by Joan Kilby
There were quite a few snapshots of him and Emma, of them with Holly, of Emma and Alana on a sailing dinghy, their hair blowing back from laughing flushed faces. The bay waters in the background reminded him of the cruise. It hadn’t turned out anything like he’d hoped. Instead of finding a new woman who would take his mind off Emma, he’d entwined his life inextricably with hers forever through Billy. A year ago he would have kicked himself for being so dumb. Now he thanked God for his good luck. When he thought of how close he’d come to not having this child...
“You’re not throwing these out, are you?” Emma pulled the framed photos of 1950s and 1960s Summerside out of the box.
“I was going to take them to the secondhand shop.”
“If they were reframed and hung on the newly painted walls they would look fantastic. The pub has a lot of character. I don’t think you should mess with it too much. Just streamline it a bit, make it less cluttered, with new furniture in an old-fashioned style.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” It was, although he hadn’t known it until she’d articulated it.
“You should paint upstairs while you’re at it,” Emma went on. “Even renovate the kitchen, make it bigger. With a decent cooking space you might even learn to cook.”
“You were going to teach me how to make your chicken curry. Guess it’s too late now.”
“I’ll invite you over next time I make it.”
“Okay.” He tossed a broken frame into the discard box. “Actually I was thinking of buying another house. Someplace with a yard.”
“Another house?” she repeated, looking a bit shocked.
“Did you think I was going to live above the pub forever? It was only a stopgap.” He had the craziest urge to ask her again to marry him. But he tamped that down. Why subject himself to another rejection?
“I—I didn’t think about it at all. It’s nothing to me.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
She straightened. “What do you mean?”
He walked over to her and tweaked a lock of her hair. Somehow they’d gone from being intimate to standoffish, and he didn’t know how to get back to closeness. So he resorted to teasing.
“You’re jealous,” he said, and her eyes widened. “You’d love to have a garden again. To grow your plants and to let Billy play outside in the grass.”
“You’re wrong. I’m over gardening. An apartment is so much less work.” She turned away and started pulling down the horse brasses a friend of his father’s had brought back from England once upon a time. “If you had a yard, a fenced backyard, somewhere safe, it would be good for Billy...when he visits you.”
She was over gardening. Just like he was over football because of the association with that awful spring day nearly three years ago. Their biggest interests—besides Latin dancing—had been destroyed, along with Holly. It was wrong. He was tired of living in limbo.
He crossed the faded crimson carpet to the corkboard to pick out his favorite photo of Holly, one of him holding her as a baby. With a fingertip he traced the outline of his daughter’s tiny face. So small. He closed his eyes and was enveloped by the memory of her soft, soft skin and her sweet baby smell. He could hear her giggle, and the way she called, “Daddy!” when he came through the door at night.
Too many times he’d given her horsey rides and piggybacks then handed her off to Emma for the bath or the feeding. Emma should have let him do more. He should have insisted. Until Billy, he hadn’t realized how much bonding came from mundane acts of physical caring.
Billy was the one who mattered now. Yet to pretend Holly had never existed in the hopes that he could forget the grief and pain clearly wasn’t working and it dishonored her memory.
He carried the baby photo of Holly over to Emma. “Don’t you think Holly and Billy look a lot alike, even though she had your coloring?”
Emma stiffened. She glanced at the photo, looked at him, and then slowly reached out to take it. Her fingers trembled as she held it.
Darcy slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her in close. “Just a little, about the eyes?” He heard her breathe. Then she sniffed. He tightened his hold.
“Sh-she was so beautiful.”
“She was an angel.”
“Oh, Darcy.” Emma turned her face into his chest with a sob. “I miss her so much.”
“I do, too.” His other arm wrapped Emma and drew her in to hold her tightly. His tears spilled into her hair as she wept in his arms.
Grieving together was so simple, so basic and necessary to the healing process, yet they’d never done it. It was his fault. Guilt and recriminations had gotten in the way. And he’d never been brave enough to face the pain.
“I wish I’d been able to talk about her,” he murmured into Emma’s hair. “I’m sorry.”
She drew in a ragged breath. “I know it hurts.”
He went on holding her for a long time after both their tears had dried. His chest ached with the sadness, with Emma’s pain, with the loss of his daughter. But he felt more at peace, as if he’d moved out of that limbo state and could look forward and back instead of peering blindly through the fog.
“Come over here and sit down.” He pulled Emma to a table and brought over the stack of photos of Holly. “Let’s look at these together. It might be less painful.”
Emma nodded tearfully. She took the top photo. “I remember this day. It was really hot and her ice cream melted before she could eat it.”
“She was so funny, trying to lick it off her elbow.”
“The neighbor’s dog got most of the ice cream, as I recall.” She gave him a ghost of a smile. Then picked up another photo. “She was so cute in this little dress I made for her. The pattern could expand to two sizes up. I was going to make her another and another as she grew.” She went quiet.
Darcy put his hand over hers. “We had her for eighteen months. We need to be grateful for that and not think about what might have been.”
