Lost and Found Family (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

B
LEARY
-
EYED
,
E
MMA
drank her first cup of coffee while she tidied Frankie's kitchen. Then she took a dusting rag and, after a brief detour to pick up someone's left-behind jacket in the front hall and hang it in the closet, she went into the living room.

After the debacle that had been Thanksgiving Day, this was one way for Emma to apologize. She hadn't meant to leave the table so abruptly, as if to prove she had no manners, but Emma was still trying to absorb the fact that she was soon to be a mother again. A year ago that would have sent her over the moon. She and Christian had been talking about having another child when the accident happened. They hadn't wanted Owen to be much older before he had a sibling.

This morning she'd heard Lanier go out to the kennels to tend to his dogs, but Emma hadn't seen Frankie yet. After a sleepless night she wasn't eager to open No More Clutter; by now the malls would be filled with Black Friday shoppers hunting for bargains and she wouldn't have much business. She could take time to gather herself. Think how to approach Christian after what they'd said to each other.

She also had a jittery stomach and some faint, low-down cramps. Nothing serious, just part of the fallout from yesterday, she tried to tell herself.

Emma moved a silver-framed picture of Frankie and Lanier on an end table. She dusted the gleaming surface, then replaced the picture exactly where it had been. If she didn't, Frankie would be sure to notice. Emma had once moved a crystal bell from one table to another and Frankie had gone ballistic.

She'd almost finished dusting when the morning light shifted and, through the broad windows that showcased Frankie's view from Lookout Mountain, she noticed a definite smear on the otherwise sparkling glass. Most of the time it wouldn't be visible, but right now it stood out like a neon sign. Probably she'd need some window cleaner from Frankie's utility closet but...
let's see what the rag can do first
.

With the cloth poised in one hand, Emma paused to enjoy the gorgeous view. You could see Mallory Trucking from here and—

“Stop!” Frankie rushed into the room, shouting when, as a rule, she never raised her voice. “I've told my cleaning girls and I'm telling you—
never
go near this window!” She bore down on Emma, then snatched the dust rag from her hand. “Did you hear me? Never!”

“Of course,” Emma murmured. How could she not hear? Her ears were ringing and her mother-in-law sounded like a lunatic. “I'm sorry, Frankie. I didn't mean to violate one of your rules.”

Her gaze hardened. “My girls know they'll be fired on the spot if they do.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “You can't fire me. I'm not one of your cleaning people. I'm a volunteer.”
I'm your daughter-in-law
. She drew another deep breath. The significance of a single spot on the clean window didn't register. By now, Emma had had enough.

“Frankie, I'm tired of watching everything I say, everything I do. We've worked well together, mostly, on the party and now the foundation launch, but I've also had to hold my tongue. It's hard enough living here while our kitchen is being fixed—”

“Because you almost burned down the whole house.”

Emma's stomach tightened. Or was that a cramp? “That was careless of me, and for your information I'll pay for whatever won't be covered by our home owners' insurance. The money for repairs won't come out of our joint accounts, as Christian suggested.”

“Well, that's something.”

“I left a pan on the stove,” Emma said in a tight voice. “Anyone else might have done the same. And yes, I threw water on a grease fire. I knew better and I feel awful about that, but what else can I do now?”

Emma prayed for strength but she needed to make this clear, not simply leave it like that forbidden smear on Frankie's window. “Maybe I didn't have your upbringing—or Christian's, or even Melanie's—but I can't help how I was raised or who my parents were. My mother, at least,” she added. “You know what she always called me, as if it were a joke? Her Big Surprise.” Emma blinked. “We didn't live in a huge house like this one. I never went to college. I've made my own way,” Emma said. “I'm proud of what I've done.”

“But if you'd been more careful—”

Emma realized what Frankie meant. Another slow cramp rolled through her abdomen.

