She inhaled sharply. He was holding her left hand. He could feel the smooth, raised scar that ran along her ring finger—both a tactile and a visual reminder of the night she lost everything. A zigzagged scarlet letter proclaiming her greatest loss. He grazed his thumb across her wrist eliciting another sharp breath. Her hand relaxed, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“I know you don’t trust me. But I promise, I’m not going to let you down again.”
Her hand tensed, but she didn’t pull away.
“I’ll be at The Drip in the town center tomorrow morning at eight.” She knew the place. He had watched her drive by his office each day this week holding a giant to-go cup from the local coffee house. “I’ll park the Rover out in front. She’ll be all gassed up and ready to go. We can leave from there and start looking anywhere you want.”
“I don’t think—” she whispered, but he didn’t let her finish.
“You don’t have to decide anything right now. You know where I’ll be tomorrow. It’s up to you, Mary Michelle.”
13
Em locked the door to her childhood home and glanced over at Michael’s house. The sun glinted off the second-floor windows like they were tossing her shiny, knowing winks.
“That’s really Michael’s house,” she whispered, squinting her eyes as a far-off wind chime clanged in the breeze.
Of course, she remembered Michael’s home. She remembered the entire town. But after all this time away, Langley Park had morphed into someplace almost make-believe.
But this place was no work of fiction.
The picturesque Tudors and bungalows lining the streets, the quaint town center thriving with mom-and-pop shops, the botanic gardens, serene with leaves littering the ground, were all as real as the sun shining from above.
She inhaled the morning air. The cold and sleet from yesterday were a distant memory. The sun met the day unencumbered by the heavy clouds that greeted most fall Kansas days.
She had pulled on a pair of jeans and a fitted T-shirt then finished off the outfit with a cropped leather jacket. Before leaving the house, she’d stopped in front of the mirror hanging in the foyer. She had scrubbed her face clean in the shower and neglected even to open her makeup bag. A smattering of freckles kissed the skin of her cheekbones. But it was her eyes that drew her attention. Without the heavy eyeliner, the color encasing her pupils burst like a field of deep blue hydrangea no longer shrouded in a dense fog.
She left the house and headed north on Foxglove Lane toward the town center. Was she really doing this? Was she really going to take Michael up on his offer? Michael, who had let her down. Michael, who had chosen Tiffany Shelton over her.
But things weren’t so black and white anymore.
After she left Michael’s carriage house last night, she had spent the rest of the evening tossing and turning. Her mind was bombarded with an endless list of pros and cons. Once she’d sorted through it all, there was only one choice. She had to learn what happened the night of her accident by whatever means possible. If that meant allowing Michael to help, then so be it.
She turned onto Mulberry Drive and continued toward The Drip Coffee Shop. Michael’s old Range Rover was parked outside. Her heart rate picked up, and flashes of her hands clasped in his as his thumb glided over the pulse point on her wrist assaulted her senses. Her nipples tightened, and she pulled her jacket tight around her chest, trying to hide any evidence of her arousal.
Damn that childhood crush. Damn every synapse that sparked with excitement at the thought of his bare skin brushing against hers.
She stopped in front of the coffee shop and looked inside. Michael was sitting at a table with a map spread across the surface. He looked up and met her gaze through the glass. A palpable current passed between them like a ship returning to harbor.
She glanced at the table and shook her head. A pair of to-go cups sat side by side.
A man opened the door to go inside the shop and held it open for her. “You going in, miss?”
She gave the man a nod and went inside.
She walked up to Michael’s table. “You must have been pretty sure I was going to show up.”
He smiled his crooked smile, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. His expression was so familiar, so comforting. She hadn’t seen him smile like this since she had returned to Langley Park.
“I had a hunch you would show,” he said, nodding toward an empty seat next to him.
She sat down then raised her eyebrows, demanding proof.
Michael laughed, and the crinkled eyes were back. “Cody told me.”
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked, biting her lip to hold back the grin her heart was begging to give him.
“When I took Cody out for his morning walk, he nearly broke the leash trying to run over to your back door. I figured you were already up and in the kitchen—well, Cody did. I just put two and two together.”
She studied him. She could still see the boy, but the set of his broad shoulders and the strong tendons in his hands were the not-so-subtle signs that Michael MacCarron was all man now. She thought back to Halloween night. She’d straddled him, pressed herself into him.
She knew firsthand he wasn’t a boy anymore.
A wave of prickly shame passed over her. Why did she try and seduce him? It was a stupid, childish thing to think she could ever lump Michael in with her past trysts.
Trysts. The naked truth of the word twisted her gut. She’d never had a real relationship. The revelation hit her like a wrecking ball.
“I think I got your order right,” he said, breaking through her spiraling thoughts.
She must have disappeared. Not physically, of course, but mentally. She used to do that when she played music. She would fade into the complexity of the notes, losing herself and becoming one with the composition.
