Dear Emily (23 page)

Emily backed up against a gnarled sycamore tree, her eyes glued to the dining room window. Now she knew what it was that bothered her: The men appeared to be twins. They probably belonged to the twin organization Rose and Helen belonged to. They were couples, units, salt and pepper shakers, shoes and socks. True, the seventh man didn’t appear to have a male mate, but he was paired off with Zoë, who wore the sappiest expression Emily had ever seen. If she went in now, she’d spoil things. Never mind that this little party had spoiled things for her. In her damn house, no less.

She was jealous. Infuriatingly so. And she was freezing. Inside it looked warm and cozy. The remains of the dinner looked wonderful too. She realized she was starving. They’d gone ahead and done something on their own, and from all appearances, it was working out. They looked so happy, so contented.

She felt betrayed. They didn’t need her. Right now, this very second, she should storm into the house and boot their asses out into the cold. She was instantly ashamed of her thought.

Emily walked back to the top of the driveway, looked down at her suitcases, at the boxes of gifts. She pushed and shoved them under the spreading yews that lined the driveway. Damn, she didn’t even have a car to sit in. The keys were inside.

The anger surfaced again as she made her way down the road to her neighbor’s house. The Mastersons were elderly and never left the house after dark. Perhaps they’d lend her their car so she could drive over to Ben’s house. For years she’d given them blooms from her flower garden as well as vegetables from the garden. Surely they’d oblige her and let her drive their car this evening.

Emily walked around to the back of the house and rapped softly on the kitchen door. They were having dinner. Harvey struggled up from his chair, walked over to the door, peered out, and said, “Who is it?”

“It’s Emily Thorn, Harvey. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Emily. How nice to see you. Would you like some dinner?” the old gentleman asked.

“No, thank you. I need a favor, Harvey. My car won’t start and I was wondering if I could borrow yours for a little while. I promise to be careful.”

“If you put gas in it,” Harvey said slyly.

“Is anything wrong, Emily?” Evelyn asked, speaking slowly. Evelyn did everything slowly, because as Harvey put it, she came from the South and they do everything slow down there.

“No, everything is fine, Evelyn. I guess my battery is low or something. I’ll have it fixed tomorrow.”

“Did that handsome husband of yours give you a valentine, Emily?” Evelyn smiled. “Harvey gave me one. Never missed a year in all the years we’ve been married.”

Emily’s vision blurred for a second. “A very pretty one,” she lied. There was no point in telling the Mastersons that Ian had been gone for years. For the most part, both of them were forgetful and lived pretty much for the moment.

“Here are the keys, Emily. Be careful. Sometimes the clutch sticks. Bring the car back tomorrow. Evelyn and I are going to spoon for a while and then we’re going to go to bed and talk about the good old days. If you bring the car back here, we’ll hear it and it will break the spell.” He made a grimace that was supposed to be a sly smile and then he winked. Emily winked back and let herself out the door.

Twenty minutes later she parked the car in a spot down the way from the two spots allotted each owner of Ben’s complex. She locked the car and walked over to Ben’s car. He must be home. She didn’t recognize the car parked next to his. Possibly someone with company had used his extra spot the way she’d just used someone else’s spot.

Ben’s key was in her hand. Maybe this is a mistake, she thought uneasily. Maybe Ben had company. Better to ring the doorbell and not use the key. “Don’t be shy, Emily, use the key anytime of the day or night.” He’d said that so often she’d lost track. Still, she’d only really used the key three times.

Emily retraced her footsteps and stood looking down at the car in Ben’s second parking slot. It was a bright red sports model. She bent lower, a Mazda something or other. A younger person’s car. What to do? She’d forgotten the present for Ben and Ted and the valentine was inside her suitcase. “Shit!”

Emily walked back to the Mastersons’ car and got in. She huddled into her coat, but didn’t turn on the engine or the heater.

