"Thanks."
She tried pulling Levi's trick of staring and waiting.
It worked.
"Look," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I may have overreacted a little the other day. I was under a lot of stress."
"Mmm."
"Sorry."
She lifted an eyebrow.
Jack sighed, that "women are so difficult" sigh. Hell yeah, they were.
"Is that it?" she asked.
"Should there be more?"
"Nope. Have a good night." She opened the door again.
"Emmaline, wait. Can I come in and actually sit down? Have a conversation with you?"
"I don't think so, Jack."
"Why?"
Because you called me a bully when I was only trying to help you and that idiot you married. Because you made me feel stupid and mean and unimportant. Because having you chew me out in front of my coworkers made me feel like I was in middle school again. Because you brought my stutter back. That's why.
"Here's the thing," she began.
"I hate when women lead with that."
"Suck it up. Here's the thing. Jack." She folded her arms. "I told you this would happen."
"You told me what would happen?"
"This! This messy, upsetting thing between us."
"That's a nice way to describe it."
"Well, you're the one who hasn't spoken to me in four days."
"I've been busy the past four days! By the way, why would you turn off my phone without telling me, huh?"
"Perhaps you remember the reason, Jack? No? The kitchen floor mean anything to you? The bathtub? Nothing's coming back?" Sarge whipped her with Squeaky's leg. "Look. I shouldn't have done that. It was an impulse, and I am sorry about it, and I did apologize."
"Fine. I forgive you," he said.
"Gosh, how great. But the thing is, Jack," she said, her voice getting tighter, because of course he was a man and would try to hang this on details when the big picture was staring him right in the face.
"What is the thing, Emmaline?"
"The thing is that at first this was a fake relationship. Then you needed a distraction. Then you wanted fun. Then I fell in love with you."
Well, shit on a steak sandwich. She hadn't meant to say that.
Jack's mouth opened. Nana's grandfather clock ticked from the living room. Sarge growled and bit Squeaky on the head, getting a soft hiccupping sound.
Otherwise, nada. "Right," she said. "Moving along." She looked at the wallpaper pattern, the little white cherry blossoms against the brown backdrop, and tried not to cry.
"Emmaline--"
She'd give him this chance. This one microscopic chance to say he loved her, too.
He looked at the floor. "You don't mean that."
"Oh, shut up! Of course I do. You're Jack Holland. Everyone loves you." Tears stung her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid Emmaline. "And you're never going to feel that way for me, and you want to know why?"
"I sense a trap."
Now was not the time for jokes. "Because I'm never going to be that woman who needs saving. If I twist my ankle, I can tape it up all by myself. If my ancient pet dies, I won't wrap myself around you like a python." She glanced apologetically at Sarge. "Even though I'd be very sad, puppy."
"I don't--"
"And if I cheat on you and my lover dies, I won't need you to hold my hand in the hospital."
His head jerked back. "How did you hear about that?"
"Everyone's heard about that."
He didn't answer.
"So," she said, her face hot, "I guess I'm not your type. You get off on being a white knight, and I don't need one. Not everyone has to be in a relationship to feel good about themselves. Some people are better off on their own."
"Wow. Glad you figured that out."
"But Hadley will always need you. She's the damsel in distress, and you're her hero, and part of you gets off on that. And guess what? I hate that you've put me in this position. I told you we shouldn't have started this. I've already competed for a man's love, and I lost. I'm not doing it again."
"I don't want Hadley," he snapped.
"Then why is she still in town?"
He didn't answer.
"Because she'll always have some kind of crisis, and you can always rescue her and be the big hero."
"Stop saying that word!" he barked, and Em actually jumped, she was so surprised. "You think I'm a hero? Josh Deiner is dying a little more each day, literally rotting away on life support, because I'm not a hero. Because my best wasn't good enough. Because when the time came, I failed. You think Hadley on a bender makes up for that? Are you out of your mind?"
Sarge barked, thinking this was terribly exciting, and dropped Squeaky Chicken on Jack's shoe. Jack looked down.