Michael nudged the cup toward her. Em knew he had seen her blank out, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. To the contrary, a warmth filled his gaze. She took a sip and hummed her approval. He did get her order right. She had been ordering flat white’s all week. The steamed milk and rich espresso danced on her taste buds.
“How did you know my order?”
Michael gave her another crinkle-eyed smile, and it sent her pulse racing.
“I told the barista I was meeting the redhead who had been coming in here every morning this week. Between you, me, Sam, and a handful of five-years-olds, we make up the entire ginger population of Langley Park.
The hint of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips when a gust of air blew into the shop followed by the sound of excited chatter. Several women passed by carrying rolled yoga mats and formed a queue at the counter.
“Kathy Stein’s yoga class next door must have just ended,” Michael said, then a look of recognition crossed his face, and he stood.
A tall woman with a messy, blond bun stopped at their table. It was the Barbie doll from Halloween. Jennifer…Jeanie…something like that. Em watched them make small talk. A bitter surge of jealousy pulsed through her when the woman casually touched Michael’s arm as they spoke.
She was about to abandon
this whole stupid idea of letting Michael help her when the smiling blonde put a hand on her shoulder.
“Em, I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m Jenna Fisher. We met on Halloween. It’s so nice to run into you.”
The heated jealousy pumping through her veins dissipated when she met Jenna’s warm gaze.
“Yes, I remember. Your little girl was dressed as Harry Potter.”
“That’s right," Jenna answered, then glanced down at the map of Kansas spread across the table. “Are you planning a trip?”
“Not really a trip,” Em replied.
What was she supposed to say? They were looking for an old bridge and some tall men?
“We’re going to visit some of the places kids used to hang out at back in high school. Maybe check out some of the old bridges in the area,” Michael said, swooping in.
Old bridges? She was shocked he remembered her fragmented memories: tall men, old bridge, and the Paganini piece.
Before she could say another word, Jenna continued, “You know who you might want to talk to…”
The coffee shop’s door opened, and Jenna’s face broke into a wide grin, and she waved someone over.
Within the space of a breath, Em was staring up at Zoe Stein. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail. She wore it longer now. Back in high school, the dyed pink tips of her hair used to brush her shoulders. She was dressed in yoga gear and had a rolled mat tucked under her arm. Zoe greeted her sister-in-law and Michael before meeting Em’s gaze.
“Hey, Em,” Zoe said. Her voice barely audible over the coffee shop chatter.
The group stilled.
“Hey,” Em replied, hoping the smile she had managed to produce for Jenna was still in place. But the look on Zoe’s face told her that her grin was long gone.
Jenna gestured to the empty chairs. “Can we sit with you?”
Em nodded. Jenna’s warm smile was bewitching.
Jenna sat across from Michael, leaving Zoe the seat across from her. The energy radiating off the Zoe-Michael-Em triangle buzzed like a swarm of hornets. The whispers of all the things left unsaid popping and shifting the air.
Jenna turned to Zoe. “Before you got here, Em and Michael were telling me that they’re setting off to find old bridges near the places you guys used to hang out as kids. Maybe you can help them?”
Zoe paled, and a wave of comprehension passed over her face. “Old bridges,” Zoe said wide-eyed, parroting back her sister-in-law’s words.
“Yes,” Jenna said, seemingly unfazed by Zoe’s response. “I know how good you are at tracking things down.”
Jenna squeezed Zoe’s hand.
Jenna returned her attention to Em. “You see, not so long ago, Zoe was able to track me down.”
Zoe smiled, and the color returned to her cheeks. She drummed her fingertips on the table. “There’s a bunch of websites that highlight old bridges. NPR even did a story about states that have whole pages set up to try and get people to adopt old bridges and take over their maintenance.”
“Zoe works for Kansas Public Radio. She’s a wiz at investigative reporting,” Michael added.
Zoe’s gaze dropped to the map. “I could put a list together. I think I know the area you’re interested in.”
Here it was. The olive branch. All Em had to do was reach out and take it. She knew Zoe wanted to help. She could see the plea in her old friend’s hazel eyes. Let me help you. Let me try and make this right. Em shifted in her chair.
“It may be a good place to start,” Jenna said. “I certainly can’t see it hurting your search.”
Who was this woman? She was like two parts Mary Poppins and one part homecoming queen.
Em nodded reluctantly. She needed to learn what happened. She was doing this for her father. The anger in her heart wanted to tell Zoe to fuck off, but the need to learn the truth was growing stronger, edging out the rage.
She met Zoe’s gaze. “I’d appreciate your help.”
“I’ll get on it right away,” Zoe said with glassy eyes.
“You can text or email anything you find to me,” Michael said.
Zoe nodded as a little girl came zipping through the shop and landed in her lap.
“Little monster,” Zoe said, kissing the top of the girl’s head. “What did you do with your daddy and Grandma?”
“Oh, they’re coming,” the girl answered. “They’re just super, banana slug slow.”
