Imagine That (18 page)

Oh, so he wanted to start a fight? Well, she was feeling abused enough to oblige him. “You kissed me the other night,” Emily said. “Did a pretty good job of it, too. Were you using me to get over someone? Like your fiancée?”

Nate dropped the chair so fast the leg banged into his shin. He muffled a curse, and Emily bit back a smile. Served him right.

“What?” he asked, as he rubbed his damaged appendage. “Who told you about my fiancée?”

“You mother mentioned it.” Emily held up a hand when his eyes darkened like a hurricane gathering over the ocean. “Don't worry. She didn't know much, so I didn't get much. Are you playing reverse psychology and accusing me of something you've been doing?”

“No.”

“Then what?” She took a step closer. “Do I scare you? Threaten you in some way?”

“You… scare me to death.”

The words seemed ripped from his throat, and Emily knew at once his brusque attitude was about distance. For some reason he'd decided to not only take a few steps back, but a whole mile.

She didn't understand why, but her bruised spirit was still too tender to attempt to knock down his walls.
She
was too tender.

The only other option was to retreat. Or let him retreat.

“I'll go find something to do,” she said. “Sorry to bother you.”

She passed the time by sorting through the Cooper family CDs with Zach and choosing music for the party. Not exciting, but at least she was doing something that didn't involve being in the kitchen or stirring up trouble with Nate. Before she knew it, guests started arriving, and Rachel reappeared after her nap.

Having people around gave Emily even more to do. Enough so, she didn't have to think about the nagging ache in her heart. Well, not much anyway. She ferried food around the room on silver trays. Carried pitchers of homemade ice tea to the drink table. Stopped to talk to those who wanted to discuss her book, explaining that,
no
,
she didn't have a new one coming out quite yet. She took care of Rachel, too. After the other woman's confession about her husband, Emily felt they'd bonded in a new way.

The gathering would never be called hopping. Everyone remained too aware of Rachel's condition and the predicted outcome to jump into full-scale celebration. Rachel seemed aware of the darkness hanging over the evening. Emily wracked her brain, trying to come up with something to lift the mood, but in the end Rachel came to the rescue.

“Nathan, play something for us,” she said.

Nathan had just cleared a stack of paper plates off the coffee table, and he paused mid-pickup like an opossum deciding if it should play dead. “Uh…”

Emily regarded him with a touch of sympathy, even though she was still disgusted with him. Nothing like having your mother shove you onto center stage in the middle of a flop.

“Please,” Rachel said, pointing to the old upright piano against the wall. “Everyone always enjoys your music.”

“I have to… uh… the plates—”

Grace took the burden, and his excuse. “Go on, Nathan. It's been ages since I've heard you play.”

Check and mate. Left with no choice, Nate shrugged and took his place at the piano. He lifted his hands to the keys and paused for a moment.

Then he started to play. Started to play “Clair de Lune.”

The guy with perpetual dots of paint in his hair and a loathing of anything in print was playing Debussy. Like a master. With no music and with a depth of feeling and passion Emily hadn't known he possessed.

From Debussy he went straight into Chopin, which led into another piece. At first she didn't recognize the melody, but soon identified the tune as “Amazing Grace.” A version she'd never heard before and certainly never experienced. As if an angel had come down from heaven and started tickling the ivories.

Had the Pod People switched him again, leaving yet another version of Nate Cooper? One with music in his soul? Emily knew with certainty his gift hadn't been taught. The brooding, explosive boy Nate had been would never have taken lessons.

Could he even read music? Did dyslexia affect how a person saw the notes?

“He's always played by ear,” Rachel said, as if reading Emily's mind.

Emily jumped, and celestial beings retreated as she came back to earth. “What?”

“Nate,” Rachel said. “I have no idea where his abilities came from. He hears the music and his hands know where to go.”

“He's amazing. Why hasn't he done more with his talent?”

“Another casualty to put at Dale's feet,” Rachel said with a sad twist of her lips. “Nathan wouldn't play for years after his father left. Not that we could have afforded lessons.”

