Lost and Found Family (15 page)

Christian started to open his door but stopped. “Max, my foundation will need a logo—for stationery, a website, all of that. A brand image.” Then the lightbulb went off in his head.

“A pony,” he and Max said at once.

“I'll take some photos next time—if that's all right,” Christian said. “I'll hire a graphic designer who can work from those.” Then he had another idea. “Not just any pony,” he said, looking back toward the shop. “It has to be Owen's pony.”

“Brilliant,” Max agreed.

“I hope Emma will think so, too,” he said before getting into his truck, giving Max a wave and driving off.

Between the hours he'd spent painting tonight and his excitement over the foundation, he felt happier than he had in many months.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I
N
HER
BREAKFAST
nook with a cup of hot tea, Frankie perused the daily newspaper. The weather report promised clear blue skies after several days of off-and-on gray clouds and Frankie was in a good mood. Or she was until she turned to the obituary section.

A former tennis friend had passed away. Another acquaintance, with whom she'd served on several committees early in her marriage, had died, too, at the age of ninety-one. The write-ups had become all too frequent. Then her gaze fell on the last one, the kind she always dreaded yet couldn't seem to avoid. Someone's young child had also gone to heaven.

Frankie laid the paper aside, the column facedown on a list she'd been making for Christian's foundation. It would be a challenge to dovetail the launch with the anniversary party. She sipped her tea while the memories raced through her mind. Owen. Sarah...

She glanced up to see Emma in the kitchen doorway.

“Good morning.” Frankie straightened with a snap of her spine.

Emma was already dressed for work and Frankie couldn't fault her. In fact, she would never say so, but she envied Emma. She had her business, even though it seemed to be in trouble, while Frankie only had her charities to keep her busy. To keep her from thinking too much.

Today Emma wore an attractive skirt, knee length, with a gathered top. Laying her jacket on her chair, she poured coffee into one of Lanier's mugs at the counter. And Frankie wrinkled her nose. She'd never start her day using anything but the delicate cups from her best china. She didn't believe in shutting beautiful things away...except in two cases.

Frankie pushed the newspaper aside, then picked up the list she'd been making and waited until Emma took her seat at the table before she spoke.

“The other night Christian told us about his foundation.”

Emma took a sip of coffee. “We talked about that, too.”

“And I said—”

At that moment Christian came into the room and Frankie fought the strong maternal urge to send him back upstairs. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt, a T-shirt underneath that showed just above its collar. His hair was covered by a ball cap with a sporting goods store logo. “Really, Christian. I raised you in collared shirts.”

He only grinned and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “I'd look pretty weird driving to Louisville in a three-piece suit. Or even wearing a polo shirt and khakis,” he added. “Can you see me at some truck stop?”

“You know I can't.”

Christian sent Emma a quick look as if to gauge her mood. Frankie's inner security system flashed an alert.

“Emma and I were just talking about your foundation,” she said.

Christian glanced at Emma and when she avoided his gaze, his shoulders tensed. So they hadn't come to an agreement on that. Frankie couldn't understand why not, but then charitable organizations were her forte. Maybe Emma was upset about working on the party with Frankie. They'd had to order more invitations again—Frankie's list kept growing.

“Emma, we think you'd make a perfect chairperson,” she said, surprising herself all over again. Or was she simply trying to follow Lanier's suggestion and not commit to every charity obligation she was offered? She looked at Emma in time to see her eyebrows rise.

“Really.”

Frankie smoothed the cloth napkin on her lap. “You have a personal stake in the foundation's success.” That wasn't her only reason but it would do for now. “Using the club for the launch, as well, makes sense.”

Emma looked outnumbered. “I hadn't thought of that.”

Christian grinned. “Mom's just happy the anniversary party won't be the sole event that night.”

“There is that,” Frankie agreed.

