The Gazebo

  “You’re right. It is stupid to sit here in silence. So let’s talk. If you won’t tell me what’s wrong…”

  “I told you.” Emma’s eyes blazed. “You promised you’d never lie again. But you did. Just like the night you dumped me with Uncle Cade. You promised you’d still be there when I woke up.”

  Just stick a dagger in my heart and be done with it…. If only Emma could know how much that lie had haunted her. For years and years and years.

  “I did lie to you then. I…” I was falling apart, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I was desperate and alone and wanted you to have things I couldn’t give you…a real home, not a rented room for a couple months before we moved on. I didn’t think I was good enough to be your mother but I knew your uncle Cade…. He’d take care of you better than I ever could….

  She’d believed with all her heart she’d done the right thing in leaving Emma with her brother, until she’d met Finn at a dark little club.

  What Emma needs is her mother….

  “I’ll regret what I did every day of my life.”

  Emma’s eyes teared up, her lips trembled. Deirdre held her breath, praying for a breakthrough. “Then how—how could you…” Emma ducked her head, climbed to her feet and crossed the kitchen, dumping the bowl into the sink. “No,” she mumbled tightly. “Promised…”

  “How could I what?” Deirdre urged gently.

  But whatever the child had almost said was gone. Instead she said tightly, “You lied when you said that you trusted me.”

  But I did trust you—before Drew Lawson kissed you in the gazebo. When your heart was set on reaching your dreams, and you swore you’d never let anything get in the way…. When I wasn’t so afraid…didn’t know how helpless I could feel, no matter how hard I tried to reach you….

  “There. I told you how you lied. Now, can I go out? Some of the cast was meeting at Staci’s.”

  Deirdre almost bent the family night rules. She thought what a relief it might be to have the house empty of Emma’s quiet fury for a little while. Time when Deirdre could catch her breath. And yet, “some of the cast” no doubt meant Drew Lawson. The date last Friday had been a disaster as far as Deirdre was concerned. Emma had spent hours getting ready—her door firmly shut against her mother.

  Deirdre had spent the four hours the teenagers had been at dinner and a movie pacing the floor. After Emma’s return, her daughter hadn’t said a word to her about the night, but hectic color stained Emma’s cheeks, and she looked a little rumpled, a lot breathless. Worst of all, Emma had spent the days leading up to the “Great Montana Escape” babbling to Finn about it until the woman should be half-deaf. But the instant Deirdre had walked into the room, Emma had lapsed to stony silence.

  Of course, it was a wonder Emma wasn’t hoarse, considering the amount of time the girl was spending on the phone. Drew had called every night the past week at nine o’clock and Emma had locked herself in her room, the murmur of her voice audible long after Deirdre went to bed. Not that going to bed had anything to do with sleep anymore.

  Deirdre would lie awake, her thoughts bouncing like crazed ping-pong balls from Emma to the affair, from the Captain to Jimmy Rivermont, from the perfect Drew Lawson to another boy…and maybe, most disturbing of all, to a man with tiger’s eyes who had kissed Deirdre in the deserted park, awakened things she was sure she could never feel again.

  “Emma, you know, the rule is that we spend family night together. No going off to do something with other people. Otherwise all you’d do is spend what time we have together looking at your watch.”

  “Fine. I’ll go to bed. Family night is stupid anyway. We don’t even have a family anymore since you found that letter.”

  “Don’t exaggerate. Things are strained right now, but—”

  “Strained?” Emma gave a bitter laugh. “We used to go over to Uncle Cade’s all the time, or they’d all come over here. You barely talk to anyone anymore. Even Aunt Finn. And the Captain…”

  “I’ve talked to the Captain.” A few awkward sentences. Terribly polite. The most miserable conversations Deirdre had ever had, except for the recent ones with her daughter. Or listening to Jake Stone on the answering machine.

  I’ve got some leads I’m following. I’ll call you when I have news. Damn it, Deirdre, pick up the phone. I want to know how Emma is. How you are…

  Deirdre didn’t dare call him back. She wanted to hear his voice far too badly.

  “Well, if that’s talking to Grandpa, I’ve talked enough for three weeks tonight to you. I’m going to bed.”

