Maybe This Time (32 page)

As she was dialing the number she had a better idea. “Marge, it’s Emma. When I saw Roy yesterday he was doing much better. Do you have any more news?”

“He’s coming home the day after tomorrow.” The relief in Marge’s voice was palpable.

“Oh, then I guess you’re busy getting ready for him.”

“Not really. I’ve been doing nothing but housework and baking to keep busy while he’s been sick.” She paused then added hopefully, “Did you need me to look after Billy?”

“I do need your help. I want to go to the garden center, but I can’t manage on my own. Would you be able to come? There’s a café there. We could have lunch.”

“I would love that. I’ll buy Roy some potted freesias for his homecoming. I can be ready anytime. When do you want to go?”

At the garden center, Marge pushed Billy in the stroller while Emma maneuvered the trolley through the outdoor aisles. Three big bags of potting mix lay beneath large black plastic pots. Now she was selecting tomato seedlings—cherry, roma, beefsteak, black Russian...oh, and some of these heritage varieties. Was that too many for her tiny balcony? She’d thought she was over gardening, but cruising through these aisles gave her planting fever.

“Darcy was over last night,” Marge said.

Emma’s ears pricked up. “Oh?”

“Do you think he’d like lemon basil?”

“Darcy?”

“Roy. Darcy and I went to visit him.”

She loved Marge to bits, but the older woman’s conversation tended to be fragmented. “I think he’d love it.”

“He talked about you.”

“Roy?”

“Darcy.”

“Did he say anything in particular?” Like he was thinking of asking her to get back together. Would he talk about that with his mother? They were close but...

“He said you two are going to work out an arrangement about Billy.” Marge touched her arm and smiled. “I’m so happy about that. I was thrilled when you rang this morning. I don’t see why we can’t still see each other even if you and Darcy aren’t married.”

“You’re Billy’s grandparents. I will always want you in our lives.” Emma gave her a hug. “We’re friends, no matter what happens between Darcy and I.”

So, Darcy hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting a future with her. What if he didn’t think she wanted him? She’d told him she was fine on her own, that she wanted to raise Billy herself. She hadn’t said any different, so why would he think she’d changed her mind?

Where do we go from here?
he’d asked. She knew where she’d
like
to go—straight to the church and get married again. Then home with him and Billy, to start afresh. She wished she’d told him that instead of leaving. Yes, they shared heartbreaking memories, but also many, many joyous ones. She’d learned the hard way to cherish the good and endure the bad.

A year ago she’d been prepared to meet someone else, someone who shared her dream of a home and family. She’d come full circle to Darcy. There was no one she’d rather travel through life with. He was a link to her past, a joy and comfort in the present, and part of her hopes and dreams for the future. She loved him. How could she ever have thought she could replace him? It was like Latin dancing. She didn’t want any other partner but him.

Emma looked at her trolley, full of dirt, pots, fertilizer and seedlings. She had everything she needed to make something grow. All she had to do was plant, water and hope for the best. Trust and pray that he cared enough to give her a second chance.

* * *

D
ARCY LOADED THE
last of the boxes of stuff he and Emma had taken off the walls of the pub into the back of his truck. When his dad was feeling up to it, he might enjoy looking through everything and deciding what he would like to keep as a memento.

The tables and chairs were stacked near the back, ready for the workmen to take to a local furniture refinisher. He liked the old bentwood chairs, and the round wooden tables with the turned legs had character. Sanded down, with a fresh coat of varnish, they would look better than modern furniture. He would buy a couple of the tall tables and chairs, though, for along the window onto the street.

The mugs he’d decided to keep on their shelf above the bar. Not many people still used them, but as long as his father and his friends were around, he would maintain the tradition.

Walking through the empty pub with the bare walls gave him a funny feeling inside, part nostalgic, part regretful, part looking forward to what came next.

On the bar sat the box of family photos he’d taken off the corkboard to be distributed to the appropriate people. He and Emma could divide between them the photos of Holly. A photo of the three of them was on top. How would they divide that? He could tear the paper down the middle but to actually separate himself from Emma? In the two years they’d been apart he’d found out he couldn’t do it. It had felt like ripping off a limb, or tearing out his heart. She was part of him. She always would be. Having her and Billy living here for even a short while was the happiest he’d been in a very long time.