“It’s so hard,” she whispered.
“I know. It’s hard for me, too, especially thinking I should have spent more time with her, done more with her, the way I’ve started doing with Billy.”
Emma’s face suddenly crumpled. “It’s my fault.”
“Mine, too. I was intimidated by your knowledge. It was easy to let you take over.”
“No, I mean, it was my fault she died.” Emma looked at him, her face wet. “All this time I’ve blamed you for not going on the picnic because I couldn’t bear to admit that I should have stopped him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Darcy said. “You’re not making sense.”
“Kyle. I knew he was drunk. I saw him stagger when he came out of the house. And when he spoke he slurred his words. I tried to get his keys off him but—”
“Go on.”
“He was hitting on me—”
“What?”
“He was always hitting on me. Usually I ignored him, but that day he was leering down my blouse, touching me, making suggestive remarks about how he could come over at night while you were at the pub.”
Darcy swore. “I can’t believe this! Why didn’t you tell me? If I’d known, I would have decked him. He wouldn’t have been able to walk, let alone drive. Why didn’t you come inside and get me?”
“I should have. He wouldn’t hand over the keys, and he was too big for me to take them off him. I should have gone straight into the house and got you. But I knew that as soon as I went in he would have driven off so what was the point? I just wanted him out of my yard and away from the house.”
“Oh, Emma.” Darcy got a sick feeling in his stomach. “It wasn’t your fault. The guy is a prize jerk. And I’m at fault, too. I should have been a more responsible host and kept a closer eye on how much people were drinking.”
“It’s not very realistic, though, is it? People should be responsible for their own behavior. Footy parties are notorious for drinking games and overindulgence....
”
She was letting him off too lightly. “Emma—”
“Wait, I’m not finished. I want to say this, get it all out.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was so angry and upset, so focused on Kyle that I wasn’t paying attention to Holly. I went back to gardening. I wanted to get my pansies in. I always plant pansies on footy grand final weekend. And tomatoes on Melbourne Cup Day, the first weekend in November. Holly wanted me to throw the ball to her. I told her to wait. She threw it anyway. It bounced off a tree trunk and rolled onto the driveway. Holly ran after it as Kyle backed up.”
She started to cry again. “I let Kyle get in his vehicle and drive knowing how drunk he was—”
“It’s not your fault.” Darcy pulled her back into his arms. “You just said you tried to get the keys, but he wouldn’t give them to you.”
“I should have been watching Holly. If I’d played with her instead of being so bloody-minded about sticking to my gardening schedule...” She gulped a sob. “If you were out there, you would have been playing with her and the accident never would have happened.”
“But I wasn’t outside with her, was I?” Darcy said bitterly. “I was inside, drinking with my mates. That’s what I feel so bad about, what I could never talk about. I was drunk, too. Too drunk to realize Kyle shouldn’t have been driving. And because of that, our daughter is dead.” He stroked Emma’s trembling back. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.” She hugged him fiercely then eased away and gazed at him with a tearstained face. “We’ve both been beating ourselves up for not being responsible enough, playing the if only game. We’ve got to stop or we’ll never be able to move forward. It was an accident. A horrible, pointless, tragic accident. But an accident, nevertheless.”
“You’re right.” He pushed her hair off her face, his palm sliding against the tears he wanted to kiss away. Something held him back. He was looking to her for answers, but in her eyes he saw his own doubt, uncertainty and fear reflected. They’d hurt each other so badly. “We’ve finally got everything out in the open. The question is, where do we go from here?”
Emma bit her lip and looked at him sadly. “Maybe now we can move on with our lives. Separately.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EMMA AWOKE TO the sound of the birds at dawn. Darcy’s arm was draped across her ribs, and his hand cupped her breast in sleep. She lay still, savoring the hush of early morning in the apartment, the quiet rhythm of Darcy’s breathing.
She turned in his arms and watched him sleeping. With one delicate finger she pushed back a lock of dark hair. How on earth was she going to leave him? Last night their lovemaking had been silent and tender and sweet, as if they were saying goodbye with their bodies.
Every cell in her screamed to stay, to take his offer to try again. Probably they could make it work as a platonic, friends-with-benefits relationship with the added bonus of sharing a love of their son. But having known passion with him during marriage, she wasn’t content to build another union on such a lukewarm foundation, with all the attendant uncertainty surrounding their feelings for each other. In some ways, negative emotions had bound them together as much as they’d torn them apart. If they ever were to start fresh, they needed to start on a positive note.
It was time to start afresh. To see what kind of woman she was without the crippling burden of grief and guilt she’d carried with her for so long.
Quietly she slipped out of bed, pulled on a dressing gown and went into Billy’s room. He was lying on his back, eyes wide-open, gazing up at the mobile of colorful parrots.
“Hey, Billy,” she said softly.
He smiled and wriggled his body, looking as delighted to see her as she was to see him. Emma picked him up and cuddled him, loving his warm wriggly body and his soft baby scent. “Come on. It’s time we went home.”
