Imagine That (3 page)

“Of course.”

She noticed the book in Emily's hand. “Oh, you found E.J. Sinclair,” she said. “You'll like her, especially this one. It was fabulous.
Sword of the
Dark
wasn't bad, but it lacked the passion and poetic voice of
Kingdom of Dreams
.”

Emily's lips pulled back into a tight grimace. “Mmm… I remember that review.”

“Oh, you have heard of her then?”

“You might say I know her.”

“Do you? How—” She broke off and stared at Emily for a second. Then she reached for
Sword of the Dark
. Flipped it over to the back cover photo. “Oh no.”

“E.J. Sinclair. Nice to meet you,” she said before the other woman could sputter an apology.

Color leached from the woman's cheeks. “Did I just insult you?”

“Believe me I've heard worse reviews of my sophomore release.” She gazed around. “You have a beautiful store.”

Lauren's hands clasped together much like Kara's had earlier. Emily wondered if the woman would start jumping up and down, too.

“Thank you,” Lauren said. “I can't believe you're standing in it. What in the world are you doing in Covington Falls?”

“Car trouble. I'm waiting for the tow truck to get through pulling Belinda out of a ditch.”

Her brow crinkled. “A who out of a what?”

“Long story, long wait for a tow. I'm exploring.”

“Oh, you're stranded for a couple hours. It's too bad you're not staying longer. I'd love for you to come speak to the kids. You have a lot of fans here, and I know they'd love it.”

“Sorry, but I doubt I'll be sticking around long.”

Lauren's shoulders drooped. “Of course, you probably have someplace to be.”

Emily nodded. “I should get back to the repair shop. I'm sure the tow truck must have returned by now.”

Emily headed for the exit and escape.

“Hey, when is your new book coming out?” Lauren called out as Emily reached for the handle.

Emily paused but didn't turn her head. “Good question.”

Back out on the sidewalk, Emily heaved a bone-deep sigh. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked, trying to stop the flow before a deluge began. She wondered if she'd ever recapture the passion she'd once had. The wonder of the
ah
-
ha
moment when an entire book came together in her mind like a jigsaw puzzle. So far the only thing she'd conjured up was a jumbled mess of pieces that didn't fit together.

She headed back toward the repair shop. The white church she'd seen earlier came into view. The tall steeple glistened in the sun, seeming to reach right up into the heavens. She'd visited the world's most beautiful cathedrals — St. Peter's, St. Paul's, Notre Dame — but for some reason the simple, country church called to her more than those architectural masterpieces. Called to her and made her nervous in some way. Like she'd been missing something all her life and was only now realizing it.

Which was ridiculous. She wasn't missing anything in her life. Other than her imagination. She hadn't seen God take any steps to fix her problems. Any suggestions would have been helpful. A sign. A clue. A big, red arrow pointing,
This Way Emily!

Holding back a sigh, she scanned the street once more. A flash of red caught her eye.

Help Wanted

The sign even had an arrow.

Her pulse kicked up. “No way.”

She glanced at the name of the store.
Jessie
'
s Treats
. A bakery? Not the kind of missive she had imagined receiving from On High.

Emily stared through the window and contemplated. She'd baked before. A few times anyway. Then she winced as a memory surfaced of a kitchen coated in white. But how could she have known breaking the sack open would result in a volcano explosion of self-rising flour? Her parents' cook had banned Emily from the kitchen afterward.

Emily slammed the door on the thought. Well, so what? She'd only been ten at the time. She could handle cookies and cakes now.

It wasn't like she had anywhere else to be, despite what she'd let the bookshop owner believe. She couldn't ignore a sign from God, either, though it was quite a stretch to think the big guy upstairs had arranged for a
Help Wanted
sign to be hanging there. Besides, something deep inside her screamed Covington Falls held the key to sparking the fires of her long-dormant brain matter.

She stared in the window once more.

Then without another thought, she walked into the bakery.

“Mom, I made some cookies,” Nate said, as he carried the plate into the living room. “Chocolate chip.”

Nate's mother glanced up from her easy chair and smiled. Afternoon sunlight poured in from the window beside her, highlighting the wispy tufts of hair sticking up on her otherwise bald scalp. Rachel Cooper would be fifty in a couple of months, yet illness had taken its toll. Her cheekbones seemed to have sunk into her skull in the last few days, and her skin was paper-thin. Her gray eyes still sparkled though, even if there was pain she would never admit to hidden in their depths.

“Who said something about cookies?”

Nate's fourteen-year-old brother, Zach, lolled into the living room. Lolling seemed to be the only speed his brother operated at these days. Nate knew if he dug up pictures of himself at fourteen it would be hard to tell the two apart. Another couple of months and he and Zach would be the same height.