  “Fine. Go.” Deirdre hated the sharpness in her voice. She hesitated, watching her daughter’s retreating back, wishing she could call out, the way she had before, so easily, so naturally, taking it all for granted—Hold it right there, little girl…where’s my good-night kiss?

  But Deirdre couldn’t bear the idea of Emma giving her a kiss filled with resentment. Deirdre swallowed hard and called after her baby.

  “I love you.”

  For two hours, Deirdre couldn’t settle. She did the paperwork for March Winds. Tidied up both the public areas and the private ones she and Emma shared in the big empty house. Deirdre crossed to the parlor where she’d insisted Cade set the hope chest under a window.

  Her placement of the chest still drove Finn a little crazy—an heirloom where the main hustle and bustle of guests took place. But Deirdre didn’t need the symbol of all her childhood failures and self-doubt to be in her bedroom, the last thing she saw at night. All the hope chest stood for haunted her sleepless hours too much as it was.

  Finn had acquiesced to Deirdre’s decision at last and slipped some pillows on top of the cedar chest so guests could curl up there and gaze at the garden, never dreaming they were sitting on a bomb that had exploded. God knew what else was in the thing. Deirdre was afraid to look.

  And yet, she couldn’t help wishing she could go cry all this out to her own mom, the mother she’d wished Emmaline McDaniel had been.

  Deirdre knelt before the chest, opened the lid, the pillows sliding backward. She ran her fingertips over linens, lifting a pile of them out, digging deeper. She froze as light spilled across a bundle of what looked like dish towels held together by one of Deirdre’s old hair ribbons.

  Deirdre lifted the bundle out, her throat suddenly tight. The top towel was labeled Sunday in red embroidered lettering. But it was the image stitched above it that touched her heart—a frolicking puppy running off with a Sunday bonnet. The puppy, all black like the stray Deirdre had adored as a child, its collar stitched in blue…Spot.

  Deirdre untied the ribbon, carefully lifting one towel after another and fanning them across the floor, one towel for each day of the week, each one sporting the black puppy in different kinds of mischief. A sudsy Spot in a washtub for Monday, delving through a shopping basket, carrying a pair of torn overalls to lay beside a sewing basket. The last, Saturday, showed the black dog in the arms of a little girl—a simple line drawing traced in colored stitches, and yet, the hair was Deirdre’s own, the dress on the iron-on decal scrubbed until its blue outline had almost vanished, a pair of freehand jeans stitched on in its place.

  Her mother had stitched these, Deirdre knew. Emmaline had always had some bit of needlework in her hand. And Deirdre had never noticed. She could see her mother tucking them into the chest as a surprise, maybe hoping someday her restless daughter might pause long enough to think about the time spent creating them, the tenderness in portraying Deirdre and her beloved dog.

  Mama, why didn’t you ever show these to me? Deirdre whispered, wishing her mother could hear. Deirdre could still remember the scorn she’d felt toward her mother, how she’d curled her lip in distaste. But then, a plain old boring mother, a wife, was all Emmaline McDaniel had ever been. Deirdre had been so sure of that until she’d read the letter to a lover she’d never have guessed her mother bold enough to take.

  Knowing she still couldn’t sleep, Deirdre carried the towels with
her to her favorite chair and popped in a movie. But the night wasn’t the same without Emma.

  Better get used to it, Deirdre told herself. Come January, Emma will be in New York, and you’re going to have to learn how to live alone….

  Alone? At least as alone as a woman could be, running a bed and breakfast. And yet, she would be alone in a house full of strangers.

  Why did she wonder what Stone would think of this movie? Imagine his lightning-quick wit, his humor, his heat—the way he could fill up any space he occupied with nothing but his cocky attitude.

  Deirdre wondered what it would be like to have what Finn and Cade had. Sharing a bed, a breakfast table, fighting over the remote control and making up long afterward in bed?

  For sixteen years Emma had been all she needed. Filled up her heart, her time, her worries. Even the time a single mom got to herself was precious. Deirdre liked her own company. She had never realized that she wouldn’t like being alone; that loneliness could seep through all the cracks in her heart; that a future of occasional phone calls as Emma hopped around the globe chasing the stars would leave too much empty space in her life.