"You know what?" he said, his voice quiet now. "This is fine. You're right. We should be done. I wasn't really looking for a relationship and neither were you. You just wanted a date for a wedding, and I pushed it, and I'm sorry, and that's fine. Take care."
He turned around and went into the foyer, just as Angela was coming downstairs, clad in black yoga pants and a yellow T-shirt. "Namaste, asshole," she said, the curse word sounding quite elegant with her accent. "Stop yelling at my sister."
"Yeah." With that, he opened the door and went down the steps.
Em followed him out. "Jack."
He stopped but didn't turn.
"I wish you'd see someone about that PTSD."
He didn't acknowledge her, just started walking down the street to his truck.
From the soot-colored sky, snowflakes, swollen and tired, began to fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EM WENT BACK inside and sat on the couch, not chastising Sarge as he jumped up next to her and rolled on his belly for a scratch.
"First things first," Angela said. "I'm calling the Chicken King--they deliver, did you know that?--and making martinis, and then we're going to talk."
Then she put a box of tissues next to Emmaline. "There. Just in case you feel like having a little cry."
"Oh, I'm not the type," Emmaline said, then promptly burst into tears. Yuck. She hated crying; it was so hot and embarrassing and uncontrollable, and yet here she was, sobbing on her sister's shoulder while Sarge licked her tears.
A half hour later, the fattening and delicious chicken had been delivered and Angela was making a second batch of martinis and Emmaline was surrounded by tissues and a solemn-looking puppy. Sarge's left ear was turned inside out, and she fixed it, getting a hand lick in return. Dogs were the best.
Sisters, too.
Angela came back, pressed a cold martini glass into Emmaline's hand, then folded her supermodel frame into Nana's rose-patterned chair. "I think you're right about him having a white-knight complex. Men. You should become a lesbian, Em. It's so much easier on this side."
"Said the woman who fled across the country to avoid her ex," Emmaline muttered.
"You have a point." She sipped, looking like Africa's answer to Audrey Hepburn. "I'm going to say this once, darling, and keep in mind that my IQ was measured at 158 when I was fifteen years old."
"Already throwing around your creds."
"If you have them, flaunt them. Have you considered that perhaps--only perhaps--that you might have let this go a bit easily?"
"What do you mean? Explain it for us imbeciles with IQs in the normal range."
"Well, Kevin broke your heart, the horrible man. You've avoided relationships since then."
"Not really. Not on purpose."
"Please. Don't insult my extremely high intelligence. As I was saying, now you've fallen for Jack, and at the first sign of his not being absolutely lovely and perfect, you jettison him from your life to avoid further distress."
"Did I tell you Mom and Dad want to move to Manningsport?"
"Nice try at changing the subject. Does any of what I say ring true?"
"Yeah, yeah." Emmaline blew her nose and had another sl
ug of martini. "The thing is, Ange, I walked right into this. I knew he was kind of messed up, and I knew I'm not really his type, but I fell for him anyway."
"Of course you did. He's wonderful."
Another hot line of tears streaked down her face. "He made me stutter," she whispered. "When he got mad at me the other day, I stuttered in front of everyone."
"And did the world stop spinning? Did you get fired? Did everyone throw trash at you?"
Em rolled her eyes. They may have gotten stuck, but her face was rather numb--Angela made a mean martini--so she wasn't sure. "No, smart-ass." Another sip. "But it's a sign of weakness just the same."
"It's a sign that you care very much about how he feels, especially in regard to you. That's not weakness. That's being human."
Sarge put his cute little nose on her knee. Her baby dog was getting enormous. She gave him a bite of drumstick in exchange for the drool-covered Squeaky Chicken.
"Okay, enough lecturing," Angela announced. "Let's watch Titanic. I have a terrible crush on Kate Winslet."
They put the movie on, and just as Jack first saw Rose on the rich-people deck, Emmaline said, "Angela?"
"Yes, darling?"
"I'm so glad my parents adopted you."
Then it was Angela's turn to cry.
*
THE NEXT MORNING, there was a cheerful note from Angela on the kitchen table saying she'd be at Cornell for two nights to do some intensive research, but if Em needed her to come home, she would come as fast as a bumblebee, or if Em wanted to come to Ithaca, that would be lovely, too.
