Bookends (40 page)

No more pets.

Lots more kisses.

And a shot at that historic quarter acre.

Emilie grinned her way up the steps, humming a doxology all her own.

Jonas was still singing the closing hymn from the early service when he left his adult Sunday school class and wandered onto Church Square.

“Jesus makes my heart rejoice …” Truer words were never written. He’d come to the early service, since rumor had it that was the one Emilie was frequenting these days.

Unfortunately, he’d gotten up early and slid through the snowy, uncleared streets for nothing. No Emilie at eight.

Where is she, Lord?

She’d stopped answering her phone, which made no sense at all. What if there were an emergency?

There
is
an emergency.

He needed to see her, and soon.

To know she was okay.
Nah, that wasn’t the problem.
He needed to know she still cared about him. That was the crux of it. Know she still thought about him twenty-four hours a day like he thought about her, despite Carter’s Run’s attempts to steal his every waking hour.

Was she jealous of the golf course, of his work?
Uh-uh.
That wasn’t like Em. She loved her work, too.

Had she found another man?
No way.
Who else would give her five pets in five weeks?

Was she ill? Homesick for North Carolina? Suffering from cabin fever without a car?

He ran his hands through his hair—or what was left of it after yesterday’s buzz through the barbershop—and looked around the snow-covered square, fretting again about how this cold weather bit into his precious construction time.

That’s when he saw her.

Emilie.
Walking slowly along the sidewalk, hand-in-hand with a child, bending over to talk to …

Sara?

What was Emilie doing with Sara? And where was Beth?

It gave him the perfect excuse to walk up to her. Ask about Beth, say hello to Sara. Look in Emilie’s eyes, just to see what he would find there, just to know.
I gotta know, Lord.

He moved in their direction, marveling at how natural Emilie looked, taking smaller than usual steps, laughing as she walked through the snow with a precious little girl by her side.

Someday, our little girl.

The thought hit him like a two-by-four, knocking him senseless.

He stopped to catch his breath, to pull himself together, even as everything inside him flew apart.

This was what he wanted.

To be a husband. A husband to Emilie.

To be a father. The father of their children.

In thirty-six years, he had never really considered the possibility. Marriage, maybe, but
fatherhood?
To be the man a child looked up to more than any other man on earth? To be a role model? A hero? To be willing to give up your life for your child?

Oh, Father. To be like you.

It wasn’t possible.

Nothing is impossible with me.

This could tax the limits, though.

Except there are no limits, son.

Jonas wasn’t sure it was possible to put one foot in front of the other, so stunned was he with the realization that he not only wanted to be a parent, but he
needed
to be one.

To honor his own father.

To prove to himself that, with God’s help, he could live up to his father’s memory—or at least try. And in trying, let go of the guilt of his father’s death, which had lurked in the darkest place in his heart for two dozen years.

You knew that, Lord. All along.

I knew. I love you, Jonas.

He was almost shaking with joy. With Emilie—and the Lord—he could let go of that guilt forever.

He could. He
would.

It was gone.
Yes!
It was gone already.

“Emilie!” His voice rang out across the snow, sending heads turning at every corner.

She looked up. Her smile was tentative, but it was there.

It’s there, Lord.

Her smile grew as he hurried toward her, slipping and sliding across the wet snow, almost falling, then catching himself with a wild wave of his arms, wanting only to be near her.

Emilie bent down when he got within earshot. “Sara, I think someone wants to speak to you in the worst way.”

Sara stuck out her lower lip. “No way. Men don’t wanna talk to kids. They wanna talk to ladies.”

Jonas managed to stop without falling, then he and Emilie both laughed, blushed, and trained their eyes on Sara, not daring to look at one another.

“Kids sure are honest,” he said, watching Emilie’s face out of the corner of his eye.

“They certainly are. Fun too.” She caught his gaze and they both looked up, relieved to have made that first connection.

He looked around. “Where’s Beth? Or Drew?”

“Stuck in the snow in Philadelphia.” Emilie tugged on Sara’s wool cap affectionately. “I’ve been baby-sitting this weekend.”

“No kidding.”
Is she kidding? Emilie, a baby-sitter?

He tried hard not to look shocked even though he
was
shocked, right down to his practically bare scalp.

As though reading his thoughts, Emilie’s gaze moved in that direction. “My, my. Did the barber charge by the inch?”

Jonas shrugged, embarrassed that she didn’t seem to like it. “He got a little carried away, I guess.”

“No, not at all.” She wasn’t smiling, but her eyes were. “I like it. It makes you look very … masculine.”

He shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold. “Oh, yeah?”

Now
she smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

If he didn’t kiss her right now he was going to detonate.

Sara saved the day by pulling Emilie away from striking distance and toward the church. “C’mon, Auntie Em. They’re closing the doors.”

He cocked his head. “Auntie Em?”

“Long story.” Emilie offered a gentle wave and turned to follow Sara, still wiggling her fingers over her shoulder. “See you later.”

Later?
“Tonight, then?” he called out impulsively. “We gotta talk, Emilie.”

She didn’t turn around, but instead nodded her head, laughing softly. “Yes, we do, Jonas.”

He grinned at her retreating back, jamming his hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels.
Wait until you hear what I have to say to you, Doc. Just you wait.

“Mom.” Emilie cradled the phone, keeping one eye on Sara and Olive tumbling on the living room floor like two kittens. “It’s Em.”

Her mother gasped. “Goodness! Is everything okay? Is your collarbone hurting again?”

“Mom—”

“Honey, if you need the car, I’ll have your daddy follow me over there right this minute.”

