“Give it to me in numbers. How long do you intend to be there?”
“I don’t think I can give you a number, Robert. I’ve been thinking probably mid next week.”
Adler spoke in a voice low in volume, high in compressed tension. “Wednesday is ten days, Emma. I’ll tell Tenet you were called out of town on a family emergency but will absolutely be back in Boston on Wednesday morning. You can do that, right?”
The yellow lights of the Madison farmhouse appeared from out of the darkness, welcoming Emma. She slowed the truck.
“Robert, I’m trying to find the balance between two of the most important things in my life. Please don’t ask me to rubber-stamp an expiration date on this trip.”
“You don’t expect business to just stop until you get back, do you? When my son died, I took two days off. One to plan the funeral, and one to attend. Then I was back to work. In fact, I think I worked part of that second day.”
Emma pulled Old Red into the drive, put the truck in park, and shut off the lights.
“I’ve given nine years to the firm, Robert. You know how important it is to me. I’ve rarely taken a vacation. There’s never a good time to take a break, but this break picked me.”
“Don’t think for a minute that I’m not supportive of you and your personal life, Emma, but this race we’re in is like a marathon. You’ve been running it for nine years, and I’ve been running it for over forty. It’s times like these we learn our greatest lessons. I’m trying to coach you to stay focused and keep running because you have no idea how much personal success is waiting for you just around the corner.”
Emma heard something peculiar in the sound of Robert’s voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Opportunities. You’ve got a bright future, Emma. There are opportunities out there that haven’t even crossed your mind yet.”
“What are you saying?”
Adler paused.
“Let’s focus on one fire at a time. For now, I’m going to plan on your being here in the office on Wednesday morning. You let me know Monday if you see a problem with that. Take this weekend to think things over and finish up what you’ve got to do.”
The phone clicked off. Emma sat in the darkened truck trying to figure out why she chose to stay when Robert had just handed her the perfect excuse to leave. In the half-moonlight she could see Michael’s truck still parked in the drive. She closed her eyes. She’d never said no to Robert, and the act left her with the bitter aftertaste of betrayal. Her instincts as a lawyer and law partner confirmed the importance of a client like Northeast Federal. Robert was right—the timing was critical. Despite her emotions, Emma trusted his judgment. The only solution that made any sense was to take these extra days, finish up everything in Juneberry, and get back to Boston as quickly as possible.
Emma opened her eyes and was startled by the shadowy figure of a man standing outside the driver’s-side door.
“Oh!” she shrieked.
“You all right in there?” Michael said. Emma opened the door and climbed out. “You look a little frayed at the edges.”
“You scared me.”
She put her arms around him and Michael did the same, wrapping her in the arms of friendly support.
“Sorry, just a rough phone call from work. I guess with all the travel, Dad’s heart attack, and everything, I’m just a little wiped out.”
“Everyone has their breaking point,” he told her.
The night air felt cool, and Emma could smell burning leaves far off in the distance.
“I think I’ve met mine.”
Michael continued holding her and Emma felt something she hadn’t known in a very, long time: safe.
“Why don’t you come inside and see what we’ve been doing?” He stepped back and turned Emma around, walking her up the steps and into the warm house. “It will either cheer you up or really knock you over the edge.”
Inside, the Madison house was a total disaster. Every downstairs light was on, making the mess all the more impossible to ignore. A plastic tarp held in place by five-gallon containers ran the length of the hallway. One container held a sledgehammer. Another pail had been loaded with assorted power hand tools. Drywall dust had escaped the downstairs bedroom, and despite the tarp, the thinnest layer of powder the color of ash dusted the floor and furniture in the den.
“Oh my,” Emma said.
Inside the space formerly dubbed the guest bedroom, it looked like a bomb had exploded. The matted navy blue carpet had been completely torn out. The entire wall that once had stood between the small bedroom and the pantry behind it had vanished, leaving behind only a rough, exposed surface where a wall used to be. Wires dangled, and the cool outdoor air drifted in through a hole where there used to be a window. A double-thick sheet of construction plastic hung partially attached to the frame. The floor waved with an uneven ocean of plastic and cotton drop cloths, and everywhere eyes looked or noses sniffed, a thin layer of demolition dust settled.
“Where’s the rest of the wall?” Emma asked.
“We tossed it outside,” Will said, pointing to the hole where the window used to be. He seemed rather pleased at the ingeniousness of its disposal.
“This is the worst of it, right?” Emma asked them both. “I mean, it starts looking better after this, right?”
“Right. We’ll put it all back together soon enough.”
“This room is a total mess,” Emma laughed. “But at least it’s under way.
“I think I’m going to take a picture of this,” Will said. “Before and after, er, during and after.”
He stepped out of the demolition site through the door in the hallway, the plastic rustling as he crept over it.
Michael turned to Emma.
“Still stressed?” he asked.
She rolled her head, stretching the aching muscles in her neck.
