Ready by nine, she paced the
front room for an hour, tending the fire and plumping cushions periodically.
At ten, she stationed herself by the window,
willing a car to come through the gate.
The gate!
Dashing across the
yard, she reached the end of the drive just as a long, shiny black limousine
approached, virtually crawling up the narrow road.
Swinging open the gate, she tried to catch
her breath, standing next to it as the car pulled through.
The driver, an aging Negro in a very proper
uniform, turned and gave her a huge smile, his eyes twinkling.
The moment the door opened,
and Stani stepped out, she found herself running straight into his outstretched
arms.
If she had been worried, now she
was completely reassured, as he held her close and pressed his cheek against
hers.
He turned to wave to the driver,
and arm in arm, they walked to the house.
She helped him out of his overcoat,
taking note that again he was all in black, today a heavyweight twill shirt
that hugged his body like a glove, and jeans, perfectly creased black
jeans.
Still elegant, she thought.
Carefully folding his coat over a chair, she
turned and was immediately drawn into his arms again.
“I've been looking forward to
this for so long.
All those lovely
things you wrote were driving me to distraction.”
His eyes were searching hers, waiting for a
signal it seemed.
Without the least
hesitation, she took his face in her hands, meeting his gaze.
She had never kissed a man, but it seemed the
most natural thing now to press her lips to his, at first tentatively, and then
with ever-increasing intensity.
When they parted, his eyes
were wide and still searching.
“Emily,
what have you done to me?
I'm the one
who’s supposed to sweep you off your feet.”
“Should I apologize?”
“Never.
But I think we should sit down.
I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed, if not quite
undone.”
He grinned, his eyes twinkling
now.
She laughed softly.
“I remember the feeling.
I got over it.
So will you, I expect.”
She led him to the couch, perching on the
edge of the cushion beside him, one foot tucked beneath her.
For a moment, she studied his face.
“Stani, you look exhausted!
You haven't been taking care of yourself
after all!”
“I admit I didn't sleep much
last night.
I was too excited and ready
for morning to come.
I'm fine,
really.
Just let me sit here and look at
you.
The fire's lovely, by the
way.”
He stretched his legs toward the
hearth, resting his head against the back of the couch.
“Talk to me.
Tell me what you're thinking.”
“I'm thinking you need a nap,
silly.
You're about to fall
asleep.”
Sliding to the floor, she started
to remove his boots.
“What are you doing?
I don't want to sleep while I'm here with
you!
Emily, please!”
But she had cast aside the boots and was
lifting his feet to the couch.
“Just stretch out here for a
while and rest.”
She tucked a cushion
behind his head.
Once again, she kissed
him, this time a slow, lingering kiss.
“I'm quite content to watch you sleep, you know.
This time, I'm sure you'll wake up.”
Taking his arms from around her waist, she
crossed his hands on his chest.
Stani grinned, his lids
drooping.
“Quite undone.”
Stani drifted in and out of
sleep, the crackle of the fire and sounds of activity from the kitchen mingling
with his dreams.
She was in his arms,
her eyes warm and wide.
He could smell
the freshness of her hair, the sweet clean scent of her skin.
She had kissed him before he’d even known
what was happening.
He’d been suddenly
dizzy with the power of his own response.
He could never have dreamed such a thing.
It had happened, this morning, in this
room.
Emily had kissed him, not once,
but twice.
The sweet promise of those
kisses had opened some new place inside him.
An almost painful longing for more of her, a yearning to have her near
again, disturbed his dream.
He jerked awake at a sudden
sound.
Blinking up at the ceiling, he
tried to remember how he’d come to be here alone, lying on the couch.
He sat up slowly, running his hands through
his hair in an effort to clear his head.
Where was she?
How long had he
slept?
He started to call out, but another
voice sounded nearby.
As he looked
around, a tall man was just coming through the front door.
He couldn't hold back the words already on
his lips.
“Emily, what have you done
with my boots?”
But the other man was calling
her too, “Em, are you here?'
Their eyes met over the back
of the couch, as each contemplated the other in amazement.
Emily came from the kitchen, a
smile lighting her face.
If he’d
possessed the presence of mind to notice anything, Stani would have been
surprised that she wasn't blushing at all.
He felt his own face flaming as he struggled to his feet.
She was gazing fondly up at the man in the
doorway, who looked back at her with raised brows, obviously awaiting an
explanation.
“Jack, I didn't expect to see
you this morning.
You remember Stani
Moss.”
Stani cringed.
Here he stood, in his stocking feet, sleep
still clouding his brain, as he was introduced to the most important person in
her life.
Emily was reaching for him,
drawing him around the couch to stand beside her.
“Stani, this is Sheriff Jack Deem.
