Chapter 10

Emma was scrubbing the toilet when the doorbell rang. She glanced in the mirror on her way out, taking in her rosy cheeks and the damp hair that clung to her temples. She thought about reapplying her lipstick, but a second ring pulled her to the door.

Darren stood grinning on the porch, a briefcase under one arm and a Starbucks cup in each hand. “What, no broom today? I think we’re making progress.”

“All I had handy was a toilet plunger. Hardly intimidating.”

“Hardly. Well, are you going to let me in?”

She felt herself blush for the second time that morning. Why did she feel like a seventh-grader with a crush? “I’m sorry.” She pulled the screen door open and stood aside to let him pass. “If one of those coffees is for me, you’re more than welcome.”

He shuffled past her, still holding the cups.

“Let me take those,” she offered, just as the briefcase slipped out of his tenuous grasp and dropped onto his toes. He winced and shook his foot.

“Oh, are you okay?” She dropped to her knees and grabbed the briefcase.

“It’s nothing. I’m just glad I saved the…”

Emma stood awkwardly in the narrow entryway, pitching forward into his chest.

“…coffee,” he finished, as one of the lids gave way, sloshing coffee onto his hand and his shoe. “Ouch!” he cried.

“I’m sorry. So sorry!” She choked on her laughter. “Are you still okay?”

“So you attack me with briefcases and hot coffee, and then you have the nerve to laugh at me?” He tried to scowl, but his mouth twitched with suppressed laughter.

Emma laughed until tears trickled down her cheeks. “All part of the plan,” she said as soon as she could speak. “Come into the kitchen. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Closing her eyes, Emma savored the aroma of the caffè latte, her favorite. “How did you know what I’d like?”

“Lucky guess. I thought you looked like the frou-frou type, but I brought a straight coffee too just in case.”

“It was so kind of you to think of me,” she said, turning her back when tears pricked her eyes. Why didn’t Joe ever bring her coffee? After fourteen years together, he probably had no clue what kind she liked.

She breathed deeply and shrugged off her mood. “I guess I’d better get back to cleaning the toilet.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Darren answered. “I just need to take a few measurements, and then I’ll be on my way.”

***

As always, Emma saved the mirror for last. She rubbed the cloth vigorously over the glass, eradicating every smudge.

Just as she set the cloth down and turned to admire the fruit of her labor, Darren stepped through the doorway and whistled. “You sure know how to clean a bathroom.”

“It was nothing,” she said.

He leaned over to inspect the toilet. “No, seriously. I can practically see my reflection in the porcelain.”

She flushed with pleasure. “My mom always says there’s no point doing a job unless you’re going to do it right.”

“She’s right. I can see you’ve worked hard this morning. How about I take you to lunch? You’ve earned it.”

Emma bit her lip. “I don’t.… I should probably…”

He patted his briefcase. “I brought some papers that we need to go over, and we might as well do that over lunch. You have to eat, right?”

Her stomach rumbled audibly, and she laughed. She’d been in too big a hurry to pack a lunch that morning, and there was nothing edible here.

She hesitated for a few thumping heartbeats. “Why not?” she said at last. “Just let me freshen up a bit.”

“Of course. I’ll be in the living room.”

Alone in front of the now sparkling mirror, she splashed water on her flushed cheeks and smoothed on some lipstick with a trembling hand.

She stared into her eyes. What are you doing, Emma?

Nothing. It’s only lunch. I do have to eat.

She turned her back on her reflection. “I’m ready,” she called.

***

Emma sank into the leather seat of Darren’s silver Saab, stretching her stiff shoulders as he closed her door. It had been years since Joe had opened and closed her car door. It feels good to be taken care of.

They lingered an hour and a half over their pizza, chatting until their skinny teenage waitress glanced pointedly at her watch. Emma learned that Darren was divorced with no children and that he’d switched to real estate after a lackluster career as a saxophonist in the Colorado Symphony Orchestra. 

Darren was suitably impressed that she’d passed her CPA exam—on the first try, she couldn’t resist adding—and even more impressed that she was co-owner of an accounting firm. In fact, he seemed enthralled by every detail of her life. He leaned forward as she spoke, resting his chin in his hand and studying her intently.

This felt dangerous, and she deliberately turned the conversation to Joe and Andrew. Still, he held her gaze.

“Your eyes are… exquisite,” he said, his voice low and husky.

She peered at her lap, where her eyes fell on her wedding ring. “I guess I should get back,” she said, stooping to pick up her purse.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed. “I know you have a lot of work to do. I shouldn’t have kept you.”

“No, this has been… nice. Thank you.”

On the drive back, she sat ramrod straight, pressing her shoulder against the door and clutching the handle.

She rushed from the car when they got to Rachel’s house. “Thanks for lunch,” she called, waving cheerily but avoiding eye contact.

Inside, she leaned her back against the door until her breathing returned to normal. She sighed, relieved to be alone. She was ready to throw herself into some heavy housework.

***

Emma tossed and turned that evening. Andrew was back from Adam’s, and they’d been playing cards with her mother. Despite Andrew’s protests that he wasn’t at all tired, he now snored faintly in the other twin bed.

Exhausted from scrubbing tubs and mopping all the tile floors, Emma craved sleep, but her thoughts tumbled over each other like dust bunnies in front of a broom. As much as Darren’s compliment had worried her at the time, now she couldn’t stop smiling over it. She pictured his gaze, heard the warmth in his tone. Your eyes are exquisite.

It was the best compliment she’d ever received from anyone. Of course Joe was always admiring her, but his compliments usually made her feel claustrophobic. No, this was the sort of compliment she’d ached to hear from… Evan.

