Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Cocooned in the warm SUV, winding the curve of the snow-blanketed country roads, she and Jake spoke very little on the way to his place. The excitement of seeing his new home filled Emma’s thoughts. When they turned into his driveway, the vision ahead stole her breath away. On a moonless night, single candle lights glowed in every window of the old farmhouse. Taking it all in, a sense of welcome warmed her.

“This is so beautiful,” she said. “Jake, it’s…perfect.”

“Just wait until you see inside.” He got out of the SUV, opened the door for Emma, then reached into the back seat to retrieve her duffle, the bulging shopping bag, and their dinner, courtesy of Mildred’s Café. When he reached for her hand, she could see his eyes gleaming with excitement.

He unlocked the door and pulled her into the foyer. Lemon wax, she sniffed. She leaned against an antique chest to take off her snow boots, leaving them on a bright blue rug beside the door. Straightening, she got her first look. The moment seemed charged, intimate. Was this the first step into a future with him?

“Oh, Jake.” She took in the rich, shiny hardwood floors. “Are these the original floors? They are gorgeous.”

“Yes. All of the woodwork in the house is.” He helped her off with her coat and hung it in the closet. “This place was built in 1876. It stayed in the original family until Griff bought it five years ago.”

Emma surveyed the large living room, her gaze skimming the rich leather furniture and the gray marble fireplace. The furnishings were straight out of a high-end interior design magazine. Jake walked behind her as she walked through an archway into an empty dining room.

“Griff decided to keep the antique dining room table and chairs and a few paintings,” he explained. “So, at some point, we need to replace them.”

We? Was it simply a figure of speech, or was he referring to a future including her? She loved Jake from the tender age of fifteen. In many ways, they had grown up together, then grown apart. Each of them had to mature, find themselves, and find their place and purpose in the world. Now, fate saw fit to bring them back to each other.

“I do have the antique dining room suit…I could let you borrow,” she said.

Jake grinned. “When you told me you wanted to hold on to it, it did cross my mind that it would be perfect here. On loan, of course.”

“Agreed.” She smiled as she sashayed past him, through a butler’s pantry, and into the large farm kitchen centered around an enormous gray and white granite island. “Hmm. Whatever you have in those bags smells delicious.” A well-used wooden table and chairs sat in front of a big bay window overlooking a large backyard studded with snow-covered pine trees.

“Today was fried chicken day at Mildred’s, and I know how much you like her biscuits and chicken.” He set the bags on the island. “Want a quick tour before dinner?”

“Sure.” She nodded and stayed close behind him as they went down a hall off the kitchen.

“The master bedroom is down here.” His obvious pride in his new home made her smile.

When he pulled her into the master suite, her toes curled into the deep, plush carpet. Heaven must look like this. Her gaze traveled the room, appreciating every piece of art and décor. The color palette was the palest cream to the softest, most perfect dove gray. Two soft, comfortable pearl gray leather chairs and ottomans filled out a sitting area. She wanted to run her fingers over everything from the supple leather to the textured silk bedspread and tall matching upholstered headboard. An image of her and Jake taking their pleasure in the large bed in the glow of firelight played in her mind.

“Wait until you see the bathroom.” His gray eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“Mercy.” She almost drooled when she entered the spa bathroom. It was even more luxurious than his gorgeous bedroom. “I could live in here.” With the two-person free-standing soaker tub, the shower with dozens of water jets and wall-to-wall mirrors, she could be quite content. “On second thought, maybe all those mirrors might reveal too much. Mercy. Had Jake just heard the monster in her stomach growl?

“Our tour ends here.” He chuckled, taking her hand. “Wouldn’t want you to faint from hunger. There is one more room on this floor you can check out later. A library with a really cool antique desk, plenty of built-in bookcases, and one of those fold-into-the-wall kinds of beds.”

“That’s great. So you would have a place to sleep if I happened to stay over?” she asked, her cheeks heating up at her boldness.

“I assure you my bed is much more comfortable than a fold-up.” His silver-gray eyes indicated his desire, plain as day.