When she’d said she wanted them to go their own separate ways, he’d been gutted. Sure, he’d been the one to leave the first time around, but he’d changed since then. And yes, she’d been great about letting him into Billy’s life, but she’d made it clear they weren’t a family.

Riley came through the door wearing his navy pants and white shirt uniform. He walked in, gazing around. “You’re really doing it.”

“Yep,” Darcy said. “It reminds me of the time we jumped off the end of the Frankston pier when we were twelve. We didn’t know how deep the water was or if we would drown or swim.”

“John broke his fool leg as I recall. Those were the glory days, all right. How long will you be closed for?”

“A couple of weeks, until the worst of the construction is over.” Darcy moved behind the bar. “Coffeepot’s still on. Interested?”

“Always.” Riley leaned on the polished mahogany. “If you’re short of something to do while the pub is down, you can come and work with Summerside’s finest as detective.”

“I think I’d do rather well at that. A publican gets to be pretty observant.” Darcy set two mugs of coffee on the bar. “We notice things.”

Riley’s eyebrows rose. “Give me an example.”

“You, my friend, have just come from the barber, where your hair has been freshly cut.”

Riley passed a hand over his dark glossy hair. “It’s that mousse crap they put on that gave it away, isn’t it? I hate that stuff.”

“No, it’s the thin border of paler skin around your hairline. And the sprinkling of dark hair trimmings on your shirt.”

Riley grinned and brushed off his shoulders. “Very impressive. Can you tell me what I’m thinking right now?”

“I said I had powers of observation, not the ability to read minds.” He wished he could read Emma’s mind. She’d been brooding over something the other day. He would like to know what it was. She’d seemed to like staying with him at his apartment. Was it possible she regretted leaving? The place was too small, too cluttered with furniture, for the three of them for very long.

“Seriously, what are you going to do with yourself? Are you going on a holiday?” He eyed Darcy over the rim of his cup. “Perhaps with a certain mother and child?”

“I want more than a weekend with Emma. I want the rest of my life with her,” Darcy said, spilling his guts. “I’ve never stopped loving her, not even when I thought I had. How am I going to convince her to risk another chance on me? I screwed up so badly the first time.”

“Just you? Marriage is usually a team effort.”

“Okay, we were both at fault. But that’s because we were hurting.”

“Have you got that sorted now?”

Darcy thought of the afternoon when they’d taken down the photos. He was afraid of the strength of his feelings sometimes. Love, grief, regret...they seemed too big for his chest to contain.

He and Emma had done more than mourn their daughter’s loss, although that had been cathartic. They’d both opened up for the first time since Holly died, gotten some things off their chests they should have been able to talk about at the time, but hadn’t. Guilt was a terrible burden. “I reckon we have got it sorted. Maybe not completely but we’ve made a good start.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Go jump off that pier.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

E
MMA PICKED UP
the landline to dial Darcy’s number. There was no dial tone. Odd. “Hello?”

“Emma?”

“Darcy? I just picked up the phone to call you.”

“I dialed, but it didn’t ring.”

“Great minds think alike.” She smiled, glad to hear his voice. “What were you calling about?”

“You go first.”

“No, you.” She paced the kitchen. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t as though she was going to propose over the phone. She was only calling to ask him out on a date.

“How’s Billy?”

It was always his first question. She loved him for it. “He’s in his high chair, spreading pabulum all over the tray.” She moved the receiver close to Billy. “Daddy’s on the phone.”

Billy slammed his hand into the puddle of mush and splashed it onto his face. “Goo!”

“Did you hear that?” Emma said. “I think he understood what I was saying.”

“Clearly. And he thinks my name is Mr. Magoo.”

“Did you call to ask after Billy?”

“Not entirely.” Darcy cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you and Billy would like to go on a picnic.”

A picnic.

