Imagine That (10 page)

****

Emily's touch branded Nate's arm. Her hand was so small, with long narrow fingers. Her bubblegum pink nail polish had chipped. Chipped nail polish should not make him smile, but somehow it did.

“Nate, are you all right?”

He let out a sigh that seemed to come from his toes. “I do have somewhere to be, but I can't bring myself to go yet. I need a minute to prepare.”

“You sound like you're getting ready to go into battle.”

“I guess I am, but I don't think it's a war I can win.”

“You want to tell me about it? Maybe I can help.”

“No.”

Emily withdrew her hand, and Nate fought the urge to bring it back. Great. He'd hurt her feelings. Guilt made him snap out. “No one can help.”

She spun back toward him, challenge flowing up through her like a blunt hammer. “No one? Or is it just the flighty children's book author who can't understand? I'd like to think we're friends, and that you trust me enough to give me more than these coy hints. Oh wait, that's not your style, right? Just like you didn't tell me you actually own the house painting business.”

“How did you—” He stopped and shook his head. “Julia.”

“Yes, Julia. At least she's straight with me. She doesn't try to hide behind that
aw shucks, m
a
'
am
attitude you've got going on. Like you're some illiterate country bumpkin.”

The barb hit closer to the truth than she realized. His own temper spiked, and he hauled her up close. Something he should have known better than to do. Her scent invaded his body. Stole his sanity.

“I can't tell you because then you'd look at me like everyone else,” he whispered, aching to spill every secret.

She didn't flinch but instead leaned closer. “How do they look at you?”

“With pity. If they can stand to look me in the eye at all.”

Her hands framed his face. “I'm looking right at you, Nate. Tell me. You've pulled me out of enough scrapes. Let me be the knight-in-shining-armor for once.”

“Can't you understand—”

“How can I understand anything when you won't say what's bothering you?”

His fisted his hands in her hair, weaving the silky strands through his fingers. “You help me forget. Just for a while. Forget every horrible, agonizing thought that keeps me up all night. You make it so I don't have to think about everything. I need that way more than any sympathy you could offer.”

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, and Nate zeroed in on the rosy bit of flesh. His pulse slowed and magnified. He could think of one sure way to forget painful thoughts. His blood heated, and the pounding centered lower. Emily's chest expanded in a quick intake of breath, and her pupils went wide.

“
Uhhghh…
”

They both jumped. Nate jerked back, pushing her away. The stupid dog rolled over, let out another bellow, and then settled right back down into sleep again.

Nate raked a hand through his hair. “Your dog has bad timing.”

Or maybe Polly was smarter than humans. Nate knew better than to think a few moments of feverish pawing in the grass would solve his problems.

“Okay, so if you're determined to keep your tragic secret to yourself, how about you tell me why I had to learn you're a business owner from Julia?”

“Maybe I didn't think it should matter if I got paid by the hour.”

“No, I think you wanted me to believe you were a hired hand. Why? You should be proud to own a business.”

“Who says I'm not proud? I just don't think it's a big deal. So what if my name's on a piece of paper? It's not like I'm rich, and I doubt I ever will be.”

She ignored him and instead plowed ahead with her interrogation. “How did you wind up owning a house painting business? Did you start it yourself?”

“No, it just sort of happened.”

“How?”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Why does it matter if I continue thinking you have no ambition or purpose in your life? Do you have a chip on your shoulder because you're a blue-collar guy?”

“You're not going to give up, are you?”

“It's either talk or you can go home. Are you ready to face whatever has everyone looking at you with pity?

A shudder worked its way down his body. “No.”

She arched one copper-colored brow. “You want to try and kiss me again?”

“Probably not a good idea,” he said as a different kind of shudder wracked through him.

“Right. So tell me a story.”

Talk about your twisted logic. “Fine. I got a job painting houses for Pete Williams when I moved back to town a couple years ago—”

“A couple years ago? Where were you? I thought you'd lived in Covington Falls all your life.”

“I grew up here, but I couldn't wait to get out.”

“What did you need to escape from?”

Her perception startled him. “My dad,” he said before he could stop the words.

“Oh, daddy issues,” she said. “Was he stern and disapproving? Did you fight all the time?”

“No, he wasn't around to fight with. He took off the day after my mom told him she was pregnant with Zach. We haven't heard a word from him since.”

“He's never even met your brother?”

He shook his head.

“Nate, I'm so sorry.” Emily's lips tightened, and blue sparks ignited her eyes. “It's his loss. You know that, right?”

He turned away.

She tilted his chin back in her direction. “Nate…”

He cleared his throat. Pulled away enough so he could think. “Anyway, I went away to school. To University of Georgia.”

“So, you did go to college?”