“That’s awfully gentlemanly of you to sleep in the library, so I can take your comfortable bed, Jake.” She tried to keep a straight face as she carried their chicken dinners to the table.

“No one will be sleeping in the library. You, my love, will be in my bed with me.”

This was so much fun. She’d forgotten bantering with Jake could be so entertaining. “Well, then,” she said, “it’s a good thing it’s a stadium-size bed. We each can have our own side.”

Maybe she should stop poking the bear. He just might bite. For some reason, her internal motor seemed to be stuck on high, and there was this odd energy zinging like crazy through her body.

“There are no sides. Just plenty of room for us to play.” Jake put their drinks on the table, and they both sat and began to eat. After studying her for several moments, he gave her a questioning look. “What’s going on? Talk to me, baby.”

“Well, lots of things, really.” She wiggled with excitement. “Today, I was offered the social work position at Mercy Hospital today. I start in two weeks.”

Jake’s eyes widened, and his smile was huge. “I am so happy for you, Emmie. Happy for me too.” Getting up from his chair, he hauled her into his arms in a big, rocking hug. “This is awesome. You have made my day.”

Pure joy overtook her as she realized how delighted he was over her news.

He picked up his glass and clinked it with hers. “To my girl, Emma. Congratulations. Mercy is lucky to have a city girl with major hospital experience like you.”

“Thank you very much,” she said, smiling. Her “other” news could wait until later. “Now, let’s finish eating.”

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then, after a few bites of a buttered biscuit, Emma closed her eyes and sighed. “I am in food heaven. I can honestly say, having eaten in probably a hundred establishments in New York City—fine dining or on the cheap—I have never had a biscuit this good.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I imagine any biscuit there will cost ten times what it costs at Mildred’s.”

Emma opened her eyes. “In the circles my mother was in, cost never mattered. At least it didn’t until she ran out of paintings to sell.” Sighing, she shook her head. “On the flip side, my father was a walking calculator.” A half funny-half sad memory came to mind. It was one of the few times she’d stood up to her father. “Did I ever tell you about the incident with my father at the Pierre?”

“No.” Jake filled her glass. “Is this a bad or good George story? As if the latter is even possible.”

She laughed. He knew her father reasonably well, so it was a valid question. “My father brought his wife, my stepmother Tatiana, and his twin boys to the states and New York City to meet me on my birthday. He told me to arrive at the hotel—The Pierre, no less— promptly at ten AM.”

“No question, George has exceptional taste.” Jake’s sarcasm was plain. “The Pierre has to be the priciest hotel in the city.”

“Hotel to kings, world leaders, and movie stars.” She munched on a chicken leg. “Anyway, it was the day of my sixteenth birthday, so I imagined he’d planned something special.” Snorting at her own naivete, she continued, “My mother warned me not to get my hopes up, but I refused to listen. In my mind, this was the big day everything would change. I’d get to celebrate my birthday with my father and meet my little brothers.”

His gaze stayed fixed on her, and she could imagine what he was thinking. Rotten George Kimball was about to screw his daughter over again. Well, almost.

“I get to his suite, and he pulls me inside. Gives me a quick peck on the cheek. Doesn’t introduce me to his wife, who is bemoaning her ‘terrible mal de tête’ and begging for someone to find an aspirin. He introduces me to the twins, Jean-Paul and Darius, who are sitting at a table on the far side of the suite with the remains of an elaborate breakfast watching TV. At least Jean-Paul smiled at me. Darius ignored me completely.”

Jake swallowed a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy and then said, “I can’t imagine where this is going.” He shook his head.

“Hang on. He says it’s Tatiana’s first time in New York, and they are going on a private sightseeing tour.” Emma holds up her hand and takes a drink. “Father finds the aspirin, medicates his wife, and whisks her out the door. As he’s leaving, he turns back and tells the twins to mind their sister.”

He abandoned his chicken to stare at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” She put her glass on the table. “It gets better.”

