The Edge of Heaven (30 page)

Emma slipped her hand into the pocket, her fingers curling around his, her touch calming him down a little bit, making him not so desperate to run.

"I remember the first year we came here," she said, wiping away tears with her other hand. "It was Christmas, seemed like ages since I'd seen my mother, and I'd told myself if we could just hang on until Christmas day, she'd be back. I was counting on a Christmas miracle."

"And you found her, right?" he said.

"Sam found her, just not quite the way we expected. She was dying. She didn't tell us until a week later, but I knew it when I saw her that Christmas day. I think I knew it before we even came here. There's an ornament on the tree for her. We put it up on Christmas Eve, when it's just the five of us, so it's like she's here in a way, and she knows Zach and Grace and I are fine. I believe that."

"No doubts?" Rye asked, amazed at that kind of faith.

"None, but I had a lot that first Christmas. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that they found her. Christmas Eve, Christmas morning, most of the day, I spent thinking that was it. If she wasn't back by then, she wasn't coming back. I didn't know what would happen to us. Sam and Rachel said we could stay with them for as long as it took, but we really didn't know them, and it was hard to believe after everything we'd been through that anything could ever work out for us."

"What happened, Emma?"

"We had a Christmas like this, in this house, decked out in all twelve boxes of decorations, just for the outside, and as many or more for the inside. It smelled like Christmas and looked like Christmas. We were warm and had plenty to eat and were safe. They had piles of presents under the tree, and all these people. I was starting to think this might be okay, and then they pulled out those ornaments, sprung them on us just like they sprung them on you."

"And what did you do?" She would have faced this at twelve. Even then, she'd probably handled it better than he had.

"I just wanted to run away, as far and as fast as I could. Because I knew what it meant. They'd already opened up their home to us, and now they were making us a part of them in a way we'd never been a part of anything before. I wanted that almost as much as I wanted my mother back. But when security is something you've never had, it's hard to trust that anything will ever really last."

Yeah, she knows all right.

"Part of me wanted them to grab me and hold on to me until I felt safe again, and part of me just wanted to run. I wanted to yell at them, to tell them they'd better not offer me anything unless they were sure they meant it. That they'd better not ever try to take it back, because I'd lost too much already. I didn't think I could stand to lose one more thing."

She still had tears in her eyes. They were running down her cheeks. He turned to her and brushed them away. "Emma."

"They mean it. You're one of them now. They're not going to forget. They're not going to change their minds, and you can't run away, Rye. Sam couldn't stand that."

"Sam's not too happy with me right now," he said.

"Because of me. I know, and I'm sorry. I know he told you to stay away from me-—"

"Wait a minute. I don't need Sam to tell me what I already know, Emma. I know what's right and what's wrong, even if I don't always do the right thing. And this is wrong."

"Is it? What's age anyway? It's a number, that's all."

"No, it's years and years of living," he said, drawing away from her. "Damn, I don't want to do this. Not today. Not when you've been... Emma..." She truly was amazing, and she did understand him, maybe better than anyone ever had. What was he supposed to do about that?

But he knew. Dammit, he knew.

He had to make it clear to her that he didn't want anything to do with her. Otherwise, she'd keep hoping. She'd keep putting her hands on him and kissing him and understanding way too much about him. Sam would be furious and Rye would be tempted, even knowing how young she was.

So this had to stop.

If it hurt for now, it just had to hurt. At least it would be over.

"Emma, I don't know how I would have gotten through today or any day since I came here without you, and I mean that. I'm grateful for it. You're sweet and so kind, but... Emma"—he looked her right in the eye—"You're just a kid."

She blinked up at him, seeming frozen in time for a moment. She cocked her head to the right. Her mouth came open, but she didn't say anything, just looked at him, those old eyes of hers getting bigger and bigger, then flooding with tears.

"You don't mean that," she said.

"I do. You just got out of high school, Emma. You just went to the prom. I guess you've gotten some crazy idea that it doesn't matter, but it does. I don't run around with teenage girls."

"No, it's Sam. Sam made you say that."

"Sam doesn't tell me what to do. I'm a grown man. Nobody tells me what to do," he said, then thought to add, "except my parole officer."

"Don't be like this," she begged.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I really don't want to hurt you. But you've got to see the truth in this. It's part of growing up, Emma, and you've got a lot of growing up ahead of you."

"Me?" she scoffed. "Who do you think you're talking to? I've never been young. I never had the chance until I came here, and by then, honestly, it was just too late. I'm the oldest eighteen-year-old you'll ever meet."

"Maybe so. But you want things from me. I know you do. You've got this crazy idea that you and me... Emma, girls your age fall in love once a week. Believe me, you'll get over it."

She gaped at him. "And you don't feel anything for me?"

"I told you." He gritted his teeth and kept going. "You're a sweet kid."

She closed her eyes and hung her head for a moment. He heard her take one long, ragged breath, and when she lifted her head she somehow managed not to cry. He felt like he'd drop-kicked a kitten, and it had come running back to him, dammit, like it just hadn't understood the first time.

Well, he couldn't do it again.

"Emma, I never wanted to hurt you."

"Really?"

"No, I didn't."

She looked at him, her shoulders heaving, her expression crumbling for a moment before she took off through the backyard. He thought of going after her, thought of begging her to forgive him, even if that would just make things worse. But he had to tell her these things. It was the right damned thing to do.