He sent her a knowing look. “Don't get excited, Miss My-Parents-Are-Renowned-Professors. I flunked out after only a year.”

She deflated a bit. “Oh...”

He'd disappointed her again. He should have been embarrassed or angry. Instead, a strange sort of tenderness welled up inside him. Poor Emily. Searching for something they might have in common. Something to explain their attraction.

“You're not going to suddenly discover I'm a genius, Em.”

“I wasn't—”

He put a finger against her lips. “I'm just an average Joe, who barely made it out of high school.”

Emily gazed up at him, her eyes shimmering pools of compassion. “I don't think you're average.”

She looked at him like he was a hero in one of her books. He'd never been anyone's idea of a hero. For the first time, he wished he could be. Tension gripped his chest. “You'd better stop looking at me like that, or you'll be in a lot of danger. Your dog won't save you.”

She seemed to sense danger. The edge of a cliff they were nearing. “Right. Okay, then what happened after you quit college?”

“Flunked out.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Whatever. What did you do? Did you come back home?”

“No, I couldn't face the humiliation. I didn't even tell my mom right away. I got odd jobs. Handyman, construction, window washer, landscaping, cleaning gutters, cleaned the pool at the Y in exchange for a room. Then a couple years ago my mom—” he stopped. “Well, she needed me. I came home and got a job with Pete. He lived down the street from us, and I used to cut his lawn. He owned a house painting business, and he hired me.”

“You went from employee to owner pretty quick.”

“I took to it. I'd messed up everything else in my life, but painting I could handle. And I liked knowing I was helping people improve their homes. Then a year ago Pete decided to retire, so I bought him out.”

“You had enough money saved?”

A little bit of sunlight penetrated the grey fog around his life. “Sure,” he said, grinning at her. “I live with my mother, remember?”

Eye roll. “You have to admit, it's suspicious when a grown man still lives with his mother. Many of the best horror stories center on that scary premise.”

“You thought I was some sort of Norman Bates?”

“You know the movie?”

“I don't live under a rock. Of course I've heard of it.” He placed a hand over his heart. “And I'm hurt you put me in the same league as a crazed killer.”

She swatted his arm. He grabbed her and tugged. With a little
oomph
she landed against his chest.

“You're fun to tease,” he said.

“It's been a long time since I've had anyone tease me.”

“How long has it been?”

She started to answer and then paused. “I can't remember.”

“I can't remember the last time I had anyone to tease.”

She groaned and dropped her head to his shoulder. “My life should not be this complicated.”

He laughed, and her head came up. She was so close now. Her lips only inches away. Sweet humming started up in his veins again.

Polly's extended nap came to an abrupt end as the dog let out a
whumph
and wobbled to her feet.

Emily drew back and glared down at the dog. “Amazing how she does that.”

Polly let out a quick, low bark. Nate held Emily's gaze for a charged moment, and then she levered herself up. She helped him to his feet and started wiping grass off her shorts. The famous rainbow shorts, he noticed. He dragged his gaze up to her face before he got in trouble.

“I have to go,” she said, leaning over the grab Polly's leash. “Aurora Johnston probably has a timer set on me.”

“I know. I'll see you around.”

A corner of her mouth quirked up. “We can't seem to help it.”

Neither of them moved.

Finally, Emily took a step, but then hesitated by his shoulder. She rose up and kissed his cheek. “Your father was a Grade A fool, and you are definitely
not
average.”

Complicated, she'd said. Emily Sinclair was a complication wrapped up in a tempting problem, and he didn't know if he had the strength to resist.

There are key points in every book known as a character turnaround. A moment when the story takes off in another direction or the character experiences something that transforms him or her in some indefinable way. The hero discovers the villain he's been fighting is actually his long lost father. The defense attorney's opposing counsel happens to be her love from a long-ago summer romance. The not-so-dead first husband shows up at his wife's wedding.

Emily loved turnarounds. So many fabulous ways to torment her characters. So much opportunity for character growth. So jarring when she was the character being turned inside out.

Shock ripped through her when Nate strolled into Rachel's house. Then the word
M
om
dropped from his lips, and she sucked in a breath as the earth tilted on its axis.

Rachel Cooper.
Miss Rachel
. The mother who'd needed him. The battle he was fighting and could not win.

Buzzing started in her ears, growing into a resounding clang.

Nate came to an abrupt halt. “Emily? What are you—” He grunted. “The library van.”

His gaze dropped for a moment. He massaged his chest and took a deep breath. Then he lifted his head in time for her to catch a moment of profound sadness, as if something had shifted in his world, too. Of course, everything they knew about each other had changed.

Rachel Cooper remained the one person in the room who seemed unfazed. In fact, she smiled as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “Nathan, I believe you know Emily Sinclair.”

