After they’d placed their orders, Scott leaned toward her. “Did you enjoy the play?”
“Oh, yes. I’m enjoying the whole evening.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.
“I like being with you. I wish you had said yes when I first asked you out.” He seemed to see only her, his smile was intended for no one else.
The setting reminded her of her daydream at Lauren’s house—candlelight, a table for two, the warm, delicious feeling of being alone in the universe with Scott.
For a moment, he studied his water glass, frowning at some unseen infraction. When he focused on her again, the smoky light of desire had dimmed, replaced with bright interest. “I think what you and Lauren are planning for the fire victims is great.”
“She told you about that?” She cringed inwardly. Although Roger’s knowing was unavoidable, she hadn’t wanted anyone else to find out, not even Scott. “What did she tell you?”
“Just that you’re helping her plan a fundraiser and you two are collecting goods for an auction. How can I help?”
At least Lauren hadn’t told him the whole story. Emily crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward with a smile teasing her lips. “You can donate your services.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s good. I can see the slogan now.” He held his hand up as if picturing a banner on a distant wall. “Help the fire victims! Spay or neuter your pet today!”
Emily laughed. She followed his gesturing hand but snagged sight of a man two tables over.
Paul Goodrich.
She stared at the handsome journalist leaning intimately close to the dark-haired beauty next to him. As the woman slipped a strand of hair behind her ear, her diamond wedding set caught the light in a dazzling show of fire and ice. Her laughter rang across the room, and Goodrich beamed as if proud to have brought it from her lips.
He looked harmless now, not at all like a villain intent on exposing Emily, wrecking her privacy, and possibly setting her up for an assassination attempt by a con artist. He was just another man in love.
The waitress brought their meals, and Emily jerked her attention from her would-be nemesis. At least he wasn’t on the prowl. Tonight, she was safe to enjoy Scott’s company.
But she couldn’t help keeping a wary eye on the other table.
****
Jealousy circled like a vulture in Scott’s mind, but when he caught the look on Emily’s face as she stole glances at the man nearby, he realized her attention was tinged not with interest, but discomfort—or even fear. Again, he battled his desire to yank her history in Houston out of her and settle his curiosity once and for all. But he decided to simply regain her attention instead.
“I’d be glad to fix a pet or two.”
“What? Oh, wow! That’s so generous! Your donations will really help.” Her cheeks flushed cherry red. She cut into her chicken picatta and was apparently content now to keep her mind on this table. “We need so many more. I just hope we can make enough money to benefit all three families.”
“Three? I knew about the Perittes and the Chapmans. Who’s the third?”
“Cal and Markie Wallace. Their house was hit Wednesday morning.”
“Man, that’s rough. I really hope they catch the arsonist.”
“So do I.” Her brow furrowed. “I know the Perittes are staying with Clara, and I found out the Wallaces are with their son and daughter-in-law. I wonder where the Chapmans landed?”
“They don’t have family here. Right now they’re in the motel over by the highway.” He shook his head. “Sad situation. No telling how long they’ll have to stay in the motel before their house is rebuilt. Maybe a friend will take them in or they can rent a place for a while. At least they can get the building supplies at their store.”
Again, Emily’s focus swiveled to the other table. Something about that man—or maybe the woman beside him?—worried her. Scott couldn’t take it any longer. “Is everything all right? Do you know that couple?”
“No. I’ve never met them.” Her hand shook, her fork clattered against her plate. “I was just—I mean—did you see the diamonds in her wedding ring? They’re astounding!”
Diamonds? He didn’t buy it. Something else was going on in her head, but he turned to look just the same and caught sight of the couple rising from the table to leave. Good. With them gone, he could have Emily all to himself again.
****
Full and satisfied from dinner, Scott escorted Emily to the door at The Litter Box. Other than her distraction with the other couple at the restaurant, the evening had been perfect, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to end.
She must’ve felt the same way. Instead of reaching into her purse for her key, she turned and leaned back against the door. “I had a great time. Thanks for everything.”
“I had a great time, too.” He toyed with a silky strand of her hair. “We’re having a picnic at the church tomorrow after service. Want to come?”
Panic rose in her eyes as soon as he got the words out. “Scott—”
“I’m not asking you to come to the service, just the picnic after.” He stopped playing with her hair to trace her jawline with his finger. “I mean, think about it—Mom’s fried chicken and applesauce pound cake. How bad can it be?”
“Well—”
Lowering his head, he brushed his lips lightly against hers. “Say yes.”
“Convince me.” She tilted her head, inviting another kiss.
He lingered this time, tasting her sweetness, pulling her closer. “Say yes.”
“Once more.”
Again, he kissed her and felt her hands slide up his back. He’d waited for this all of his life...and he’d have to wait a bit longer, or his actions would be beyond his control. “Say yes.”
“Yes.” Her voice was breathless, her eyes still closed, her lips slightly parted.