“How was school today?” their mother asked.

A partial lifting of shoulders was the teen's only response. He flopped onto the couch, his book bag landing on the floor with a thump. A hand reached out for the plate of cookies.

“Those are for mom,” Nate pointed out.

“Oh, Zach can have some,” she said.

Zach didn't need further invitation. He swooped in like a hawk dive bombing a mouse and snatched a cookie from the plate, scarfing it down in one bite. Then his eyes bugged out. “Bro, what did you put in these?”

Nate frowned and took a bite, gagging himself. “
Ugh
… too much salt.”

The corners of his mother's mouth pulled up. “Poor Nathan, baking may never be your strong suit.”

“I must have misread the recipe,” he muttered.

She patted his hand. “It was sweet of you, honey.”

“I'll buy some at the bakery when I get off tonight.”

“Oh, don't worry,” she said, with a flick of her wrist. “I probably won't be able to eat them anyway.”

A giant fist squeezed his heart, and the gag reflex threatened to choke him again. He wanted to fling the plate of toxic cookies across the room. It wasn't fair. His mother had struggled most of her life after his father walked out. She'd handled the burden without complaint, only to come up against an even more frightening and deadly adversary.

Nate knew the roiling storm reflected in his kid brother's eyes simmered in his own.

Zach jumped up and grabbed his backpack. “I'm meeting the guys at the park.”

“Zach!” Nate's bark brought the teenager to an abrupt halt.

Zach returned to the chair and kissed his mother's cheek. She squeezed his hand and whispered something in his ear. Zach nodded. As he walked away, Nate saw his brother swipe a fist across his cheeks.

A second later the door slammed shut.

“You're going to be all right, Nathan,” his mother said. “You're both going to be all right.”

Nate swallowed but couldn't conjure up any comforting words to support his mother's assertion. “I have to get back to my office. Anna's out doing a little shopping. You'll be okay on your own until then?”

She smiled. The same one she'd given him when he'd been sick as a little boy. The one announcing everything would be fine. “Of course. It's a pretty good day, all things considered.”

Nate kissed the top of her head. He inhaled and recoiled at the unfamiliar smell that had invaded his mother's body as surely as the malignant cells. Antiseptic had taken over lilies and cocoa butter.

“I'll see you later,” Nate whispered.

“I'll pray for you today,” she whispered back.

****

Nate made a detour on his way back to the office. He pulled into the near-empty parking lot of Covington Falls Community Church. He stared at the stained-glass windows marching along the side, the aged brick and enormous, arched oak doors guarding the entrance. For most of his life, his church had brought him comfort at the worst of times. He hoped he could find some peace today.

The doors were unlocked as always. He headed for the sanctuary and sat down in a pew near the back. Leaning forward, he rested his arms against the pew in front of him.

God, I don
'
t know what to do here
.
I don
'
t know how to get over
my
anger.
Don
'
t know what to do with Zach.
What do I say when I can
'
t deal with it myself?
How can this be Your plan?

He prayed for what seemed like hours. When he lifted his head, fear still remained, but he supposed one impassioned plea wouldn't be enough. He did feel a touch of renewed strength, though.

“Afternoon, Nate.”

Seth Graham — the pastor and a longtime friend — stood by the pew.

“Hey, Seth. Did you come in here to practice your sermon?”

The pastor shook his head and let out a small chuckle.

Nate cocked his head. “Something funny?”

“No, I just had a nagging urge to take a walk, so I decided to give in.”

Seth slid into the pew next to Nate. He didn't say anything but sat and waited.

“My mother's cancer is back,” Nate said. “It's… everywhere.”

A moment of silence from the minister. Then, “How soon?”

“A couple weeks, a couple months if we're lucky.”

Seth raked a hand through his hair. “Guess I know why I had to come in here now.”

“We told Zach yesterday. He's having a tough time.”

Nate saw compassion, wisdom, and also an abiding sorrow reflected in Seth's gaze. He knew the pastor understood cancer. Seth's first wife had died a few years before, so he knew about the hopelessness, the anger, and the terror that clawed at one's belly like a tiger tearing apart its prey. The fact that Seth had found love again and was about to be married hadn't completely erased memories of the loss.

“I'm sure Zach's not the only one having a tough time,” Seth said. “It's been the three of you for so long. Have you told your dad?”

“We don't even know where he is. How did you handle it? How do you get through—” his voice broke.

The pastor put a hand on Nate's back. “You treasure each day. Take care of her. Love her. You cry when you have to. And when it's time, you tell her it's okay to go.”

Nate couldn't imagine such a thing. “How?”