  Deirdre leaned back her head for just a moment, closed her eyes. She didn’t even know the moment she fell asleep.

  The grandfather clock chimed two, startling Deirdre awake. She rubbed the stiffness in her neck. No wonder her whole body ached, tense as she was and sleeping in that godawful chair. Deirdre pushed herself to her feet, surprised as the towels fluttered to the floor. She picked them up, hugged them for a moment, then laid them carefully aside. Maybe she could show them to Emma in the morning, Deirdre thought. Maybe Emmaline McDaniel’s handwork would give them something to talk about, really talk about for the first time in a week.

  Deirdre snapped off the television, turned off the lights and headed upstairs. The house was quiet, so peaceful time might have spun backward to the days before Deirdre had opened the hope chest and the letter had changed everything.

  If it was then, Deirdre would have opened Emma’s door, quietly slipped into her room. She would have tucked the covers over her sleeping baby girl, and watched her dream of angels. She would have bent over Emma and, oh, so whisper soft, kissed her little girl’s cheek.

  If it was before.

  Deirdre started to move away, stopped. God, what was she doing? Emma was leaving home come January. Time would slip by so fast. She couldn’t afford to waste even one more night. So what if Emma was too old to be tucked in anymore? Deirdre needed to see that she was safe, sleeping, maybe more now than ever before.

  Flattening her palm on Emma’s door, she pushed, easing it open on creaky hinges. By the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains, Deirdre padded across the room to Emma’s white iron bed.

  Deirdre’s heart twisted with love. Emma was huddled all the way under her blankets tonight as if to shut out the world.

  It’s the law, Mommy. Emma had explained at six. Nothing bad can get you if you’re underneath the covers. You can’t let even your baby toe peek out or bam! a monster might bite it right off.

  It had been far easier to keep monsters away back then. Tonight, so many were out stalking. Deirdre almost left Emma in peace. But after a moment she took the coverlet between her fingers, eased the blankets back and—

  Pillows. Nothing but pillows filled the place Emma should have been. Deirdre’s heart flipped. She hurried into the hall, switched on the bathroom light.

  Empty. Deirdre rushed back to Emma’s bedroom, turned on the bedside lamp. Emma’s nightgown lay in a puddle on the floor. The window above the porch was wide-open, the trellis easy access to the ground, the driveway visible beyond. The empty driveway. The van was gone.

  Anger and worry raged through Deirdre. She went to the phone, dialed Staci’s number, trying to forget that the kid’s father was a football jock from Deirdre’s own high school days. A groggy male voice answered. “’Lo?”

  “This is Deirdre McDaniel. May I speak to Emma?”

  “Emma?”

  “She came to the get-together Staci was having with the rest of the cast.”

  “Hey, Dee. Sorry to tell you this, but Staci’s at a volleyball tournament in Wisconsin this weekend. The kids were never here.”

  Deirdre’s stomach plunged. “I…I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Don’t worry too much. Emma’s probably fine. Not much trouble they can get into in a small town like this. Unless she gets up to your old tricks, eh, Deirdre, and ends up at Sullivan’s Point.” Staci’s dad chuckled. He must have heard Deirdre choke.

  “Emma’s not going to do anything crazy,” Deirdre said, more to herself than Staci’s father. “She knows what she wants.”

  Deirdre had thought so. Now, she wasn’t sure. Drama school was months away. But Drew Lawson…

  Deirdre hung up the phone. Her hands shook as she scrambled through the phone book, found the Lawsons’ phone number. Maybe Emma was there, having one of those “teen crisis” talks Deirdre had had over the years with her daughter’s friends, where they poured out all the poison, how their own parents weren’t fair, didn’t understand…

  Was Emma close enough to Drew or Drew’s family to be over there this late? Deirdre dialed, still torn, needing to know where Emma was. Whitewater was a small town, but a lone teenage girl could be a target for some lunatic even here.

  A firm voice answered. “We’re having calls traced, so just stay on the phone and the police will—”

  “I’m not a prank caller. I’m Emma McDaniel’s mother.”

  “Oh, I…I’m sorry!” the woman apologized. “We’ve been getting some prank calls lately—girls at slumber parties playing jokes. An occupational hazard when one of your sons is the biggest catch in junior high, I’m afraid. Heaven forbid the girls just say they have a crush on Reece. He’s our youngest, and quite a charmer. But you didn’t call at…oh, Lord, two in the morning to hear my tale of woe. Is something wrong?”