Emma said, “I'm uncertain about taking on any kind of chairmanship.” She paused. “But I talked to someone recently. Jody made me see that Owen does need to be remembered—openly, maybe now in this special way. So first, let me help
you
with planning the launch.” She scanned Frankie's latest list, then tapped a finger on the top entry. “I do like this caterer. Theirs is a much better bid than we got from the others for your anniversary party. This is a great menu.”

Frankie smiled. The new foundation would make her feel more in her element, and she'd enjoyed working with Emma on the party when they were able to agree.

“Emma's right,” Christian said, “and from where I'm standing, I opt for the filet mignon.”

His cheeky grin told her she'd already lost that battle.

“Very well,” she said. “If you must.”

* * *

S
TANDING
OUTSIDE
H
ENNEN
'
S
restaurant later, Christian finally caught sight of Emma. She was walking toward him through the parking lot on the other side of Chestnut Street.

“Let's eat,” he said when she'd reached him. “Then we can drive to the mall, look at appliances. The stores are all open till nine.”

“No,” she said, “let's go to the house after dinner. I'd like to take another look at the kitchen before we buy the new cooktop.” She didn't have to tell him they hadn't gotten that far the other night.

Over dinner the mood seemed more relaxed than it had been since the night she and Christian walked the Walnut Street Bridge. Before that evening had been spoiled by a quarrel. Maybe, with his mother's help that morning, he'd made some progress. Or he and Emma were just tired of not being in sync with each other.

Tonight the normally busy restaurant wasn't filled and the bustle of waitstaff, the conversations of strangers, even the clatter of pots and pans from the open kitchen, seemed muted.

“Emma,” he said. “I didn't mean to spring the foundation on you like that before. I was excited, but I know the very idea must kick up a lot of things you don't want to confront.”

“I said I'll help with the launch event, but after that, I'll decide what role—if any—I want to play.”

“Fair enough. Just don't let my mother make you crazy in the meantime.”

He finished his steak, then met her eyes. She'd been watching him across the table, her expression unguarded, even warm, and that morning, when they'd left for work, he'd caught her looking back over her shoulder before she got in her car. Twice he'd blown her a kiss and felt the old, familiar awareness warm him inside. Or was he only seeing what he wanted to see?

“Be grateful you have Frankie,” Emma said. “She may not be the easiest person, but she's always been there for you.”

He'd heard this story before. “Your mother wasn't.”

“Not often. And not for long.” Emma toyed with her fork. “She liked her social life more than she liked being a parent.”

“She left you alone,” he said, “when you weren't much older than Owen was.” His jaw tightened. “She brought men home.”

“Strangers she called my ‘uncles.' They never lasted long. But then, neither did her attention span with me.”

He laid a hand on hers. “I'm sorry you had to grow up like that.”

“But I did. And because of her, I tried,” she said, “to be a better mother myself. If only—”

He squeezed her hand. “You were, Emma. You are now—to Grace. I shouldn't have said what I did about Owen spending too much time at your shop. You were there for him then. You never left him alone like your mother did with you.”

“Except once.”

After that, he didn't know what to say that wouldn't upset her or destroy these few close moments with each other. Her lips were already trembling and her eyes had filled. She was right. His life with Frankie had been far better than her childhood. How had he forgotten that?

And after losing Owen...

“Em,” he said, “maybe this launch will do us both good. Yesterday at Max Barrett's shop, I did some painting. Not that he had to twist my arm. And while we were working, we talked. He's helping me to focus my thoughts about the new foundation.”

Christian recalled his father's words the day he'd stepped away from Mallory Trucking.
You have good ideas
.

“And?” Emma pulled her hand from his.

“I know exactly the logo I want to use...” This might be his way to honor his own memories without drowning in them.

“Is Frankie involved in that, too?”

“I'm telling you first,” he said, then waited before going on. This could be a make or break issue for Emma. “I'd like to use an image of the General—no, hear me out—”

“A
horse
?”

He reached for her hand again. “Well, a stylized version of the carousel pony Max carved.”

“It's going to be sold,” she said, her tone brittle. “It should have been by now. So how could it represent your foundation in the future? Why did you think this was a good idea?”

