Chapter 9

 

Amy closed her eyes and leaned into the headrest, letting the powerful engine carry her. “Ross, this was very kind of you, giving up a free afternoon to help a stranger find some closure.” Couldn’t she have found clues instead, in the resurfacing memories?

“Not quite a stranger. And I’m glad I could help.” The turn indicator clicked, and Ross pulled into the gallery’s driveway. “I didn’t want to raise this in the café, but visiting the crash site was hard for you. Is it settled in your mind now, or did it raise more questions?”

He’d mentioned questions earlier, too. The words of the anonymous text cut through her thoughts. Asking questions could cost your life. Amy shivered. “The thing is, Gilles landed safely, against all odds. If one of the tires hadn’t blown and sent us into the trees...”

“They said it was a fantastic piece of flying, to get down in one piece.”

That was Gilles. Anything he did, he did well. Amy’s heart twisted. “It just seems so — I don’t know, futile. He pulls off this amazing landing, saves our lives, and then dies because of a faulty tire.”

Nodding gently, Ross didn’t break eye contact. “The pain of an accident is bad enough, without that reporter spreading rumours of sabotage.”

Amy gathered her hair in both hands and let it fall behind her back. “I don’t think anyone’s taking him seriously.”

“You should ask for a public retraction.”

“That would only remind people what he said. I’d rather let it go.” And hope Troy knew how to investigate discreetly, for his safety and for hers.

Amy thanked Ross again and climbed out of the car. What a waste. No remembered clues, and nowhere to turn next. Going to the flight club would scream “questions” to whoever sent that text, and at this point, she had no questions to ask. If not for the warning, she’d have written off her recurring doubts as one more stage of grief. Could a person loop back into denial?

Ross waited until she opened the front door before driving away.

Amy stepped inside. “I’m back!” No way would she give in to the guilt that demanded she slink home in repentance. It was past time Michael and Aunt Bay stopped coddling her. If they had a little more faith in her, she could have shown them the text. They could have helped. Amy’s lips twisted. In that case, the three of them would have visited the crash site together.

She pulled off her boots, and carried them through the house to the back deck. Clapping them together over the railing let the worst of the dirt fall into the grass. She scanned the scattered trees leading down to the water. Was the little bird still around? Not that she’d recognize him. A board creaked behind her, and Amy turned from the view.

Michael took another step and stopped, hands in his pockets. “How was it?”

She raised the boots, then set them down beside her. “Muddy.” Leaning against the railing, Amy breathed in the fresh air. Someone, not too far away, had mowed a lawn today. “But better than I expected. I didn’t know how steep the bank was. No wonder we hit so hard. Have you seen the spot?”

He nodded, slowly. “Once.”

“Did you leave flowers?”

“I did.”

Amy’s lips twisted. “I’d like to clean it up and make a proper memorial.”

“Is that… something you’d need to do alone?”

Amy closed the distance between then and laid a hand on his elbow. “Michael… today wasn’t about shutting you out. It was time to see where he died, and I thought you’d find a reason to keep me away. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

A muscle spasmed in his cheek. He stared over Amy’s shoulder toward the water. “I would do anything to see you whole again.”

Loyalty vibrated in his voice. Dedication and sympathy. But not what she wanted to hear. Amy tried to smile “You’re a good friend.” She squeezed Michael’s elbow and stepped past him toward the house.

At the door, Amy stopped and spoke without turning. “You’re a good protector, too. But sometimes healing involves stretching and taking risks.”

She hurried inside. Behind her, the door opened. Michael carried her boots through the kitchen. Before he reached the front closet, the doorbell pealed.

“It’s just me!” Emilie’s voice.

At least the girl would take their minds off the tension between them. Amy straightened her shoulders. So she hadn’t found a clue. She still knew something had happened beyond a simple accident. And she’d taken that step of closure to return to the scene. Not that she’d forget Gilles, but she could live in his absence. Would Michael have believed that, if she’d asked him to drive instead of Ross?

Emilie’s hair was pink-tipped today, matching her bright pink sweater. She grinned at Amy. “Thanks for waking me up this morning. I got my laundry done in time to escape from my roommates.” She kicked off her shoes and launched into a slide across the floor in fuzzy, pink-striped socks.

Michael caught Amy’s eye and smiled.

Emilie spun to face them. “Where’s Aunt Bay?”

“She went next door to stay with Dafiq. His parents had to go out.” Michael checked his watch. “She should be back soon.”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Is he that little terror who doesn’t know how to walk? By which I mean he’s always running around? I don’t know how she puts up with him.” She headed for the living room.

