"But' She looked over in time to see a car drive slowly toward the
house. The figure behind the wheel was lost in the sheeting rain and
shadows as it cruised down the street. "I'm sorry," she said again.
"Would you mind waiting until I get the groceries in?"
"Look, lady, I've got other stops to make."
She pulled a twenty out of her purse. "Please." Without waiting for his
agreement, she went back to her car to unload.
Inside she double-checked all the locks. With the fire, the lights, the
warmth, she'd all but convinced herself that she'd made a mistake. When
she didn't see the car reappear during the next twenty minutes, she was
almost sure of it.
Cooking relaxed her. She liked the scents she created, the low murmur
of music. As the hour grew later, the gray simply deepened. There was
no twilight, just the steady fall of rain. At ease again, she decided
to go upstairs and unpack.
The sound of a car swishing through the rain outside had panic
streaking up her spine again. She stood frozen at the base of the
stairs, staring out the wide, dark window. It hadn't occurred to her
until that moment how exposed she was, with all the lights buming. She
could hear a brake set, a door slam.
She was on the way to the phone when she heard the footsteps in front of
the door. Without hesitating, she ran to the fireplace and grabbed the
brass poker. The knock had her grip tightening.
She was alone. He knew she was alone, Emma thought frantically, because
she'd been foolish enough to wander through the house with the lights
burning and the shades drawn up. She inched her way toward the phone.
She would call for help. If it didn't get there in time, she would help
herself Her heart tatooed against her chest as she lifted the receiver.
"Emma! I'm drowning out here."
"Michael?" The phone slipped out of her fingers and fell to the floor.
She let the poker drop as well as she rushed to the door. Her fingers
weren't steady as she fumbled with locks. She could hear him swearing.
By the time she pulled open the door and threw her arms around him, she
was laughing.
"Sorry, I don't get the joke."
"No, I'm sorry. It was just that I-" But when she drew back, she saw
something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Despair. "Here, let me
help you. You're soaked through." She helped him peel off his jacket.
"I've got some tea. I wish I'd thought of brandy, but there's probably
a bottle of whiskey somewhere." She nudged him over by the fire, then
went into the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with a cup. He
hadn't moved, she noted. He just stood there, looking down at the
flames.
"It's a nice Irish tea, heavy on the Irish." She handed it to him.
"Thanks." He sipped, grimaced, then downed it.
"You should get out of those wet clothes."
"In a minute."
She started to speak again, then changed her mind and went quietly
upstairs. When she came back, she simply took his hand. "Come on. I'm
running you a bath."