by Gina Wilkins
“Yes, well, it’s up to the courts to deal with him now.”
“Mmph. Most likely he’ll get a slap on the wrist and be released to terrorize our town again.”
Emily clasped her hands in her lap, wishing that Martha would just get to the point of her visit.
“At least for a little while we can feel safe in our homes again. Of course, we still have to deal with Wimpy Curtis wandering the streets at all hours. Why someone doesn’t put that man in a home is beyond me.”
“Wimpy is perfectly harmless and you know it, Martha,” Emily was spurred into retorting. “He’s just a sweet, befuddled old man who gets confused sometimes.”
“He’s getting worse. Why, yesterday he was walking down Main Street in his bathrobe and pajama bottoms at two in the afternoon. And then he spat, right on the public sidewalk. Not a foot from where I was standing.”
Emily’s head was beginning to ache—as it so often did when she spent much time with Martha.
“I went to Chief Davenport’s office to file a complaint, but he wasn’t there. Of course, he was home with that sick boy of his, and I understand he has to take care of the child, but who’s supposed to be watching out for the citizens of Honoria while he’s away, I want to know?”
Emily lifted her head sharply. “Clay’s sick?”
Martha’s left eyebrow shot upward. “Why, yes. Didn’t you know?”
“I, um, haven’t talked to Wade in a few days. What’s wrong?”
“Flu. A bad case, from what I’ve heard. And of course, with that housekeeper of theirs moving back to Atlanta last week, that’s left the poor chief to deal with the boy on his own. And Officer Montgomery told me that when she called to check on them yesterday, the chief didn’t sound so good, himself.”
Emily sprang to her feet without thinking. “You mean they’re both ill? And Cecilia isn’t there to help them?”
“Why, no. I just assumed you knew, dear. You and the chief seemed so close. Have you quarreled?”
If Martha was there to dig up the dirt on Emily and Wade’s relationship, she was destined for disappointment. Emily had no intention of discussing her personal business with the woman.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Martha, but I have a great deal to do this afternoon,” she said, moving purposefully toward the front door. “So, if there’s nothing else I can do for you...”
“Actually, there is one little thing.” Martha stood, but didn’t move immediately toward the door. “You know those little cranberry-glass dessert dishes that belonged to your father’s first wife? Were you planning to sell those, by any chance?”
“I—”
“Because if you were,” Martha went on without waiting for Emily to answer, “I’d like to buy them from you. There’s no need to put them into your sale. And the price I’m prepared to offer is quite reasonable, I assure you. The collector books would probably list them higher, if you’ve checked, but you know those prices are always inflated. You can trust me.”
“I’m sorry, Martha. The cranberry glass isn’t for sale.” Emily opened the door.
“But, Emily, you said yourself you don’t need all these things. And it isn’t as if you have a sentimental attachment to them. They belonged to your father’s first wife, not to any of your relatives.”
“They aren’t for sale, Martha.” And neither is anything else—at least, not to you, Emily wanted to add.
“Well.” Insulted, Martha lifted her nose and stalked out the door. It was the first time that Emily had ever refused her anything. Maybe the first time anyone had had the nerve to refuse her anything.
Hardly giving Martha another thought, Emily closed the door behind the incensed woman.
Clay was ill. Wade, too, perhaps. And the housekeeper had left them to fend for themselves.
Why hadn’t Wade called?
She never stopped to consider how ironical it was that she was downright angry over his neglecting to call her for help, when she’d spent so much time complaining about people doing just that. She simply grabbed her purse and marched out the door, her movements every bit as royally offended as Martha’s had been.
WADE LOOKED like hell. His brown hair appeared to have been styled with a hand mixer. There were purple hollows beneath his eyes and the tip of his nose was red. A flush of fever stained his unshaven cheeks. His shirt was wrinkled, half-buttoned, and hung untucked over his jeans. He just stood there, blinking at her.
Emily’s first instinct was to put him straight to bed. Her second was to crawl in with him.
“Where’s Clay?” she demanded, stepping past him.
“He...uh...he’s taking a nap. What are you doing here?”
“Which way’s his bedroom?” she asked, glancing around in dismay at the tiny, incredibly cluttered living room. Tissues, newspapers, toys, magazines, books, dirty socks, empty soda cans—Wade was a slob.
“It’s...uh...” He looked for a moment as if he wasn’t quite sure, and then he pointed. “That way.”
“Lie down before you fall down. I’m going to look in on Clay, and then I’ll be back to check on you.”
“Emily...”
“Go lie down, Wade,” she said a bit more sympathetically, watching as he swayed slightly on his bare feet. “I’ll be right in.”
She found Clay sound asleep in his bed, his Star Wars sheets rumpled around him, his stuffed tiger clasped in his arms. She brushed a lock of damp red hair away from his face, and laid her hand lightly on his cheek, satisfying herself that, while he was a bit warm, he wasn’t dangerously feverish. He was sleeping so soundly that she thought he must have passed the worst of his illness and was now getting the rest he needed for full recuperation. Wade, however, was a different matter.