Her gaze went to the window again, to the smudge that had caused Frankie to react so harshly. She looked closer—and made out the image of a small handprint. Just at his height. “Owen,” she murmured. “Oh, Frankie.” Then, “Oh,” she said again, that one word seeming to echo through the large room. “I'm so sorry. How hard his loss must be for you, too, and after you lost your little daughter—”

Emma moved toward her but Frankie stiffened and turned away. She didn't acknowledge Emma's mention of Christian's sister. Why hadn't Emma seen the connection before? Emma knew all about suppressing such feelings until they tore you up inside.

Frankie's voice trembled. “Because of you, my only grandson—as Christian pointed out yesterday—is gone. In a single instant, from one breath to the next, because you cared more for that business of yours than you did for him—”

“That's not true!” Emma cried. “I loved him—you heard Christian's toast yesterday—with all my heart. It's
broken
, Frankie, the same way yours is broken and Lanier's and Grace's and all of ours.”

Frankie merely looked at her in stony silence.

“I can't do anything to help you face that other loss, but I lost Owen, too,” Emma said. After a last glance at the window where his palm print stood out in the morning sun with total clarity, as if he'd pressed his hand to the glass only a moment ago, she turned away from her mother-in-law and went out into the hall.

Yes, she'd destroyed her kitchen. She'd failed with Frankie. Her marriage was probably over. Emma yanked open the front door.

But she and Frankie had finally said what they had to say.

* * *

O
N
HIS
WAY
to Mallory Trucking, Christian couldn't seem to clear his mind.
Even behind the wheel of your truck, you're standing still
, Emma had said. Her words, spoken in anger and perhaps despair, were nevertheless true. Maybe she was right and walking out on his job hadn't worked after all.

It was my job to give him a normal life
.

Always that, with Emma, he thought. But now she couldn't pretend anymore, could she? They'd each been swallowed up by their own grief, just as he and Melanie had been at the end, although for different reasons.

With Emma, it was worse. He'd finally accused her. The last thing he wanted was another divorce. He sure couldn't live in the house by himself and he wasn't sure Emma would want to stay there alone, either. Last night it had been filled with memories. He'd walked the floors with Bob at his heels, whining. They'd fallen asleep just before dawn, man and dog curled together on the living room sofa.

In his dreams he saw the General, not in his stall or at the window or in the barn aisle being groomed. Christian saw him running across the field, his beautiful black mane streaming in the wind, his dark eyes filled with what could only be joy. He saw him free.

When he woke, Christian had lain there staring at the ceiling. The General's episode of colic hadn't been severe, but Rafe was “keeping an eye on Hailey.”

To save on expenses, to placate Emma, to avoid the constant reminders of that terrible day a year ago, he'd condemned his horse to a fate he didn't deserve.

How could he make it up to the General?

Christian promised himself that he'd visit the barn again soon.

But when at last he'd drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of the General again.

He and Bob dozed after that with Owen's “blankie” over them. To his surprise, Christian had found it in his son's room with the rest of his things. Emma hadn't given anything away. Not yet.

Daddy, my froat hurts. I got a fever
.

Yeah, buddy. I know. Come here and let me hold you.

Mama says I got the flu.

It won't last long. I'll take care of you. You'll be better soon.

Christian's arms felt full of little boy again, Owen's skin hot against his, Owen's eyes glazed
.
Sick or well, Owen had always needed him. And that last day he hadn't been there.

He'd asked Emma and Grace to meet him at the barn, but then he'd been trapped in a meeting with his father, Chet Berglund and half a dozen others. Instead of putting Owen on his horse, as he'd promised, then taking everyone to dinner, he'd gotten that panicked call from Rafe.
There's been an accident...terrible...don't know how to say this...

Emma wasn't the only one who'd betrayed Owen
.

Still holding his phone, Christian had burst from the conference room and run for his pickup, heart wanting to beat out of his chest. He'd driven like a crazy man, heedless of his father's calls to wait, leaving him to follow on his own.

