Tomorrow's Sun (44 page)

The soft-sided bag hit the floor, and Emily let the rope drop. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she turned off the lamp. She was halfway down the steps when her phone rang. “Let it be him,” she whispered, laughing at the pathetic voice that sounded like a song from her grandmother’s Vicki Carr album. “Hello.”

“Emily, it’s Blaze. We have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ben’s out. They let him out a week early.”

Emily dropped onto the top step. “Do the kids have to go back to him?”

“Not yet. There has to be a hearing first. He got home last night. Claims he’s a new man.” A gutteral laugh sent a chill down Emily’s back. “I told him what we were doing this week and he says if we go he’ll have us arrested for stealing his camper.”

“Is it his? Can he do that?”

Blaze released a long, controlled sigh. “Probably. The pop-up is ours, but I can’t find any proof. I paid cash for it maybe six years ago. Abby borrowed it for their last vacation and we just never got it back.”

“Forget camping then. We’ll stay in cheap motels. I’ll pay—”

“You have no idea how tempted I am to take those two and run. Just start driving and never turn back. If I thought I’d get away with it… But leaving for a week could hurt them. Even if all Ben ends up with is visitation rights, he’ll take it out on them.” Her voice reduced to a husky whisper.

“But you can’t cave in and let this guy—” Emily clamped her hand over her mouth. This was not her business. “Do the kids know?”

“Not yet. I haven’t told Jake yet either.”

Emily’s gut tightened.
Counter with a positive
. “Adam will be crushed.” It was the best she could do. At least it took her thoughts off Jake.

“I know.”

“Let me come and get him, okay? I’ll take him out for breakfast and we’ll go to the Rochester Cemetery or something. Lexi, too, if she’s interested.”

“Thank you. That would help.” Her voice cracked. “But first we have to empty the camper and take it back before…” Her sobs vibrated in Emily’s ear.

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

He’d spent the night curled on one end of Topher’s couch. On it, not sleeping on it. Bart the Dog snored on the other end. The crooked clock on the shelf next to Topher’s beer can pyramid cuckooed five times. Jake threw a sock, hooking the ugly yellow bird before it could retreat and give one last annoying squawk.

“You look like something Bart dug out of last week’s trash.”

“Feel worse.”

“So? Who won? You or God?”

Jake laughed. If anyone understood wrestling with God, it was the shirtless guy scratching his belly with one hand, eating a breakfast burrito with the other. So far, Topher was winning his battle.

“He did. I think.” He sat up, grabbed a sock off the floor, and shoved his foot into it. “I don’t know. Maybe Emily won.”

Topher perched on the arm of the cracking vinyl recliner. “Don’t rush into this if you’re not sure.”

“I’m sure I don’t want to let her go.”

“But not having kids is huge, man. Adam and Lexi will be gone in what? Six years?”

As if they hadn’t dissected the subject to death last night. “I’m not okay with it.” He stood and rescued his other sock from the cuckoo bird. “But she’s not either. I’m not okay with Abby dying, but it is what it is. Sometimes life stinks. The fact is, I want her more than I’m disappointed about not having kids with her. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.” Topher took the last bite and grinned with his mouth full. “Ah shink yer”—he swallowed and wiped the back of his hand across his face—“making the right decision.”

“How so?”

“You’ve never been like this with anyone else.” He held his hands up, pointed his fingers at his ears, and wiggled them. “You get all sparkly with this chick.”

“Sparkly?” Jake bent, grabbing the nearest weapon. A foam cheese-head hat left his hand and bounced off Topher’s forehead. Topher didn’t blink.

“Yeah. And besides”—Topher stood and walked to the doorway leading to the kitchen—“she’s a crazy good kisser.”

Jake’s voice bounced back at him from the bottom of the attic stairs. Emily wasn’t home, but her packed bag sat on the second floor landing. They hadn’t left yet. Her van was still hooked to the camper in his parent’s driveway with Adam’s “Missouri or Bust” sign in the window. Parked right where he’d seen it last night when he circled town a dozen times before crashing on Topher’s couch.

The bag looked like it weighed a ton. Had she gone in search of someone to help her get it down the stairs? He pulled out his phone and checked it then shoved it back in his pocket. He wouldn’t be top on her list of people to call for help. Hefting the strap onto his shoulder, he clomped downstairs and set it by the front door.

She was probably at his house. At
his mother’s
house. How long would it be until there’d be one he could call his? His gaze followed the floor planks from the front door to the kitchen. As much as it still galled him that he’d been powerless to defend the dining room wall, he had to admit the space made more sense this way. He could visualize a flat screen to the left of the door and a couple of overstuffed leather couches. He could keep his eyes on the game while dishing up his killer chili.

