Always the Baker, Finally the Bride (18 page)

“Well, actually, I am.”

“Oh. Right.”

Emma set her cup of tea on the table and slipped down into her favorite perch, the brown leather easy chair that had once sat in the corner of her father’s library. From the arm of the chair she grabbed the coral throw Aunt Sophie had crocheted and wrapped it around her shoulders before picking up the cup and taking a sip of chamomile tea.

The soothing scent took her back. Chamomile. Her mother’s lifelong answer to anything that ailed a child . . . a girl . . . a woman. This morning, she’d turned to the old friend when, after nine hours of sleep, she awoke still feeling tired and out of sorts.

The newscaster had announced that this would be one of the last chilly mornings before the Atlanta area peeked through the window at spring. Although she’d been holding vigil for spring ever since she and Jackson had set their wedding date, Emma acknowledged that she might actually miss crisp mornings like this one. If she felt better, she’d go for a run. Instead, she opted for chamomile tea while she awaited Jackson’s arrival.

The thought of him sent her hand instinctively into her hair, raking through it with her fingers. She returned the cup to the tabletop, then grabbed a gray scrunchie from the drawer and combed her messy hair back into a neat ponytail. She rummaged deeper into the drawer until she found a tube of tinted lip balm and quickly applied it. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she could eat anything; but the fact that Jackson had called earlier and offered to stop by and cook for her brightened the morning considerably.

She picked up the cup again, holding it between both of her hands and pressing the warmth against her face. From the dinner at Norma’s to Hildie’s well-being to the wedding
cake decision that still eluded her, the anxious hum of Emma’s thoughts bounced her around like a ride in the back of a pickup truck on a bumpy country road. Then came the unexpected pothole of adrenaline as her mind crashed into the imminent sale of The Tanglewood.

Just about the time she began to question how Jackson could have come to such a decision, his familiar three-part knock sounded at the door. She carried her teacup with her and tightened the coral throw around her shoulders as she padded in stocking feet across the soft rug to answer the door.

“Morning,” she said and kissed his cheek.

“How are you doing?” he asked as he closed the door behind them. “Do you feel all right?”

“I do. Just a little tired.”

“Emma.”

The serious lilt to his voice made her turn back and look at him. “What?”

“This is more than a little tired.”

“What do you mean?”

His answer came in the form of action as he took the cup from her and placed it on the table, guiding her with his free hand toward the chair. “Sit down.”

She obeyed, but she couldn’t help herself from laughing. “Jackson, are you preparing me for bad news? Because really, unless it impacts the next forty-eight hours or so, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

Jackson knelt down on the floor in front of her and took both of her hands in his.

“Didn’t we already do this? I think I said yes.”

“Hush.”

Emma blinked hard, arching both brows. “Hush?”

“Yes. Hush.”

Hush. This must be earth-shaking
, she told herself.
Better brace yourself
.

“No sugar-coating, no smart retorts, no denials,” he said by way of instruction. “I want to know what’s going on with you. Right now. Straight out.”

“Jackson, I don’t know what you mean. Really, I don’t.”

He sighed. “Emma, you’re not right lately.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you aware that your hands are moist and it’s fifty degrees outside? You’re pale, you’re exhausted, and how many headaches have you had in the last couple of weeks?”

Emma didn’t speak for a long moment as her mind raced over the recent past.

Maybe he’s right? I haven’t been feeling
 . . .

“I don’t want you to fight me on this, Emma. Please. Call your doctor and make an appointment.”

She sighed and lifted Jackson’s hands to her lips and kissed one of them.

“I will.”

“I’m going to make us some breakfast. You make the call.”

Jackson rattled around in the kitchen behind her while Emma pressed number
6
on the speed dial.

“Hi, Stephanie. It’s Emma Travis.”

“Emma, how are you doing?”

“Well, that’s why I’m calling. I think I need to see Dr. Mathis. Just for a check-up. I’m not feeling quite right.”

“How’s your glucose?”

“It’s running a little low most of the time. Not in the danger zone, but lower than normal. And I’ve been having a lot of headaches.”

“Feeling tired?”

“Exhausted,” she replied.

“Let me check the schedule. Can you hang on?”

“Sure.”

While the tinny hold music clanked in her ear, Emma strolled toward the kitchen. She sat on one folded leg at the dining table and grinned at Jackson, who was draped in a white apron and whisking a bowl full of eggs.

“Emma, we have a cancellation at three thirty this afternoon. Do you think you can make it?”

“Today?” she said with a cringe, but Jackson nodded vehemently with that
I-mean-business
stance of his. “I’ll make that work, Stephanie. Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

“Good girl,” he said as she disconnected the call. “I think that deserves a veggie scramble and wheat toast, don’t you?”

“Can I have jam on the toast?”

“A little.”

“All right, then, I accept my reward, and I want to thank all the little people who made this breakfast a reality . . .”

“Wiseacre,” he remarked, shaking his head and grinning.

After breakfast, Jackson washed the dishes while Emma called Fee to give her a heads-up.

“I need to see the doctor, and they have a cancellation this afternoon, so I won’t be coming in today after all. Can you cover for me?”

“Sure. You don’t do that much around here anyway,” she teased, her dry wit shining through.

“Well, I figured as much.”