“By remembering the parting is only temporary. Everything here is simply leading to the day we all go home for eternity.”

“It's easy to say, but not so easy to live it.”

Seth chuckled, but it was not an amused sound. “No. Not easy at all. But your friends will be here. For all of you. Remember that.”

Dusk had begun to settle as Nate pulled open the door of
Jessie
'
s Treats
. The familiar smell of vanilla, chocolate, and a thousand other mouth-watering aromas wafted around him like a delicious blanket as he stepped inside. Several small tables with gingham cloths dotted the dining area. Only two were occupied at the moment. A long glass display offered up sinful desserts of every variety, from cakes to tarts to cookies.

Nate didn't see Jessie, however. He walked over to the counter and rang the bell by the register.

A feminine voice rang out from the back. “Hold on! Right with you! I'm just —
Ow!
”

Metal clanged against cement.

“Blast it!”

Nate jumped and lunged through the doorway into the kitchen. He stopped short. Emily Sinclair. In Jessie's kitchen.

She stared down at the floor with the most forlorn expression he'd ever seen. A metal tray lay at her feet, and cookies were scattered all over the place. She shook her head.

“Blast it!”

Then she reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. She counted out a few and laid them down on the counter.

For the first time today, Nate laughed.

Emily gasped and her head flew up. She stared at him in shock for a moment. “Heath… er… Nate.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She glanced down at the floor again. “Making a mess obviously. I heard the bell as I was taking the cookies out, and then the oven pad thingy slipped, and I thought I was going to burn myself, so like an idiot I reached for the tray with the other hand, and then I
did
burn myself.”

He took a step closer. “Are you okay?”

She gazed up at him and his breath hitched as her blue eyes sized him up. If he didn't know better, he'd think she liked what she saw, too.

A dangerous thought.

“I'm fine. I've dropped plenty of trays already today.” She inspected her hand. “It's not the first time I've burned myself either.”

The bell by the register dinged again.

She grimaced. “Every time a bell rings, Emily gets her hand burned.”

For the second time, Nate let out a genuine laugh, and the dark clouds hanging over his heart parted to allow in a bit of sunlight.

Cheeks flaming, she waved him back. “Do me a favor. Tell whoever it is I'll be out in a second. I have to clean up.”

When Nate emerged from the kitchen, he found three young girls standing at the counter. All of them were holding hardcover books clasped to their chests.

“Is she back there?” the one on the left asked.

“We heard she's working here,” the middle one said.

Nate had no clue what they were talking about. “Who?”

The last girl gave him a what-planet-are-you-from glare of amazement. “E.J. Sinclair!”

Right. Emily was some kind of children's book author. “She'll be right out.”

The girls shared a glance and squealed.

Nate sensed her in the doorway behind him. “Your fan club is here.”

He went back around the counter and watched as Emily greeted her young fans. She seemed flattered by their obvious devotion. Her eyes glowed as she signed their copies and answered a barrage of questions with more patience than he would've ever had. Then she gestured to the display case, and all three bought a treat.

“Emily Sinclair is a disaster in the kitchen, but she's brought in more customers today than I've had since Christmas.”

Nate found Jessie herself standing by his shoulder. He hadn't even heard her come in. Jessie McNichol looked more like a defensive lineman than a baker. She was six feet tall and broad-shouldered. Everyone in her family claimed giant status, from her father Big Ben, who towered over everyone at six-six, to her mother and three brothers. Jessie had never been athletic, but fortunately she'd discovered a gift for creating sinful desserts at an early age.

“She can't be that bad,” Nate said.

“If there's something here she hasn't burned, it's only because she hasn't had time yet,” Jessie replied. “I probably wouldn't have hired her, but she kept babbling something about signs and seemed desperate for a chance.”

“You couldn't resist,” Nate said, knowing exactly what Jessie meant about Emily's endearing charm, not to mention her off-the-wall babbling.

“I happened to get two customers when Emily came in to apply. A mother and daughter. The girl took one look at E.J. Sinclair and started hyperventilating. I figured I could teach Emily anything she needed to know, if it meant more customers.”

Nate understood Jessie's bottom-line reasoning, but what about Emily? What in the world was she still doing here? He'd have thought she'd be long gone by now. Humming along in her little convertible, her evil white cat hissing the entire way.

Emily didn't belong behind a counter in a bakery. Nate didn't read much, but even he knew about J.K. Rowling, and if Emily was being compared to her, she must be a big deal. So, what
was
she doing here? Even as he wondered, he told himself to let it go. He didn't have time to think about why she would choose to take a minimum wage job in a nowhere town like Covington Falls.

If only she didn't make him smile.