He also happens to be my godfather and the
best friend I could ever wish for.”
Stani extended his hand, his
face cracking into an embarrassed grin in spite of his desire for some shred of
dignity.
“Sir, it's a pleasure to meet
you.
Emily’s told me so much about you.”
“Oh, she has, has she?
Well, that's more than I can say about
you.
I must say you look a sight better
than the last time I saw you.”
Jack took
his hand, gave him a good looking over, and returned his gaze to Emily's still
smiling face.
“Stani's only here for a few
hours, Jack.
Did you need me for
something?”
She looked pointedly at the
parcels he carried.
“Not that I'm not
happy to see you.
I was just putting
lunch on the table.
Would you like to
join us?”
He glanced at Stani, and then
his eyes crinkled in a smile.
“No
thanks, Em.
I just brought these things
for you.”
Handing her a brown paper bag,
he said, “Turkey soup from Martha Jean.
Sara said you'd want to look over this music before Sunday School tomorrow.
And here's the first of the kids for the
Christmas Family.”
He passed her two
folders, one bulging with sheet music.
“I know there'll be more.
It's
been a hard year, with the drought.
You're sure you want to take this on your own?”
“Positive.
It'll be fun.
I may get Angela and Lil to help me shop if I can get to
Charlottesville.” She was juggling the parcels, trying to get a look at the
list of names.
Stani took the bag from
her, thankful for some way to feel useful.
He was keenly conscious of Jack's eyes traveling from his tousled hair
to his socks.
Emily, on the other hand,
seemed oblivious to his discomfort, as well as the bemused expression on Jack's
face.
Another moment of awkward
silence and Jack appeared to rouse himself.
“I'll be going, then.
You two
enjoy your afternoon.”
He held out a
hand to Stani.
“I expect we'll meet
again.”
But he continued to wait
expectantly, obviously hoping for an explanation.
“Em, I'll see you in church tomorrow?”
Deeply absorbed in reading the
list, she didn't look up.
“Of course,
thanks for stopping by.”
Raising her
eyes to his face at last, she smiled, an unexpected dimple appearing in one
cheek.
“We'll talk, Jack, I promise.”
As soon as the door closed,
she laughed softly.
“I'm afraid he's had
a bad shock.
And you look just a tad
rattled yourself.
Your boots are on the
hearth, by the way.”
Taking the bag from
his hands, she turned back to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Lunch is
ready.”
When he had put on his boots
and tried to calm his nerves, he joined her in the kitchen.
“I'm not sure he got the right impression,
you know.
Will he be upset that I was
here like that?”
She indicated a chair and sat
down across from him at the table.
“Like
what?
You were taking a nap.
If he'd walked in when I was kissing you so
shamelessly, it might have been awkward.
But he had to find out sometime.
I'm amazed I've managed to keep quiet this long.
I don't keep secrets very well, especially
not from Jack.
He'll be fine as long as
he thinks I'm happy.”
She was filling
his plate with food.
“I hope you don't
mind leftovers.
Sal sent all this home
with me, and I hated to take the time to cook something else.”
“It looks wonderful.
And are you?
Happy, I mean?”
“I think so.
Ask me later, when you're gone and I have no
idea when I'll see you again.
But right
now, yes, I'm happy.”
He couldn't take
his eyes from her face, as she set the plate before him and looked up with such
warmth, the faintest color rising in her cheeks.
She was so beautiful, so fresh and real.
Here was no dream girl, with her sad, serious
smile, but the girl who had kissed him so sweetly just this morning.
She passed him a napkin and began to fill her
own plate.
His eye fell to the logo in
the corner of the napkin, his breath caught in his throat and for just a second
he felt the room tilt.
“Where did you say this came
from?”
Oddly, she seemed to
understand why his voice was trembling.
Her eyes were full of sympathy, as if she had expected something like
this.
She answered slowly,
“Salvatore's.
My godmother Angela.
Her husband Sal is a chef.
He has a restaurant in Charlottesville and he
caters.
Stani, do you remember
something?”
“John's report.
The caterer at the party that night,
Salvatore, he remembered me.
Something
about his daughter.”
He scarcely
recognized his own voice.
“Lil.
Do you remember?”
As he struggled to find the
image, he shook his head.
“No, just what
I read in the report.
These people,
Emily.
I don't understand.
They have some connection to you?”
Carefully, he laid the napkin next to his
plate, waiting.
Emily had known this moment would
come.
She had waited, hoping for a sign
that he was ready to hear what she knew.
She could tell him now about Lil, about the autograph, about the last
words Lil had spoken to him before he left the party that night.
He was watching her, his eyes dark and
pained, as if he feared hearing what she had to say.
“You told me you don't remember anything
about the night before the accident.”