He plopped onto the floor and leaned against the outside wall. It was the perfect spot for a recliner. Leather, but not dark brown like the couches. Maybe a light tan. He’d angle it so he could see the flat screen and still be able to talk to the people on the couches.

And just who would those people be? If the Packers went to the Super Bowl, who’d be gathered around, scooping up his five alarm chili with homemade tortilla chips? Topher and his crew? Emily and the kids?

Fingers splayed, his hands rested on the floor, his right one only inches from the setting of the scene he’d rewritten so many times. Emily on the floor in tears, Jake the hero kneeling beside her, saying all the right things. Things that made her melt into his arms. He leaned to the side, as if she were there, as if he could slide his hand over hers. Closing his eyes, he imagined the magic words.
Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here for you and
—

The front door opened. Emily stared at him, down at her bag, then back at him. “What are you doing?”

Feeling like a fool and hoping it didn’t show, he said, “Just trying to get a feel for the place.”

A small but real smile tipped her lips. “That’s my line. And you didn’t fall for it.”

“No, I didn’t. What was going on that day?”

“I saw Michael running after the ball. I knew I couldn’t move fast enough to stop him.” That was the extent of her answer. One shoulder rose then lowered.

“It made you feel helpless.”

She nodded.

“Like the accident?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But then you yelled for him and…” Her gaze latched on the dining room window. “So what’s your story?”

“Feeling a little helpless myself, I guess.” He patted a spot on the imaginary couch. Not too close, but not so far that he couldn’t touch her. If she let him.

She sat and folded her legs under her.
Comfy? Need a little more chili?

“I’m just kind of lost as to how to explain to a girl I’m intensely drawn to why I didn’t say anything when she really needed an answer.”

Blond wisps tapped her cheek. Again, that hint of a smile. She held his gaze. “I didn’t expect an answer.”

Jake tipped his head. Something was different about her.

“I spent a good part of the night talking to God,” she said. “And listening.”

“We have that in common. What did you hear?”

She fingered a crumb of dry plaster. It crushed between her fingertips. “Hannah made the quilt. I found her initials on it.”

“It’s that old?”

Emily nodded. “I wish I knew who she made it for. All those tiny, intricate stitches. Hours and hours to commemorate someone.” Her chin lifted. Blue eyes shimmered at him, into him. “She made something beautiful out of her grief.”

He held out his hand, palm up. She looked down. A tear dropped to the center of his hand. She covered it with hers. He wiped the tear track off her cheek with his free hand. “What will be your something beautiful?”

“The rest of my life maybe.”

“I like that.” He closed his hand over hers.

“I thought I couldn’t start living until after I’d made restitution.”

“To who? Sierra?”

“She was supposed to be in New York this year. She had a partial dance scholarship to Julliard. Dancing was her life, all she ever wanted. I thought she’d lost that forever, but she’s an amazing pianist and I wanted to earn enough to pay her tuition.”

“That’s the thing that was going to make you feel like you could start living?”

“It was. But Sierra’s still dancing. She has a full scholarship to Julliard. She’s living. And I’m not.” Her chest shuddered with a rasping breath. “Last night I gave myself permission to live. I can’t undo my mistakes. I can’t.” She fell silent. Jake was sure she was cataloging mistakes. “I can’t make anything right. But I have to start living like I’m forgiven.”

Jake traced the veins on the back of her hand with his finger. “I realized something during the night, too.”

Emily’s lips separated. The tip of her tongue pressed her upper teeth as if preparing to tell him to stop. “Jake, you don’t—”

He held up his hand. “Life isn’t fair, but God is good. That’s what I came to last night. I don’t know if there’s a future for us, but I want to find out.” He covered both of her hands with his. “I need you to know that your news isn’t going to cause a problem for my part of us.”

Her eyes closed.

“What are you thinking?”

“That things that seem too good to be true usually are.”

“But not always.”

“But there are so many things…” Another tear fell.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re so good with kids. You need to be somebody’s dad.”

“I don’t have to father a child to be a dad.”

“I told a Realtor I was ready to put an offer on a house in St. Louis.”

“You can get out of that. And if you decide not to, I have a phone. I talk. I text. I e-mail. I drive. I fly. I might even want to spend some time remodeling a house in Missouri. Anything else?”

“I have an apartment waiting for me in California.”

“I’ll bring my kayak.”

“You have Adam and Lexi to worry about.”

“I’ll bring my kids.” He brushed a strand of wheat-colored hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

“You hate short hair.”

“Past tense.” The side of his thumb skimmed her cheek. “That was the old me.”

“You…”

His left hand cupped the other side of her face and he leaned toward her. “Really like you,” he whispered an inch from her lips. “Really, really…” The rest was lost as his lips pressed against hers. Soft, warm, lifting him somewhere far beyond like.