Maybe she should go to a hotel and not spoil anyone’s evening. It was bad enough that her homecoming was spoiled; why spoil her friends’ party? You don’t know that you would spoil it, she argued with herself. Of course I know it. Those men don’t know me so conversation would be difficult. The women will probably feel uncomfortable. Why would you go to a hotel when you own a house other people are partying in…without you, her other self argued in return. I thought…I expected…that things would be the same as when I left. Obviously things have changed a great deal. Everyone appears to have someone. In my house. Their house too; they pay rent. That entitles them to entertain. You yourself said they could do that. Yes, but I expected to be part of…If I go into the house, I’ll be like a fifth wheel. “Shit!”

How long are you going to sit here and freeze? Aren’t you going to go up and ring Ben’s doorbell or open the door with the key? Better to go home and try to sneak upstairs from the kitchen.

Emily opened the car door and got out. Her face grim with purpose, she walked up to Ben’s door. She shoved the key in her pocket and rang the bell.

Emily’s first thought when the door opened was, I was this young once. I even had a ponytail. I don’t ever remember my skin being that clear and blemish free. She had to do something, say something. She forced a smile and said, “I believe I have the wrong house. I’m looking for 2112.”

“This is 2121. It’s easy to mix up the buildings. The one you want is three streets over. Baddinger runs both ways and curves around. You think it’s three streets but it’s really all the same.”

“That explains it,” Emily said, backing down the steps. From inside she heard Ben call, “Who is it, Melanie?” And Melanie’s reply. “Someone looking for 2112.”

Melanie yet.

Emily ran to the Mastersons’ car. She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. “And a happy Valentine’s Day to you too,” she said bitterly as she turned the key and then the headlights.

The Mastersons’ house was dark when she returned home. She parked across the street from her own house, got out, and walked down the driveway to her own kitchen door. She opened it, walked across the kitchen to the back stairs and up to her room, her eyes smarting with unshed tears. She closed and locked the door to her room.

They don’t need you, Emily. Not anymore. Your friends have come into their own. Her other self presented an argument. You, of course, are basing all this on what you saw through a window. And that sweet young person who opened Ben’s door.

Men!

She hated them all.

Men were the reason for all her unhappiness. Before and now.

Go figure.

Emily took her time undressing, hanging up her new suit. Why in the world was she saving these shoes with a broken heel? She tossed them in the wastebasket in the bathroom. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and her hair, hung up her towel. Another minute was used up putting on her nightgown and crawling into bed.

The long night stretched ahead of her. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She could never sleep when things were bothering her.

Emily cringed, her nerves tingling, when a burst of laughter from the dining room wafted up through the heat register. If she wanted to, she could go over to the wall, sit on the floor, and listen to everything that was being said. If she wanted to.

She absolutely would not do that.

Emily tormented herself further by letting her mind, her memories, take over as she lay in bed, in the dark, listening to the sounds of her family. She wanted to be there, to share, to laugh with them. Instead she was lying in bed, in her own house, hiding out. By her own choice.

Ben. Don’t think about Ben.

Emily moved from one side of the bed to the other. She fluffed the pillows, straightened the covers, blew her nose, dabbed at her eyes.

Hours passed. The clock on the night table said it was 12:30 when she heard footsteps in the hallway. From outside she could hear the sounds of car engines, one after the other. Valentine’s Day was over.

And then the house was quiet, settled for the night.

Emily continued to think about the past, the present, and the future. When the clock said it was 4:30, she dressed in sweats and warm slippers. Why should she shiver? Who cared if her boarders sweated under their bed covers. She gave the thermostat a vicious twist and set the heat to 80 degrees.

Downstairs she stopped at the last step and looked around. The dining room table was still full of dishes. The turkey carcass loomed in the center of the table. The crystal winked at her with the aid of the moonlight filtering into the room in long silvery shafts.

In the kitchen, rage overtook her. There were pots and pans everywhere. They hadn’t even been put to soak. The table was so cluttered with wine bottles, glasses, snacks, hors d’oeuvres, dirty ashtrays, and used silver she couldn’t find a place to set her coffee cup. The pot was dirty, the grounds still in the stainless steel basket, the red light blinking. The smell of burnt coffee permeated the room. Fire hazard. How could they be so stupid? One, yes, maybe even two of them, but all seven? The oven was still on, too.

How dare they do this to her?

