Written on Her Heart (21 page)

At the sound of her favorite non-snack related word, her head popped up to look in the direction of his Ford. Seeing a ride wasn’t in her future, she lazed back against the bench. One paw dangling. Nose snuffling against the other paw. She stretched and inched and nuzzled until her face wedged onto Nicholas’ lap.

“I know I’m cranky. And I know I’m the one feeding you everything you want to eat. But you give me those big droopy eyes and I want to make you happy.” He scratched behind her ears. “This isn’t easy for me. You have no idea, Mavis. I have stress.”

He lifted the journal back onto his lap. Mavis readjusted her head to make room. Thinking about his feelings was hard enough. Writing them seemed impossible. When he
journaled
in the past, he wanted to get something off his chest. Now, he might as well be saying these things to her out loud, and he couldn’t. He didn’t work like that. It’d been his experience you could say a lot with little speech. Writing meant trying to nail down an emotion with words, using them to convey what he wanted to say without leaving room for error or misinterpretation. Was that even possible?

He rubbed his face and rolled his neck over his shoulders. If Dr. Kennedy was wrong and Emma hated him, she’d be in possession of his journal…again. This time she’d have ammunition to ruin him. He imagined copies of his love profession plastered all over town, slipped into morning newspapers, tacked under windshield wipers. His heart thudded. She wouldn’t do that. Emma was kind. If she hated him, she wouldn’t read it at all. She’d keep pretending he didn’t exist.

Pulling in one long breath for assurance, he lifted the pen and put it to work. There weren’t enough words on earth to do the job justice, but when he put his mind to something worthwhile, he gave all he had.

Emma Hastings’ heart was the most worthy thing he’d ever aspired to.

Chapter Eighteen

“How long will it last?” Laura asked. The girl’s watery eyes pleaded with Emma.

“Well, it depends, and you can talk to your doctor about it too, of course.” She bit her lip, praying for the right words, hoping to be an encouragement, wishing she was stronger. “For me, it took several years before I quit feeling the scars. When I asked my friend, Heather, she told me it’s not uncommon. The damaged nerve endings can send signals to your brain for a long time before they give it a rest. The good news is they will heal, and you won’t always feel the sensation of clothing touching or a necklace laying there.”

When Laura blinked, a tear fell from each eye. She nodded bravely.

“The worst is over.” Emma squeezed her small hand. Chronologically Laura was only a year younger than Emma had been when she had her heart attack, but somehow she seemed like a child. Crushed and fearful. “Remember you’ve already survived. You have another chance to live. This experience will change everything. It’s up to you what you do with it.”

Laura’s free hand pressed against her chest. Did all heart patients do that?

“Will the scars always be so red and welted?”

“No.” Emma unbuttoned three buttons of her blouse and pulled the material aside. Large tears rolled over Laura’s cheeks at the sight of Emma’s scars. For the first time in Emma’s life, she wasn’t ashamed or regretful. She was useful. “Someone once told me these scars make me beautiful. They show I’m tough. Tougher than a heart attack.”

Laura sniffed and raised hopeful eyes to her.

“I wasted five years being sad. I’ll never get those days back, but you don’t have to lose a single minute.”

“Laura?” Heather knocked on the open door and smiled. vzyl “Your physical therapist is looking for you. Are you ready?”

“Hey, you want to meet me here next week? I’ll bring the ice water and bland foods.” Emma made a face.

Laura laughed, but she walked away a little taller than she’d arrived. That was good enough for Emma. Next week would be better.

“Miss Hastings?” A tall brunette stood in the doorway with a tissue to her nose.

“Yes?”

The woman looked down the hall before stepping inside the room. “I’m Joanna Fries, Laura’s mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you. You just missed her. And call me Emma.”

She nodded. “I want to thank you for what you’re doing for Laura, and the other girls here. The moms and I get together during physical therapy in the cafeteria. Some travel a long way to see these doctors. We share horror stories of the day our kids almost died, and the nightmares they still have.” She cringed. “We have so many questions, and the doctors approach everything from a statistical standpoint. None of our children want counseling. It’s hard. I’m helpless.”

“You’re not helpless. You’re a mom.” At that, Mrs. Fries broke down, and Emma had more insight into her own mother than she ever dreamed. Had she sat worrying with other moms while Emma recovered? How much pain had her mother endured? She only revealed frustration to Emma while she was recovering. After that her mom covered everything with an endless supply of blue birds and sunshine, especially when Emma complained. The idea her mother hurt so much and she was too self-absorbed to notice broke Emma’s heart anew.

“You know, my mom might be a great place for you to start. Believe me when I say I was impossible when this happened to me. What if I invite my mom to come with me next week and I’ll send her toward the cafeteria to talk with you while I meet with the kids?”

“I would be honored to meet her. How long will you be here?”

“Today?” She looked at the clock. Nothing pressing on her schedule, unless she counted moping around at home.

“No. I mean, I hoped you’d be able to work with Laura until she gets through this.”

“Oh. I plan to come every week. But, I’m not a counselor.” A light bulb went on. “I know a terrific counselor not far from here. I can give you her number and help encourage Laura to talk to her. When I see her again, I’ll ask her to stop by here during physical therapy. Maybe meeting her here will help Laura consider talking with her?”

“If she helped you be this brave and confident, I can’t wait for Laura to meet her. You’re an absolute blessing to us. Seeing another young woman smile after such devastation…you’re giving our kids hope.”

