All I Need (Hearts of the South) (37 page)

“I don’t know what to do, what to say, to make you believe,” she whispered, her gaze locked on his. She couldn’t make him any promises because he of all people knew how empty those could be. “If I do every day with you, love you every day, then will you believe?”

He tangled one hand in her hair and pressed her face to the curve between his neck and shoulder. “I want to believe, Savannah, I do. God help me, you don’t know how much. I don’t know how.”

Fine tremors shook him, and she rested her palms against his shoulder blades. She turned her face into his neck and inhaled, letting him invade all of her senses. “We’ll do today, then we’ll do tomorrow. And then we’ll see where we are.”

* * * * *

“I really think people would understand if you backed out.” Savannah eyed Emmett from the passenger seat. He pulled the truck into a spot to the side of the red brick church as if it were reserved for him.

“Savannah, I’m good. It’s one song.” He killed the engine and smiled at her. “The old ladies love me, and I’d like to keep it that way. The board of deacons only
think
they wield the power.”

“The old ladies don’t have anything to say about your church attire?” She loved the way he looked, neat and casual in jeans, Reefs, and a white ironed buttondown, the cuffs turned back and the shirt left untucked, but she could see how some traditional churchgoers would object to that level of casual. A little unsure about going to church with him for the first time, she’d defaulted to a simple black skirt and teal top, paired with the heels he loved and the opal earrings he’d given her.

“The old-lady brigade knows it matters more what’s in my heart than what’s on my body when I walk through the door. Some of our deacons haven’t learned that yet.”

On that note, he slid from the driver’s seat and walked around to open her door. Well-worn Bible in one hand, he took her hand with the other and laced their fingers together. They walked across the paved lot toward glossy white front doors. She searched for a hint of nervousness, but found only peace, a sweet surety that she was in the right place with the right man.

Yesterday had been football and finding their way through a new paradigm. Today was worshipping together. Tomorrow would be ordinary life again, and somehow, she knew on one of those tomorrows, he’d find his faith in them.

Inside the foyer, people mingled in small groups, laughter and light chatter filling the space. A handful greeted them along the way to the sanctuary.

“I think you might have exaggerated the whole they-won’t-let-us-in-church-on-Sunday angle.” She murmured the words near his ear as he held the sanctuary door for her.

“Maybe a little.” He smiled, his palm resting at the small of her back. “Clark and I are here most Sundays.”

They were regulars enough that they had a spot, third-row pew to the left of the pulpit. One arm laid casually along the back of the pew, Clark studied the bulletin. He glanced up at their approach and, without comment, slid down to make room for Savannah. Moments later, he moved again as Landra entered the pew from the opposite end to sit between him and Emmett. She didn’t relax, her expression tense and unhappy, one palm curved over the slight swell of her stomach. Emmett linked their hands and squeezed. She caught his eye and smiled, some of her tension draining away.

The service unfolded in a more laid-back manner than Savannah expected, totally removed from the formal, structured services her father preferred. A handful of members took the stage to lead the congregation in a blend of contemporary worship music and traditional hymns. After, a young man took the mike to pray and welcome members and visitors alike before inviting the audience to greet one another.

Amused, Savannah eyed the dozen or so older women who flocked to Emmett and Clark. Both got their necks hugged multiple times, Emmett wincing a little at the strength in some of those hugs. When he bent to hug an elderly woman with impossibly white, fluffy curls, Savannah and Landra shared an indulgent smile behind his back.

He caught Savannah’s hand as the adoring flock clucked away. Savannah nudged his side. “Women love you wherever you go, don’t they?”

Smiling, he bent his head to murmur in her ear. “Yeah, but you’re the only one that matters.”

Her breath caught at the unspoken admission that he recognized her love for him. When he straightened, he tensed, fingers tightening about hers. Savannah frowned and glanced around. “What?”

“My parents.” He ground out the words, the skin about his mouth pale and taut.

“Emmett.” Affection colored his name, and the older woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Landra leaned over the pew to wrap her arms about his neck. She pulled back to gaze into his face, worry drawing her brows together. “Landra says you aren’t seriously hurt. Are you really all right?”

“Mama, I’m fine.” No way his jaw could get any tighter. He looked everywhere but at the older man who was nearly his height and had stamped him with his good looks.

“Son.” His father reached to embrace him, but Emmett stiffened, obviously doing no more than suffering through the awkward hug. He kept his gaze trained on the stained-glass window over the baptistery, but Savannah caught the flash of longing and loss in his father’s eyes, mingled with a hint of remorse.

Congregants drifted to their seats. From their left, Pantone rose from her pew and moved toward the stage. Emmett disentangled himself from his father’s easy hold and gestured at Clark. “We have to go.”

They let him go without protest and returned to their seats a few pews back. Clark sat at the piano as the other musicians took up their spots again, and Emmett and Pantone each removed a mike from its stand. Emmett toed out of his Reefs to stand barefoot on the stage. His lashes fell as Clark began to play. A teenager joined in, picking out the melody on a guitar.

Pantone lifted her mike and sang the first few bars alone, before Emmett joined her, their voices blending seamlessly in the song of prayer and worship. Clark crooned the chorus into the microphone at the piano. Quiet and peace spread through the sanctuary, and the music faded away.

Head bent, Emmett brought the mike to his mouth to offer a quiet prayer of thanksgiving. His voice cracked over the words, and Savannah blinked hard. Returning the mike to the stand, he slipped his feet into his Reefs and descended the steps with Clark, Pantone, and the musicians returning to their seats. Savannah stepped out of the pew to let him and Clark slide in, and Landra slipped over, so Clark sat next to Emmett.