Emily received her second shock upon realizing she'd been had. Miss Rachel must have known all along. Emily tried to remember everything she'd said about Nate, hoping she hadn't revealed anything embarrassing… or insulting. “Why didn't you mention the man who rescued me out at the lake was your son?”

“Because for some reason Nate chose not to tell you our situation,” Rachel said, tilting her head in apology. “I think he liked having someone in his life who didn't know. With you every conversation didn't have to start with, how is your mother doing today?”

Nate closed his eyes. “Ma, please.”

Rachel Cooper sent him a look of such tenderness. Her gray eyes — how had Emily missed the similarity when they both had those eyes — shone with love and pride. “He's so used to doing everything on his own. Never asking for any help.”

Nate's foot scuffed the warn carpet as if he were a five year old hiding behind his mother's skirt. “I'm no hero.”

“He's humble,” Rachel said, sending Emily a coy glance.

“Ma!”

Despite the extreme discomfort of the situation, the outburst brought a smile to Emily's lips. Anyone could see how close mother and son were, and she marveled at their relationship. The bond they shared. She and her mother tolerated each other at best, and the thought left a hollow ache in her heart. Rachel let out a weak chuckle and then rested her head back against the chair. Her eyes closed, and she seemed to shrink right before Emily's eyes.

Instinct had Emily leaning forward, but Nate reached his mother first. “Ma, I'll take you back to bed.”

Her eyes opened. For a moment, reluctance to give in seemed to rise up in her. A brief flare of emotion. Of denial. Then her head dropped and she nodded. He lifted her in one effortless movement.

He paused at the doorway. “I'll meet you in the kitchen.”

He disappeared with his burden, and for a moment Emily couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. How did he stand such pain? Watching a death by degrees had to be the most tortuous thing imaginable, and yet he took care of his mother with no complaints or a trace of self-pity. Another thought chilled her blood. What must
he
think of
her
? Here she'd been complaining about a stalled imagination while he'd been dealing with a matter of life and death. How shallow she must seem to him.

She gathered her shattered nerves and went in search of the kitchen.

Anna stood at the sink, washing a pot. She took note of the time. “She's already gone back to her room?”

“Nate took her.”

Anna's dark eyes reflected a deep sorrow. “Only twenty minutes today.”

“Last week it was forty,” Nate said as he came in.

Anna lifted a tray with a bowl and a glass filled with water. “I should see if she will eat something.”

Nate walked to the sink and stared out the window, but Emily knew he wasn't seeing the rich kaleidoscope of colors in the back yard. His hand clenched around the counter until his knuckles were white. She understood so much now. His drooped shoulders, his reluctance to come home and face the awful truth hanging over his house. She'd judged him so harshly, and now she could only listen and offer whatever comfort was even possible.

Emily waited, somehow knowing he'd speak when he found the words to say.

“I remember when she called to tell me they'd found a tumor,” he said. “Ovarian cancer. It was like a punch in the gut. I packed a bag and booked a flight the next day. She kept insisting I didn't need to come home. That she and Zach would be fine, but something in me knew I couldn't listen.”

“You told me you moved back two years ago. She's been fighting that long?”

He swiped a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes. “One year and eight months. Cancer likes to take its own sweet time. They took her insides, shot her up with drugs I can't even pronounce, radiated her body. I watched her hair fall out and her body waste away. But it wasn't enough. The real cruelty of cancer is it lets you think you've won. She went into remission. Her hair grew back, and she gained some weight. Then it showed up somewhere else. More drugs, more sickness, less hope. Until the bad cells outnumbered the good.”

“You talk about cancer as if it's a living thing.”

He finally faced her. “It is to me. You write about monsters and fairies, but this disease is more frightening than any creature you could ever dream up. It feeds on bodies, and it takes an all-out war to defeat it. The day I met you we'd just been at the doctor's office. He told us her prognosis was dire. He talked in numbers. Number of treatments they can give. Number of weeks she might have left.”

Chills broke out along her arms, and she rubbed them to restore some warmth. “Is there any hope at all?”

“According to her doctors they've done everything medically possible. Their term.
Medically possible
.”

“I don't know how you do it.”

He straightened. “I do it because she's my mother, and I have no other choice. Because she took care of Zach and me on her own without ever complaining. And because she deserves to have someone who loves her holding her hand when it's time for her to go.”

Emily's vision blurred behind a veil of tears. The stinging didn't come close to equaling the pain in her heart. She didn't feel shame often, but she did now. The sensation pounded her being like waves hitting the shore. Shame for how she'd judged him. He'd come back to a place that held terrible memories to take care of his mother. He didn't whine or ask for help. He simply and quietly did what needed to be done. She'd been so wrong about him.