Sister Dear (24 page)

Dinner with Caroline was equally frustrating. She'd spent the afternoon preparing her niece's favorite gumbo, a recipe that involved creating a thick, buttery roux and chopping piles of celery, tomato, onion, okra, and bell peppers.

“So, you've been spending a lot of time at the nursing home,” Emma said as she handed over a steaming bowl. “See anything of your friend?” A hint of a smile began sneaking across her face.

“Yes. He helped me out the other day,” Caroline said, wrinkling her nose. “I was having a little bit of trouble with one of the residents.”

“What happened?” Emma took a sip of water, her eyes never leaving her niece. “Something bad?”

“No, nothing like that,” Caroline said. “Just a lady who had a bad accident and some brain damage—she kind of freaked me out. Her day-to-day memory isn't very good, but sometimes she remembers stuff further back.”

“That's got to be awful,” Emma said, shaking her head.

“Yeah, she's really confused sometimes. I feel bad for her, to never get to leave that place,” Caroline replied. She lifted her chin to look at Emma. “Have you ever been to the nursing home? Like, inside?”

Emma pondered for a minute. “A long time ago. I can't think of anyone I know who lives there now.”

“Do you know Dr. Gaines?” Caroline asked.

Emma, mid-sip, almost inhaled her drink. “What?”

“A lady, her name is June Gaines.” Caroline focused on her bowl, stirring the thick broth. “She's a doctor. Or she used to be.”

After taking a second to compose her thoughts, Emma continued. “It must be the same person. I guess I didn't realize she was there.” She crumpled her napkin in her hand. “I haven't thought about her in forever.”

“It's just weird because everyone else is like ninety years old,” added Caroline.

Emma allowed herself a small smile. “I'm sure there are some lovely ninety-year-olds,” she chided her niece playfully.

“Oh, there are,” Caroline said, smiling at the joke. “But she's younger and has nicer clothes, and her hair is always done. She doesn't fit in there. That's why it's weird.”

“What did she say, exactly, to freak you out?” Emma's throat went dry. She reached for her water and downed half the glass.

“Nothing. Just rambling. It was just a little weird.” Caroline picked up her roll and pulled it apart, watched the steam escape. “She thought I was someone else.”

“Like a celebrity or something?” Emma asked lightly, forcing a giggle.

“No, nothing like that.” Caroline frowned. “But I think she delivered babies.”

Emma's chest began to tighten. “From what I remember, a lot of babies. For a while, she was the county's only female ob-gyn. So she was busy, worked long hours, took call, and went in for emergencies.”

Her niece sat up at full attention, wrinkled her forehead, and leaned in to hear the rest. “Will she ever get better?”

Emma wrinkled her forehead. “I don't know. That's one for the specialists. Anything else, Miss Twenty Questions?” She smiled and winked at her niece.

“Well, if she delivered a lot of babies, did she deliver me?” Caroline asked.

Emma considered this. “I don't think so,” she said. “Allie had a male doctor.” She picked up her water glass and sipped.

“Why not?” Caroline lowered her eyes to the table. “She didn't want anyone to know?”

Trying not to choke, Emma picked up her napkin, dabbing it to her lips. “Caro, I'm not exactly sure.”

But Emma was sure. She knew Allie was figuring out what to do about medical school, deciding whether she could get her enrollment postponed, and worrying about how to tell their parents.

“We didn't even know she was pregnant for a long time,” Emma added softly. It was a harsh reality for her niece to absorb, and not entirely true. Allie had told Emma right away; she'd shared the whole story.

Caroline sniffed. “So she didn't tell anyone, and then it was too late to get rid of me?” Her cheeks flushed bright pink. She pushed back her chair, ready to stand up and leave the table.

“Honey, wait,” Emma said, motioning for Caroline to stay.
“Please, don't go. Talk to me.” She waited until her niece settled back in her seat before starting to speak again. Emma licked her lips and formed a story in her head. This was her opportunity, a moment she could use to drive Caroline away from Allie for good.