Emily smoothed Clay’s sheets, then leaned over to brush a kiss on his soft cheek. How could she have ever imagined that taking care of this child would be a chore?
She would be back soon to wake him and encourage him to drink a glass of juice, but first she had to see about his father.
The bedroom to the left of Clay’s was empty, the bed neatly made, nothing personal on the dresser or nightstand. Cecilia’s recently vacated room, Emily suspected. Closing that door behind her, she crossed the hall.
Wade’s room might have been large, and it might have been nicely furnished, but it was difficult to tell beneath the piles of sheets, clothes, more soda cans, tissues, more newspapers—compared to this room, the living room looked as though it had just had a good cleaning.
Wade lay facedown on the bed, groaning. “I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die.” She knelt beside the bed, and stroked a damp strand of hair away from his face, much as she had with his son.
“I don’t want you to get this.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve had a flu shot. That should help.” She kissed his forehead, gauging his temperature with her lips. “You’re burning up with fever.”
“I’m disintegrating. Inch by inch.”
“Wade...has anyone ever mentioned that you’re a big baby when you’re sick?”
“Maybe,” he answered a bit sullenly.
“Hmm. I’m going to get you some juice and some aspirin. And then you can take a nap while I take a shovel to your living room.”
“You haven’t seen the kitchen yet,” he muttered. “I haven’t really felt like straightening up.”
She winced, but stood up with renewed determination. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hurry. I don’t want to die alone.”
Emily was smiling ruefully as she left the room, pushing up the sleeves of her sweater in preparation for a long, busy afternoon.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, after cooking soup and cleaning the house, cooling fevers and smoothing pillows, Emily collapsed onto Wade’s sofa with a weary sigh. She was tired, but satisfied that both of the Davenport guys were on the road to recovery, though admittedly at different stages. Clay was much better. Wade most likely had a few miserable days of suffering still ahead of h
im.
She imagined that she looked a mess. She reached for her purse, thinking that she would at least comb her hair and touch up her lipstick. Not that it mattered how she looked to Wade at the moment, she thought ruefully. But vanity won out
Her purse, as always, was stuffed. She dug into it in search of a mirror and a lipstick. She pulled out a folded sheet of glossy paper and started to set it aside. And then something made her look at it more closely.
It was one of the travel brochures she’d been carrying around for so long. This one advertised an Alaskan cruise, and was decorated with photographs of glaciers and forests, sunsets over the ocean, sea creatures frolicking in the waves. She remembered gazing at this advertisement and imagining herself finding peace and contentment on the decks of a slow-moving cruise ship.
Now she knew that all she would find on that ship would be more of the loneliness and the longing for love that had haunted her in Honoria for most of her life.
Wade had told her that happiness wasn’t a place, but a state of mind. She finally understood exactly what he had meant.
Just as she finally understood exactly what it was that made her happy.
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS later, Wade stumbled into his living room. Then he stopped, blinking at the transformation that had taken place since the last time he’d been in there. Everything was neatly put away. Fresh flowers had been arranged in the vase on the coffee table.
And on the couch, Emily and Clay were snuggled together while Emily read a Dr. Seuss story.
Wade felt as though a fist had hit him hard in the chest.
How was he going to say goodbye to her again?
Emily finished the story, then glanced up at the doorway where Wade stood. “Oh, hello. You must be feeling better. You’re upright.”
Embarrassed by how weak he’d been when she’d discovered him the day before, he squared his shoulders and tried to look hearty—though he wasn’t sure how successful he was since he had to hold on to the doorjamb to keep himself from swaying. “Yeah, I’m better.”
“Me, too,” Clay piped up, his healthier coloring supporting his claim. “Miss Emily’s been taking good care of me, Daddy.”
Emily had been taking good care of both of them. First, she’d bullied Wade into staying in bed while she cleaned and cooked and served. Then she’d spent the night in Cecilia’s former bedroom, getting up several times to check on Clay and to pump liquids and medicine into Wade. She’d brought him breakfast on a tray and hovered over him until she was satisfied that he’d eaten some of it.
He didn’t know how she’d found out about the crisis in his household. He’d been determined not to call her. He hadn’t wanted her to see him as just someone else who wanted to use her.
Holding his book, Clay scrambled off the couch. “I’m going to my room to watch TV. ’Beetleborgs’ are coming on.”
“Take a juice box with you,” Emily called after him. “You still need to drink plenty of liquids for a few days.”
“Okay, Miss Emily.” He dashed away, almost back to full speed.
Emily smiled at Wade again. “‘Beetleborgs?’”
“Don’t ask.” Making a massive effort to look steady on his feet, Wade slowly crossed the room and lowered himself onto the other end of the couch.
Apparently, he hadn’t fooled Emily for a minute. Frowning, she lifted a cool hand to his forehead. “You still have a fever,” she announced. “Not as high as before, though.”
“I sure hope you don’t catch this. If I’d been thinking more clearly yesterday, I would have sent you straight home.”
“You couldn’t have made me leave,” she returned firmly. “You and Clay needed me, Wade. Why didn’t you call me?”