Emma hugged Mrs. Fries and fought back tears. She couldn’t cry after hearing Mrs. Fries believed her brave.
Yeesh
. They said their goodbyes, and Emma’s shoulders sagged. She wanted her mom.

Heather sat on a roller chair at the nurses’ station stamping papers.

“The kids love you.”

“I’m bringing my mom here next week to talk to their moms. I had no idea how hard this was on them. My mom never looked like Mrs. Fries. All she ever showed me was her determination to make me live on fruit and whole grains. I’m going to ask Dr. Kennedy to make an appearance too.” She leaned against the desk for support.

“Your mom looked just like them.”

Emma searched Heather’s face for more information. The soft murmur of voices around them mixed with distant beeping and whooshing of hospital machinery. Being there on the healthy side of the equation felt good, better than she expected. She’d feared the smell of bleach and alcohol would send her into a nervous breakdown. Maybe she was brave.

“Your mom bawled her eyes out in the ladies room on the urology floor every day. She went all the way across the building to freak out. Then hefted her entire make up collection from her giant bag and put her face back on. Stopped in the cafeteria for an alibi and returned to you with juice and a smile.”

Memories of her mother’s red cheeks flooded Emma’s mind. She always returned out of breath. She’d assumed her mom was frustrated from a cafeteria line and long walk. Had she really made a trip around the hospital to avoid looking weak in front of her daughter?

“Your mom is one of the strongest women I know.”

“I have to go.” She turned with a wave over one shoulder. “I need to go hug my mom. Can you come by later?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“See
ya
!” The elevator doors slid open, and Emma climbed onboard.

****

The sunlight waned as she crossed the railroad tracks in Honey Creek. She had another hour before Heather would arrive. She’d spent longer than she expected thanking her mom. Over the past few hours, a new appreciation for mothers had bloomed in her heart. Emotionally exhausted, the sight of her front porch made her lids grow heavy.

Emma trudged up the front steps. A steamy hot bath and tatty sweats sounded like heaven. Having a late dinner from the grill with Heather and maybe a glass of wine, she expected to sleep like a baby. If only a few more busy days would erase the ache in her heart.

House key in hand, she swung the screen door wide and something
thunked
against her toe. She jumped and released the door. Nothing ran out. The door stayed put, wedged open a small measure. With one finger, she pulled the door wider and peeked.

The journal.

Emma scanned the street and yards for him, for anyone. Her hands trembled as she crouched to retrieve the precious book. Of all the days to discover this surprise. Her throat thickened. Eyes stung. A gentle summer breeze lifted her hair into her eyes. She took one last look around and slid the key into her lock.

Inside, she placed the journal on her countertop and went to the sink for a glass of water. The slow ticking of her red rooster clock emphasized the sprint of her breathing. Sipping carefully, she kept her eyes fixed on the book. Why did he bring her his journal? Why drop it off while she was away? She sighed heavily. Because she didn’t answer the phone or door when he came.

She hated him for not giving up.

She loved him for not giving up.

Baby stepping across the room, she set her glass down and lifted the journal. The soft leather cover felt like warm butter against her fingertips. So much comfort and assurance lay beneath the honey brown cover. Trailing a finger over the letters burned into the binding, she resolved to wait for Heather before deciding what to do with it. Was she supposed to return it to him? Keep it?

The clock continued to tick at a slow, painful pace above her stove. Tick… Tock. Tick…tock. She gulped the rest of her water. Poured another glass and set it down. Her hands slipped in and out of her pockets. The clock crept backwards. Like an addict faced with her drug of choice, she tapped her nails against the counter, fighting, losing. Emma whipped the book from her counter and clutched it to her chest. She’d wait on the porch for Heather, and they’d decide what to do.

Outside, curled up on her porch swing the stillness taunted her. The ballgames and cookouts thinned every year before summer ended. Sadness touched her. People walked away too soon. Emma opened the cover for distraction. She missed the comfort of his words. Almost as much as the clear blue of his eyes. One look at Nicholas and anyone could see he was as honest and kind as he was handsome.

Caught on another breeze, one loose paper floated from beneath the cover and landed near her bare feet on the porch. She opened it to find herself seated atop the Honey Creek dam. Her camera poised against her cheek, hair streaming behind her, a perfect image of her wide green eyes and tiny smile reflected back in the still water below. She gasped.

Is that how she looked to him? The woman in the sketch was fascinating with slight pixie like limbs and fairytale eyes. He’d only bothered to add color to her eyes in the water and a few streaks of red in her crazy hair. She remembered seeing him the last time she visited the dam. He’d been talking to a young woman in a ponytail and sundress. Jealousy had gripped her so hard she thought she’d die, and she ran off ashamed for being so selfish. How could she demand he leave her alone then hate him for finding someone else? The fact he spent a single day without a girlfriend was miraculous.

She set the open drawing aside, unable to shut it for fear it would disappear. Fatigue wasn’t on her emotional radar anymore. Her fingers twitched to call him. In one swift movement she darted back inside and lifted her phone to her ear. Then hung up. She dithered around her living room and groaned when the stack of fresh photographs caught her eye. Printing the lake photos, she’d come across the pictures of Mavis and her silly wings. A batch filled with shots of Nicholas in a tiny cowboy costume and her in a feather boa were with them.