“She really couldn't take care of you, Caroline,” Emma began. “She was so focused on medical school, so intent on leaving town, that I think when she found out she was carrying you, she didn't want to believe it at first.”

Caroline's lips parted. “Like, she was in denial? Or in shock?”

“Exactly.”

“So, then what?”

Emma thought carefully. “She was distraught, especially after she told your grandmother and grandfather. They were pretty upset. Allie said more than a few times that she didn't know what to do.”

“About me?”

Emma nodded.

“Oh,” Caroline gasped. “She didn't want me. My own mother didn't want me.” She clapped her palm over her mouth. After a few seconds, Caroline's hand slid down below the base of her neck. She pressed and held it there, eyes closed tight, as if she were having chest pain.

“It wasn't exactly that simple,” Emma whispered. But she wasn't going to try hard to defend her sister. By all rights, she should be Caroline's legal parent, since Allie had made her choice a long time ago. “Sweetheart, I'm sure she thought a lot about her options.”

Her niece's eyelids fluttered open. “Like giving me up for adoption? Instead of an abortion?” Caroline's voice hit a shrill tone.

“She probably did think about that,” Emma replied, keeping her tone low and even.

“Why didn't she just give me away? Let some strangers have
me?” When Emma didn't reply, Caroline moved her silverware to her plate, picked up her cup, and stalked into the kitchen.

Emma closed her eyes and took a breath. This, however unpleasant for the moment, was exactly what she needed to encourage. Thinking about what to say next, Emma cleared her own dishes and walked to the counter to stand next to Caroline. She turned on the faucet, squirted some dish soap, and began to rinse her plate.

Caroline stared at the suds, jaw set, stone-faced.

“The sooner you get over this stuff with your mom and move on, the better it will be for everyone,” Emma said gently. “Why don't I set up an appointment for you to meet with a counselor? That way you can talk it through. Make some decisions.”

“And how will that fix things? See a therapist and then what? He'll tell me I'm as crazy as my mother and that I'll probably kill someone when I turn twenty-five?” She sniffed and then tears began to stream down Caroline's face.

Emma put her hand over Caroline's. “No one can fix it. But a professional might be able to help you deal with the situation. Give you ways to figure out how to let all of it go.” She squeezed Caroline's fingers.

“I'll think about it.” Caroline ran her fingertips along her cheeks, catching the tears.

“That sounds good. And that's a really grown-up decision to make. Because what happens with Allie affects all of us. Everyone in the family. It's not been easy on Grandma and Grandpa. They're so upset about what she's done. And Grandpa had to retire . . .”

Emma watched Caroline's expression. It was a lot for a teenager to take in, but she wasn't capable of making choices by herself. Not about this.

“My head hurts,” Caroline whispered. She pressed a hand to her forehead and bent over the counter. “I'm going to go lie down.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Come get me if you need me.” Emma kissed her niece's forehead and watched her pad down the hallway. With soft steps, Emma retreated to her own room, turned down the sheets, and slid into bed. As she settled in, she thought about the past, when she thought everything in her life was perfect. She had love. She had big plans and a future.

And like with Caroline, it had all come crashing down.

Emma wiped at her cheeks before a tear dripped onto her pillow, and she tried to remember all of the good she'd had in her life. Before he was taken away, the man she loved had given her hope. Made her feel beautiful. And adored. She remembered all of the little moments they'd shared. Her favorite was the night they'd made their baby.

September 2006

With a spark and a whoosh, Emma lit a match. She held the flame over several candles, lighting each wick in turn. The glow softened the four walls, stacked with sterile instruments and drawers of medical equipment. She brought in soft pillows and blankets, arranged them into a cozy nest on the floor. There was little more she could do for ambiance.

She checked her hair for the fifth time, rubbed her lips together, and took a sip of water. On tiptoes, she raised up to glance out at the back parking lot. Empty.

Emma listened for his truck. No hum of an engine, no crunch of tires on gravel. She turned away from the window and slumped down, sliding against the painted cement block wall.