He drew a sharp breath at the invitation offered. If he played his cards right, he’d see this vision every night forever, with her as his wife. But this wasn’t the time. He swept his thumb lightly along her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” she whispered dreamily, and a soft smile rested on her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As she let herself in, he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. She waved her fingers and closed the door. With his heart about to explode, he turned and jogged toward his truck as if by moving faster, he could make tomorrow come sooner.
17
I feel like an undercover agent hiding in the shadows. It’s too early on a Sunday for anyone to be up and about, but I’m not leaving my place among these cedars until I’m sure. Last time I did this, I was sneaking a skateboard into Justin’s backyard. Got right up to the steps before the dog next door started barking his fool head off. Fortunately, there aren’t any dogs near Clara’s place.
She has a single story, low-roofed house in a style popular back in the sixties. It’s still dark inside—well, it’s dark outside, too. The front door has a square-cut window in it. Sometimes the framing board’s loose on windows like that; maybe I can slip the envelope between the wood and the glass. She’d be sure to see it then. But if it won’t fit there, maybe I can jam it between the door and the frame. Maybe I’d have to ring the doorbell to make sure she sees it. Can’t have it just sitting there.
It’s not much, just five hundred. Just enough to help with the added expenses of having two extra mouths to feed, two more showers to drain the water heater—that sort of thing.
One more glance up the street and at the surrounding homes and then I slip out from among the trees and ease up the sidewalk. A garage door opens somewhere behind me, and I skitter behind a blackjack hickory and peek around its broad trunk. Across the street, two doors down, a dad and his son are hitching a boat trailer to a pickup. I can see them pretty good by the glow of the garage light.
They get the boat ready and jump into the cab of the truck. Dad fires up the motor and rolls down the driveway. The ga
rage door lowers, and the headlights of his rig sweep toward me. I duck behind the tree to wait until the fishermen pass and then step from my hiding place. Since I’ve already trampled Clara’s lawn, there’s no point in heading back to the sidewalk. It’s just a few more steps in the grass until I’m on the front walk.
A light flips on in the house.
I rush to the door, jam the envelope in the window framing, and hurry back to the cedars to watch what happens.
Clara steps out and grabs the envelope as if she’d seen me put it there. She looks both ways from her front walk, scratches her sleep-matted hair, and opens the envelope. She gawks at the contents, and I stifle a giggle. I love watching folks open their surprises, but I hope she didn’t see me. Can’t be anonymous if someone knows who you are.
After she goes back inside, I start walking. I have two more stops to make before the sun sets fire to the day. May have to get the car for the trip out to the highway. I’ll never beat the sun if I walk.
****
Finding the Wallaces at their kids’ house took up more time than I’d hoped, so I had no choice but to get the car to run to the motel on the highway. The sun’s up and beaming when I pull into the circle drive in front of the lobby. I grab the last envelope and make sure it’s good and sealed before heading inside. The girl behind the counter—Hayley, according to her name tag, and she can’t possibly be a day over twelve—gives me a bleary-eyed greeting and a tired smile like she’d been up all night. And she probably was. The night shift has gotta be killer on the body, even one that young.
“Are Al and Loraine Chapman here?”
“Yes, they are. I don’t even have to look up their room number anymore. They’ve been getting lots of calls and visitors. They must be popular folks, ya know?” Her lips droop a bit. “’Course, it’s just awful, isn’t it? Their house burning down and all? Did you know about that?”
I nod in the bare breath of space she gives me to respond and start to hand over the envelope for her to leave for them when she kicks her tongue into action again.
“I guess their friends don’t have anywhere to visit ’em but here. And that’s kinda sad, ya know? I mean, there isn’t a lot of space in that motel room. Of course, the Chapmans could go visit folks in their homes, but for some reason everyone seems to come over here.”
“That’s good. I’m glad they’ve had visitors. Could you—”
“Well, I guess folks mainly come over here to take ’em out to eat or bring ’em food or something. Not that I notice. I don’t pry, ya know? I just know things. Just see what’s going on.”
“Of course you do—”
“And that journalist, Paul Goodrich? He came up last night, but they were out. He said he’d catch ’em sometime today.” She leans toward me like she’s sharing a secret. “Isn’t he just the hottest man you’ve ever seen? I know he’s married and all, but...”
Just hearing his name smacks my heart to a dead stop. I admit he’s a looker, but mostly, he’s a threat, and the way this gal’s talkin’ I’ll still be here trying to hand over the envelope when he shows up. Can’t have that!
I reach across the counter and lay a hand on hers. “Excuse me, I just need to leave this for the Chapmans. Can you make sure they get it?”
“Oh, sure. But I bet they’re up. Want me to ring their room and have them come—”
“No, no. Just give it to them when you see them, please?”
I’m heading to the door when she calls out, “Who should I say this is from?”
Those sliding doors couldn’t close behind me fast enough.
****
Emily leaned against her closet door and stared at the array of clothing inside. Soon, Scott would be there to pick her up, and she wasn’t ready. Preparing for her date today wasn’t as simple as it had been last night; dressing up for a play was standard etiquette. But a church picnic, when you hadn’t attended the services, was a bit trickier. Should she dress for church as everyone else had? Or should she dress for a dinner on the grounds? She had twenty minutes to make up her mind and get ready.