“A little. I’ll bounce back.”
“Maybe dinner would help you get your bounce back.”
“Just what are you suggesting?” Emma smiled.
“Nothing, no big deal. Just thought you could use a night off. By the looks of it, you haven’t started the natural unwinding process that is supposed to take place in a small town.”
Before Emma could respond, Will reentered with a digital camera and took a snapshot of the room. He clicked the picture, and although the room was bright, the flash went off.
“I can’t get over how different this room looks with that wall out of the way,” Will said, keeping his eye to the camera. Another flash. Will stepped inside. Another flash strobed behind them, like a bolt of light at a fireworks show.
“It’s funny how one small change can make such a huge difference,” he said, shifting to where Michael and Emma stood in the west corner of the room. “Hey, you two stand together and let me get a picture of you.”
Emma and Michael turned around to face Will.
“That’s good. Move a little closer so I can get you both in the shot,” Will instructed. The slightest hint of reluctance held them in place for a moment. Then Michael and Emma scooted toward each other, keeping their eyes focused on Will and his camera.
“3-2-1 …”
The camera flashed. A memory flashed in Emma’s mind of another time they’d posed for a picture together—at the dance during Michael’s last year of high school. Even with Christina there that warm May evening, Emma felt geeky and awkward. There she was, a sophomore, hoping someone she liked would ask her to dance. Then Michael spoke to her in the dark cafeteria, the only light coming from the bright soda vending machines lining the wall. He was a senior who “ruled the school” that year. They slow danced together in the middle of the room. After it was over, an overzealous student photographer from the yearbook committee asked them to pose for a picture. Embarrass
ed and not knowing what to do, they’d both made silly faces, Michael’s idea, and turned the whole thing into a joke. The photo never made it into the yearbook.
“Dad, Michael’s asked me to have dinner with him tonight,” Emma said, making the statement sound matter-of-fact. “Would you be okay if I made you something to eat and went out for a while?”
“Emma, you don’t have to make my dinner,” Will said, lowering the camera. “I’m going to get something light and turn in early.”
“You’ll be okay if I go out then?”
“With Michael? Go, have fun.”
Will left the room.
“I’ll need a shower first,” Emma said. “What time are you thinking?”
“How about seven thirty?”
“Perfect.”
“We’ll have dinner in Juneberry at 310 Wilshire.”
“What restaurant is that?”
“Michael’s Grill,” he said. “It’s a quaint, exclusive, table-for-one kind of a place, but I can find another chair. I think you’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
They walked together out of the room and down the hallway. Michael reached for the doorknob, then turned to see Emma at the foot of the stairs and Will stepping out of the kitchen.
“I’ll be back tomorrow—weather permitting—and we’ll start putting this house back together,” he said. “Emma, see you ’bout seven thirty?”
“I’ll be there,” she said, and disappeared up the staircase.
~ Ten ~
Love, look what you’ve done to me
Never thought I’d fall again so easily.
—BOZ SCAGGS
“Look What You’ve Done to Me”
Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman over to his house. The white cottage at 310 Wilshire, the first house on the corner, welcomed visitors to the neighborhood with a beautifully landscaped lawn, and a large, friendly maple tree. A white plank rancher’s fence marked where the yard met the blacktop driveway.
Bo Wilson often pulled his truck into that drive on those mornings when they’d decided to commute to a work site together. Michael’s brother, James, was no stranger on summer days when the Atlanta Braves played baseball. They hung out on the deck out back, watching the game, distracted only by an occasional cardinal cooling itself in the birdbath.
But a woman in the house? That was a rarity. Michael had imagined Emma in the house before. He’d pictured her in every room. He could see her standing at the kitchen sink in summer, rinsing fresh strawberries, while sunlight streamed through the window. He’d thought of her lounging in the den in the comfy tan chair by the bay window. He’d wonder if Emma would enjoy the back gardens, or listening to the sound of flowing water from the small fountain. Sometimes he could even see her climbing the stairs at night, tired from the labors of a long day, just before she disappeared into the recesses of his mind.
“Hi,” Emma said, standing on the front porch. She looked beautiful in a silvery V-necked sweater, and a brown leather jacket that somehow made blue jeans look elegant against the backdrop of the porch-light-tinted yard.
“Come on in,” Michael said.
The town knew Michael as a lifelong resident, the carpenter with the smart sense of humor and a talent for building. Friends recognized his cultured side, his love of baseball, grilling steaks on the barbecue, and long days boating on the quiet lake. Few knew him as the man who had fallen deeply in love one perfect summer night. Someone had opened his chest while he slept and stitched love inside his heart. It had hurt like a saw cut when she’d told him she was going back to Boston.
He knew then he couldn’t keep her. There was no sense in trying to tether her to Juneberry. He could see Emma longed to fly free or escape.