He didn’t figure he really needed to answer that, considering the way they’d last parted. He leaned his aching head back against the couch, cursing himself for getting sick in the first place. This was not the way he wanted to be seen by the woman he loved. Why hadn’t he taken the flu shot when he’d had the chance, instead of blithely assuming he was too tough to succumb to the virus?
“Wade?” Emily wasn’t going to be satisfied with his silence. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I told you I wasn’t looking for someone to take care of me and my son. That isn’t what I want or what I need.”
“I’m aware that you’re perfectly capable of taking care of your family,” Emily answered gently. “Even as sick as you were yesterday, you were taking good care of Clay. I could see that. But everyone needs help sometimes.”
“And when they do, they usually call you. Isn’t that what you’ve said?”
“And, as you pointed out, I’ve responded because I wanted to. I chose to be here with you and Clay this weekend, Wade. This is what I wanted to do. I don’t expect you to apologize.”
“Thanks.”
She looked suddenly sheepish. “Have I really complained so much that you were reluctant to call me?”
“No. But you did mention that you’ve grown tired of taking care of others all the time.”
She laced her fingers in her lap and gazed down at them. After a long, thoughtful moment, she sighed. “You know that my family life wasn’t particularly happy, especially after my brother left town.”
Wade nodded, thinking of all he’d heard about Emily’s family...from her, and from others.
“My father’s illness,” she continued, “was long and horrible. It was as if he died an inch at a time. I couldn’t have dealt with it twenty-four hours a day, so going to work every day was a relief for me. I was very fortunate that Dad’s insurance provided full-time nursing during the days. But it was up to me to take care of him nights and weekends. You were right, of course. It was my choice to keep him at home, rather than putting him into a nursing facility. Dad and I were never close, but he was the only member of my immediate family who didn’t actually abandon me. I owed him for that, if nothing else.”
“You were a good daughter to him, Emily. He was the fortunate one.”
“What really got me through these last few years was the fantasy of getting away. I spent hours studying travel guides, watching videos of places I wanted to visit, daydreaming of how wonderful it would be to be carefree and adventurous.”
“And do you still think that’s what you need to do to be happy? Travel and adventure?” he asked, knowing that he would have no choice but to stand aside and watch her go if she said yes. Hating the very thought of it.
“No,” she whispered, giving him renewed hope.
“You’re having second thoughts?”
She darted a quick glance at him, then looked back down at her hands. “Maybe.”
“Any particular reason?” He almost held his breath as he waited for her answer.
“I think you know why,” she murmured.
“I love you, Emily. I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you. But I don’t want to talk you out of your dreams.”
He had to say it, though what he really wanted to do was to take her in his arms and convince her once and for all that she never wanted to leave him.
“If you want to travel, I would love to travel with you. We’ll spend our vacations exploring together. But if you need to go without me—if you need to travel and be alone for a while to think about what you want—I’ll wait. And if you decide that I’m not what you want, what you need—well, I’ll survive.”
Somehow.
She searched his face with anxious eyes. “Wade, are you really sure? I mean, you really haven’t known me very long, and I haven’t been at my best most of the time...how can you know?”
Her suddenly urgent tone took him aback for a moment. He frowned, tilting his head to look at her more closely. “Are you asking if I’m sure that I love you?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip until he was concerned she was going to make it bleed.
He laid his hand over hers, feeling the tension in her tightly locked fingers. “I thought I’d already made myself clear on
this. I love you. I have from the start, I think. It has nothing to do with what you can do for me, and everything to do with who you are.”
He was suddenly struck by a realization that made him feel like smacking his forehead and saying, “Aha!” A significant piece of the puzzle that was Emily had just fallen into place in his mind.
“It’s very hard for you to believe that someone could love you just for yourself, isn’t it, sweetheart?” he asked gently, holding her hands in both of his. “Everyone you loved left you...your father emotionally, the others physically. And maybe their defection made you wonder if there was something lacking in you. Something you had to make up for by being more perfect, more helpful, more accommodating than anyone else.”
She frowned. “Since when are you a psychoanalyst?”
“No, I’m not a psychoanalyst. Just a man in love with a woman he wants very badly to understand.”
“And you think you understand me now?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
She looked at him for a long time, her eyes shuttered. And then she smiled wryly. “Maybe.”
“I don’t want you to ever doubt that you’re worthy of love, Emily. Your family had problems, but they had nothing to do with you. Nothing you did sent them away. They left because they needed to, for reasons of their own. And if you leave...then it should be because you want to, not because you’re afraid to stay.”
This time she didn’t say anything as she continued to look at him.
Wade drew a deep breath, then took the final gamble. “I want you to be happy. I’d like to spend the rest of my life keeping you that way, if you’ll let me. If you want to see the world, I’ll go with you. If you want to see it alone, I’ll wait for you here. I love you. I won’t ever stop loving you.”
Her blue eyes were suddenly so bright, so vivid that it took his breath away. “All my life,” she whispered, “I’ve been working to make people love me. But whatever I did, it never seemed to be enough. You’re the first one to ask what would make me happy.”
“And do you know what that is?” he asked a bit hoarsely.
