~ Ten ~

Love, look what you’ve done to me
Never thought I’d fall again so easily.

—BOZ SCAGGS

“Look What You’ve Done to Me”

Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman over to his house. The white cottage at 310 Wilshire, the first house on the corner, welcomed visitors to the neighborhood with a beautifully landscaped lawn, and a large, friendly maple tree. A white plank rancher’s fence marked where the yard met the blacktop driveway.

Bo Wilson often pulled his truck into that drive on those mornings when they’d decided to commute to a work site together. Michael’s brother, James, was no stranger on summer days when the Atlanta Braves played baseball. They hung out on the deck out back, watching the game, distracted only by an occasional cardinal cooling itself in the birdbath.

But a woman in the house? That was a rarity. Michael had imagined Emma in the house before. He’d pictured her in every room. He could see her standing at the kitchen sink in summer, rinsing fresh strawberries, while sunlight streamed through the window. He’d thought of her lounging in the den in the comfy tan chair by the bay window. He’d wonder if Emma would enjoy the back gardens, or listening to the sound of flowing water from the small fountain. Sometimes he could even see her climbing the stairs at night, tired from the labors of a long day, just before she disappeared into the recesses of his mind.

“Hi,” Emma said, standing on the front porch. She looked beautiful in a silvery V-necked sweater, and a brown leather jacket that somehow made blue jeans look elegant against the backdrop of the porch-light-tinted yard.

“Come on in,” Michael said.

The town knew Michael as a lifelong resident, the carpenter with the smart sense of humor and a talent for building. Friends recognized his cultured side, his love of baseball, grilling steaks on the barbecue, and long days boating on the quiet lake. Few knew him as the man who had fallen deeply in love one perfect summer night. Someone had opened his chest while he slept and stitched love inside his heart. It had hurt like a saw cut when she’d told him she was going back to Boston.

He knew then he couldn’t keep her. There was no sense in trying to tether her to Juneberry. He could see Emma longed to fly free or escape.

A month after Emma moved, he and James made a road trip to Beantown to catch a Red Sox game, barely surviving Boston’s insane traffic. They had great seats behind first base, but Michael spent the day distracted, knowing Emma was somewhere just on the other side of the Charles River. What started out as a fun road trip, with a half-baked plan of running into Emma, turned out to be nothing short of slow torture. Michael drove back without seeing her, even after multiple promptings from his brother.

But that was long ago.

Now Emma Madison stood in the center of his living room admiring three ears of Indian corn placed on the mantle above the fireplace.

“I love your house, Michael, and these recessed bookshelves. Did you build them?” Emma asked.

“Yeah, back when I first bought the place. That’s the only major change I made, other than some landscaping in the backyard.”

Emma slipped off her jacket, and Michael hung it on a peg in the entryway.

“I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

“I’m starving,” she laughed, following him into the kitchen. One lamp was lit in the dining room. Recessed lights hidden underneath the kitchen cabinets brightened the rest of the space.

“Thank you for inviting me over,” Emma said. “I needed this.”

She pulled out a bar stool and sat at the kitchen island. Michael poured her a glass of sweet tea.

“I’ve got steaks marinating in the fridge, and I’m going to toss them on the grill with some veggies,” Michael said, running over the menu with Emma. “Does that sound all right?”

“Sounds delicious.”

Michael opened the oven door and in a moment Emma could feel its warmth. He reached in, and pulled out a CorningWare dish filled with something wrapped in foil.

“How do you feel about fried shrimp?”

“Michael, you’ve really gone all out.”

“Not really. The shrimp is from Allen’s Place. He’s usually got fresh seafood from the coast, so I asked if he could make these for us.”

He set the shrimp on the island in a serving dish, and brought out a small bowl of cocktail sauce from the refrigerator.

“Go ahead, dig in. I’m just going to put the steaks on.”

Michael pulled the glass pan with the steaks from the fridge and carried them through the sliding door to the grill on the back deck.

“How do you like your steak?” he called back through the partially open door.

“Medium well,” Emma replied. She got up from the island with her drink and followed Michael outdoors. The night air was cold, and Emma rubbed her arm with her one open hand.

“Brrr, it’s getting cold out here.”

“Not if you stand next to the grill. Here, come closer.”

She walked down the step toward the grill, its fire heating the cozy patio. Michael transferred the first of two steaks from the glass dish to the surface of the hot grill with a set of chef’s tongs. It sizzled.

“You’ve become a gourmet, Michael.”

“I got tired of eating fast food a long time ago,” he said. “That stuff will kill ya.”

“Didn’t you ever consider just finding a girlfriend to cook for you?”

“There have been a few,” Michael said, setting the second steak on the grill. The patio awning above them was lined with festive, oversized green and red Christmas lights, and they added a soft, warm glow to the surrounding trees.

“I feel like I should be doing something,” she said.

“I think you’re missing the point of this evening. You’re not suppose to be doing anything,” he told her. “Where’s that shrimp?”

“Oh, still inside.”

Emma headed back into to the kitchen island and returned with the shrimp and sauce. She set the serving dish on the patio deck table and took a seat, the metal chair scraping the cement as she slid it forward.

“Mmm, I love the smell of steaks grilling.”

Michael smiled, happy that she was happy. Emma peered around the edge of the patio awning, craning her neck to look up at the stars.

“It’s a clear night after all that rain. I can see a few stars up there.”

Michael walked to where Emma sat, placing his hands on the back of her chair. He peered up at the autumn sky with her. Bright evening stars framed by patches of dim, shadowy clouds were shining like a child’s drawing, pinpoints of brilliant white against a backdrop of construction-paper black. Wind chimes rustled from a neighbor’s yard.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, dropping his hands from her chair and returning to the grill. A spatter of grease fell into the open fire and hissed the flame higher. Michael set foil-wrapped vegetables on the grill.