A month after Emma moved, he and James made a road trip to Beantown to catch a Red Sox game, barely surviving Boston’s insane traffic. They had great seats behind first base, but Michael spent the day distracted, knowing Emma was somewhere just on the other side of the Charles River. What started out as a fun road trip, with a half-baked plan of running into Emma, turned out to be nothing short of slow torture. Michael drove back without seeing her, even after multiple promptings from his brother.
But that was long ago.
Now Emma Madison stood in the center of his living room admiring three ears of Indian corn placed on the mantle above the fireplace.
“I love your house, Michael, and these recessed bookshelves. Did you build them?” Emma asked.
“Yeah, back when I first bought the place. That’s the only major change I made, other than some landscaping in the backyard.”
Emma slipped off her jacket, and Michael hung it on a peg in the entryway.
“I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving,” she laughed, following him into the kitchen. One lamp was lit in the dining room. Recessed lights hidden underneath the kitchen cabinets brightened the rest of the space.
“Thank you for inviting me over,” Emma said. “I needed this.”
She pulled out a bar stool and sat at the kitchen island. Michael poured her a glass of sweet tea.
“I’ve got steaks marinating in the fridge, and I’m going to toss them on the grill with some veggies,” Michael said, running over the menu with Emma. “Does that sound all right?”
“Sounds delicious.”
Michael opened the oven door and in a moment Emma could feel its warmth. He reached in, and pulled out a CorningWare dish filled with something wrapped in foil.
“How do you feel about fried shrimp?”
“Michael, you’ve really gone all out.”
“Not really. The shrimp is from Allen’s Place. He’s usually got fresh seafood from the coast, so I asked if he could make these for us.”
He set the shrimp on the island in a serving dish, and brought out a small bowl of cocktail sauce from the refrigerator.
“Go ahead, dig in. I’m just going to put the steaks on.”
Michael pulled the glass pan with the steaks from the fridge and carried them through the sliding door to the grill on the back deck.
“How do you like your steak?” he called back through the partially open door.
“Medium well,” Emma replied. She got up from the island with her drink and followed Michael outdoors. The night air was cold, and Emma rubbed her arm with her one open hand.
“Brrr, it’s getting cold out here.”
“Not if you stand next to the grill. Here, come closer.”
She walked down the step toward the grill, its fire heating the cozy patio. Michael transferred the first of two steaks from the glass dish to the surface of the hot grill with a set of chef’s tongs. It sizzled.
“You’ve become a gourmet, Michael.”
“I got tired of eating fast food a long time ago,” he said. “That stuff will kill ya.”
“Didn’t you ever consider just finding a girlfriend to cook for you?”
“There have been a few,” Michael said, setting the second steak on the grill. The patio awning above them was lined with festive, oversized green and red Christmas lights, and they added a soft, warm glow to the surrounding trees.
“I feel like I should be doing something,” she said.
“I think you’re missing the point of this evening. You’re not suppose to be doing anything,” he told her. “Where’s that shrimp?”
“Oh, still inside.”
Emma headed back into to the kitchen island and returned with the shrimp and sauce. She set the serving dish on the patio deck table and took a seat, the metal chair scraping the cement as she slid it forward.
“Mmm, I love the smell of steaks grilling.”
Michael smiled, happy that she was happy. Emma peered around the edge of the patio a
wning, craning her neck to look up at the stars.
“It’s a clear night after all that rain. I can see a few stars up there.”
Michael walked to where Emma sat, placing his hands on the back of her chair. He peered up at the autumn sky with her. Bright evening stars framed by patches of dim, shadowy clouds were shining like a child’s drawing, pinpoints of brilliant white against a backdrop of construction-paper black. Wind chimes rustled from a neighbor’s yard.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, dropping his hands from her chair and returning to the grill. A spatter of grease fell into the open fire and hissed the flame higher. Michael set foil-wrapped vegetables on the grill.
“You really seem to have it all together, Michael. How is it no one’s ever come along to sweep you off your feet?”
“How do you know no one hasn’t?” he said, seasoning the meat with a shaker.
Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t the Bible say it’s not good for a man to be alone?”
“I don’t feel alone, Emma,” Michael said, turning off the grill and moving the steaks onto a new plate.
“Thanks again for …”
“Hey, enough thanks already! You’re wearing me out. Tonight’s your night for getting a break. From what you’ve told me about your life in Boston, you don’t get much of a chance to unwind up there.”
“No, I don’t,” she said.
The night blew a gust of cold air through Michael’s yard.
“Let’s get inside.”
They went back inside and shut the cold night air behind them.
Emma pointed to a candle that was sitting on the counter. “Michael, would you like me to light this candle with our dinner?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
“I love this room,” she said, when the candle’s flame rose to its fullness. Michael’s kitchen took on a flickering glow.
“We can eat in here, if you want,” he said. “We don’t have to sit in the dining room.”
“Now that would be relaxing,” she said.
A Beautiful Fall Page 10