The pastor took the stage. “I think, with it being homecoming Sunday for us, that focusing on a well-known homecoming in Scripture would be appropriate.”

He launched into a sermon focused on the parable of the prodigal son, painting a picture of love and forgiveness, of a father running to meet his remorseful son. Emmett dropped his head, elbows on his thighs. As the sermon progressed, he didn’t raise his head, and Clark rested a hand on his knee.

Drawing the message to a close, the pastor opened an invitation to the altar as the congregation rose for the closing song. Head still bent, Emmett pushed to his feet. With gentle hands, he edged Savannah to one side and stepped from the pew to approach the altar. Savannah hesitated a moment, her chest aching. She followed to kneel with him on the carpeted steps and laced her fingers with his. His low murmured prayer curled between them, the words indistinct except to him, and he tightened his hand around hers. Long moments later, he rose and swiped his wrist across damp eyes before they returned to the pew.

* * * * *

Emmett was raw, rawer than he’d ever been. His and Clark’s resident fan club, the older women who’d practically raised them from the church nursery on, wanted to feed him and meet Savannah, not necessarily in that order. In the fellowship hall, he ended up with a plate piled high with fried chicken, pear salad, macaroni, and other assorted homemade delicacies.

He couldn’t stomach any of it, not even Miss Maureen’s incredible blackberry cobbler.

The last thing he wanted was to engage with his father, to forgive him, but a small still voice whispered that there’d be no real peace until he did.

With his fork, he pushed a stray shred of cheddar around the edge of his plate, half-listening while Miss Ella asked Savannah about what it was like to work in the ER.

“Emmett.”

He stiffened at his father’s familiar voice. Under the table, Savannah’s hand fluttered over his knee, and he laid his fork down with extreme precision before he looked up to meet his father’s gaze. “Sir?”

“Can I talk to you a minute, son?”

He hated it when his father called him
son
, like it meant anything, and the old anger wanted to whisper a denial. He’d left his pride and arrogance back on that altar, though. With a nod, he pushed back his chair and rose. “Yes, sir.”

Aware of the attention focused on them from multiple tables, he followed his father from the fellowship hall, the skin on the back of his neck prickly and hot. The hallway connecting the multipurpose room to the main sanctuary held a small couch flanked by two tables, and his father indicated the sofa with a silent gesture.

Emmett took the seat next to his father and rested his elbows on his thighs, hands between his knees, and his gaze fixed on the blue-mauve patterned carpet. He was pretty sure they’d sat just like this when he was seventeen, that one time his mama hadn’t been the one who’d had to show up at school because he’d been suspended for fighting again.

His father cleared his throat. “I’ve not been the father or husband I should be, Emmett.”

What was he supposed to say to that? He’d heard variations on that theme all his life. Having a broken heart and knowing he had to attempt to forgive didn’t mean he wasn’t wary.

“I’m asking for your forgiveness, son.” The words cracked on a pulse of emotion.
That
was new. “For a second chance to be what I should have been all along.”

Emmett expelled a long breath. He understood the concept of forgiving seven times seventy, but he didn’t have to like it. And if he was being brutally honest, he had to admit this really was time number one. He closed his eyes and took a step that felt more like a leap, like looking in Savannah’s eyes when she realized she loved him, like maybe letting himself believe she meant what she said when she said she’d never leave.

“Forgiveness is a process, Dad. It doesn’t happen overnight.” He clasped his hands between his knees and rotated his thumbs over one another in a slow circle. “And I don’t think I can do this without some boundaries.”

“I can understand that.” His father leaned back and rested his arm along the top of the sofa. “You tell me what you need, son.”

For you to stop calling me son
. He swallowed the words simply because they felt hateful and vindictive. He didn’t want to be that person. “I don’t know that yet. We might have to do today, then tomorrow, then see where we are.”

His father nodded. “I can work with that.”

Silence descended between them. Emmett kept his gaze trained on the slow rotation of his thumbs.

“I’m sorry, Emmett.”

“Yeah, so am I.” He couldn’t do any more right now. He pushed to his feet, a slow movement designed to keep his torso from seizing up with pain. Through the open door to the fellowship hall, he caught a glimpse of Savannah, talking with several members of the old-lady brigade.

“We’ll talk later.” His father’s voice was rough with emotion, and Emmett allowed the older man to hug him.

Emmett walked away, toward all he really needed. She was there, and without knowing how, he knew with a sudden certainty that she always would be. Savannah rose from her chair at his approach, love and concern lighting her eyes. She wrapped her arm about his waist. “You look tired.”

“I am.” He hugged her to him and pressed a kiss to her temple. “A good tired, though.”

She caressed his side and tilted her head toward the door. “Let’s go home.”

Epilogue

Savannah let her fingers drift across the piano keys, the polished surfaces cool beneath her fingertips. She played quietly, coaxing the melody as softly as possible. She didn’t want to wake up everyone in the house. Unable to fall asleep again after being awakened by a dream, she’d slipped from under the relaxed weight of Emmett’s arm and found herself drawn to the piano in the living room.

In the past few months, she’d touched it sporadically when visiting her parents, and she’d fiddled once or twice with the upright in Clark’s living room. Playing was a little like riding a bike—she was wobbly and out of practice, but the basic skill was still there. She eyed the notes displayed on her tablet propped on the instrument’s music stand. Under her fingers, the ballad of intense love and need, the one she loved to hear Emmett sing, unfolded.

“What are you doing up?” His quiet voice startled her, and she fumbled a note and came to a stop.

“God, Em, don’t sneak up on me like that.” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“What are you playing?” He sat on the cushioned bench next to her. One hand curved around her hip, he swiped his other index finger up the tablet screen. One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “You’re obsessed with this song.”