Emily's heart broke for the lonely little boy all over again. “What a shame.”

She listened to the rest of the impromptu concert in a state of shock. Every time she thought she had Nate figured out, he revealed another side of himself. Each layer unveiled her glaring misconceptions.

Finally, he lifted his hands and raised his head. Everyone started clapping. He seemed startled by the applause, as if he'd forgotten there were people in the room. Nate swung his legs around on the bench and stood up, a slight nod of his head the only acknowledgment of his audience's appreciation.

He allowed a brief smile before resuming trash duty, as if the musical interlude had never happened. When Nate drew closer to Emily's side of the room, he paused. Their eyes met and the corner of his mouth kicked up. The gesture lasted no more than a second, but it said loud and clear that he knew he'd messed with her mental image of him again. She fought the urge to cringe.

Why couldn't he stay pegged in the hole she'd placed him in? Did she need to know he could make angels weep with the brush of his fingertips? Or make her shiver thinking about him playing her with those hands?

No. A resounding, emphatic,
are-you-crazy
no.

Nate ducked out of the room, and Emily didn't see him again for a while. Well, she
saw
him, but he always seemed to be far away when she did.

Avoiding her. So, he'd slipped back into jerk mode. Right.

An arm slipped around her waist, and Emily spun around to see Anna's smiling face. “I think it all came together nicely,” she said. “The decorations are perfect.”

Emily glanced around at the purple explosion. “I may have gone overboard on the streamers.”

“No, they're fine. Miss Rachel loves it.”

Emily glanced at the woman they'd all come here to celebrate. Rachel laughed at something Grace had said. For the moment, Rachel appeared healthy and whole. Perhaps the lamplight softened the lines of fatigue on her face. Or her pretty blue top masked the sallow tone of her skin. Her smile certainly belied any pain she might be feeling.

Happiness for now, but what would tomorrow bring?

Pain, swift and fierce, slammed into Emily like she'd walked outside in the dead of winter in Siberia. The backhand slap stole her breath.

“Go on outside,” Anna said, her voice low but urgent. “It's no good if Miss Rachel sees you fallin' apart now.”

“I'm sorry,” Emily said on a gasp. “I just—”

“I know, honey,” Anna said, her eyes softening in shared sympathy. “The realizing hits you hard sometimes. Go get some air.”

Emily obeyed the command. She stumbled out to the back porch, sucking in great gulps of oxygen. She closed her eyes, grateful for the brush of cool air against her skin.

The screen door opened behind her, and heavy boots thudded against the wood. “Crying again, Em? What's wrong now?”

“Please, Nate,” Emily said, keeping her focus on the silver-tinged glow of moonlight over the back yard. “I'm not up for our usual verbal sparring. I was watching your mother and—” She choked back a sob.

Another clip of his boots, and Nate stood behind her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, anchoring her to his chest. She recalled the sense of being swallowed up by him after he'd snuffed out the flames of her smock in the bakery. The sensation returned, though not with the intensity propelled by panic and fear. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, though perhaps the rhythmic thump was more her imagination than reality. Their breathing slowed, until exhale and inhale synced.

“It hits me every once in a while what's going to happen to her,” he said. “I'll be fine and then…
wham
… like an anvil landing on my chest.”

For a long time, Nate didn't say anything else, only held her. Emily closed her eyes and listened to the night creatures perform a symphony. Crickets, frogs, an owl, even a couple cats having a yowling duel.

“Okay?” he asked once she'd calmed down.

Emily filled her lungs once more and nodded. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and moved so he was standing next to her.

“Her name was Vivien Beaumont,” Nate said.

Since Emily was still focused on how his casual kiss had made her whole body tingle, it took her a minute to register his words. “Who?”

“My fiancée. Her name was Vivien. As in Vivien Leigh.”

Nothing like mentioning the other woman to bring a person to full attention. Emily smirked. “I thought being named after Emily Brontë was pretentious. Was she pretty?”

