In Your Dreams
Page 56By the time Em was preparing to go, Alyssa looked relieved, if exhausted, bundled up on the couch, sipping a cup of cocoa.
Mrs. Pierson walked her to the front door. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said, her hands still shaking. “We knew she was struggling, but we didn’t know how bad it was.”
“I’m glad she’s getting help. It’s not easy to get through something like this on your own.”
“Officer Neal?” Alyssa said, appearing in the foyer.
“Honey, go sit down,” her mother said. “You look as weak as a newborn kitten.”
“This will just take a minute, Mom. Maybe you could make me a grilled cheese?”
“Of course, angel.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek and went into the kitchen.
“What is it, honey?” Em asked.
“I, uh...I did some things to Jack Holland.”
“I know.”
Alyssa blinked. “You do?”
“The note, leaving his lights on, the possum?”
The girl flushed, and her eyes welled again. “I was just so...mad that he couldn’t save Josh, too. Am I in trouble for that?”
“Of course not, honey.”
“He might press charges and stuff.”
“He won’t. I can guarantee that. Now go sit down and let your mom take care of you.”
“Thanks for coming over,” Alyssa whispered, and much to Em’s surprise, the girl hugged her. “Thanks for guessing.”
* * *
WHEN EM GOT to the car, she found that her heart was clattering like an old tractor. Her hands were shaking, and her face felt flushed. She couldn’t tell if she was exhilarated or terrified or both.
What if she hadn’t gone over? What if she hadn’t asked to see the bathroom?
But she had. She’d listened to that prickling sense of warning, and Alyssa was going to be okay. She started the car and drove to the cow path by the old barn where the Manningsport police held their Memorial Day speed trap, turned off the engine and reached for her phone to call Jack.
Oh. Right. She couldn’t do that anymore. She dumped him. Or he dumped her. Either way, he was with Hadley again.
Tonight, she’d saved a girl’s life, and you know what? That mattered more. She called Levi. “Hi. It’s Em,” she said the second he answered. “I just left the Piersons’ house.” In a rush of blathering, she told him what happened.
Levi was quiet when she finally stopped talking. “Excellent job, Deputy,” he said.
Emmaline smiled. Typical chief. “That’s it?”
“Why? You want a gold sticker? You deserve one. Write it up and we’ll talk tomorrow. And Em...”
“Remember this. This was a good day.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
She called Jamie next, and her hostage instructor was thrilled. “I knew you had the stuff, Em! You have to come work for us. Think about it.”
“I’m happy here. But thanks, Jamie. It means a lot.”
She drove home, the adrenaline still pumping through her limbs. Too bad Angela was still in Ithaca—Em suspected she might be having dinner with Frankie Boudreau. She’d call her later, but for now, a nice glass of wine was called for. Slippers. Pajamas. A Gerard Butler movie.
A figure rose from one of the Adirondack chairs on her porch, and Em’s hand went to her holster. Just before she drew, she realized who it was.
“Kevin. I almost shot you,” she said calmly.
“Hi, Emmaline,” he said, smiling. “How are you?”
* * *
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Em was in her pajamas (screw Kevin, he’d seen her in worse), had a glass of wine in one hand and had poured Kevin a glass of water, since he was still alcohol-free, dairy-free, etc., etc. He was petting Sarge, who didn’t seem to care that this was the man who’d once broken Mommy’s heart and was mooing a love song as Kevin scratched his ears. Em planned to have a firm talk with her puppy later on.
“So what brings you to Manningsport?” she asked, sitting down.
“I have an Ironman in Buffalo,” he said, smiling. Still had those damn beautiful eyes. Otherwise, the shock of his physical state was still, well, shocking. “Figured I’d come by and say hello.”
“Hello.”
“You like living here?” he asked. “In your grandmother’s house?”
“I do. Why are you here, Kev? You and Naomi split up already?”
He laughed. “No, no. We’re really happy.”
“Great.”
“How’s Jason?”
“Who’s Jason?”
“Your date? At the wedding? Your fake fiancé?”
“Jack. He’s fine.” She took a sip of wine. “So you didn’t answer my question, Kev. Why would you come see me? Aside from your wedding, I haven’t talked to you in three years.”
He looked down at Sarge’s head, which was resting on his knee as the faithless cur gazed up adoringly. “I’d like to apologize,” he said.
“Go right ahead.”
He gave a little snort of laughter. “You always were direct.”“One of the many things you said you loved about me.”
Em took another largeish sip of her wine. Blue Heron. She’d run out of her Lyons Den stash, and this had been in the fridge. It was excellent. Steely and bright with notes of fairy’s breath and sunrises. Whatever the case, it slid past the lump in her throat quite easily.
Kevin was just looking at her, a faint regretful smile on his face.
She put the glass down. “I’ll never understand what happened with us. I mean, I’m over you—now—but I never could figure that out.”
