In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(115)

Emmaline choked, sputtering wine on the phone, Squeaky Chicken and Sarge’s head. “Excuse me?”

“With both you and Angela there, we may as well.”

“And by ‘your area,’ what exactly are we talking about?”

“Manningsport.”

Dear God, I’m ready. Hurl down that thunderbolt. Love, Emmaline.

Mom was talking about proximity and the maternal bond. The habit of affection as influenced by visual recognition of loved ones. Her extremely close relationship with Angela. The usual.

Not once during high school did Mom and Dad mention moving here, to be closer not just to Emmaline, but to Nana, too.

Not once in the past three years that she’d made her life here had they ever talked about moving here. They’d barely visited. But they’d moved from Malibu to Palo Alto, sure. To be closer to Angela, and that hadn’t bothered Em, not really.

But the fact that they were coming here, on her turf, to be closer to Angela... A sudden flare of anger burned in her stomach.

“Yeah, do what you want,” she said. “I have to go. Someone’s here.”

Without saying goodbye, she hung up, then nearly fell out of the kitchen chair as someone knocked, as if she’d summoned them. Sarge galloped out of the kitchen, then hurled himself against the front door, and Em followed. “Down, killer,” she said as he whined and wagged. “At least pretend to be fierce, okay? You’re going to be a police dog someday, whether you like it or not.”

She opened the door, and her stomach burned again.

Jack.

“Hi,” he said.

“What can I do for you?” she asked. A little hard to play it frosty when her dog had wrapped both front paws around Jack’s work boot and was chewing on the laces.

“Can I come in?”

“Why?”

“Emmaline. Come on.”

“Fine.”

He came into the foyer and glanced around. “Is Angela here?” he asked.

“She’s upstairs doing yoga. Sarge, stop.” Sarge did stop, froze right in place, then raced into the other room and returned with Squeaky Chicken, whipping his head from side to side. Not the most dignified backdrop in the world, but hey.

“How’s your grandfather?” Emmaline asked.

“He’s good. Doing well.”

Yes, I know, because Levi told me, and Faith told me, but you didn’t say squat, Jack. “Glad to hear it,” she said.

“Thanks.”

She tried pulling Levi’s trick of staring and waiting.

It worked.

“Look,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I may have overreacted a little the other day. I was under a lot of stress.”

“Mmm.”

“Sorry.”

She lifted an eyebrow.

Jack sighed, that “women are so difficult” sigh. Hell yeah, they were.

“Is that it?” she asked.

“Should there be more?”

“Nope. Have a good night.” She opened the door again.

“Emmaline, wait. Can I come in and actually sit down? Have a conversation with you?”

“I don’t think so, Jack.”

“Why?”

Because you called me a bully when I was only trying to help you and that idiot you married. Because you made me feel stupid and mean and unimportant. Because having you chew me out in front of my coworkers made me feel like I was in middle school again. Because you brought my stutter back. That’s why.

“Here’s the thing,” she began.

“I hate when women lead with that.”

“Suck it up. Here’s the thing. Jack.” She folded her arms. “I told you this would happen.”

“You told me what would happen?”

“This! This messy, upsetting thing between us.”

“That’s a nice way to describe it.”

“Well, you’re the one who hasn’t spoken to me in four days.”

“I’ve been busy the past four days! By the way, why would you turn off my phone without telling me, huh?”

“Perhaps you remember the reason, Jack? No? The kitchen floor mean anything to you? The bathtub? Nothing’s coming back?” Sarge whipped her with Squeaky’s leg. “Look. I shouldn’t have done that. It was an impulse, and I am sorry about it, and I did apologize.”

“Fine. I forgive you,” he said.

“Gosh, how great. But the thing is, Jack,” she said, her voice getting tighter, because of course he was a man and would try to hang this on details when the big picture was staring him right in the face.

“What is the thing, Emmaline?”

“The thing is that at first this was a fake relationship. Then you needed a distraction. Then you wanted fun. Then I fell in love with you.”

Well, shit on a steak sandwich. She hadn’t meant to say that.

Jack’s mouth opened. Nana’s grandfather clock ticked from the living room. Sarge growled and bit Squeaky on the head, getting a soft hiccupping sound.

Otherwise, nada. “Right,” she said. “Moving along.” She looked at the wallpaper pattern, the little white cherry blossoms against the brown backdrop, and tried not to cry.

“Emmaline—”