Amy followed. “Aunt Bay worked hard to love the little guy, but she really does. And he’s more settled around her. He knows his limits.” Safia and her husband had no family in the area. The young mom had needed plenty of support when Amy first arrived.

Behind them, Michael asked, “Anyone want a drink? I made lemonade to go with supper.”

Amy declined, but Emilie rounded her eyes at him. “Yes, please. And do you have enough food for a starving university student? If not, that’s okay. There’s leftover pizza at my place. Unless my roommates finished it.”

Michael laughed. “You two can help me get it ready once Aunt Bay’s back. When Safia asked her to babysit, I said I’d cook.”

Amy dropped into a chair and put her foot up to ease her hip, while Emilie trailed Michael to the kitchen, chattering all the way. Did Michael even know the girl had a crush on him? She wasn’t subtle, but for all his sensitivity, Michael perpetually misread Amy’s own emotional cues. A sigh pushed from the depths of her lungs. Maybe he knew how they both felt, and thought ignoring it was kinder than rejection.

He was kind. Why couldn’t Amy be content with that?

The two of them came back into the room, each carrying a tall glass of lemonade. Michael set a third glass on the table beside Amy. “Just in case you change your mind when you see how good it looks.”

Emilie drained half her glass and gave a satisfied sigh. “So, Amy, have you recovered from your scare this morning?”

Amy caught her breath. Had she mentioned the anonymous text? She tried to warn Emilie with her eyes to say nothing.

Michael leaned nearer. “What happened?”

“It was nothing. I was in my room, and I heard a thump while you and Aunt Bay were at church.” She shrugged. “I overreacted, and phoned Emilie so I’d have someone on the line while I checked it out. A bird flew into the window. He was okay, though.” Please, she couldn’t have said anything about that text.

An impish light gleamed in Emilie’s eye. “You’d better take her to church with you, so she won’t be home alone.”

Michael’s lips twitched. “Fine idea. Why don’t you join us?”

Emilie’s hands flew up as if to push back his words. “I’m a student. I need my sleep.”

“Go to bed before midnight on Saturday. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m Catholic.”

His grin deepened. “They won’t excommunicate you for entering a Protestant church. Or would you like us all to go with you to Mass?”

Pink darkened her cheeks to match her hair. “No thanks. I was just trying to help.”

“So was I.” Michael glanced from Emilie to Amy. “You’re both more than welcome any time, no strings attached.”

The back door banged. Michael stood. “Sounds like our intrepid babysitter is home. I’ll go see if she needs a lie-down before we start supper.”

A minute later, he popped his head back into the living room. “All right, sous-chefs, we’re on. She’ll have a quick rest while we cook.”

Emilie lifted an eyebrow at Amy. “Sous-chefs, no less. Sounds fancy. You stay here and rest. I’ll help.”

Michael’s voice floated from the hallway. “Both of you. Now. Come and learn the ways of the burger master.”

Laughing, they went to the kitchen. Michael was tying on an apron that read Artist at Work. “A little bird told me someone’s been craving hamburgers.” He winked at Amy. “If he hit the window this morning, he was fine by afternoon.”

Amy washed her hands at the kitchen sink, trying to keep her emotions off her face. She’d mentioned burgers last week. Today, while she was out gallivanting after upsetting them both, he’d decided to make her a special supper. And spent part of his free afternoon on a grocery run.

With her back to Michael, Amy risked saying, “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me all week.”

When she turned, he made an elaborate bow. “Sweeter than taking you on a pilgrimage today?”

She tipped her head to the side and stared. “No contest.” Was this about competing with Ross? No way. Unless… The back of Amy’s neck prickled. Unless Emilie’s jokes were right and Michael really did want to isolate her from everyone else.

Emilie nudged her. “Pilgrimage?”

“What? Oh, a friend drove me to the crash site today. It was time to face it.”

A smile played around Emilie’s lips. “So who is he? Have I met him?”

“As it happens, it was a he, and you did meet in passing. Ross Zarin, a guy about Michael’s age, who came to pick up a painting one other time you were here.”

“Ooh, he’s gorgeous. Way to re-enter the field!”

Behind Emilie, Michael opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients.

Amy glared at the girl. “It’s not like that. Ross will find a suitable, Muslim woman who won’t mind him thinking he owns her. Not what I want, at all.”

Emilie arched her eyebrows. “And what do you want?”

Amy kept from glancing at Michael. “It doesn’t matter.”

Below the pink-tipped hair, Emilie’s eyes narrowed. “As long as it’s not what I want, we’ll be fine.”

Amy reached for a cutting board. They might both die old maids.