~ Four ~

I don’t know what I want, so don’t ask me
’Cause I’m still trying to figure it out.

—TAYLOR SWIFT

“A Place in This World”

Emma woke to a pure and simple sunrise. Normally, it would still be dark when she arose to the sounds of traffic on Boston’s busy streets. Her father’s house, on the contrary, felt as peaceful and quiet as an early-morning Sunday chapel. The dawning of the new day brought with it the promise of a fresh start. The Interscope trial that had devoured Emma’s energy for months was finally over, buried in the past a thousand miles away. Her father would be coming home soon.

After a long shower, Emma propped her suitcase on the bed and snapped open the latches. There had been time to grab only the essentials—a three-day survival kit. She unpacked jeans and tops, two warm sweaters in case of cold weather, a comfortable pair of loafers because they went with everything, and a black turtleneck just in case … she wasn’t exactly sure why she’d packed that. She dressed in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless shirt and headed downstairs.

The boards in the old hardwood floors creaked when Emma walked down the hallway to the kitchen. “Old houses,” she said aloud, both comforted and cautious by the thought that some things never change. In the sun-kissed kitchen, light overflowed in a room filled with windows. On the tile counter she found a full pot of cold coffee, minus one cup, sitting in the coffeemaker next to the toaster. Emma took the coffee pot out and poured the dark roast down the drain in the sink, frightening evidence of the attack that almost took him.

She’s the one that found him, you know.

Will kept his food on a stainless steel pantry rack in the laundry room. Emma found a large blue can of Maxwell House on the center shelf and took stock of the food, hoping to find bagels. Will’s pantry wasn’t all that different from her own––bare except for a few essentials. Single people only stock what they need. Emma carried the coffee into the kitchen and brewed a fresh pot.

A silver Dodge Caravan pulled onto the horseshoe drive and parked beside the cluster of three weeping willow trees. Samantha opened her car door and stepped out into the cool morning sunlight. She’d already redone her lipstick and makeup inside the van. On the driveway, she tugged the creases from her clothing and walked to the side door that lead into the kitchen. Emma was waiting for her. Their eyes met on either side of the glass and both stood there for a moment until Emma opened the door.

“My gosh, Emma, you’ve hardly changed at all,” Samantha said. The two women hugged.

“It’s good to see you, Samantha, and look at you!”

They both stared at Samantha’s belly.

“Yep, this makes baby number three.”

“Oh my gosh. Well, come in, sit down. Let me get you a chair.”

“I brought you something,” Samantha said, taking the seat Emma had pulled out from the table. “It’s homemade banana nut bread, baked fresh this morning.” Samantha handed Emma the shiny aluminum-wrapped loaf.

“Oh, that’s so sweet, Samantha. Thank you! Your timing couldn’t be better. This will go perfectly with the coffee that’s brewing.”

“It’s just a little welcome-home present.”

“It’s very thoughtful. Would you like to have some with a cup of coffee?” Emma said, taking a dark blue cup from the cabinet and holding it in the air.

“I would, but mix mine half with water. I can only have one cup a day.”

“Would you rather have decaffeinated tea?” Emma asked. “I saw there’s some in the pantry.”

“Sure, if it’s no bother.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll just boil some water.”

Emma unhooked a stainless steel pan from the overhead rack and filled it with water from the tap. She lit the gas stove with a stick match and adjusted the flame.

“I have to tell you, Samantha, your son is wonderful. He was such a lifesaver yesterday picking me up at the airport, waiting with me all day at the hospital. He’s a pretty mature twenty-two-year-old.”

“That’s Noel. I always tell people he was our exhale. Sometimes with kids you have to hold your breath, but Noel was born with a heart for serving others. I’d like to think it’s something we did right, but he’s just been that way all his life. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t spiritually grounded. Involved in youth groups at church. He’s worked the last three summers at camp mentoring teens and taking them white-water rafting. He’s even interned at our church. I really feel like God has His hand on him and Noel will end up in some kind of ministry.”

Samantha peeled back the foil, revealing a loaf of banana nut bread that was still warm. Emma served Samantha her tea, poured herself a cup of coffee, and set out serving plates for the bread.

“This bread is like cake. I hope you like it.”