Angela. She really was flawless. Except she was a horrible slob in the bathroom and something of a flirt, from what Em had seen.
It would actually be nice to be alone for a night or two. Angela's insight and brilliance made it a little hard for Em to know what to think.
She had the day off, and the sun was shining. Last night's snow squall had melted, and it might even hit forty-five today, according to the notoriously unreliable forecasters.
"Do you want to go for a run?" she asked Sarge, smiling as the dog immediately grabbed his hideous chicken and ran to the door. She got changed, tucked her phone into her running shorts pocket, leashed up Wonder Pup and set out. People called to her and waved, and a few folks in the Village stopped to admire Squeaky Chicken and pet the dog.
The air smelled like spring. Sure, there'd be the heartbreak storm in April, there always was, but for now, it was warm (for New York) and soft and smelled earthy, the sharp scent of shale cutting through. She ran out of town, settling into a pace, Sarge easily keeping up beside her. Past the blue-and-purple Victorian where the nice Murphy family lived, crocuses peeking up from their lawn, past the old school that was possibly being turned into a community center. Shelayne Schanta was in her yard on Buttermilk Road, scooping soggy leaves from a flower bed. "Any news on the adoption front?" Emmaline asked, stopping.
"Just passed the home visitation," Shelayne said, beaming.
"Fantastic! If you need a character reference, let me know, okay? Since I'm an upstanding citizen and officer of the law."
She continued running, her legs strong and sure, despite it being a few weeks since her last outing. Nice mindless running.
Kept her mind off Jack.
She might not be his girlfriend anymore, but she was still worried about him. Even if he was a lost cause.
When she got to Meering Falls, she stopped, breathing hard. Sarge dropped Squeaky long enough to drink from the heavy stream of water.
She loved it here. Not just here at the base of the beautiful gorge, carved out by water and time, but here in Manningsport. In New York. The perfect weather and excessive wealth of Malibu had never felt right, and she said a silent prayer of thanks to Nana for taking her in, a heartsick fourteen-year-old who could barely get a sentence out.
Her phone rang, startling her. Given that she was a cop, you'd think that the phone wouldn't scare her half to death, but such was not the case. Great. Mom again. She briefly considered letting it go to voice mail, but after the incident with Jack's phone, she was a little wary of doing that. "Hi," she said.
"I know you think we love Angela more," Mom started, her voice prim, indicating hurt feelings.
Em closed her eyes and sighed.
"It's just that I never knew how to fix you. I hated seeing you struggle, and I couldn't help you, and if there was ever a worse feeling in the world than failing your only child, I don't know what it is, Emmaline. Please cut me some slack. I did my best, and I'm well aware it wasn't good enough."
"Mom, you didn't fail me. You replaced me."
"That's not true."
"You were more than happy to ditch me on Nana, and then four months later, you have a new and improved daughter. How is that not replacing me?"
"You're the one who wanted to live with my mother. You were so much happier out there. How could I say no?"
"You could've at least pretended to miss me." Sarge lay down at her feet and sighed, biting down softly so Squeaky Chicken seemed to mew.
"I did miss you," her mother snapped. "But what good would it have done to tell you that when you were so obviously improving? I hated that fucking stutter. I wanted to kill it for all the trouble it gave you, and when you called home and it was so much easier for you to talk, I couldn't burst into tears and tell you that I slept in your bed, could I? How would that have helped?"
Emmaline paused. "Did you just drop the F-bomb, Mom?"
"Adopting Angela was a somewhat impulsive decision. I felt like a failure as a mother, so, yes, I tried again. If I'd have known it would hurt you, I wouldn't have done it."
"Can you give her back?" Em asked.
"What? No! Of course not."
"It was a joke. I actually love Angela, you know."
"Oh. Well. That's good."
The rushing of the falls was full and lovely. "I love you, too, Mom."
Nothing. There was no sound from the other end of the phone.
"Are you crying?" Emmaline asked.
"Yes."
"In a happy way?"
"Yes."
Emmaline found that she was smiling. "Come and visit, okay? Soon?"
