Chapter 12

At bedtime, Emma sprawled onto Rachel’s bed with her journal. With Andrew back at his cousin’s, she was determined to keep reading until she discovered how Rachel ended up married to the man she’d always wanted.

The next reference to Evan was a few entries into the second journal, a flowery, pink hard-covered diary.

                Wednesday 7/7/93 PM
We got a new sacker tonight at work. I almost choked on my Coke when I saw who it was: Evan! I’d only seen him once since the prom (at UP Mall, but I turned the other way before he saw me).

He looks the same, only more gorgeous if that’s possible. I couldn’t help staring at his muscles. That and his mouth. He has full lips and perfect white teeth.

There was no pretending I didn’t see him this time. We talked until Mr. Yoder gave us a dirty look. (My break time was definitely over.)

He asked about Emma, and also what I was reading. I told him I was reading My Cousin Rachel, and he thought that was funny. He says he’s switching to pre-med in the fall at IUSB, so he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to work at Martin’s.
                 Wednesday 7/14/93 AM
After work last night, I hung out with Evan and Casey for almost an hour. We stood in the parking lot talking and laughing. Evan’s so smart! And cute. Did I mention cute? I was glad Casey was there because it would have been too awkward with just me and Evan.
                 Saturday 7/17/93 PM
Evan asked me out today. When I told him no, I couldn’t think of a good excuse. How could I say I didn’t want to hurt Emma? He probably never knew how crazy she was (is?) about him. The last thing I want to do now is humiliate her again.
I finally just told him I’d rather be friends, and he said he could live with that.
                 Saturday 7/31/93 AM
Evan kissed me last night. I know it wasn’t actually my first kiss, but I have to say I didn’t really know what a kiss should feel like until now.

We’d gone over to Casey’s after work with a couple of coworkers. Amy came too, so I wasn’t the only girl. We played cards for a couple hours, and then I said I had to get home so Mom wouldn’t worry. Evan offered to walk me to my car. I said it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted because I’d parked around the corner, and it was nearly 1:00 by then.

We walked slowly because it was a beautiful night, and I think neither of us wanted it to end. The breeze lifted goose bumps on my arms even though it wasn’t cold. He rubbed his hand down one of my arms, and then the other, smoothing the bumps down. I laughed even though I was terrified. When he touched me, I felt the electricity down to my toes.

At the car, I started to open the door, but he put a hand on my arm. All he said was “Wait.” I could see his hands trembling in the moonlight, so I knew he was just as nervous as I was.

Emma came to mind just then, and I remembered teasing her about Evan kissing her on prom night. “I really have to go,” I said. 

But when he brushed his knuckles over my cheek, I froze. I couldn’t pull my eyes from his gaze. I’m not sure who moved first, but suddenly I was in his arms, my back pressed against the car door, and his mouth was on mine.

When I thought my knees would give way, I pushed him away. “I can’t do this,” I said, and climbed into the car.

“Why, Rachel? Why? Is there someone else?”

“Yes,” I thought, fumbling with my keys. “There’s Emma.” But all I said out loud was, “I’m sorry. I really have to go.”

Emma closed the book. Bitter jealousy gave way to confusion. Had Rachel really tried to resist? Should she have?

Emma wondered if she would have done any better. And she wondered what it felt like to be kissed that way.

***

When she got to Rachel’s house on Monday morning, Emma stopped to play with Trixie before starting on the closets. The dog raced off when she opened the gate, but then she screeched to a halt and bounded back to Emma, who sprang back for fear of being bowled over.

Trixie jumped up, leaving dusty paw prints on her T-shirt and straining to reach her chin. Emma stretched her chin out of range and shoved her down once, then twice.

“If you’re coming home with us, we’ll have to get some things straight,” she said, attempting an intimidating sternness.

Trixie’s tail thumped rhythmically as she gazed up at Emma with rapt admiration.

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” She reached down and patted her back tentatively. Trixie rolled onto her back, legs splayed, chest thrown out for a scratch.

“Okay, let’s not get carried away,” Emma said dryly. “Go on with you. Run around a bit before I have to lock you up again.”

Trixie trotted off obediently, leaving another “Easter egg” for Andrew to pick up later.

After scrubbing her hands vigorously, Emma turned to sorting the closets, making three piles: keep, donate, and throw away.