“It smells wonderful,” she said, joining Samantha at the table. They sat without speaking for a moment.

“It’s good to see you again, Samantha,” Emma finally said. “Thank you for yesterday. For finding him. I don’t want to think about what could have happened if you hadn’t been looking after my dad.”

Samantha smiled. “How’s he doing?”

“Remarkably well. He called this morning and told me to hold off on coming in. He said his doctor told him he’d be released sometime today. I’m just waiting for the next phone call.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

“Yes, I was hoping for some time to get the house ready. I’d like to have a few things cleaned and the kitchen better stocked before I bring him home.”

“Emma, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but have you thought about how your dad will live here? I mean, it’s a big question, but do you think he’ll be able to stay here by himself?”

“I’ve been thinking about that too, but I don’t really know. For now, I just want to get him home and see how he does. Just take it one step at a time.”

Samantha took a long look at Emma. She’d always known she would see her again, that she’d feel proud of Emma, and feel complete having her home again.

“Emma, you look so young. I can’t get over how successful you’ve become. You were always focused, but you’ve done so well for yourself.”

Emma laughed and shook her head. “We do the best we can, I guess.”

Samantha hesitated over how to ask Emma the question she and Christina wanted an answer to. She hoped a sensitive approach would pop in her head, but it didn’t.

“Emma, this probably isn’t the best time, but there’s something I’d like to ask you …”

The telephone rang, its noisy metal clapper vibrating inside a silver bell. Emma squeezed Samantha’s hand and stood to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Emma? This is Dena at Wellman Medical. You may have already heard the news, but Dr. Anderson saw your dad this morning, and he’s decided to go ahead and discharge him this afternoon. Probably after lunch, sometime between one and two. Will someone be able to come and pick him up?”

“Oh sure, I’ll be there. I’d planned to catch Dr. Anderson this morning, but I didn’t expect him to be there that early!”

“I didn’t either. Sorry. I know you hoped to speak with him. Usually, he does his rounds later.”

“Dena, do you know if Dr. Anderson called in any prescriptions for him? I’m going to use the rest of the morning to get everything ready for my dad to come home.”

“That was my other question. Do you know which pharmacy you’d like us to use to call in his meds?”

“Ah, probably Brown’s downtown on Main. I didn’t realize there was another pharmacy.”

“No, that’s fine. I can send them there. I’ll get everything together and see you at one o’clock.”

Emma set the old rotary phone receiver back on its hook.

“They’re discharging Dad today at one. I’ll have to make a trip into town for a few things before I pick him up.”

Emma rejoined Samantha at the table.

“Sorry for the interruption. What was the question you wanted to ask me?”

“It can wait,” Samantha said, feeling the moment had passed and that she’d have another opportunity to ask her. “You’ve got a lot going on this morning, but it’s nice to have you home, at least for a while. Do you know when you’ll go back?”

“I’m not sure. Probably Friday.”

Samantha got up from the table feeling a little wobbly legged. Friday was too soon.

“Well, I’d better let you get on with your morning,” she said, not knowing what else to say just then. “But if you or your dad need anything call us, okay?”

“I’ll be in touch whether we need anything or not, Samantha. It’s been good seeing you.”

Emma walked Samantha back to the door, and the two embraced again.

“It’s good to have you home again, Emma,” Samantha said in the doorway.

Emma thought to say it was good to be home again, but that was only half true. She settled for “See you soon” and waved good-bye, closing the door behind her. Emma had seen the question in Samantha’s eyes. She had almost asked it. It had balanced precariously on the tip of her tongue: Why didn’t you ever come back, Emma? Why?

But the telephone had rung. Saved by the bell, she thought. Anyway, how does one shatter open their psyche over banana bread and tea? Or remove the lid from the pot, bewildering her cousin with “I was afraid.”

After Samantha left, Emma found the keys to her father’s truck on the post near the kitchen door, the same green Sinclair dinosaur keychain drawing her eyes to them. The sun perched high in the cloudless blue heavens, and the air was still plenty warm for late September. Emma crossed beneath the cluster of three weeping willow trees on the path to the barn.