She sat up in bed. Rachel’s journal sat on the nightstand, bathed in moonlight. She glanced over at Andrew’s still form and eased off the bed, muting the protest of the creaky springs. She picked up the journal and crept out the door to the stairway.

The door on the landing stuck in its frame, and she had to press her shoulder against it. It gave way with a hollow groan, and she froze, listening with her whole body. She heard only the old house’s creaks, so she went on down the longer flight, pressing against the wall to avoid the squeaky spots. She was a teenager again, sneaking out to meet her friends at the school playground across the street. She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

She settled into an armchair and pulled the chain on the lamp. Squinting against the yellow light, she flipped the pages until she found prom night. What had really happened between Rachel and Evan?

                Sunday 5/24/92 AMThe prom was… amazing, exhilarating, not at all what I expected. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I wore the blue dress that Emma helped me pick—the really snug kind that makes you look like a mermaid. Standing next to Emma, I felt kind of fat in it, but only at first.

Emma fixed me all up like she usually does, with way more makeup than I could possibly need, and perfect hair in a cloud around my face. When she was finished, I hardly recognized myself. I looked really beautiful, just not me. I guess I looked like another Emma, which is probably what she was going for. Still, I felt like a poor copy of the original.

Paul picked me up about fifteen minutes after Emma left with Evan, and I was afraid we might not be at the same table. Paul was too nervous to get a full sentence out, and I figured it would be a painful evening.

When we got there, Evan waved us over. Emma was in the restroom, I guess, and that was a good thing. When we got to the table, Evan stared at me as if Paul weren’t standing right there holding my elbow. He didn’t say a word, just gazed at me like… I don’t know. A princess. Or a bride.

Paul finally cleared his throat and asked him if he’d ever met me. He said, “Not officially,” and then he shook my hand and held it.

For just a second everything else faded away, and I could hardly breathe because I realized for the first time how amazingly gorgeous he is. But then I saw Emma coming, and I pulled my hand away.

Paul pulled out my chair, and Evan pulled out Emma’s. I don’t think she had seen anything because Evan’s back was to her, but I was so flustered that I was just as tongue-tied as Paul.

Emma didn’t seem to notice that she was the only one talking and laughing. Evan was polite, but quiet, and Paul was even more withdrawn than usual. I felt really rotten about that even though I didn’t actually do anything. I just tried to focus on eating, but nothing tasted good to me.

Somehow the conversation turned to Mrs. Wallace’s honors English class, and Evan asked me if I liked the Scarlet Letter project this semester. Emma said it was a boring book and a waste of time, but I said it was my favorite book yet, as far as required reading goes.

Evan and I got to talking about the double standards that Hester Prynne dealt with, and how men and women still live by different rules today, and I forgot all about feeling awkward. And all about Emma and Paul. Evan is the only guy I’ve ever met who appreciates classic literature like me.

Emma finally said, “I didn’t come here to talk about books. Are we going to dance or what?”

Even though she was laughing, the spots of color on her cheekbones told me she was angry.

“Mom? Are you coming to bed?”

Emma jumped violently, knocking the journal to the floor. Andrew stood at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing his eyes.

“Go back to bed, honey.” She fought to keep her tone light.

“But I don’t like to be upstairs by myself. I hear noises up there.”

“Andrew, I’m right here. You’ll be fine.”

“But what are you doing down here? It’s really late.”

Sighing, she stooped to pick up the journal. “I was reading Aunt Rachel’s journal. But I’m coming back to bed now.”

She tucked Andrew in again and locked herself in the bathroom, where she sat on the toilet seat and finished Rachel’s entry.

I had to work hard to convince Paul to dance, and he really did have two left feet. I wasn’t much better, I guess, but anything beat sitting at that table feeling the weight of his disappointment.

I tried not to look at Evan and Emma, but even without looking I could feel his eyes on me. I didn’t want him to look at me that way, but I have to admit it was flattering. Here he was, dancing with the most beautiful girl in school, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from me. I felt sexy in my tight dress, and I felt alive, like I’d just woken up and discovered I was a woman.

We never spoke again except when we said goodbye on the way to our cars. I wonder what it was like between Emma and Evan on the ride home.

When we were getting ready for bed, her eyes were sort of watery, and her lips were pressed together tightly. I knew she wanted to cry, but of course she wouldn’t let herself. I didn’t even try to talk to her.
What could I have said anyway? I probably should have apologized, but what for? I can’t help it that we have chemistry. And it’s not like he’s even her boyfriend.

Angry tears pooled in Emma’s eyes, and she wanted to rip out the page and crumple it up. How dare you?

Rachel had been flattered that Evan preferred her, just as Emma suspected. But knowing her anger had been justified gave little comfort. 

How could Rachel have been so careless of her feelings? So what if Evan wasn’t her boyfriend? Rachel knew how long she’d waited for him, knew how ecstatic she’d been about that pathetic prom date. More than that, Rachel had shared in the daydreams and scheming.

Rachel had seen the pain she’d tried so hard to hide. Had Evan?

Fresh humiliation seared her as she relived that ride home with painful clarity. At first, she’d sat stiffly, every muscle tensed as she smiled woodenly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. But then she pulled herself together. No way she would let him see how he’d hurt her.

Not only did she fight the urge to cry, but she forced herself to chatter cheerfully about the food, the music, the prom dresses, and everything else that meant absolutely nothing to her.

He walked her dutifully to the door, where he planted a brotherly kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Emma. I had a great time,” he said, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

Only you wished you were with Rachel. “Me too,” she said.

“So I’ll call you soon?”

“Sure.”

But he never had.

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