"Okay," Mom said. There was a pause. "Emmie, I'm so sorry I couldn't help you with the stutter."
Em stroked her dog's soft fur. It had been a very, very long time since her mother had used that nickname. "It wasn't yours to fix, Mom," she said. "Besides, it built character."
Her mother laughed, then blew her nose. "It sure did. No one has more character than you."
"Not even Flawless Angela?" Em teased.
"Oh, her. She's so boringly flawless."
"Except she's pretty fabulous."
"Exactly. All right, I'll let you go." There was a pause. "Can I call you again tomorrow?" Mom asked.
"You can call me again tonight."
"Don't tell Angela I said she was boring. She's not."
"I know it was a joke, Mom. Don't worry."
When she hung up, she knew where she had to go. "Up and at 'em, Sarge," she said. "We have places to go, people to see."
*
SHE BROUGHT FLOWERS. Yellow tulips, because nothing seemed more cheerful than that.
They didn't work of course. Em realized that the second she knocked on the door of Room 405.
"Mrs. Deiner? It's me, Emmaline Neal. Officer Neal? I was on call the night of the accident."
Gloria Deiner looked up from where she sat at the side of the bed. "Oh. Hello." Her voice was flat and quiet.
The Deiners were not particularly popular in Manningsport. They'd moved here six or seven years ago, from what Emmaline had heard. Too rich, too showy. They'd bought a perfectly lovely farmhouse way up on the farming side of the lake, away from the vineyards where the Mennonite farms dotted the land, then torn it down, much to the heartbreak of the former owners. In its place was a garish McMansion with a five-car garage and eight bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, an indoor pool and an outdoor pool,
just for the three of them.
From what Em knew (and had heard), Josh was the worst of the spoiled rich-kid cliche--drugs and drinking and sex and the insanely fast car. Trips to Vail and Turks and Caicos and London. His parents would pull him out of school for vacations, sometimes for weeks on end, then throw a hissy fit when he stayed back a grade. Nothing was too good for their boy, who deserved everything just because he'd been born.
Guess the Deiners were rethinking their child-rearing philosophy now.
But the fact that Gloria Deiner was here alone... That was just too sad. "Would you like some company?" Emmaline asked.
"Oh. All right."
The respirator breathed in...then out. In...then out. A beeping alarm of some kind went off in the next room, then stopped.
Em set the vase of flowers, which now looked obscenely happy, on the windowsill. It was the only arrangement there. She went over to the bed and looked down at Josh.
Oh. Oh.
He looked so small under all that equipment, the tubes and lines and swath of blankets. A downy beard sprung in patches on his face, and his eyes were open a slit but didn't move. His hands curled in toward his chest, which itself was sunken and thin. His hair was ragged and greasy, and he smelled of body odor and Ivory soap.
"Hi, Josh," she said, touching his hand. "It's Emmaline Neal. One of the cops in town."
"He can't hear you," Mrs. Deiner spat. "He's brain-dead. But I'm praying for a miracle." Her words were heavy with bitterness, as if she wanted Emmaline to start spouting facts and tell her to accept reality.
In...then out.
It was chilly in here. Em pulled up the blanket a little bit. A Star Wars comforter, probably once much beloved. She swallowed. "Can I sit down?" she asked.
Mrs. Deiner shrugged, so Em sat.
"What was he like when he was little?" Em asked, and the woman's head jerked back in surprise.
"Why?"
"I don't know." She paused. "I was there that night. I guess I'd just like to hear about him."
The woman's face didn't change for a second; then it softened, and her eyes smiled with memory. "Oh," she said, and her voice was young again. "He was so beautiful. And mischievous!" She reached out to touch Josh's hand. "He had this laugh that let him get away with murder. Always running, always breaking things, but then he'd look at me with that smile, and I just couldn't be mad at him." Her voice cracked. "I just couldn't. I loved him so much. I still do." She started to cry. "My husband says we have to let him go, but I can't! How can I let my baby die? How do I stop being a mother?"
In a flash, Em knelt by Mrs. Deiner's side and hugged her. "I don't know," she said, her own voice shaking. "I don't know."
In Your Dreams Page 33