Two hours later she was packed and ready to go. She went to tell Darcy, who’d just woken up.
“It’s early.” Darcy dragged on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Stay and have breakfast.”
“Thanks, but no.” Her suitcases were piled in the hallway. The cot was broken down and Billy’s high chair and other paraphernalia lined up next to it. Now that she was ready she wanted to get going before she lost her resolve and agreed to stay longer. Or forever.
But ever since her confession, while Darcy had been sympathetic and comforting, he hadn’t asked her to stay. She’d blamed him for Holly’s death all this time as a way of covering her own guilt. Why would he want to be with her now that he knew the truth about her?
“I’ll be in touch about setting up regular times for me to see Billy,” Darcy said.
There it was, confirmation, if she needed it, that he’d changed his mind about trying again. Last night’s lovemaking was for old time’s sake, a punctuation mark at the end of a long and sometimes tortuous story.
“I’ll email you my work and university schedule. We’ll sort something out.” At least her son would have a father, even if he didn’t have the traditional two-parent family. She would have to be content with that.
Darcy surveyed the luggage and furniture. “Gary’s coming this morning. I’ll bring your stuff around in the truck later.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Oh, God, this was hard. They were so stiff and formal with each other. “Good luck with the renovations. If there’s anything else I can do to help, just ask.”
“You’ve got your plate full, too. But thanks for choosing the paint and fabrics.” His gaze fell on Billy in her arms and pain and love washed across his face. “Can I hold him one more time before you go?”
“Of course.” It almost broke her heart to see Billy snuggle into Darcy’s shoulder and the tender, gentle way Darcy stroked his son’s head and whispered secrets in his ear. She stood close, wishing she could enclose the three of them in a group hug. But that seemed going too far.
All the way down the stairs and out through the back of the pub she chatted about the lovely weather and Darcy’s father in the hospital and her parents in Broome and Alana’s job and...and...
By the time they reached her vehicle she’d run out of words to hold her there. She unlocked the door and Darcy put Billy in his car seat. He made sure the straps were snug and the catch securely fastened. “See you soon, mate.”
When he straightened, his eyes were glistening. “Keep in touch.”
“I will.”
He held out his arms to her, so obviously trying to avoid being emotional that he did it almost jokingly. With a nervous laugh she went into his embrace. She aimed for his cheek. He aimed for her mouth. They bumped faces, laughed and tried again. A quick kiss on the mouth, a burning meeting of the eyes. Then Darcy quickly turned and walked into the pub.
Emma blinked a few times and got into her car and drove away. It really was that easy. Not.
* * *
THE APARTMENT WAS too quiet with Emma and Billy gone. Darcy roamed the rooms, crowded with furniture, and felt the emptiness seep into his bones.
This was nuts. They’d been with him for less than two weeks. Now he had his life and his space back, he could get on with renovating the pub. At least if he kept busy, he wouldn’t notice their absence as much.
He heard the buzzer that let him know someone was outside the back door and wanted in. His heart picked up. It was an hour too early to be Gary. Maybe Emma had changed her mind and come back. Darcy pounded down the stairs. Or she’d forgotten something, although the rooms had been bare when he’d looked through them.
He yanked open the door, puffing a little. Alana stood there. “Oh, it’s you. Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. Boy, you really raced down the stairs. Were you expecting a strip-o-gram or something?”
“Huh? What are you talking about? I thought Emma might have forgotten something.”
“Ah,” she said knowingly. “Missing her already, are you?”
Darcy gave her a look but didn’t respond.
“Does that mean she’s al
ready left?” Alana asked. “I came to help her move. I should have called first.”
“You missed her by ten minutes.” He waited for her to make her excuses and leave. “If you hurry, you can probably help her carry her suitcases up.”
She turned to go then paused. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Do you want to come in for coffee?”
“No, thanks—this will be quick. I just wondered if you really do like being a father again. Because you were so certain before that you didn’t. Now Emma says you’re some kind of superdad. Are you being genuine or just making the best of a bad deal?”
“Did she tell you to ask me this?” Darcy said, mystified. He didn’t think he could have been clearer to Emma that he truly wanted to be a father to Billy.
“No, I’m asking for myself. I’m curious.”
“Because...?”
“Dave and I are talking about, well, about a lot of stuff, but mainly about having another child. I’m considering it, but I’m not sure. What if I do agree and have a baby and then regret it?”
“I couldn’t speak for you. And you won’t know for certain how you’ll feel until it happens. All I can say is that when I looked into Billy’s face I fell in love with him instantly.”
Alana chewed on her bottom lip. “Instantly, really?”
“I would never have predicted that would happen. Mind you, it must be different for everyone. There’s no right or wrong.”
“Do you really think so? I’ve been feeling guilty about not wanting a baby.”
“Don’t. You can’t help what you feel. What you need to figure out is how much of your not wanting a baby is due to being pressured by Dave.”
“Exactly!” Excited, she stabbed a finger at him. “He doesn’t get that. I don’t think even Emma does.”
