Straight on Toward Paradise

by Kristin Wallace

  “Why didn’t you ever come home then?” Paige asked, her blue eyes more curious than angry. “You never even came for Christmas or anything.”

  Emma closed her eyes. “I’m sorry about that, but I had to work. I’m a chef, you know, and holidays are some of busiest times in a restaurant. It was hard to get away.”

  “You could have tried,” Imogene said, her lip curling.

  “Sure, I could explain to the Master Chef that I needed time off, and each and every one would have told me how many people were waiting in line to take my job the moment I stepped out the kitchen door,” Emma said.

  It wasn’t entirely a lie. Most of the chefs she’d worked for hadn’t recognized the concept of a life outside of the kitchen. Days off would have been a deadly sin, and if she had ever asked, she would not have been surprised to return and find someone else standing in her place.

  Reece cleared his throat and placed a hand on each girl’s shoulder. “Emma’s career is very demanding. It’s even more difficult because she’s in a field that doesn’t always recognize and promote women. She’s had to work very hard to get where she is, harder than any of her male colleagues, probably.”

  Emma blinked in astonishment. Reece was defending her and sounding like he was proud of her? What universe had she arrived in now?

  “She could have tried,” Imogene said, apparently unimpressed with tales of women’s struggles in the workplace.

  Once more Reece stepped in. “Look girls, I know this isn’t easy, but together we’re going to make it through,” he said, stepping around to look them in the eye. “No matter what happened before, Emma is here for you, now. And she always will be.”

  Imogene’s eyes blazed. “Why couldn’t we just live with you? You’re more family than she is?”

  A flash of something like despair slashed across his face, but it was gone so quickly Emma didn’t have time to analyze it. She wondered if he had lobbied to become the girls’ guardian and if he resented the fact that Emma had been chosen.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” he said finally. “Emma is your sister, like it or not, and legally you belong with her.”

  Like it or not…what a ringing endorsement.

  “Besides, I’m not going anywhere,” Reece went on. “I’ll always be here for you, too. I’ll still be your Uncle Reece, even when you’re all grown up and have families of your own. I plan to spoil your children rotten.”

  Well, talk like that made a girl’s hormones want to immediately start having babies. And Emma had never considered having children before. The tragedy must have caused her to become unhinged.

  Both Imogene and Paige went into his arms, and he held them tight, his face a mixture of sorrow and love. Whatever Reece might feel for her, he clearly adored her sisters…and they adored him. What’s more, they needed him.

  Which definitely put one dart in the “no” column for leaving Shellwater Key, her meager job prospects notwithstanding.

  Reece pulled back, his expression tender. “Come on now, we have guests to greet. We can discuss your living arrangements later.”

  He shepherded them out of the office, leaving Emma to bring up the rear. No doubt the well-wishers, curiosity-seekers, and the gossipmongers were all waiting to offer their condolences.

  Reece went and loaded up a plate of food.

  “We ate already, Uncle Reece,” Imogene said.

  “This isn’t for you.” He turned and handed the plate to Emma. “You said you hadn’t eaten in a long time.”

  Oh, sure, now he had to go and be a nice guy. A nice guy who brought her food. Tears stung her eyes as she stared down at the plate. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out.

  “I still don’t want you passing out on me,” he drawled.

  “I’m touched.”

  His mouth lifted in a slight grin, and then he tilted his head across the kitchen. Emma followed the gesture. Her sisters had been swallowed up in a sea of people. There were a number of young girls and teenagers, who must be friends, along with the mothers of those girls. All were regarding Emma’s sisters with tenderness and affection. The mothers in particular were constantly touching. Brushing their hair, their arms, their backs, stroking a cheek. Trying to comfort the orphaned girls in the only way they could.

  Reece leaned closer to speak in her ear. “Still think you can take Imogene and Paige away from that?”

  Emma didn’t answer for, of course, there was only one answer to give.