She decided on a flowing ankle-length skirt and an ivory poet blouse, which she buttoned in front of the mirror. With her flat sandals, the overall effect was reminiscent of a 1920s America the artist Monet would’ve loved. She shoved her fingers into her scalp and shook her hair until the dark curls cascaded around her face.
Yes, indeed. Monet would’ve been pleased. All she needed was a lacy parasol. She twisted in front of the mirror. Her skirt swirled softly around her legs and sighed, Romance.
She grinned at her reflection. Maybe romance was just what she needed in this new life she was being forced to create. Scott’s kiss last night had certainly reminded her of what she’d been missing. And this time, it felt right, different from how she’d felt with Wade. Or maybe her memory of their relationship was distorted by the results.
But it was different with Scott. She shook her head at their life-long courtship—or lack of one. A second date between them was an incredible forward step in their relationship. And that second date was just moments away.
She slipped her keys and lipstick into a white crocheted bag and headed downstairs to wait. Either he was late, or she’d dressed in record time. She glanced at her watch. He wasn’t late.
Bulldog, a fat tabby, curled around her leg, and she sat on the bottom step to rub his chin. She wasn’t nervous like she had been before their date last night. She was...excited. Why was that? Why had she been so convinced last night that it was too early to date, yet this afternoon she could hardly wait for Scott to ring her doorbell?
A car door slammed outside, and she leapt to see if it was him, catching a glimpse of his pickup through the storefront windows. She opened the door just as the bell chimed.
Scott had loosened his red herringbone tie and unbuttoned the top button of his white broadcloth shirt, giving him a casual Friday-at-five appeal. His hair wisped his brow with flair, and his eyes sparked when he saw her. He looked her over, curled hair to coral toenails, and gave her a roguish movie-star smile.
She relished his appreciation, feeling prettier in her picnic casuals than her evening satin from last night.
“Ready?” He offered his arm.
She nodded and rested her hand on his sleeve.
He opened the truck door for her and slipped his Bible from the passenger seat to the dashboard before helping her in.
The sight of the brown leather book with its gold lettering pricked a hole in the ballooning perfection of the day. The church part of church picnic hit her like a judge’s gavel, and she found herself wishing for a dowdy sweater to take cover in. Although she wouldn’t technically be going to church, the reality of being in the presence of so many of her old friends made her nerves shudder. What if someone knew about her past in Houston? She couldn’t risk Scott finding out.
“You all right?” Scott waited to close her door.
The hem of her skirt dangled outside the truck. She slipped it in and gave him a nervous smile. “Yeah. Sure. I was just thinking...” There had to be a way to avoid this—or maybe postpone it until she could regain her wits. “Shouldn’t I make a casserole or something? I mean, I really hate to go empty-handed. Maybe I should make something?”
He laughed and shut her in. Like a warden slamming the cell door. Through the open window, he said, “Don’t worry. Between my mom and Lauren alone, there will be enough food to go around.”
As he rounded to the driver’s side, she felt her muscles relax at the reminder that Lauren and her family would be there. The church wasn’t exactly an enemy camp, but it still felt nice to have an ally.
****
Located two miles outside of town, the double-spired, white frame church looked just as Emily remembered, but the elms sheltering it seemed shorter than when she’d climbed them as a child.
The surrounding lawn hosted a game of tag, and young kids dressed in the bright yellows and blues of summer chased each other among the w
eeds.
Scott parked on the grass behind the church and peered through the windshield at the picnic tables. To the right of the tables, Lauren raised to her knees on her spread blanket and waved like a soccer fan.
“There they are.” Emily pointed and then laughed at Lauren’s gestures. “I think that means we’re supposed to get our plates before we join them.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Scott yanked off his tie and draped it around the rearview mirror before getting out of the truck.
Emily cast a glance at all the other faces looking their way and drew a sharp breath. She lowered the visor, as much to hide as to check in the mirror, and gave herself a placid smile—the smile she should’ve practiced before returning to the church home of her childhood. Maybe only a few of the members would remember her. Anonymity. She craved it. As long as no one knew her, she wouldn’t have to answer questions. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Please, God. Strike them all with memory loss.
Scott helped her from the truck and escorted her between the cars parked on the turf. As they crossed toward the buffet tables, he rubbed her hand, and she realized she’d been clenching his arm like a drenched rat on a river raft.
He lowered his lips to her ear. “Relax, would you? With all this food out here, no one’s going to bite you.”
“I know. You’re right.” She pressed a hand against her stomach.
He drew her to a stop in front of him. “But you’re still nervous.”
Tucking her lower lip between her teeth, she nodded.
“There aren’t that many people here you don’t know. It’s not like I’m dragging you into a ring of strangers.”
“I know. That’s just it.” She peeked at the picnickers from the corner of her eye. “Running into folks I know one or two at a time is one thing. But everyone, all at once? I’m not sure I’m ready.”
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