  “I was wondering if Emma is at your house.”

  “At this hour? No. I’m sure not. The house has been dead quiet all night. Reece is staying with friends after the football game and Andrew went to bed early. He said he wanted to take Emma out, but there was some reason she couldn’t go.”

  “Family night.”

  “You know he’s crazy about your daughter.”

  “He told you that?”

  “Heavens no! You can hardly see the two of them together and not guess they’re head-over-heels for each other. I’ve been wanting to meet you, but Drew said things were a little—” Mrs. Lawson hesitated a beat “—intense over at your house at the moment.”

  These complete strangers knew about the strain between Deirdre and Emma? Deirdre felt angry, embarrassed. She wanted to hang up and move someplace where she’d never have to see Drew Lawson’s mother again.

  Too bad, she told herself. You’re the mom. Suck it up.

  “Emma…well, apparently she sneaked out. I’m worried.”

  “Of course you are! This is definitely not good.”

  Deirdre heard a male voice, then Drew’s mother’s muffled objections. “Safe sex? I can’t say that to a girl’s mother!”

  “Mrs. McDaniel?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Oh, I…I remember. Some of Drew’s friends said, well…it doesn’t matter. Maybe Emma and Drew are just talking.”

  “Carson, I know they can talk on the phone. Carson says…don’t worry. He talked to Andrew about—”

  “Safe sex?” The top of Deirdre’s head felt ready to blow off. “There is no such thing!”

  “We feel the same way. Hope it doesn’t come to that, but…well, closing your eyes to the possibility doesn’t solve anything. With all those hormones zinging through their systems…Have you talked to Emma?”

  “Emma is sixteen! She never even talked to a boy on the phone until your son started using Shakespeare as an excuse for—”

  “For what?” Mrs. Lawson asked sharply. “Ms. McDaniel, I unders
tand you’re alarmed. But my son is hardly a maniac ready to hurt your daughter. Drew will take care of her.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of!” Oh, God, Deirdre thought, she sounded like a lunatic. “There isn’t a teenage boy in the world who isn’t trying to get—”

  The woman’s voice took on a distinct chill. “Ms. McDaniel, Brandi Bates said something about…well, I’m not one to credit town gossip. But don’t you dare be judging my son by whatever happened to you in the past.”

  “You just told me to talk to my sixteen-year-old daughter about birth control. What was I supposed to think?”

  “Drew is always telling me I go overboard talking to his friends about things like that,” Drew’s mother said quietly. “But one mistake can be so costly. Surely you of all people should understand that.”

  “That’s why I need to find my daughter. Please, just wake Drew up and ask him if he’s heard from her. Knows where she might be. I’m worried sick.”

  “Of course.” Deirdre held her breath, waiting as the woman made her way to her son’s room. Deirdre heard a door creak, figured Mrs. Lawson had opened Drew’s door.

  “Drew,” his mother called softly. “Drew, Emma’s mother is on the phone and—Drew? Ms. McDaniel, he’s gone!”

  Deirdre’s stomach hit the floor. She tried to decide whether to be even more terrified or a little relieved. Emma wasn’t alone out there somewhere in the dark, she was just with a boy who could ruin her life.

  “Carson! Drew’s gone!” the mother called out, sounding alarmed.

  Deirdre heard a man’s voice in the background, gruff with sleep, yet resigned. “My husband says kids do that sort of thing. He did it when he was Drew’s age. They’ll both show up in the morning. It’ll give the girls something to gossip about besides the fact that Emma got the part of Juliet.”

  “By then it might be too late!” Deirdre slammed down the phone, feeling like she was going to retch. Oh, God.

  Deirdre pressed her fingertips to her mouth, trying to force back the bile rising in her throat. She knew Emma had heard whispers about her mother’s wild past. Was Brandi Bates gossiping about Emma the way they’d talked about Deirdre so many years ago? There was no creature in the world who could be crueler than a teenage girl. Deirdre wanted to hug Emma, wanted to shake her, wanted to shield her from jealous little bitches like Brandi.