  Mary Bertram appeared then, and it was all Emma could do not to fling herself in her mother’s arms. Reece moved away to join the group of consolation.

  “You were in there for a long time,” her mother said. “Is everything all right?”

  All right? Emma didn’t know if anything would be “all right” ever again. “I guess we’re as good as can be expected.”

  “So it’s true then? Your father did name you as guardian?”

  “Yes, it’s true, though I’m not sure any of us are happy about it,” Emma said. “I think I’ve also been shanghaied into living here, too.”

  “In Shellwater Key?” Mary asked in surprise.

  Emma nodded. “The town, the house, the whole works. That ought to be interesting, don’t you think? Me trying to be a mother while trapped in a place where my childhood died? Oh right, and maybe I’ll get to cook in a place that serves Senior Specials at three in the afternoon.”

  “Oh, Emma.” Her mother put an arm around her shoulder. “I know this is a huge burden, but you will make it, and you will be happy again. Maybe happier than you’ve been in a long time.”

  “I wish I had your faith, Mom,” Emma said. “Unfortunately, I think we’re all headed for a major disaster.”

  Chapter 5

  Anyone who thinks parenthood ends when your kids turn eighteen doesn’t have kids.

  Mary Bertram sat in the glider on the deck of the house her ex-husband had shared with his second wife. The memory of the husband she’d once loved had brought her back to Shellwater Key. Motherly duty kept her here in his house when she’d rather be locked in her room at the inn trying to wrestle with the jumble of emotions Thomas’ death had triggered.

  Coming out to the secluded back yard had been the next best option. The sun had slipped below the horizon about an hour ago, and the only light now came from a few floodlights casting shadows across the yard. Her corner of the deck was dark, the only sounds a symphony of crickets and frogs calling in the night. The salt-tinged breeze she remembered so well had kicked up, bringing relief from the worst of the heat. Mary hoped if she sat still enough, and didn’t make a sound, no one would notice her.

  Hiding out shouldn’t be too hard. Most of the guests had left, except for those who’d stayed to help clean up. Mary had escaped kitchen duty, not that anyone had really expected her to wash dishes while pictures of Thomas, Mona, and their kids loomed on the refrigerator as silent reminders of the life Mary had once led. Those pictures dug deeper into the well of pain and regret than anything else.

  She took a deep breath, trying to ease the ache that had settled in her bones the moment her car had passed the Shellwater Key welcome sign. The ache had magnified throughout the day. Stepping inside the church where Emma had been baptized and where Mary had sung in the choir, the heart wrenching video montage, the gravesite where Thomas and his wife had been laid to rest, the devastated expression on her daughter’s face. All of that followed by hours of enduring awkward hugs and stuttered words of consolation from former neighbors and friends.

  What did you say to the first wife on occasions like this anyway? Obviously no one here knew. An advice columnist might.

  Dear Expert,

  My ex-husband and the woman he left me for died in a horrific car accident, and everyone is looking at me like they’re wondering if I think they got what they deserved. What’s the proper etiquette in this situation?

  There were probably field guides about getting through the funeral of an ex-spouse. With so many marriages
ending in divorce these days, the situation must have arisen at some point. Was there a book or website to help the completely unprepared adult daughter of the first marriage take over as mother and father for her devastated younger siblings?

  What to Expect When You Weren’t Expecting to Raise Your Half-Sisters

  The screen door opened, the hinges creaking like angry cats facing off in the middle of the night. Mary froze, huddling further into the corner of the glider.

  Please God, don’t let them find me…

  The prayer stopped mid-sentence as she caught sight of a little girl with golden-blonde hair. Thomas’ youngest daughter regarded her with serious blue eyes, and then instead of turning around and going back inside, she ambled over to sit down. The girl flexed her foot to set the glider to rocking, and Mary waited.

  “You’re Emma’s mom,” Paige said finally. It wasn’t a question. More like a confirmation.

  “That’s right,” Mary said, wondering where the girl might be going with such an opening.