He laughed. “I can’t wait to see where this is going.”

“The twins want to watch a movie but can’t agree on the same one. So I order one movie for Jean-Paul in the bedroom and the other for Darius in the living room. After their movies, we are all starved. Me especially, since the only thing I’ve had to eat is an unopened box of Rice Crispies from their breakfast leftovers.”

“So your father is willing to spring for a suite but won’t cough up enough to pay a babysitter?”

“Just wait.” She leaned back in her chair. “I don’t have enough money to take them out for lunch. Darius is on the verge of a tantrum, and Jean-Paul—the friendlier of the two—says he will only eat ‘fruits de mer,’ which is seafood. So, I march the boys downstairs into the hotel’s world-famous French restaurant and tell them they can have anything and as much as they want. Since it was my birthday, we even had whole strawberry cream cake.”

“What did this mega-eating spree cost your dad?”

“Keep in mind this was fifteen years ago. Including the in-room movies, nine entrees—we decided to sample almost everything—and a magnificent birthday cake, it was four-hundred and fifty-eight dollars.” She was still proud of herself for standing up to her father that day.

Jake chortled and choked on his drink. “Damn, what did George have to say?”

“Absolutely nothing. He didn’t speak to me again for a year and a half.”

“He’s one of a kind,” he said. Then he raised a dark brow and looked at her. “Earlier, you said ‘things’ or ‘lots of things.’ What else happened today?”

“Oh.” She wrapped up the remains of Mildred’s fried chicken dinner. “I almost forgot.” Gesturing toward the empty wine bottle, she said, “This one requires another bottle. Maybe something bubbly.”

“I’m intrigued.” He stood, walked over to the refrigerator, then rummaged inside. “We have a dessert wine.” Holding up the bottle, he asked, “Asti Spumante, will it do?”

“Ooh, yes. That will do nicely.” While he filled their glasses, Emma retrieved the shopping bag with the two painting tubes. After clearing off the table, she placed the metal tubes on it.

“Hmm, not the right size for fishing rods.” He frowned at the tubes. “What are they?”

“Patience, please.” She opened the smaller tube and pulled out the childhood portrait of her.

A huge smile crinkled around his gray eyes, and he chuckled. “I remember this little girl and also the rabbit. Your mother painted this?”

Emma nodded, pleased he remembered her as a little girl. “I found it in the old trunk. It’s the only portrait she ever did. There was something else too.” She moved the smaller painting to the island. Uncapping the larger tube, she held it out to him. With care, he jiggled it out of the large canvas.

“It’s Central Park, isn’t it?” Jake asked.

“Yes, Mother must have forgotten all about it and…” Then, something Emma had not had time to think about slammed into her. Why didn’t she think of this when she first saw it? “This painting could have saved us.” Buckling under the weight of what might have been, she sank into her chair. “The last two paintings in her Central Park series went for one and a half million dollars each.” She swallowed hard, trying to choke down the enormous disbelief and regret overwhelming her. “If only I’d known about this, Jake, it could have paid for everything. I could have kept my full-time job and the co-op.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I’d still have my life in New York.”

It took a few moments of silence before Emma realized Jake was gone. She found him in the living room. His stance was rigid and utterly still as he stared out the window. When he turned to face her, his eyes were like cold, gray steel and his face was blank, emotionless. The only outward clue to his true feelings was the tic in his jaw.

“You are a fortunate woman.” Each of his words came out like a staccato, sharp and deliberate. “With your windfall, you can return to the city, buy a new place, and step back into your life without missing a beat.” He looked at her, his nostrils flaring. “After all, you’ve only been gone for a few weeks. Maybe your friend, Sloan, is still available.”

His words slapped against her. She put her hand on her cheek as if she’d actually been struck. “I’m not interested in anyone but you, Jake. I love you.”

“But you have regrets.” He pinned her with a cold stare. “You said as much.”

“Of course I do. Jake, we lived in an almost empty apartment for over a year because I had to sell everything of value. Mother cried as each piece of her home was sold off. If I could have spared her that, believe me, I would have.”