Why a picnic? Picnics were a symbol of everything that had been wrong with their marriage. If only he’d gone on a picnic with her and Holly—

No, she couldn’t stay stuck in that mind groove, blaming him for what happened. That afternoon at the pub when they’d cried in each other’s arms should have cured her of that. Guess it was harder than she thought to change well-worn thought patterns. But she would, because if she ever wanted to be with him again, they needed to start on a clean slate.

And maybe a picnic was symbolic for him, too, of a desire and determination to make up for the past, and to show her that he was willing to change.

“Em, are you still there?”

“A picnic would be lovely. What should I bring?”

“I’ve got it covered. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

She clicked off the phone and picked up Billy, twirling with him in her arms. He giggled. “We’re going on a picnic. We’re going on a picnic.”

Humming a salsa beat, she danced to the nursery to change his diaper and dress him in a clean T-shirt and track pants. Then she carried him to her bedroom to get herself ready. Stroke of luck that Darcy had wanted to see her today, the day she’d chosen to make her bid for his future. Was it a coincidence or was it a sign the universe was conspiring to bring them together?

Still holding Billy she stood before her closet. “What should I wear, skirt or shorts?” Billy had no opinion on the matter, being more interested in chewing on a lock of her hair. “Don’t do that, sweetie. I should have asked Darcy where we’re going. Will it involve sitting on grass in a park or rocks by the sea? With you coming we’ll have to go someplace baby-friendly. A skirt probably wouldn’t be out of place.”

It was only a picnic. But after months in maternity clothes she figured she deserved to get a little girlie. It had been a while since she’d had a big occasion to dress up for—even if Darcy didn’t know it was a big occasion.

Oh, God, what if he rejected her proposal? There they’d be, halfway through their sandwiches and lemonade, and everything would turn awkward. Would they finish eating in silence or pack up and skedaddle? She shook her head. Idiot. Of course she would wait until after they ate to say anything.

“Your mother is a tad nervous,” she told Billy. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”

She laid her clothes on the bed then sat in the rocking chair by the window to nurse Billy. While he fed, she practiced the speech she’d written last night in which she convinced Darcy they should try again. At two pages, typewritten, it was hard to remember word for word so she’d also written out notes on index cards.

“I’ll go over them on the way to the picnic grounds,” she told Billy. “I know, he’s going to think I’m crazy, and it’ll be tricky not to let him see what’s on the cards. I’ll pretend I’m studying for an exam.”

The doorbell rang. “There he is.” She tucked the index cards in her purse and went to let Darcy in.

He smelled so yummy and citrusy with musky low notes that she gave him a peck on the cheek just to get a better sniff. “Mmm, you’ve been bathing in awesome sauce.”

His low laugh, a little self-conscious, rumbled in her ear. She handed Billy into his arms. “Sorry I’m not ready. I still have to get dressed.”

“You look great.”

She was wearing her oldest pair of shorts and a faded T-shirt. “Have you had your eyes checked lately? I hear that forty is the magic age when people start needing glasses.”

He rolled his defective eyes and she hurried to her bedroom.
Nice. Be snarky about his age. That’ll get him hot for you.
And she’d been doing so well for a moment with the kiss on the cheek and the compliments.

She put on the light summery skirt, a camisole and a sheer blouse in an aqua print that brought out the blue in her eyes. Added a touch of fragrance and some fine gold jewelry he’d given her one Christmas. Brushed her hair again.
Breathe.

When she entered the living room Darcy was on the floor, playing with Billy. He stood and gazed at her so long she got nervous.

She touched a dangly earring set with teal-blue tourmaline. “I’m overdressed, aren’t I?”

He swallowed. “You look perfect. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you.”
Breathe, damn it.
He looked pretty gorgeous himself in an indigo-blue cotton shirt and black knee-length shorts. “Shall we go?”

Emma slipped on flat sandals. Darcy carried Billy in his car seat. And for once the elevator cooperated by showing up quickly.

In the foyer of the apartment building, Emma started for the door to the parking garage. “We should take my car since I’ve got Billy’s seat.” She hadn’t thought about having to drive when she’d written her index cards.