“Mother—”

“Emilie Gayle, I worry about you, alone in that house on that busy street—”

“Mom!”
She grinned, waiting to be sure it sank in. “I’m fine. Really. I’m also thirty-six, remember? Today, though, I’m baby-sitting and wondered—”

“Baby-sitting?” The wires hummed. “Whose baby?”

“Beth and Drew’s little girl, Sara. Who is anything but a baby.”

“It
is
easier once they’re potty trained.” Her mother’s tone calmed a bit. “What can I do for you, dear?”

Emilie lowered her voice. “Mom, I’ve run out of things for a four-year-old child to do for amusement. Short of renting another movie, can you think of something?”

“Well, now!” Her mother sounded pleased as punch. “To think my daughter, Dr. Emilie Getz, would actually think I know something she doesn’t.”

“When it comes to mothering, you are definitely the pro.” Emilie smiled to herself.
Though I hope my turn will come someday.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now let’s see if I can’t come up with the perfect activity. She’s artistic, isn’t she?”

“Yes, very. I have the crayons, markers, and paint all over this house to prove it.” Even after just one day, the messy rooms were beginning to look normal to her. Lived in.

“Do you have this week’s
Record Express
handy?”

Emilie reached on top of the fridge, one of the few places Sara hadn’t
found to put things yet. “The March eleventh issue, is that the one?”

“Correct. Now turn to page twenty—got that? I’m looking right at it, too. See down in the lower left corner?”

“An Easter coloring contest? Mom, that’s perfect! Ages four to ten. Great. Thanks, Mom. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Happy to be of help to you, dear. We’re looking forward to dinner on Wednesday night. Planning on … bringing anyone?”

Emilie rolled her eyes, surprised this hadn’t come up sooner. “Don’t be coy, Mom. I’ll see you Wednesday. Three places at the table should do it, okay? Love you, too.”

She hung up the phone, studying the rules of the weekly contest. Sara would only be competing against other four- and five-year-olds.
Very fair.
They could use any medium Sara liked.
Sara will use them all.
She could win five dollars, and it was due at the newspaper office tomorrow at noon.
Great!
It was one block from her house. Emilie would see that it was delivered herself.

Reaching into a drawer for scissors, Emilie hummed a line from
Easter Parade,
even as she watched the snowflakes drifting outside her cozy house.
So, Em. Is this little art project for Sara or for you?

A ridiculous giggle bubbled up and out.
Yes!

“Oh, Sara sweet.” Emilie carefully cut out the contest form with the outline of an Easter egg basket just begging to be turned into a work of art. “Auntie Em has something fun in mind. Come see.”

Sara was already at the kitchen door, wide-eyed, a contented cat draped over her shoulder. “Fun? Oh boy!”

Boy, I hope she’s hungry.

Jonas sat across the street from Emilie’s front door, his whole passenger seat filled with white boxes of fragrant Chinese food that were tickling his taste buds more by the second.

He’d taken a big risk, showing up like this without calling. What if she wasn’t home? What if she wasn’t hungry? What if she was starving and hated Chinese food?

Next time, call.

And lose the element of surprise?
Nothing doing.

He
was the one surprised when Drew and Beth pulled up in their van. Of course.
Sara.
Emilie and her baby-sitting duties. He was still shaking his head over that one. Probably made the poor child use one crayon on one piece of paper at a time. Eat every bite on her plate. Go to bed at 8:31 sharp.

You’re talking about the future mother of your future children.

Jonas smiled.
Right.

Emilie would be a great mom, especially because she’d have him there to teach her everything he knew about parenting.

Em was standing in the door now, hugging them all good-bye, so intent on what she was doing she didn’t even look up and spot his black Explorer, a rather large target on the snowy white street.

Should he get out, say hello?

He hated to interfere with their exchange, slow everyone down.

Let the food get ice-cold.
Yeah, that too.

In a moment, the Landises drove off, never looking his direction. He felt rather foolish about it now.
Have to apologize to Beth about that tomorrow.
Right now, though, two of his three questions were answered.

Emilie was home and was no doubt famished. If she favored cashew chicken, oriental pork, or sweet ’n’ sour shrimp, he’d be one happy man. Grabbing his array of boxes, he headed across the street, his grin growing wider with each step until it threatened to touch both ears.

Emilie answered the door seconds after he knocked.

And promptly knocked him out.

She stood there in the grungiest clothes he had ever seen on any woman, let alone this one. The button-down shirt was missing half its buttons, the jeans had holes in both knees and quit about mid-calf, and her hair was stuck on top of her head with a huge, shell-shaped plastic clamp.

The effect was a cross between Elly May Clampett and Pebbles.

She’d never looked more adorable. If it weren’t for the blasted little boxes swinging from his fingers, he’d have hugged her and asked for her hand in marriage on the spot.

The only thing missing was a smile. What she was wearing was more of an
O.
Big eyes, big open mouth, even her nostrils were flared.

“Jonas!”

“Surprise.” He really didn’t need to say that. It was clear she was more than surprised, she was dumbfounded. “May I come in?”

“In?” She was flustered. “In this house? Now?”

He held up his boxes. “Yeah, if that’s okay. While the food’s still hot.” Glancing around her slim hips, he tried to see what the problem might be. Seeing none, he stepped on the threshold.

“Oh!” She pressed her hands on his chest. “I’m a mess. And the house is … worse. Could you give me about … thirty minutes?” She pressed more firmly against his shirt. He could almost feel his wildly thumping heart beating against the palms of her hands.

Lowering his head, his Chinese food all but forgotten, he slowly kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear, “I’ll give you exactly thirty minutes to quit what you’re doing to me right now.”