The paramedics had been at the barn. By then his little boy had been lying on a gurney stretcher, his small form covered by a rough white blanket. At first, dazed, Christian hadn't seen that it covered Owen's face. Emma had stood there, sobbing, but when he'd tried to hold her she'd turned away—for the first time. Grace, clinging to Rafe, had cried in his arms the way she had at dinner yesterday. And, before Christian could peel back the blanket as if to prove to himself that Owen was really all right, one of the EMTs had caught his gaze above the stretcher. He'd slowly shaken his head, tears in his eyes.

Daddy, play with me. I got a new dump truck. See
?

Yes, Owen. I see. Just a minute
...

Another tug at his arm
. Can I play with you then?

Sure, buddy. When I'm done here
.

And Owen had put his hands on his skinny hips, just like Emma.

Are you working again?

Guilty, he thought. He'd worked such long hours then—like Emma—sacrificed precious time with his son until there wasn't any more time. Granted, he'd felt goaded by his parents' expectations—or had he been trying to prove that Melanie and the judge wouldn't be the only ones who succeeded? He and Emma had been on the move, too, on the rise, building a better future for their family. So he'd told himself. What do you do if the future never happens?

Now, at least he'd have the foundation as a distraction. The invitations had gone out, the RSVPs were coming in and the caterers had a final menu to work with. But would the launch be a success? Would the donations come pouring in from friends and family and the rest of the community? Could it really help those other families as he hoped?

If it did, he wouldn't be able to keep spinning his wheels. He would have to change, even more than he already had, but in a better way, and another day trip to Atlanta wouldn't help.

At the next set of stores along Broad Street, he turned around, found a substitute driver by phone and started back. But he didn't find Emma at her store. She didn't answer her cell phone, either. Maybe she was still at his parents' house, sleeping late. Trying to recover from yesterday. Christian headed for Lookout Mountain.

* * *

W
HENEVER
E
MMA
FELT
UPSET
,
she found solace in work, as if she could, indeed, reorganize her messy life. Once she was in that zone, nothing could intrude—even today. At her own house, she overlooked the sounds of deliverymen and loud music in the kitchen, where they were installing the new appliances and talking among themselves.

On her way through she thanked them for their hard work, then scooped up several empty soda cans to put in the trash. Everything still had its place. With Bob at her side, tail wagging and getting in her way whenever she moved, she straightened the living room. Before Christian had left, even knowing there'd be strangers in the house all day, he'd neglected to shut Bob in her crate. Was he as distraught as Emma? It appeared he'd spent the night on the sofa.

She picked up the blanket—still warm from Bob's body—and folded it. It was Owen's blankie and her heart tripped. Emma took it up to his room and, after a brief hesitation, pushed open the door. She laid the blanket on the bed, then sat down, feeling suddenly limp.

If you'd been more careful
, Frankie had said.

For most of a year, Emma had been determined to be so careful that no one could ever fault her for anything else.

Then she'd caused the fire. Yesterday she'd confronted Christian and this morning the things she'd said to Frankie... Emma had lost the family she'd always wanted. Even if some words needed to be said, they couldn't be taken back.

Emma laid a hand over her stomach. If she and Christian somehow managed to stay together, if only for the baby's sake, Emma could imagine years of uncomfortable holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. Or maybe she'd simply be excluded.

It had taken Emma only minutes to pack after she'd left Frankie in the living room with that smudge still on the window. She'd even tried opening her shop downtown to avoid going home, but she couldn't focus. She hadn't known where else to go but...here. And now, this room.

Yet this time it hadn't seemed as hard to come in, and it was almost comforting to find Owen's toys and truck bed, his stuffed animals still here, sunlight sliding between the slats of his blinds and slanting across the quilt. Unable to give anything away after stuffing it all into bags, she'd simply organized this space, too. As if she might tidy her own memories, including one from that last night with Owen.