“Owen would like that. The General's
not
dangerous—he's not, Emma.” At her skeptical look, Christian released her fingers.
Your foundation
,
she'd said
,
not
ours
. After such a good start to the day, and dinner tonight, after he'd seen her watching him with what he'd been sure was the old love in her eyes, he sighed. “I want you to be part of this. Your role in the launch will be great, but I hope you'll become even more active after that. I think it's important—for us, too.”

Emma hadn't touched the lemon sorbet she'd ordered. “I don't see how that's possible. You're trying to pretend he's still with us...and after what that animal did...”

“And you're trying to pretend he's not.”

She stood. “Let's go up to the house. We can't keep putting that off.”

“Wait.” He fished for his wallet but Emma was already saying good-night to the hostess at the front desk and walking out the door. He caught up to her in the parking lot. “Emma. If you're upset about this, let's talk. I shouldn't have blindsided you the other night but you shouldn't turn away from me now.”

That stopped her. But when she turned to him, he almost couldn't bear the living sorrow he saw in her eyes. In the glow of streetlights, her skin looked dusky rose and her hair gleamed softly. He wanted nothing else but to take her in his arms and make her sadness go away. His, too.

He cradled her face in his hands. “I'm sorry, Em. But if I didn't tell you—and you saw the logo later—”

“Let's concentrate right now on getting our kitchen done. I don't know how many more nights I can sleep in Frankie's house instead of my own.”

My own,
not
ours
.

Without quite touching her, Christian guided her to her car's passenger side. “Let's take yours,” he said, “and leave my truck here. We'll pick it up later before we go back to Mom's house.” He helped her in, then shut the door and leaned for a moment against the cool steel of the roof. He didn't know what to do, what else he could say.

He guessed for now he was just going to pick out some appliances.

* * *

D
URING
THE
DRIVE
,
Emma knew Christian was trying to smooth things over by playing light jazz on the car stereo system, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as if to reassure her that tonight hadn't collapsed, taking them down with it. How on earth could his foundation—or a carousel pony logo—make everything right? Normal?
And what is normal, Em?

She must have been crazy to agree to co-chair the foundation launch instead of letting Frankie do it herself. One step at a time, she reminded herself. Keep trying for that new normal. Tomorrow she and Frankie would talk with the caterers.

At the house she got out of the car and waited for Christian.

Inside, when the lights flashed on, Emma saw new kitchen cabinets, already installed. She couldn't help smiling.

“Wow,” Christian murmured behind her. Together they marveled at the progress that had been made in a few short days. The scent of fresh wood filled the air rather than smoke. The area had been thoroughly cleaned. Things were starting to look good again. Maybe she and Christian could be all right, too. She needed to work harder on that. Beginning now.

“Christian, I didn't mean to sound negative at dinner.”

He drew her to him. “Let's leave the foundation for tonight, okay?” His head lowered to hers. “How about a...kiss for new kitchen cabinets?”

“I'm sorry about before,” she said. “I'm grateful that you understood about my mother. I don't want to quarrel again.”

When his mouth met hers, the old thrill ran through her, perhaps even more strongly because of their argument earlier. If she lived for another hundred years, would she ever stop needing this man?

She twined her arms around his neck, leaned in to savor his warmth. Hadn't she promised herself she'd do something more, something different, to help them heal?

After a few deeper kisses, he raised his head, his eyes clear and steady on hers. Christian grinned. “Trying to have your way with me, are you, Mrs. Mallory?”

Emma nestled closer but tears threatened. Oh, how she'd missed this, missed him. The teasing, the love.

There'd been too many nights of sleeping apart, of letting Bob into their bed like a convenient wall between them.

She leaned back in the circle of his arms.

“We haven't been together like this in weeks. Even staying at the end of Frankie's upstairs hall doesn't make us quite alone. Maybe we should forget those appliances again.” She paused. “Maybe we shouldn't hurry back.”

Christian was still grinning, their earlier argument—if that was what it had been—eclipsed for now. “So, what do you have in mind?”