“Oh, I see.” The woman looked at Jack, her face kind. “I’m sorry, but I still have to ask you to leave.”
“We’re going,” Em said. “You won’t need Security. I’m Manningsport P.D.”
“What you did was amazing, by the way,” the nurse said softly. “I’m sorry about the Deiners.” Then she walked back down the hall.
Jack could hear Mrs. Deiner sobbing, the loneliest, most heart-wrenching sound on earth...a mother mourning her only child.
Josh wasn’t getting any better. Jack didn’t need a doctor to tell him that.
“Let’s go home, big guy,” Emmaline said. She pushed the button for the elevator, and the doors opened.
When they closed behind them and the elevator started to move, Jack put his arms around her, held her close and didn’t say anything.
When they reached the lobby, he let her go and saw that her eyes were wet.
“I’ll tell Angela I’m staying at your place,” she said, and that was all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EMMALINE WAS SLURPING down her third cup of coffee a few days later. It was her day off, and she and Angela had been up late the night before with the Bitter Betrayeds, who’d graciously accepted Angela as an honorary member, despite declaring her “too beautiful and too nice.”
The group was full of news—Jeanette O’Rourke was going on a cruise with Ronnie Petrosinsky, the Chicken King. Allison was indeed going back to the irritatingly perfect Charles, who’d proven his love by sending her a gift-wrapped box of cookie jar fragments. Shelayne announced that she’d just been approved as an adoptive parent, and there were hugs and more Peach Sunrises and a bottle of champagne.
And lastly, Em was grilled on how Jack was in bed. Her silence had brought on some fierce (and very colorful) speculation.
“She’s blushing,” Grace had pointed out, coming in from the kitchen with a fresh pitcher of Peach Sunrises. “You know what that means. Jack is a dirty, dirty boy.” Coming from their senior citizen member, this had caused shrieks of laughter from the women.
“Maybe it’s time you changed the name of your group,” Angela had suggested. “None of you seems particularly bitter or betrayed.”
That had given the rest of them pause.
“Call yourself the Sunrise Girls,” Ange had suggested. “These cocktails are simply wonderful, Grace.”
It was surely their best meeting yet. No one had mentioned the book they’d neglected to read, but that was never really the point.
Angela, of course, leaped out of bed that morning, completely unaffected by last night. Emmaline wasn’t so lucky. Sarge was upstairs, having decided he loved Angela more, the faithless wretch, and was barking in excitement at whatever Angela was doing. Loudly, Em thought, wincing.
Ten minutes later, both of them craving chocolate, they walked to Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery. The smell of pastry sent out its siren call. “Oh!” Angela said. “Look at this. A bridal salon! Let’s go in, Emmaline.”
“Why?” Em said.
“I’m thinking you should try on dresses,” she said. “For when you and Jack get married. I always hated that sad little dress you bought.”
“It wasn’t sad,” Emmaline said.
“Please. It looked like you were going to a dance at the Elks Lodge circa 1983,” Angela said. “No, this time, you must take me with you. I insist.”
“How do you know what an Elks Lodge dance looks like? Besides, I’m not getting married anytime soon.”
“Please. He’s crazy about you. He’ll be popping the question in a matter of weeks.”
Emmaline opened the door of the bakery and bumped squarely into the man himself.
“Jack! We were just talking about you,” Angela said.
“Really.” He gave Emmaline a look as if trying to place her.
“Jack, what do you think?” Angela said, her eyes twinkling. “Ivory or white? Which do you prefer?”
“Ignore her,” Emmaline said.
Jack glanced across the street where a poufy dress shimmered in the window of Happily Ever After. He didn’t smile. “Would you like to have dinner with my family tonight?”
Angela gave a muffled squeal, and Em shot her a filthy look. “Uh...”
“You’d be welcome, too, Angela,” Jack said.
“Oh, no! No, thank you for including me, Jack. You’re terribly sweet, but no, I have to be at Cornell this evening.” She gave Emmaline a sly smile. “In fact, look at the time! I should go. Always lovely to see you, Jack.” She strode away, waving at someone inside the antiques store.
“I wasn’t shopping for a wedding dress,” she said, immediately regretting it.
“Do you want to come for dinner?” he repeated.
She squinted at him. “You sure you want me there?”
“Why would I ask you if I didn’t?”
“I don’t know.”
“Six o’clock at Honor and Tom’s. I can pick you up if you want.” He looked at his watch.
“No, that’s fine. Jack, are you okay?”
“I’m great. I have to run. See you tonight.”
SOMEHOW, EMMALINE HAD forgotten just how many Hollands there were.
The driveway was filled with cars, and Blue, Faith’s giant golden retriever, raced up to her door. Sarge yipped wildly, his tail whacking Em in the head.
Honor had called her earlier to invite her to dinner personally and told her to bring her dog, since who didn’t love puppies? She said her own little dog could use some socializing.
The Hollands’ big white house was a landmark in Manningsport. Em had never been inside before, and it was a little imposing. Made her glad she’d dressed in a skirt.
She clipped on Sarge’s leash, got out and let her dog wriggle in ecstasy as Blue sniffed him over. Then she grabbed the flowers she’d brought—gerbera daisies—and with a deep breath, went up to the front door and knocked.