He was ready to leave his wife, he'd told Emma.

Just a few more days. Just another week. Before she knew it, they'd been together an entire month. The relationship consumed her, like an addiction.

Emma stopped eating, couldn't sleep, and began to make mistakes at her father's office. The occasional morning she missed work or forgot to place an order for paper towels, exhausted from midnight phone calls, hurried liaisons in back parking lots, and daydreaming about the future.

Best—or worst—of all, there was no cure, no antidote, no test to run or medicine to take. Time was the release. Only being together would set her free. She couldn't believe her life could change so completely in just a month.

The security keypad beeped four times, numbers punched into the system. Another ding signaled the code was correct, and Emma heard the sound of metal, the back door, scraping against the linoleum floor.

“Hey, babe.” He clutched his ball cap in one hand. “You missed the best part of the game.” He pulled off his windbreaker and laid it over the closest chair. “Two-point conversion in the last fifteen seconds of the quarter. Put us up by one . . .” His eyes were expectant, excited, and more alive than she'd ever seen.

It was her cue.

“And you won?” Emma squealed and jumped to her feet.

He hugged her to his chest and brought a hand under her chin so he could tilt her face to his. “We officially have a winning season.”

Emma's lips met his then, their hands and faces melting into each other. It was times like these, she thought, that it was hard to tell where she left off and he began. They were meant for each other, soul mates. She knew it.

He bent in front of her, kneeled down, and she caught her breath. Was this it? A proposal? But he began to nuzzle her bare legs, sliding his hands under Emma's skirt. “We have to celebrate,” he murmured and kissed her thigh. “Right now.”

As dizzy and light-headed as she felt, Emma forced both hands onto his muscled chest and pushed him back with as much effort as
she could muster. “Wait a second,” she cautioned. “Did you talk to her? You promised.” She jutted out her lip.

If he was frustrated, Emma couldn't tell.

“I can't tonight, not with the win and all. All the positive attention the team's finally getting, the momentum.” He paused. “Breaking that news would kill the team's spirit. You can't have that on your conscience.”

Emma didn't answer; she knew there was more than some accuracy in what he was saying. Football in Georgia mattered more than academics and grades; the sport was leagues above the arts and community service. It was all anyone ever talked about from July through January, and then spring training began.

“I miss you,” she tried, and ran a finger down his collar, to the embroidery on his chest. She traced the letters. “I want to be with you every day,” she murmured into his shoulder, laying her cheek against his shirt.

Strong hands gripped Emma's shoulders, held her out at arm's length. He held up a finger for her to stay quiet, then reached into his pocket. Emma watched his hand, which he withdrew, fist tight. He stretched his arm until his hand reached below her nose. He flipped over his palm, opened his fingers, one by one.

“The game coin,” Emma breathed. She couldn't pull her eyes away from the glinting disk cradled in his hand. It was a symbol of what he loved most in the world.

“For you,” he said and pressed it into her palm. “You're everything to me. Know that.”

Emma curled her fingers around the gift.

“Give me just a little more time. And we have to be extra careful.” He reached out, drawing her close. “I promise I'm leaving her.” His breath, hot and sweet, caressed her face. “Say you'll wait?”

“All right,” Emma murmured.

His eyes locked on hers and his voice grew darker. “And there's one more thing. I need your help.”

At the request, Emma sat up, fighting a twinge of worry. She brushed a stray hair from her eyes. “Anything. What is it?”

Coach Thomas pushed himself up on one elbow. In a few solemn sentences, he explained. It would change everything. It would mean a better future. For Mansfield Academy. For them.

Emma clasped her arms around her knees, pulling them close, while her head and heart dueled over the request. “It's just for now? For a little while?”

His forehead crinkled. “I think so.”

In the end, she couldn't deny him. “Then, yes.”

Thomas broke into a wide grin. “Emma, I love you.”

She stopped breathing. Her hand released the coin; it slipped through her fingers, clinked on the floor, and rolled away.

“Get it later,” he told her and pulled her close. He tore at her clothing, desperate, wild.