Not Today, But Someday(20)

“This is not a safe haven for strays,” she says. “We don’t harbor runaways here.”

“She’s not exactly a runaway.”

“So her parents know where she’s at?”

“No,” I admit. “But she’s going back tomorrow. I’ll take her there myself.”

“I have to call her parents.”

“It’s her mom,” I tell her. “She just lives with her mom now.”

“Well, she must be worried sick, on a night like tonight. She can stay on the condition that we notify her mother, that she sleeps in a room on the first floor – she can stay in the antique room – and she leaves to go back to her house in the morning when the ice melts. And the only reason I’m allowing this is that the weather’s too bad for anyone to be out driving in it. I’m putting Victor up in the east room.” I glare at her suspiciously. “He can’t drive in this.”

“Convenient,” I mutter.

“Nathan, you’re making a fool of yourself. We only work together.”

“Whatever. As long as he leaves first thing in the morning, when the ice melts.”

“You don’t make the rules here, honey,” she says, her voice syrupy but her words rather harsh. “I could easily tell her no, because of my own suspicions...” she threatens.

“Sorry, Mom. Forget it. Thanks for letting her stay.”

“And you two are not allowed to be sharing a bed for any purpose, do you understand? Or a couch or anything.”

“We can’t sit on a couch together?” I ask.

“No,” she says. I can tell from her expression she realizes it’s a strange request, but I can also see that she isn’t going to back down, either.

“Whatever you say.”

“And you are not allowed to have sex in my house. Ever. Got it?”

“Fine, Mom.” Since she works out of the house and has a housekeeper to run her errands, she rarely leaves the premises anyway. The only place I’m ever really alone is in the art room, which is where I plan to take Emi. I guess that room isn’t a threat to Mom since there’s no comfortable seating at all in there.

I can bring in some pillows.

“Okay,” she says, finally wiping the mascara from her eyes. She squeezes my arm before opening my bedroom door and leading the way back into the kitchen.





“Emily,” my mother addresses Emi from across the room. I meet her sea-green eyes and she shakes her head, as if telling me not to correct her again. “You can stay in one of our guest rooms, but I have to call your mother and let her know where you are. As a mother, I can’t let her worry about you like that, even though I know you–”

“Okay,” Emi says, cutting her off.

“Oh,” Mom says, a little surprised. “I can call her?”

“I was about to call her myself. Well, I was going to call my brother, but I don’t really care who you call. Here’s the number,” she says, pulling out a slip of paper and handing it to my mother. “Her name is Karen Hennigan.”

“I’ll show you where your room is,” I tell Emi, motioning for her to follow me as my mom makes her way to her office. She picks up her purse and follows me down the long hallway. I point out the bathroom to her on the way.

“What’d she say?” Emi says softly.

“That you could stay as long as we called your mom, that’s all.”

She smiles and sets her purse down on the bed. “Your mom’s cool.”

“She’s not bad,” I tell her. Emi glances at herself in the mirror. She touches her lips thoughtfully.

“It is too much, isn’t it?”

I smile a little, happy that she wasn’t offended at what I’d said earlier. I couldn’t tell by her reaction. She has such natural beauty, without even trying. I can’t imagine what horrible woman’s magazine would have convinced her to paint herself like that. It must be the same one that Mom reads.

“Can I wash my face?” she asks me.

“Of course. There are towels and soap under the sink. I’ll be in the kitchen. I want to show you something, if you can stay awake a little longer.”

“I’m not tired at all,” she says. “I’m guessing chai tea has caffeine. I’m a little jittery.”

“Yeah,” I admit. “I’m used to drinking it to help me stay awake. That was my plan tonight. I’m mid-painting.”

“Is that what you want to show me?” I nod. “Cool. I’ll be there in a few.”

Returning to the kitchen, I search the refrigerator for something to eat. “There are some honeycrisp apples,” Mom suggests. “Elsa got them at the farmer’s market this morning. I know they’re your favorite.”

“Do we have any ice cream?” I ask her, taking out an apple.

“Cookies and cream,” she answers. I shake my head. “But you love cookies and cream.”

“I was going to offer it to her.” Mom raises her eyebrows. “She has this thing against chocolate. Did you talk to her mother?”

She gives me a disapproving glance. “She was in a panic. They aren’t from around here, Nathan. They don’t know who we are. I was hoping to ease her mind, but I don’t think it worked. I did talk her out of coming out here tonight in these conditions,” she adds. “But she has our address. I have no doubt she’ll come looking early in the morning if we don’t get her home as soon as the sun comes up and starts melting the ice.”