“Hey. Are you sick?”

“No, not sick really. I just want to see Dr. Mathis and get checked out.”

“Glad to hear it. You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“Really? You’ve noticed it, too?”

“Oh, yeah. I think this is a good move.”

Emma swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Call me if you need me?”

“Yep. What about you? You need anything?”

“No. Jackson is here now, and I think I’m going to take a nap after he heads for the hotel.”

“A nap. Dude, can you save me some of that?”

“I’ll seal it in Tupperware for later.”

“Awesome.”

She laid the phone down on the table and turned back toward Jackson as he removed the apron and dried his hands on it.

“My hearing is doing something funny,” he told her. “I thought I heard you say you were going to take a nap.”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You heard right. I thought I just might.”

“It’s a little hard for me to picture,” he said, taking her hands and guiding her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist, clasping his hands behind her, then smiled down at her. “Emma Rae Travis . . . taking a nap. Next thing we know, lions will lie down with lambs, and dogs and cats will run and play together. And then the global anarchy.”

“Let’s not go that far, bud. It’s just a little something new I thought I’d try and see what it’s like.”

“Be sure and let me know how it works out for you,” he said and kissed her. “I have meetings with the lawyers all afternoon, but I can probably get away around six. I’ll pick up some dinner and head over here, if you’re in the mood.”

“That sounds good. I’ll call you after my appointment.”

Emma watched Jackson as he descended the stairs and headed for his car. His long, lean legs needed half the strides that she required to close the gap between the front door and the street.

I love everything about that man
, she thought as he slid behind the wheel. He looked back and waved at her one last
time before pulling away, and a flock of butterflies swirled around inside her as he did.

Although she meant to take that nap she’d touted, when she reached the bed and noticed the sketch pad leaning against the bottom shelf of the nightstand, Emma couldn’t help herself. She pulled it out, grabbed the small box of colored pencils sitting next to it, and began to draw.

Biting her lip, she lost herself in the mission of putting the cake in her head to the sketch pad: three simple squared tiers, a rich purple fondant with thick lavender ribbons at the base of each of them, perhaps some of those sugar trumpet lilies Fee had recently mastered.

The bottom layer quilted with pearls . . . The middle tier ruched . . .

Classic. Easy. Just like the love she shared with Jackson.

Emma, I’m not going to mess around,” Dr. Mathis said as she rolled the leather-cushioned stool in front of her and sat down. “I don’t like what I’m seeing here. Your glucose is too low, and Stephanie noted that you’ve had symptoms for at least two weeks.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say—”

“You’re two months overdue for your blood work, but the headaches alone should have been a good indication that you needed to come in. And it’s no wonder you have headaches. Your blood pressure is sky-high.”

Dr. Mathis began scribbling on her prescription pad as she continued, “I want you to go in to the lab first thing tomorrow and do a fasting blood test. While you’re there, we’ll get a urine sample.” She tore off the sheet and handed it to Emma. “And I want you to slow down.”

A burst of laughter popped impulsively out of her throat.
Slow down
.

“Emma, this is serious. Type 1 diabetes is nothing to take lightly. We’ll know more once I get a look at your lab results, but I suspect we’re going to find that your glucose levels have been spiking due to stress. You’re only taking notice of the low
swings because they cause the most profound symptoms. But those headaches and the high blood pressure indicate to me that your levels are hopping around. You need to pay attention to your body, Emma. Take it easy.”

Emma surprised herself when her eyes brimmed with tears.

“What’s going on in your life?” the doctor asked, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Not the everyday, short-term stress points, but the chronic ones. I know you’re getting married soon.”

Emma nodded. “In a few weeks.”

“But I was married at The Tanglewood myself,” Dr. Mathis said with a smile. “I imagine Sherilyn is handling just about every detail on your behalf.”

“Well, she is. I mean, she and Kat together. Sherilyn just had her baby, so . . .”

“Oh, that’s great! Give her my best, will you?”

Emma nodded again, and a lone tear escaped her eye and streamed down her cheek. “And there’s the usual stuff at the hotel, except for . . . well . . . there’s this little girl who’s been stowing away there . . . and I can’t decide on a wedding cake no matter how hard I . . . and . . . and Jackson is selling the—”

She couldn’t go on. Emotion rose in her like hot lava from the inside of a volcano, and she began to cry. The Ugly Cry, as Sherilyn always called it, the one where your face contorts and tears flow in spurts, and you have to work really hard to stop the sobs from turning into wails.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dr. Mathis cooed, and she rolled closer, wrapped her arms around Emma as she convulsed with weeping, and just hugged her. “I think we’ve hit the iceberg, haven’t we?”

Emma nodded, somewhat frantically, but she didn’t pull out of Dr. Mathis’s soothing embrace for another couple of minutes.

“Listen to me, okay?” the doctor said, taking Emma by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. “You are in a dangerous area at the moment. You need to get a handle on your reactions to what’s going on around you. I know it’s stressful. But you’re going to have to insist on some quiet time for yourself, you’re going to have to watch your diet and get some extra sleep. Are you taking your supplements?”

Emma nodded.

“Good. And I want you to try some deep breathing techniques. Stephanie will give you a pamphlet.”

Emma couldn’t help but chuckle. Deep breathing wasn’t going to—