The timeworn red barn, raised back when the original owner, John Barry, worked the farm, housed dairy cows on the ground floor and farm equipment on the second floor for its first fifty years. A sliding red door framed in white paint gave access to the top floor. When the Madisons bought the house, Will leased the land to a real farmer to grow corn, and transformed the upper level of the barn into something akin to an oversized garage.

Emma swung open the barn door, pushing its rusty wheels through their narrow track. Old Red, Will’s 1971 Dodge truck, looked right at home. The traditional farmer’s truck was in many ways just like her dad: strong and reliable. Christina had christened the truck “Old Red” during high school when it was Emma’s main mode of transportation around Juneberry.

She climbed up into the cab, peering through the dusty windshield. Emma turned the key in the ignition. She pulled open the choke, and with two quick stomps of the gas pedal, Old Red sprung to life.

“Attaboy.”

She wrenched the knobby black shifter into first gear and rolled the truck out from the barn. Emma felt exhilaration and freedom when she cruised down SC59 toward downtown Juneberry. She had the rural highway all to herself so she opened Old Red up, accelerating his speed to nearly 55 miles per hour.

Emma entered Juneberry through the long stretch of North Main Street locals call Canopy Row. Maple and oak trees lined both sides of the street and joined in the middle to form a natural tunnel. With the autumn leaves already committed to their color change, the effect was like driving through a living red and gold swirl. City fathers had planted the trees a hundred years earlier, and Emma had long suspected they’d had this tunnel effect in mind.

At the other end of Canopy Row, Emma steered Old Red through historic downtown.

It was down the sidewalks of Main Street where Emma had pedaled her bike as a young girl, making trips to the library, where her love of learning blossomed. It was on Juneberry’s downtown city streets that Emma and Christina cruised during high school, listening to country radio stations out of Columbia and laughing as they shook off the stress of AP classes. It was on these quaint Southern streets that she and Michael had strolled together that one blissful summer before she left for law school.

Michael Evans.

She could still remember the warmth of their hands together as they walked downtown. She could still remember the feeling of “just perfect” that defined those moments together. But that was a long time ago.

Emma parked Old Red in front of Ace Hardware on Main, across from Brown’s Drug Store. The tall neon sign out front bearing its name hadn’t changed. She wondered if they still lit it up at night in the summer. People seemed happy then just to eat an ice-cream cone from Baskin-Robbins and stroll up Main Street window shopping.

A gust of wind pinned Emma’s collar up and whipped her hair around her face as she crossed the street. She pressed open the glass door at Brown’s Drug Store with ease and stepped inside. A bell jingled as the door swung open. She saw a familiar face at work behind the counter.

“Miss Emma Madison. How are you today?”

“Eric Brown? I haven’t seen you since high school.”

Emma approached the elevated counter where Eric worked as a second-generation pharmacist.

“Been right here. Are you still up in, New York, Boston, someplace like that?”

“Still in Boston. I just came back to see my dad.”

“Yeah, sorry to hear what happened. How’s he doing?”

“Much better thanks. He’s coming home today. In fact, have you gotten a call from Wellman Medical? I’m supposed to pick up some prescriptions.”

“Yes, they just called. I can have them ready in about thirty minutes.”

“Okay, great. I’ve got just enough errands in town to fill that time. I’ll be back to pick them up.”

“They’ll be ready.”

Emma exited the front door of Brown’s and walked to the curb to recross Main Street. Another strong gust of wind blew. She looked up to see storm clouds appearing from out of the west, and the grainy sky meant that rainfall was looming.

As she crossed Main on her way back to Old Red, Emma noticed a white Chevy truck parked behind her. A sign stenciled in black on the driver’s-side door advertised a local business:

Michael Evans Construction
Carpentry • Roofing • Repair
803 …

A man wearing a red and black flannel shirt, blue jeans, and brown work boots walked out of the hardware store carrying a roofing bundle. He lowered the shingles from his shoulder letting them fall into the back of his pickup truck. As the roofing shingles fell away from his face, Emma got her first good look at the man.

“Michael?” Emma said, surprised to meet him on the street.

He turned in Emma’s direction and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Emma Madison,” he said, walking around the side of the truck. “I wondered if it was you driving Old Red.”

They shook hands in a cordial greeting, touching them once again on Main Street, but in a way so different than before.

“Yep, it’s me.”