  Paige continued to regard her with a solemn expression that seemed way more mature than the little girl’s age would imply. “And my daddy was married to you…before.”

  What a polite way to put it. Much better than any other description. “Yes.”

  Paige nodded. “It’s cool that you came.”

  A flutter of pleasure welled up in her, and Mary dipped her head in return. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve got friends with divorced parents,” Paige said, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did. Mary knew plenty of people eaten up with venom toward their exes.

  Paige lowered her head, and Mary saw a silver sheen of tears reflected in the girl’s eyes. Her heart twisted with sympathy, mothering instincts crowding out her own pain. “Oh, honey, it’s going to be all right. Right now you’re going to feel sad, maybe even angry, and that’s okay. You might feel that way for a long time, but eventually you will start to feel normal again.”

  “How do you know?” Paige asked, as if wanting to trust, but not quite willing to accept the assessment at face value.

  “Because my mother died when I was about your age, and that’s how I felt.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “How’d she die?”

  “Cancer,” Mary said. “She was sick for a long time.”

  “Do you still miss her?”

  With a gut-wrenching sadness that sometimes slapped her in the face for no reason. “Yes, but now I mostly remember how much fun she was and how she made me feel safe,” Mary said, thinking God would forgive her for choosing not to give the whole truth to a grieving child.

  Paige nodded as if satisfied with that answer. Then she bent her leg to rest her foot on the glider and propped her arm on her upraised knee. “We sat out here every night.”

  “We?”

  “Me and Daddy.”

  “Daddy and I—” Mary stopped the automatic impulse. “Sorry…old teacher’s habit.”

  Once again, interest flared in the girl’s eyes. “You’re a teacher?”

  Was a teacher, Mary thought, with a pang. Budget cuts and the continued assault on the arts in schools had meant the end of her music program. Her contract hadn’t been renewed for the upcoming year, and she still didn’t know quite what to do. The idea of job-hunting at her age left Mary in a cold sweat. Not to mention, so much about the teaching profession these days was more about crowd control and ensuring students met some arbitrary benchmark established by people who’d never even been inside a classroom.

  “I teach music and chorus,” Mary said, again choosing not to provide the whole truth. The girl didn’t need to know her work status.

  “I love to sing,” Paige said, a smile lighting up her wan features for the first time.

  “Me too.” Mary frowned. “At least I used to.”

  Paige’s gaze shifted like laser beams locking on to the truth. “You don’t anymore?”

  This child was either going to become the next Oprah or a CIA interrogator. “I’m not sure. It’s been a long time since I really performed.”

  Paige nodded. “I haven’t felt like singing much either since—”

  Since her parents died.

  Mary shifted in the seat. “Do you want to be alone? If this is your spot I can find another one.”

  Paige tilted her head as if she was thinking over the offer. Then she gave a quick shake. “It’s okay.”

  Leaving would probably have been easier. The pictures all over the house were hard enough to take; an intimate conversation with Thomas’ daughter was something else altogether.

  “So you like it out here?” Mary asked, searching for anything to say.

  Paige nodded. “Uh huh. Genie used to come out too, but she stopped. I don’t think sitting on the porch with your dad is cool.”

  “Probably not to a teenager.”

  “She worries about that a lot,” Paige said, rolling her pretty blue eyes. “It’s pretty silly.”

  Despite the awkwardness and her own jumble of mixed up feelings about Thomas, Mary couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t care about being cool?”

  “I’m not cool at all,” she said, with such assurance that Mary wanted to laugh.

  No, Paige was so much more than cool. She was unique and special, which in Mary’s book was better than trying to be hip. Still, she wondered how such a young girl could be so self-aware. “Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged. “I like Judy Garland and old movie musicals. Some kids at school think it’s weird, but I don’t care. My daddy said I had the voice of an angel.” Her voice cracked on the last word and a low, keening cry broke the quiet of the night.

