Page 31 of Townshipped
“How can you know?”
A bereft expression dominates her features. She looks like she’s fighting tears.
I slowly veer and pull the truck over to the side of the road. I shift the gear to park. Turning in my seat to face her, I say, “Em. You couldn’t be a horrible person. You are funny, thoughtful, and courageous. You’ve rolled with this situation with grace and an uncommon adaptability.
“If you were an awful person, your true nature would have come out in the past week. I’ve seen nothing but a remarkable woman who has been through her own version of hell and is bouncing back with a resilience few would be capable of demonstrating.
“The missing person report only went in six days ago. Two of those days included a weekend. People might be desperately looking for you. I definitely wouldn’t sleep if you went missing on my watch. But finding you might take those people who love you some time.”
Em stares at me. We don’t say anything, but our eyes convey their own conversation. I watch her process my words and then a soft smile settles on her face.
“Thank you,” she says.
I nod, unable to speak because if I thought I wanted to kiss her this morning, the way she’s looking at me right now would tempt a monk to break his vows. And I’m no monk.
If I were in a monastery, I’d be running out to those little gardens where they have pebbles scattered in a small plot and I’d rake those stones in a perfect pattern until the sun came up to suppress the desire pumping through me. I’d be a stone-gathering, stone-smoothing machine. But, let’s be honest, there really isn’t enough gravel in the world to quash what I’m starting to feel for Em.
We pull into a spot along the sidewalk at my parents’ home and I immediately feel the relief of the cool air when Em and I step out of the truck. Note to self: avoid small spaces with her unless I plan to act on my attraction.
“So, this is the house where I grew up,” I tell her as I grab the pan of crisp out of the back seat.
“It’s adorable,” she says. “This whole neighborhood … I can imagine kids running around playing, and neighbors borrowing sugar or butter, having little gatherings, or just doing their yard work on a weekend while they wave to each other and chat about nothing and everything.”
“Pretty much sums up my childhood,” I tell her.
She smiles, but there’s something beneath the smile. I sense a wisp of her thoughts before she forces a smile again.
“You’ll remember your childhood neighborhood too.”
“You can’t promise me that.”
“No, but your memories have been coming back. That shows you’re closer to all of them returning. Give it time. Besides, you’ve got the whole Shirley MacLaine thing going for you.”
“Yeah. At least I’ve got Shirley,” Em says.
She turns and looks up at my childhood home right as my sister, Karina, steps out onto the porch.
12
AIDEN
“Hi, you two,” Karina says, walking down the steps to meet us. “I just want to give you the heads-up before you go inside. Trevor is in full-blown new-dad mode. It’s partly adorable, and mostly ridiculous. Be prepared to sanitize yourselves just short of a hazmat procedure before getting within twenty feet of that precious baby of theirs.”
Karina snickers and shakes her head. We follow her into the house. She leans toward me before we shut the door behind us and says, “Mom wants to give you an update about Vanessa. It’s not good.” Her face looks grim, but then she dons a smile when she looks over at Em.
“Hey, we’re here,” I shout to everyone and no one in particular. I hand the pan of apple crisp to Karina and help Em remove her coat. My hand brushes Em’s neck, and you’d think I was a boy at his junior high dance the way my nerves flare from a mere graze of skin-to-skin contact with her.
We walk toward the living room, following the sound of voices. Lexi’s sitting on the couch looking content and natural. Motherhood suits her. She’s holding my new niece.
Trevor stands next to the couch in a pose that would rival Jesse’s the other day in my kitchen.
“Am I allowed to hold my niece?” I ask.
“You can. You have to wash your hands and forearms. Have you been with the goats?” Trevor asks as if we’re biblical lepers.
His look says he’d like to give us a ritual cleansing. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.
“I changed before coming over,” I assure my brother. I’m dying to tease him, but I table the urge.