“Beautiful.”

Of course.
“What was she like?”

“Smart, educated, and rich. Old South rich. Her family owned banks all over the state. She'd been a debutante, with the ball and the white gown and the big write-up in all the papers. The whole works.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Her car broke down on the side of the road.”

“No way!”

Nate glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Gotcha.”

She punched him in the arm. He didn't even bother to flinch as he chuckled. “Sorry. Actually, we met through a mutual friend. My college roommate. Randall Amstead-Wilmington decided he wanted to experience life like regular folks, so he chose to live in a dorm. He and Vivien had grown up together. I met her at Randy's birthday party. She looked like an angel. Blond, blue-green eyes, skin so soft it was like touching a satin sheet.”

“So, you saw her across the room and fell madly in love?” she asked, hoping she didn't sound too catty.

He let out a bark of laughter. “Are you kidding? I took one look at her and ran the other way. Vivien screamed
I
'
m richer than you
'
ll ever be and I expect to live like it the rest of my life.
No, she pursued me.”

Emily had the urge to track Vivien down and scratch her eyes out. “Did she?”

Nate didn't notice her sudden tendency toward violence and mayhem. “She was determined, and, as I soon found out, Vivien always got what she wanted.”

Ohhhh, dead woman.
“And she wanted you.”

“I have no idea why,” Nate said. “I was so far out of her league.”

“Opposites attract.”

“No, I think she tried to pull a Randy and see how the other half lived. A guy with calluses on his hands and jeans he picked up from Goodwill fit the bill.”

“Yet you loved her enough to ask her to marry you.”

His fingers curled around the top of the railing. “Hindsight opens your eyes. I fell for her hard, like she'd planned. I'd never known a woman like her. She was so sophisticated and proper. I mean we've got rich families in Covington Falls, but nothing like hers. Vivien said she loved me and didn't care how different our backgrounds were. I believed her, and maybe she even believed it for a while, too. I thought our love could make it work.”

“What happened?”

“About what you'd expect. Rich girl wakes up and realizes she doesn't want to live in a run-down apartment. Doesn't want to be cut off from her friends and the country club. The trips to Europe on a moment's notice.”

Emily knew she wasn't going to like the next part of the story. “She broke it off?”

“Not in so many words. I came to her house to pick her up, and her mother answered the door. She told me Vivien had had a change of heart and then handed over the ring it had taken me most of the year to save up for.”

No, not liking the story at all. “She didn't even have the guts to tell you in person?”

“She also didn't tell me she'd already gotten engaged to someone else. Randy showed me the announcement in the society page the next day.”

Emily clenched her fists, wishing she had a patrician nose within range she could pummel. On the heels of rage came the realization that his continual backpedaling probably had a lot to do with his fiancée fleeing back to her own kind. Did Nate think
she
'
d
do something so callous?

Emily didn't have the silken-skinned beauty at hand, but Nate was handy. She socked him in the arm again. Harder and with more purpose.

Her knuckles did enough damage to get a reaction finally, and his brows pulled together. “What was that for?”

“Jerk.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You're a jerk.”

“What's your problem?” Nate ground out, irritation clouding his features. “I thought you wanted me to open up, and now you're having a fit.”

“You think I'm like Vivien. That I'd toy with you for kicks and then toss you aside when it's time to go back to my real life,” she said, jabbing her finger into his chest with each word.

Nate grabbed her hand. “Cut it out.”

“You do, don't you?” she asked, twisting out of his grip. “It's why you've been so awful today.”

“Am I wrong?” Nate asked, tugging her closer and softening his voice to a fierce whisper. “Do you really see celebrated author E.J. Sinclair hitching herself to a house painter from a town that's not even on most maps? A guy who couldn't make it two semesters in college? Could you live in a house like this? Can you, for one second, imagine waking up next to me the rest of your life instead of some slick, Ivy League educated guy who would make your parents do back flips? Can you? Tell me I'm wrong right now and everything changes.”