“I remember you,” Em said to the little girl. “You’re Kate. You were Harry Potter for Halloween.”
Kate stared at Em’s hands. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” Em asked.
“You were talking and signing at the same time,” Jenna chimed in.
Em clasped her hands. She hadn’t even realized she had signed.
“I work at a school in Australia where all the children use sign language. I guess, when I’m talking to kids, it’s like a default switch.”
Kate nodded slowly, digesting the information. “Is your real name Emma? I’ve got three Emma’s in my second-grade class: Emma King, Emma Vasquez, and Emma O’Malley. Oh, and there’s one Emily. That could be your real name too, right?”
Em glanced at Michael. “Nope, my real name isn’t Emma or Emily. It’s Mary. Mary Michelle. I was named after both my grandmothers.”
Kate’s face lit up. “Me, too! I’m Kathryn Elizabeth after my grandmothers.” Her brow furrowed. “So why do people call you Em if your real name is Mary Michelle?”
“That’s my fault,” Michael said. “When I was little, I couldn’t pronounce Mary Michelle. All I could say was the “M” part. So, I called her Em, and then everyone else started calling her Em, too.”
He was right. Before the accident, she had loved that story. By giving her a nickname, it was as if he had embedded himself into her very soul, and no amount of time or distance could change that. Em shifted in her seat. She needed to change the subject.
“Do you want me to show you how to sign, Harry Potter?”
Kate’s face lit up. “Sure!”
Em raised her hand to her temple and, with her pointer and middle fingers extended, she made the quick motion of the lightning bolt scar.
Kate mimicked the sign. “Jenna, Michael, Auntie! I’m signing Harry Potter!”
“That’s so cool, Kate,” Jenna said, then directed her attention to Em. “I had no idea you were a teacher.”
Her cheeks heated. “I’m not a teacher, just a teacher’s aide.”
“A teacher’s aide is most certainly a teacher. I’m the reading specialist at Langley Park Elementary, and I don’t know what our school would do without the support staff,” Jenna countered.
Kate bounced in her Aunt’s lap. “Now can you show me the sign for Jedi Knight? It’s for my daddy. He loves Star Wars.”
“Sure, it’s kind of like you’re pulling a hood over your head,” Em said and demonstrated the sign.
Kate watched her closely then gasped and turned to Jenna. “Did you see what Em has on her finger?”
Em retracted her hands and clasped them in her lap. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”
“You haven’t scared her,” Jenna said with a reassuring smile. “The scar on your finger looks like Harry Potter’s.”
She never noticed. Em ran her index finger over the zigzag length of the scar.
Kate nodded, wide-eyed. “Did you get that scar from a bad person like Harry got his scar from Voldemort?”
Em met the little girl’s gaze. “I’m not sure how I got this scar, Kate, but I’m hoping that soon, I’ll find out.”
14
“We better head out,” Michael said, folding the map.
Em watched his hands fold the paper into perfect squares as Kate’s question swirled in her mind. Had a bad person done this to her? Had someone deliberately hurt her? She had always thought someone else had to have known what happened that night. Seen something. Heard something. But the thought that someone may have set out to hurt her on pur
pose had never crossed her mind—until now.
“Em,” Michael said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Do you want a refill before we leave?”
She shook her head and tucked away the revelation. “No, I’m good.”
The group said their goodbyes, and she followed Michael out of the coffee shop.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s just…”
“A lot to come home to?” Michael offered, finishing her thought.
That was the understatement of the century. But before she could answer, she heard someone calling out her name.
“Em! Oh, Em! It’s so good to see you, sweetheart!”
She turned to see Zoe’s mother, Kathy Stein, rushing toward her.
“Hi, Mrs. Stein,” Em answered.
The woman enveloped her in a warm embrace. “None of this, ‘Mrs. Stein’ business. Call me Kathy.”
She had loved this woman almost as much as she loved her own mother.
Em blinked back tears. “I don’t know if I can. You’ve always been Mrs. Stein to me.”
“You and Michael, both,” Kathy answered. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me Kathy either,” she said, playfully eyeing Michael.
“Are you harassing people on the street again, Mom?” Ben Fisher walked up and joined the trio.
“Oh, Benjamin! I’m not harassing anyone. I’m just so happy to see our Em back in Langley Park.”
“I’m glad I ran into you, Em,” Ben said. “Did you want to schedule a time so I can take a look at your Foursquare?”
Em glanced from Ben to Michael. “Why would you look at my Foursquare?”
Michael held her gaze. “Remember when I mentioned knowing someone who could help with the house—you know, to help with any minor repairs?”
Em nodded. Between her encounter with Jenna Fisher, then Zoe, and now Kathy Stein and Ben Fisher, it was as if she was trapped on some kind of memory lane carousel spinning out of control.
“Ben’s the architect I wanted to tell you about. He’s the one who’s renovated many of the homes in Langley Park,” Michael added.
The Sound of Home Page 10