No one answered, though the door practically shook from noise inside. She knocked again. Nothing. Opened the door and peeked in.
The place was mobbed.
“Emmaline! Welcome,” said Honor, bustling over. “Oh, these are gorgeous! Thank you.”
“Thanks for having me. Are you sure you don’t want me to leave Sarge in the car?”
“We all love dogs—don’t worry.” She bent over to pet Sarge, who sat and wagged his tail. “Hello, handsome! Are you here to teach Spike some manners?” She unclipped the leash and smiled.
A tiny Yorkie came skittering over and growled at Sarge, causing the much larger puppy to collapse in delight and roll over in the acknowledgment that, yes, the Yorkie was boss and could do whatever it wanted.
“Best friends forever,” Honor said with a smile. “Come on in. It’s chaos, but that’s who we are. I’ll hang up the leash and put these in some water.” She took the flowers and walked off, leaving Em alone.
The periwinkle-blue living room was big and gracious, filled with tasteful furniture, built-in bookshelves and a gorgeous white marble fireplace. Jack and his father were in deep conversation there, each holding a glass of wine in their left hands. Easy to see where Jack got his looks. The older Mr. Holland, Jack’s grandfather, stood listening while eating a chunk of cheese the size of a smartphone. The grandmother speculated why on earth Honor had painted the living room this shade of blue when she herself preferred pale blue, then segued into how Abby should beware of white vans, because that’s what kidnappers drove.
Em edged toward Jack, overhearing Mrs. Johnson lecturing Tom Barlow on his curry-making technique. Pru and Carl Vanderbeek were arguing over something, Pru doing some magnificent eye rolling. Their son, Ned, was talking with Charlie Kellogg, and Levi stood in the corner, watching as Abby pressed her hands against Faith’s belly.
The noise level made Emmaline’s eyes throb.
“Hi.”
She jumped a little. “Hey, Jack.”
He didn’t kiss her. “Guys, you all know Emmaline, right?” he asked.
“Hey, girl,” Prudence said. “What are you doing here? Did Jack invite you? Wow. He hasn’t done that since he brought the Southern belle home. Is there news? You guys engaged or knocked up or something?”
“Jack,” said his grandmother, “you should try marriage again. Your grandfather won’t be around forever, you know. Don’t you want him to have more great-grandchildren? This one has nice breeding hips.”
“Goggy!” Faith yelped.
“What? You do, too. Don’t worry.”
“Leave them alone, guys,” Honor said. “Sorry, Emmaline.”
“No, no,” Em said, feeling slightly sweaty. “Breeding h*ps are...good. Thank you, Mrs. Holland.”
“Hallo, Em,” Tom said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “What would you like to drink?”
A lot, Em thought. “Oh, wine is great,” she said.
“Brilliant. Be right back.”
The three dogs raced through the living room, then up the stairs, then down the stairs. Em seemed to be the only one who thought this was perhaps a bit rowdy. Then again, her family dinners consisted of carefully modulated voices swapping bitter insults disguised in psychobabble, compliments from Angela and grunts from herself. Topics of discussion included self-actualization, repressed memories and why Emmaline was wasting her life, with a side of martinis.
Rowdy dogs weren’t so bad at all by comparison.
“It’s ten after six, Honor, sweetheart,” said old Mr. Holland. “Can we eat? What are we, Europeans or something?”
“I’m so glad you’re dating my loser uncle,” Abby said, bouncing over to Em’s side. “Also, would you mind taking me to the firing range? I want to learn how to kill a man.”
“Just kiss him,” Ned advised. “He’d die of horror.”
“Shut up, Ned! Levi, did you know that Ned drove to Geneva on Sunday to see your sister?”
“We’re just friends!” Ned said. “Stop glaring at me, Levi. If you hurt me, Faith will be heartbroken.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Faith said. “I only love you about half the time as it is.”
“I’m starving,” the grandfather complained. “Can we get this show on the road?”
Levi and Em were the last to go into the dining room, as Jack was pressed into service in the kitchen. “Is it always like this?” Em whispered.
“Yeah,” Levi said. “You’ll get interrogated over dinner, by the way. Same thing happened to me the first time I came for dinner, and to Tom last spring. Don’t worry. They’re good people.”
“I’m sweating like a farm animal.”
“I remember the feeling. Hang in there, Deputy. Think of it as a hostage situation, except you’re the hostage this time.” He gave her a half smile.
“Thanks, Chief,” she said. “You’re not so bad sometimes.”
“My God. I’m having that engraved.”
“I take it back.”
They crowded around the table, and Honor, Tom, Mrs. Johnson and Jack emerged from the kitchen laden with platters and dishes. The noise level increased as the food was passed and described and argued over, and before Emmaline managed to sit down, old Mr. Holland and Charlie were taking seconds.
“So, Emmaline, dear,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Tell us about your family.”
“Oh, uh...well, it’s just my parents and sister and me. Angela. She was adopted when I was fourteen.”
“So you were an only child until then?”
“That’s right.”
“Lucky,” said Ned and Abby in unison. Charlie snickered.