“Someone mentioned you might be back in town. How’s your dad doing?”

“He’s good. I was just picking something up from the pharmacy for him. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Michael replied, his expression matching his words. Emma motioned to the door sign on Michael’s truck.

“Looks like you’ve got your own company now.”

Michael grinned. “It’s just me and Bo Wilson. You remember Bo?”

“Yes, of course. I can just picture the two of you building Juneberry houses together.”

Michael’s face was sun-painted, rugged, and tan. Probably from pounding nails all summer long in the hot South Carolina sun.

“Still up in Boston?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Still in Boston. I’m a part of a law firm there.”

Michael nodded.

Still in Boston … part of a law firm there.

That was their story in a nutshell, reviewed in its entirety in just a few precious seconds. The love, the breakup, the move, and a career far away in a big-city law firm.

“Well, you did it,” he finally said. “You chased your dreams and you caught ’em. That’s something to be real proud of.”

The first drops of rain dripped onto their clothes. Emma looked up again to find that the once-blue sky was rapidly changing to a high-altitude landscape of billowing silver.

“And you’re building houses,” she said, ignoring the rain.

“One at a time,” Michael said. “We’re working on the old Macintosh place up on the hill right now. Putting up a new roof.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I keeping you?” Emma asked.

Just then the skies opened up. A spirited gust of wind struck sideways as thick pellets of rain fell from the heavens. Instinctively, Michael reached out to Emma and pulled her beneath the safety of a nearby shop awning.

“Not anymore. Once the rains come, we have sense enough to climb off the rooftop. How long are you here for?” he asked.

“Probably until Friday. I just wanted to make sure my dad’s okay.”

Inside, Emma felt a strange sense of urgency. Maybe it was guilt or some feeling of remorse, but she wanted an opportunity with Michael to set things right. She wanted to talk with him again. Maybe this unexpected trip back home would provide just such an opportunity. After all, she wasn’t the twenty-two-year-old girl who fled Juneberry twelve years earlier. She was stronger now.

“Michael, I’d like to talk to you sometime when you’re free. Do you need to get back to work?” she shouted over the nearly deafening noise of the rainfall. Michael rolled his eyes up at the rain. It was a comedic gesture to point out impracticality of working outside in so much water.

“Not if I don’t want to.”

“Well, I’m sure not driving anywhere in this.”

“Have you had breakfast yet?” he shouted over the sound of the rain hitting the aluminum awning.

“I’d love to have some coffee.”

The rain blew sideways in sheets down Main Street. Puddles formed in an instant, rivers poured into gutters and flowed through drains. Car wipers changed from off to heavy, and pedestrians fled for cover.

“We’ve got that … if we can just make it to the bakery.”

Emma watched Michael as he scouted the driest path to Meredith’s Bakery, a block away. It startled her when she realized she knew what he was thinking. Michael was working out how to protect her from the rain. His protection, it had always been there that summer, maybe even before.

“If we keep on this side of the street,” he said, “we’ll do all right.”

They took off in a bolt. It was like running inside a car wash. At Third Avenue, Michael pressed a guiding hand gently against the center of Emma’s back to prevent her from slipping. Back beneath the safety of the canvas awnings, Emma smoothed the rain away from her face, and pulled back her hair. They had managed to stay surprisingly dry.

The last twenty feet to the front door of Meredith’s was entirely uncovered. Raindrops the size of gumdrops splashed in on them from all directions. They reached the bakery doors dripping wet.

“Made it,” Michael announced.

Emma laughed. “The last time I was this wet, I was underwater.”

Meredith’s Bakery had already responded to customer requests by turning on the heat early into September. They stood in front of the glass counter where the blower blasted out its dry heat. Soon their clothes were dry and their skin warmed.

“I’ll find us a table,” Michael said.

Emma watched him walk away, around the corner, and out of sight. Staring through the bakery glass at Meredith’s world-famous sticky buns, she wondered if the words would come. Could the star attorney from Adler, McCormick & Madison find the right words to explain how she’d become a missing person in the lives of those she loved? There was a second option, of course. It occurred to her as she stood there in the front of the blower watching Michael come back to her from the other room. She could avoid unearthing the whole mess and leave again just as she had before.