“You really seem to have it all together, Michael. How is it no one’s ever come along to sweep you off your feet?”

“How do you know no one hasn’t?” he said, seasoning the meat with a shaker.

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t the Bible say it’s not good for a man to be alone?”

“I don’t feel alone, Emma,” Michael said, turning off the grill and moving the steaks onto a new plate.

“Thanks again for …”

“Hey, enough thanks already! You’re wearing me out. Tonight’s your night for getting a break. From what you’ve told me about your life in Boston, you don’t get much of a chance to unwind up there.”

“No, I don’t,” she said.

The night blew a gust of cold air through Michael’s yard.

“Let’s get inside.”

They went back inside and shut the cold night air behind them.

Emma pointed to a candle that was sitting on the counter. “Michael, would you like me to light this candle with our dinner?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

“I love this room,” she said, when the candle’s flame rose to its fullness. Michael’s kitchen took on a flickering glow.

“We can eat in here, if you want,” he said. “We don’t have to sit in the dining room.”

“Now that would be relaxing,” she said.

Moments later they were enjoying their meals seated at the counter.

“Mmm, now that’s good steak,” Emma said. “Michael, this dinner is wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, taking a drink of tap water without ice. “Okay … I’m going to turn the tables on you. How is it you’ve never married?”

Emma nearly choked on a sprig of grilled asparagus.

“Me? I don’t know. It isn’t that I haven’t wanted to.”

“No boyfriends or admirers?”

“There’s one admirer, but I think I’ve been focused on career for so long, it’s hard to find the time to fall in love.”

“Maybe your standards are too high.”

“I don’t know, I keep thinking there should be some way of knowing, something that tells you when you’ve found the right one. I’m waiting for a bell to ring, that says ‘This is the one for you.’”

Michael felt a twinge of compassion for Emma. The beautiful woman eating steak in his kitchen had a weakness that he couldn’t put his finger on. He thought maybe it was only his imagination, but part of her seemed to have been washed up on the shore of his island. Her boat striking a hidden reef under the blue of the ocean, sinking and setting her adrift in the sea. The ship’s bell falling down beneath the blue of the water, coming to rest in silence in the sandy coral below.

“Maybe you’ll hear it one day.”

“I hope so,” Emma smiled. “So you just never found the right one?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Emma’s voice softened.

“I hope you find her, Michael. You’re a good man. You deserve that.”

“Emma,” Michael said. “There are a lot of things in life I don’t control. I came to terms with that a long time ago.”

Emma stared at Michael in the candle’s glow. There was a surprisingly strong bond between them. She’d felt a similar bond yesterday morning with Samantha in her dad’s kitchen despite the passing of so many years. The link was there too with Christina, a connection that transcended their teenage high school antics. Now, as the evening grew long, she found herself staring into the eyes of the only man she’d really ever loved. The man she’d chosen to leave so she could survive.

For an hour after dinner, Emma revealed to Michael her history of the past dozen years. They’d moved to the living room and sat on the sofa, sharing stories filled with purpose and laughter.

“It’s getting late,” she said, finally. “I should probably go.” She stood and went back to the kitchen to carry the dishes to the sink.

“Emma,” Michael said.

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I’m happy to, though. It’s my way of saying thanks to you.”

He watched her rinsing off the dishes in the sink, just like he’d seen Emma do in his mind. It both amazed and overwhelmed him.

“You know when I said I’d come to terms with the things I don’t control?”

Emma shut off the water.

“Yes.”

“The part I control is who I love, not who loves me in return. That gives me a certain amount of peace.”

“So, who do you love?” Emma asked.

“My family, friends, the folks at church. I know a lot of people in this community, so it’s a pretty long list. How about you?”

She thought for a moment, standing in the center of the kitchen, looking into the blue and white ceramic tiles behind the stove without really seeing them.

“Can I tell you a secret? I don’t love anybody, Michael. I only love the idea of love. It all seems so beautiful, but no one ever lives up to its expectations.”

Emma left the room to retrieve her leather jacket. She slipped her arms into it, and turned back to see Michael following her into the entryway.

“I don’t think that’s true, Emma.”

“I left everyone I knew here in Juneberry. How else can you explain someone doing that, other than to say they don’t care?”

“You came back, Emma,” Michael reminded her. “When your dad needed you, you came back. How else can you explain that, except to say you do?”

“His heart attack was a wake-up call, that’s true,” she said, standing at the door. “When I was twenty-two, the only thing I knew was that I wanted to go to law school. I really believed if I could succeed, then success would be like a moat around me. It would protect me. But you know what?” As she spoke, the truth dawned on her for the first time. “That same moat you build for safety can trap you, and keep everybody else shut out.”

Emma put on a brave smile.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where this is all going,” she continued. “It really is getting late, Michael, and I’m suddenly very tired. Thanks for everything. The dinner was wonderful.”

Emma placed her hand on Michael’s arm, held it there for a moment, then ran it down the length, over the outside of his shirt sleeve, feeling the soft flannel under her fingers, before gently squeezing Michael’s hand.

He watched as she walked through his yard, paused when she came to Old Red, then climbed in as she’d done years before. Even as she drove away, he noticed electricity in the air. Whatever it was, he trusted it because Michael Evans had learned just because he didn’t control everything in his life, it didn’t mean his life wasn’t controlled by Someone.

When the sound of her truck faded into the distance, he heard the distinct sound of wind chimes again, coming from somewhere behind the tall wooden fences of the neighbors’ house. He wondered if she’d noticed them earlier. He wondered if she, too, had thought about how much they sounded like someone ringing a bell.