He nodded. “The thing is, Em...I hated myself. I couldn’t think of anything except food and how disgusting I was. Everything else was fake, was just a very brief distraction from food and fat. I hated how fat I was, and I couldn’t wait to eat again. When I started to lose the weight and rework my life, I...” He shrugged. “I hated you for loving the lazy, sad, pathetic person that I was.”
“And you loved Naomi for hating you.”
“Yeah. Ironic, huh?”
“So ironic. Well, thanks for coming by. What is it, two hours to Buffalo?”
He didn’t move. “Not every love is meant to last.”
“Do you have that on a T-shirt somewhere?”
He grinned, surprising her, and she felt an unwilling (and small) rush of affection for him. “I’m really sorry, Em,” he said. “You’ll always be my first love. I’ll always be glad I knew you.”
Her eyes stung.
That was a damn fine apology. Or a line from a Nicholas Sparks book. Or both. “Right back at you.” She cleared her throat. “I wish you all the best, Kevin. I really do.”
He took her hand. “And, Em...I’m sorry for what I said in the People article. You were never unsupportive. You were pretty great, in fact. And I wish you all the best, too.”
She gave his hand a squeeze. “I don’t know how I would’ve made it through eighth grade without you,” she said. She might’ve been like Alyssa, in fact. But because of the love and acceptance Kevin gave her, she’d never had to find out.
She looked up, and, for a second, he looked like the boy she’d loved when she was so young, and her heart swelled. She and Alyssa both knew the might of first love, the huge, beautiful, terrible power it had.
And then the feeling was gone, and in its place was...nothing. Not in the bad way...in the way a room feels after you’ve tossed out the old furniture and put on a fresh coat of paint.
“I should go,” Kevin said.
“It was good to see you.” And even better to mean it.
She hugged him quickly at the door. “Give Naomi my best,” she said, and she didn’t even feel the urge to choke or roll her eyes.
“Will do.”
“And good luck in the race.”
“Thanks! It’s a tough one, all right. But you know how it is. Excuses are for people who don’t want it bad enough. Naomi says—”
“Drive safely!” she said and closed the door.
Sarge came over and licked her knee.
“That went well, don’t you think?” she asked. “Me, too. And this, my friend, calls for some Ben & Jerry’s. We can talk about your whorish ways later.”
JACK GOT BACK from Savannah just in time for dinner with Dad and Mrs. Johnson. “How was your trip, my darling boy?” Mrs. J. asked after he finished his third helping of roast pork, peas and salt potatoes, his favorite.
“It was okay,” he said. “And it’s done. That’s the best part.”
“How’s her family?” Dad asked.
“They’re great.”
“I always liked them,” he said.
“But not her,” Mrs. J. said. “I told you, Jack, that woman wasn’t good enough for you, but you didn’t listen to me, did you?”
“No, Mrs. J. And I should have. I’m sorry. Please can I have some pie?”
“In a moment, you ungrateful child.” She folded her arms. “What’s this nonsense I hear about you and Emmaline Neal?”
“Don’t worry. That’s over.” His voice was casual, but the words caused an odd tightness in his chest. He and Emmaline hadn’t been together very long, really. He shouldn’t feel so...hollow.
Mrs. Johnson turned to the counter and cut him a piece of pie. “It being over is the nonsense to which I’m referring, Jackie.” She put her hand on his shoulder, and Jack looked down. He was used to glossing over things where the Coven was concerned. Mrs. Johnson, though...she wasn’t so easy to brush off.
“Hyacinth,” Dad said, “could you give us a moment, sweetheart?”
“Of course, my darling. Jackie, listen to your father.” She kissed Jack on the cheek, then left the kitchen. If Jack knew her (and he did) she’d eavesdrop.
“What’s up?”
Dad gave him a long look. “I’m worried about you.”
“You don’t need to be,” he said, too quickly. Somehow, his father’s kind eyes made Jack feel a thousand times worse.
“I am, son. You seem lost.”
Shit. Jack’s throat tightened. “I’m doing okay.”
Dad didn’t speak right away, but when he did, his voice was soft. “When your mother died,” he said, “there were days when I didn’t know how I got from one place to the next. I’d be down in the barn and think, ‘How did I get here? Did I eat breakfast? Did I drive here?’ Sometimes I’d see my face in the mirror and I wouldn’t even recognize myself.”
Jack knew the feeling. He just didn’t want his father—or anyone in his family—to lose sleep over him.
“So I see you these days, son, and I recognize that lost look.” His father put his hand over Jack’s. “I know you’re hurting. We all do. I know it’s not going to go away overnight, either. What happened with those kids was terrifying.”
“I keep thinking,” Jack said, and the words were hard to get out, “if I’d done something different, if I’d been even twenty or thirty seconds faster, or even ten, maybe...”
“You’re only human. You did everything you could. You helped them. Those other boys would all be dead without you, Jack. You saved three lives that night. Those matter, too.”
Jack nodded. Swallowed. He knew his father was right. Feeling that, though...believing it was harder.
“I want you to stop in at Honor’s,” Dad said. “She has the name of a couple of therapists who specialize in PTSD. Will you do that?”