So why did he feel like the lowest creature on earth?

* * *

Emma hid in her room. Sometimes she cried. Sometimes she stared at the ceiling. Sometimes she dreamed. Mark was back, swinging the shovel at her. Except in her dream, nobody stopped him. The shovel crashed into the side of her face. She fell to the floor, and when she looked up Rye was standing over her saying, "You're a sweet kid, Emma."

After days of this, she was disgusted with herself. Life went on, after all, and she was alive, though one would hardly know that by how she'd spent the past few days.

She went downstairs, congratulating herself for that monumental move from one floor of her own home to another, not looking at the living room, where
it
had happened. Not looking at the front door, because it made her think of going outside, which she did not want to do. How long could she stay inside before someone noticed and carted her off to a shrink? she wondered.

She looked out the front window. It wasn't quite daybreak and there looked to be a crisp, clear one on the way. She wandered through the downstairs, startled at first to hear voices coming from the kitchen. Really, it was ridiculous how much that scared her.

But it was just Sam and Rachel. Both of them were early risers.

She was afraid they might be talking about her, so she didn't say anything at first. Then she realized they were talking about Rye. She eavesdropped shamelessly.

"Did you ask him?" Rachel said.

"Yeah. He turned me down again."

"Keep after him. He'll come around."

"I hope so," Sam said.

So he was keeping himself away because she was here.

Emma stood there, slumped against the wall, her head leaning back against it. All he'd wanted when he came here was to find Sam, and she'd messed that all up. He might stay away as long as things were awkward between them, and she didn't see it getting better anytime soon.

Which meant this was her mess to fix once again.

It was time for her to get her life back together, time to start acting like the woman she was, not this scared, spineless mess she'd become.

She'd make a list. She was so good at that.

A Get Emma Out of This Mess List. Get on with her life. Grow up. That's what he'd said she had to do.

It really wasn't hard, now that she'd become so disgusted with her own behavior. Especially not since she knew what she had to do. Get her life back. Get out of the way of Sam and Rye. She made a list and started crossing things off one by one. By the next afternoon, things were falling into place in a way that told her she'd done the right thing, that this was all meant to be. There was only one more thing to take care of—facing him.

She had enough pride left that she dressed for the event, fussed with her hair, put on a short skirt that rode low on her waist and a skinny sweater that left a solid inch and a half of her midriff bare.

Let him think of her as a sweet kid, if he could.

She added her favorite boots that gave her an extra two-and-a-half inches, the pretty diamond earrings Sam and Rachel had given her for graduation, and told herself no one would guess that she spent the better part of three days crying in her room.

Fifteen minutes later, she was knocking on Rye's door.

He frowned when he opened it and found her there.

"Are you going to let me in? Or should I stand here a little bit longer until someone sees me going into your apartment?" she asked, not in the mood to have to argue about getting in the door.

"Emma, what is it?" He sounded more weary than he had in his jail cell.

"I just wanted you to know I'm leaving," she said, holding her head high.

He stepped back and let her inside. "Back to Chicago?"

"No. I can't do that," she admitted, looking around the place. It was tiny, clean but dingy, drab, colorless. She supposed it was better than a cell, but she hated the idea of him living like this. Not that her opinion mattered to him. And she had things to say to him. "Mark lives two hours from there. His parents told Sam he's skipping spring semester at least and may never go back, but I can't go, either. I guess I am a coward. But... It all started there, and it's a long way from home."

"You're not a coward." His poker face was gone for a moment, and he looked worried. "And you don't have to go back there. You don't have to do anything right now."

"Yes, I do." He hadn't asked her to sit down or even offered to take her coat. Fine. They could do it this way, get it over with. She really only came to talk. "I'm transferring to UC."

"Where?"

"The University of Cincinnati. I almost went there in the first place, but I got this idea in my head that I wanted to be on my own and farther away.... Chicago sounded so big and so different." What a mistake that had turned out to be. "They still had my transcripts, test scores, application, all that, which made things easier. Some of the freshmen have already dropped out, so they have space. Sam and I talked to the dean of admissions this morning. He gave him an edited version of what happened, and they've accepted me for the spring semester. Classes start in ten days."

"Sure you're ready for that?"

"No, but I'm going to do it." She managed to smile then. Life went on, didn't it? "It's close enough that, if I need to, I can be here in an hour. But it's still school. I can still be on my own. And I want to go. I won't let myself stay here and be scared for the rest of my life."

"Anybody who'd been through what you have would be scared," Rye said.

For a minute, she thought he did really care about her. Of course, that's what she wanted to think. "Besides," she said. "You and Sam... I know you've been staying away, and I know why. I'm sorry I made you feel like... That I made you uncomfortable."

"Emma, it's not that," he lied.

"Yes, it is. You came here to find Sam, and everything that happened afterward just messed that up, and I feel bad about that."

"It's not—"

"I know. Not my fault." She even managed to smile. "Everybody's said that. I'm working on believing it. But things are going to be awkward for a while, and I don't want to be the one standing between you and Sam."

"There's a lot more than you standing between me and Sam."

"Well, then I want to be one less thing."

Rye pushed an impatient hand through his hair and looked ready to argue. "I think you need them right now, Emma. They're your family. Much more yours than mine, and I'm just fine on my own."

"This is my time to be on my own. To head off into the world. My family's not going anywhere. I know that. I can always come back. This is your turn to become a part of them."