when I said I was going for a drive."
"I had a pretty good idea."
"Why did you come?"
"I didn't want you to go alone."
She stiffened. It was only a barely perceptible movement, but he sensed
her shoulders straightening, her chin firming. "I'm not fragile,
Michael."
"Okay. I wanted to be with you."
She turned. His eyes were kind, like his father's, but in them she
could still see the boy who had driven her home from the beach. Degree
by degree her body relaxed. "Thanks."
She turned the car and followed his directions. The roads didn't seem
familiar. She'd thought they would. It occurred to her, and made her
feel foolish, that she would never have found the house on her own. They
didn't talk now, except for Michael's occasional "turn right,"
"bear left," but listened to the soft, soothing sounds of Crosby,
Stills, and Nash through the car speakers.
He didn't have to tell her to stop. She recognized the house. It was
like a picture, developed and stored in her mind. It was very much the
same as it had been, secluded by trees, hedges, the winter bloomers of
the hills. It was rustic, as only the wealthy could afford. Redwood
and sheets of glass, terraced lawn falling into woods and stream.
She saw, as Michael did, the sign speared into the ground that
proclaimed the house up for sale.
"We could call it fate," he said, and touched her arm. "Do you want to
go in?"
Her hands were linked hard in her lap. She could see her window, her
bedroom window where she had once stood with Darren and gleefully
watched a fox dart through the trees.
"I can't."
"Okay. We can sit as long as you like."
She could see herself, wading in the stream, Bev laughing as Darren
splashed madly in his bare feet and rolled-up overalls. She remembered
a picnic the four of them had shared, a blanket spread under a tree, her
father quietly strumming his guitar, Bev reading a book while Darren
dozed in her lap.
She'd forgotten that day. How could she have forgotten it? It had been
such a beautiful day, such a perfect day. The grass had been cool, the
sun warm and lazily yellow where it pushed through the leaves, the shade
soft and gray where it hadn't. She could hear her father's voice, and
the words he'd been singing.
Never too late to look for love / Never too soon to find it.
They had been happy, Emma thought. They had been a family.
Then, the next day they had given a party and everything had changed.
"Yes," she said abruptly. "I want to go in."
"Okay. Look, it might be better if they didn't know who you are, about
the connection, I mean."
She nodded, and drove through the open gates.
Michael closed a hand over hers as they stood in front of the door. Hers
was like ice, but steady. He put on his best smile as the door opened.