“I understand that. Of course, you wouldn’t have wanted her to live under those circumstances if you could prevent it. But your words indicate you have regrets about giving up your life in the city.”

“What I said and what I meant are two different things.”

Jake’s mouth opened, then slammed shut. “What in hell is that supposed to mean?”

Before uttering a word, she needed to collect her thoughts and consider how her words would affect Jake. This might be one of the most important conversations in their lives. So, instead of plowing ahead, like she usually did, she would think her response through and carefully choose her words. When he received a call, she released the breath she was holding, relieved to have more time.

“Cutter,” Jake barked. “Sorry, I am not on call tonight.” His voice was abrupt. “No, it’s not happening. Look, I’ve had drinks tonight and I’m not going anywhere.” He rolled his eyes and plowed a hand through his hair. “Put him on the schedule for tomorrow, six AM.” Ending the call, he tossed his phone into a chair.

When Emma stared at him, all the signs of exhaustion were there; she’d been so caught up in her news and excitement to see him tonight that she’d failed to notice the circles under his tired eyes and the slight bend to his broad shoulders. “Jake…I”

He rubbed a hand along his scruffy jaw. “Look, we don’t have to do this tonight. I’m beat. We’ve both had too much wine to drive anywhere. Let’s just call it a night.”

Speechless, she backed away as he half-shuffled out of the room. His words sounded so final. Was he really going to go crawl into bed? How could he shut down like that? There was no way she could go to sleep with their relationship dangling by a thread.

Not sure what to do with herself, Emma wandered into the kitchen and cleaned up the remains of their dinner, wiping down the island, shaking the placements over the sink, and returning them to the table. The pleasant little buzz she’d had going evaporated, and in its place was a fusion of worry, disappointment, and fear. She had to convince Jake it was her choice to move to Haley and had no regrets.

Looking for pen and paper, she set off to find the study. It was a man’s room with dark paneling, a fireplace with a black marble surround and two comfortable-looking saddle brown leather chairs and ottomans.

Spotting Jake’s printer, she pulled off a sheet of paper and found a pen in the drawer. Patient reports and grant proposals were the only sort of writing she knew. Sinking into the desk chair, she collected her thoughts.

 

Dear Jake,

Yes, I did say that I’d still have my life in New York because it would have been the easiest, less disruptive path, having the benefits from the proceeds of that one painting. The money would have allowed Mother to live worry-free in her own home; bills paid, nursing care, and hold court for her friends for her last two years. It would have saved her the despair of having her prized possessions hauled out of the building, sold off, to pay only a fraction of the bills. It would have saved her the humiliation of having her friends visit her in an almost bare apartment.

And yes, getting to keep my full-time job would have improved my mental health and my income. But Mother needed me at home. Sometimes in life, there are no choices. You simply have to keep your head down and move forward, plodding on, day by day, managing the best you can. That’s what I did, past tense.

This December, I had a choice. Stay in the city, clinging to a life I no longer wanted or starting over in a place where my family has deep roots, and I have good friends, and I have you. Let me be clear. I chose to come and have no regrets. If you are not convinced, please read this letter over and over until you take it to heart because it is my truth.

I hope you aren’t disappointed that this isn’t a love letter. In the future—if we have one—I will do better. You’ve made me a believer in second chances, Jake. I hope you are still a believer too.

 

I love you with all my heart,

Emma

 

After rereading the letter several times, she folded it in half and wrote “Jake” on the outside flap. Remembering he’d left his wallet and keys on the table in the foyer, she padded through the house and tucked the letter under his car keys. After drinking wine, she knew it would be foolhardy to drive back to the inn, even though her Jeep was still parked at the barn since before her accident. Besides, she’d brought her riding clothes for the morning.

Where should she sleep? Not in Jake’s bed, even if his bed was stadium size. The couch in the living room would do. After going around the house and turning off the lights, she settled on the soft, comfortable couch, snuggling under a faux fur throw. Tomorrow would be another day, right?