She didn’t stop to think, didn’t stop to weigh the consequences when her arm sent everything on the kitchen table flying and crashing. Then she pressed the panic button on the alarm system, stood back to listen to the wild, shrill whistles and screeches that ricocheted throughout the house. That should bring them on the run, even the Demster twins from the apartment over the garage. The phone rang a second later. ADT. “Sorry, this is Emily Thorn. I set it off by mistake. The code word is clinic. Sorry,” she said, replacing the receiver.

It took three minutes before they were all standing in the kitchen, the Demster twins banging on the back door.

They stared at her with sleep-fogged expressions.

“Emily!” they chorused.

“Clean this kitchen.
Now!
You left the coffeepot on and the oven. Your
guests
blocked in my car last night. I wanted to use it. I had to borrow the Mastersons’ car. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is my house, isn’t it?” She was so angry she started to tremble. She had to get out of here before she said something she was going to regret. She turned on her heel and stomped her way back upstairs to her room.

This time she did sit down on the floor next to the heat register and listened unashamedly. However, there was nothing to hear except the sound of dishes and silver being moved around. She gnawed at her thumbnail.

Was she being petulant, childish? Damn right and she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to open herself up to the same kind of hurt Ian had inflicted on her. That was never going to happen to her again. She’d get rid of them before they got rid of her. Betrayal had to be the worst sin in the world.

All because of a party you weren’t invited to, Emily? How could they invite you, you didn’t even tell them where you were going, when you would be back. They pay rent and they have rights. You said they could entertain. Would you really stand in the way of their happiness if it meant they were going to break away and find a life with a man? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Did you really think all of you were going to spend the rest of your days here in this house playing Campfire Girls?

Yes, yes, I did think that. I wanted that. I wanted to belong, to have a family. I wanted us to share, to confide, to be there for one another when…for the bad times. We were doing so well, everything was working out. The business is a success, our futures are going to be secure. And…

And what? Is that all there is—security and work? What about living a life? Sharing it with someone who cares for you. Love? What’s wrong with that? You don’t have the right to tell the others what they can or can’t do in their personal lives. It was a party, Emily, a Valentine party. If you hadn’t gone away, you would have been sitting at that table with Ben. You went away; it was your decision. Suck it up, Emily, don’t make waves. Life is going to go on no matter what you do so make sure it’s what you really want. Think about how much you enjoy the women; think about how well you all get along.

Ben.

The soft tap on the door forced Emily to her feet. Had she locked the door? She sighed with relief when she saw the lock button was straight up.

“Emily, it’s Lena. I brought you some coffee. Emily? Please open the door. I know you’re upset. Can’t we talk about this?”

Emily sat down on the bed and hugged her knees. She felt like a wounded bird whose wings had been clipped. Once she’d felt like a tired, old dog. She didn’t know which was worse. All she knew was that her heart was sore and bruised.

Last night you stand outside like a thief and spy on your friends. Today you are hiding out in your room as if you’ve done something wrong. Oh, you’ve come a long way, Emily. Go downstairs, clear the air. Don’t let this fester.

“I can’t,” Emily whimpered.

Yes you can. You can do whatever it takes. That’s how you’ve gotten this far. You can do this, I know you can. They have the right to be heard.

Emily brushed her hair, then stared at the person in the mirror. She’d actually forgotten about her looks. Suddenly what she looked like didn’t matter. What mattered was who this person in the mirror was.

They were in the kitchen, seated around the kitchen table, coffee in front of them. Her chair was empty; so was the coffee cup at her place.

“It must have been some party,” she said quietly.

“It was. Actually we were celebrating more than Valentine’s Day. Zoë signed up a huge insurance company in Raritan Center, and Martha signed up a chemical company in the Middlesex Industrial Park. Ben was supposed to clinch a deal with that new company that opened up behind the Foodtown. He called last night to say it’s a done deal. He was supposed to come to dinner but his kid sister came in from Tampa, where she’s going to college, and he was taking her and his son to the Poconos skiing today. It wasn’t as frivolous as…as it must have looked when you got home.” Lena’s voice was weary-sounding, her eyes tired.