  Mary’s heart broke right along with the little girl, and she gathered Paige close, letting her weep. The vise that had lodged around Mary’s chest loosened and she cried, too. She cried for her first love, the young man who’d married her and given her a daughter. She wept for Emma, who probably thought she was too old to cry in her mother’s arms and wouldn’t know where to go for comfort. And she grieved for Paige and Imogene, who had lost everything that made sense in a split second.

  Eventually, Paige cried herself out.

  Mary started singing. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word…” joined the chorus of night creatures. Paige’s body began to relax, and her breathing slowed as she drifted to sleep.

  Mary lifted her eyes to the heavens. “Lord, how are these three girls going to survive?”

  God might have the answers, but she didn’t. Emma, Imogene, and Paige might be sisters, but they were virtual strangers.

  The screen door suddenly flew open, crashing into the side of the house. Mary jumped, but Paige didn’t stir. Emma raced out onto the deck like a bullet. She scanned the yard with the frantic look of a mother who’d lost her child in the grocery store.

  “Over here,” Mary said softly.

  Emma spun around. “Mom?” She halted in her tracks when she saw Paige curled up on the glider. “What—”

  “I came out to get away from everyone,” Mary said. “Paige showed up. We had a chat and a good cry. Then she went to sleep.”

  Emma plopped down on a deck chair across from them. She ran both hands through her hair, a sure sign of distress. One hand meant she was frustrated, two signaled three-alarm melt down.

  “Imogene came downstairs and said Paige was missing,” Emma said. “We looked all over the house. Imogene, that lawyer, and a couple of the neighbors went to comb the street, but she’s been here all the time. With you.” She shook her head as if trying to figure out a bizarre puzzle.

  Mary couldn’t explain her instant connection with the child either, so she didn’t bother trying to enlighten her daughter.

  “I’m sorry if you were worried.”

  Emma sighed. “Losing one of my charges on the first night doesn’t bode well for me.”

  “You didn’t lose anyone.”

  “If you’d seen Imogene’s face just now, you’d think I personally did away with my youngest s
ister.” Her gaze shifted away and she stared out across the yard so Mary couldn’t see her daughter’s face. “Not to mention that lawyer who hates me,” she said, in a tone that was part anger, and part dismay.

  “It’ll take some time to build trust between the three of you, and I don’t think Mr. Casings hates you,” Mary said, wondering why Emma seemed more unsettled by Reece Casings’ opinion than her sisters’.

  “I’m not sure Imogene will ever trust me, and yes, he does.” Emma sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Maybe he’s right to feel that way. I never tried to make peace with Dad or get to know my sisters.”

  Mary wished more than anything that she could take away her daughter’s pain. Things had been so much easier when a bandage and a kiss were enough to fix Emma’s injuries. The only thing Mary could do now was try to find the silver lining on the dark cloud hanging over all the Bertram girls.

  “Maybe this is your chance to do both,” Mary said.

  “Dad’s dead,” Emma whispered to the sky. “It’s too late.”

  “Yes, but it’s not too late for you and your sisters. Maybe now you’ll finally allow yourself to find a place in the family.”

  Her eyes shifted back down. “Did you miss the part where I mentioned Imogene looks at me like I’m Godzilla come to crush the little Japanese village? I’m not family to her. I’m the enemy.”

  Mary chuckled. “Imogene is fourteen. She’s wired not to like anyone who has authority over her.”

  “That’s what Reece…I mean…Mr. Casings said.”

  Oh my…

  “Reece” had clearly made an impression on her daughter. Something must have happened when they’d been closeted together in Thomas’ office. Something that had frightened Emma as much as the prospect of becoming an instant mother.

  “Imogene is my sentence, right?” Emma drawled. “Punishment for every rotten thing I did to you and dad. Isn’t that the secret dream of every parent? That their children will one day have a child who dishes out the same kind of grief they suffered?”

  “Of course not,” Mary said, smothering a laugh.