She hated adding anything to the throwaway pile, no matter how tattered. One item she agonized over was a ratty nightgown that she actually remembered as one of Rachel’s favorites. It had faded from blue to gray, and the fabric was nearly see-through in places. She started to put it in the throwaway pile, but dropped it in the “keep” pile at the last moment.

The nursery was the hardest. Of course, all the baby clothes would be donated, but just handling all these tiny garments tore at her heart. She pictured Rachel washing and folding each outfit, organizing and reorganizing the baby’s wardrobe by size.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, running her hands over a velvety purple track suit, when the doorbell rang. She groaned as she trudged to the door. It had to be Darren, and she wasn’t ready to deal with him.

“Ready to tackle that nursery?” This time, along with a latte, Darren had brought painting supplies.

“Yes, I am. Do you know how to paint?” she asked, her aggravation dissipating in an instant.

“No, do you?”

“I’ve never tried. When we painted our house, we hired it done.”

Darren laughed. “This should be fun, then.”

“How hard can it be?”

***

Painting the last wall was harder than she'd imagined, but also pretty fun. They took turns making broad sweeps with the roller and touching up the edges with a brush. Since neither excelled at the detail work, they spent a lot of time fixing their mistakes with a wet cloth.

While they worked, they chatted easily. Actually, Darren did most of the talking, but he didn’t seem put off by her silence. It was soothing to focus on cutting in the corners while his voice washed over her. He described how his marriage had disintegrated when his wife, a flight attendant, left him for a pilot she met on a trans-Atlantic flight.

“I’m sorry to burden you with my troubles,” he said. “I know you’re dealing with your own grief.”

She slowly pulled several feet of blue painter’s tape off the baseboard. “I don’t mind. It’s good to know I’m not the only one with a screwed up marriage.” Without thinking, she told him everything about Joe’s affair, how he’d slept with one of the executive assistants from their accounting firm.

“They were on a business trip to Atlanta, and I was home with Andrew. He was just a toddler, and I was still off work. So I was left alone with the diapers and baths while he and this cute little blonde were out on the town.”

Darren listened without comment as he finished the last corner. 

“The most humiliating thing was that I knew Amanda well. When I found out about the affair—it was lipstick on his collar, almost as if he wanted me to know—I imagined them talking about poor, pathetic Emma, always in her bathrobe and slippers.”

Darren turned to face her. “He was an idiot not to realize how lucky he was.”

She shrugged.

“Why did you stay with him? Did you love him that much?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “No, it wasn’t love, at least not love for him. I just couldn’t do that to Andrew. I lost my father when I was seven, and it was so hard growing up without him.”

“So you forgave him for Andrew’s sake?”

Had she forgiven him? She shrugged again. “We just put it behind us. He promised to be faithful, and I think he was after that.”

“Well, I admire you for making your marriage work.”

I don’t think our marriage is worthy of admiration.

She stepped back to admire their work. “Hey, I think we’re finished! It looks pretty good. Or at least, not half bad.”

Darren glanced at the wall, then back to her face, his mouth twitching.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. I just noticed you have purple paint on your cheek. And your forehead. And your hair.”

“You’re pretty speckled yourself,” she retorted.

“Come and see.” He took her hand, pulling her into the bathroom across the hall. They crowded in front of the cramped vanity, laughing at their reflections. Darren lifted his brush to her cheek and added another streak.

“What was that for?”

“You missed a spot.”

She tried to wrench the brush from his hand so she could retaliate, but he grabbed her wrist with his free hand and pressed her arm back against the wall. She struggled feebly, laughing until she gasped for air. But then her tears of laughter gave way to heaving sobs.

He released her arm and dropped the paintbrush in the sink, and then held her by both shoulders. “You okay?”

“N-no… I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” he whispered, drawing her into a hug so tight that she swayed on her feet. She widened her stance and stood perfectly still, afraid he might pull away if she moved. But he didn’t loosen his hold, even after her sobs slowed to an occasional sniffle. She pressed her cheek against his drenched shirt, enjoying the warmth of his skin and his scent, a mixture of fabric softener, cologne, and a hint of sweat.

When her breathing finally returned to normal, he took a step back. “Better?”

She smiled tremulously. “Mmm.”

He took her chin in his hand, wiping away a solitary tear with his thumb. She saw that his eyes, too, were wet. His gaze moved to her mouth.

He’s going to kiss me. She started to pull away, but then she thought of Joe with Amanda, of Rachel with Evan, and she leaned in to meet Darren’s lips.

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