-25-
Catie was watching from the front window when Emma's car pulled into their driveway for their pre-arranged lunch date the following Sunday morning. She bounced with excitement, gathering her coat and bag in her eagerness to go... but then she noticed that Emma was not getting out of the car.
"She's not coming in?" she asked, frowning.
Finn, who had also noticed the exact moment Emma had pulled up, feigned interest in the Sunday New York Times. "She doesn't want to see me. She wants 'space.'"
"That's stupid. Why?"
He shrugged. "She's got a lot on her mind, I guess."
"She won't even come in to say hi, though. That's like when Ashley Wheatley broke up with Mark Foster and wouldn't talk to him for three weeks, even though they were lab partners in bio."
Finn looked up from his newspaper with a weary smile. "I appreciate the support, kid, but please don't give her grief about it. This is hard for her. Enjoy your lunch."
Catie sniffed. "This sucks."
"For all of us," Finn agreed, "Emma included. Here." He pulled out his wallet and handed her a $50 bill, still crisp from the bank. "Don't let her pick up the tab."
Scowling, Catie snapped the bill out of her father's hand. "This is dumb. You guys need to grow up."
Finn's mouth twitch in a humorless approximation of a smile. "Sorry, kid. Sometimes grownups are dumb."
Catie rolled her eyes and ran out the door. At the car, Emma leaned over to unlock the passenger door, apologizing for the dog hair on the seat. Ludo himself was lolling across the cluttered backseat, snoring. Catie reach back to pat his head, and he perked up his ears and opened one eye in greeting, and then went back to sleep.
"It's good to see you," Emma said, grabbing Catie in an awkward, sideways hug, impeded by their seatbelts and the gearshift between them.
Catie wanted to cling tight and refuse to let Emma go, but she was mad at her, too. She'd been taking out her anger on her father all week, but Emma was the one who'd left. Instead of returning the hug, she held herself stiffly until Emma's arms fell away.
"You're mad," Emma realized.
Catie just stared at her.
Emma sighed. "Yeah, of course you're mad. I'm sorry. I should have talked to you before I left."
"You shouldn't have left," Catie grumbled.
Emma frowned up at the house. "Is your dad home?"
"You know he is. Otherwise you'd have walked to the door to come get me, wouldn't you?"
Emma's cheeks pinked, and Catie knew she was right. Emma didn't ask anything else about Finn, but restarted the car and backed out to the street. "Where you want to eat?" she asked.
Catie gritted her teeth. "I don't. I don't want to go sit in some restaurant somewhere eating sandwiches and pretending everything's okay. Nothing about this is okay."
"Hmm. Mexican, then?" Emma tried to joke, and Catie honestly wanted to hit her.
"Never mind. Let me out," she said, reaching for the door handle.
Emma sighed apologetically. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know you're mad, but please: I've been looking forward to this lunch date all week."
"I don't want a stupid lunch date! I want you to come home!"
Emma turned north, heading out of town. She said quietly, "That's not my home, Catie."
"It could be!"
"No," Emma said, shaking her head firmly. "It's complicated. "
"You make it complicated. I want you there. Dad wants you there. It's not complicated."
Emma's grip on the steering wheel tightened until her skin turned white around her knuckle bones. She kept her gaze straight ahead. "Everything is too crazy right now, too fast. Phoebe's back -"
"Fuck Phoebe," Catie cursed bitterly. "She fucking ruins everything."
Emma frowned. "She's your -"
"If you tell me she's my mother, I'm going to jump out of this goddamn car right now. I know she's my mother. I also know she hasn't had the slightest interest in me for thirteen years, so I don't know why my life should come crumbling apart just because she suddenly shows up and wants of piece of me. She can fucking get in line, because I've got other shit to deal with right now!" Catie interrupted furiously.
Once again, Emma's cheeks flushed with guilt.
"Leave Phoebe out of it. Tell me why you left," Catie insisted.
Emma sighed and lifted one hand from the steering wheel to rake her fingers through her short curls. "Before I came up here this summer, I was engaged. Gary and I were supposed to get married last month. But the fire in Savannah -- that was his fault, kind of. "
Catie had the sense that Emma was choosing her words carefully, not telling her the whole story. However, since it was more of the story than Catie had ever heard before, she bit her tongue, and listened.
"I wasn't expecting to fall in love with your dad, or with you either, for that matter. I'm a - "
"You love us?" Catie interrupted, startled.
Emma swallowed so hard Catie heard her throat work, but she nodded. "I do. Of course I do."
Catie clapped her hands in excitement. "Well, okay then! We love you, too! Come home, and we'll figure it out!"
"It's not that easy, hon. As I was saying, I'm a mess. A few months ago, I was planning to marry someone else. I had a successful business, I was doing something I loved, making money at it, and then, all of a sudden, I lost everything. I was still working on wrapping my head around all of that when someone attacked me here, which means that either the guys who burned my house in Georgia followed me, or I have a whole new enemy. Either way, I'm scared and I don't want to bring my troubles to your doorstep."
Catie bit her lip worriedly, finally understanding that Emma's fear was bigger than she'd known. "That just shows why you should be with us. You're safer with us."
"But you're not. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you or your dad, or to your house, because of somebody looking for me."
"How do you think we're going to feel if anything happens to you?" Catie countered.
Emma grimaced. She didn't have an answer. Instead, she steered the conversation toward another excuse for leaving. "The day I left, your dad and I fought about his manuscript. He left in a huff, and then Phoebe showed up, and I -- I guess I kind of took it as a sign. I do love your dad, Catie, but we were moving too fast. I've got issues to sort through with my broken engagement and all my grief over everything I lost in Georgia, and your dad has issues to work out with Phoebe."
Catie opened her mouth to argue, but Emma spoke over her, continuing. "I'm not saying he's in love with her or that I'm stepping aside, but they have a history, and whether or not your dad wants to admit it, no one holds a grudge as long as he did without a whole lot of unresolved feelings to fuel it. He needs to work through that, and I need time to work through my baggage, too."
"That's stupid," Catie said petulantly.
"Just because you don't understand or agree does not make my needs stupid," Emma said, offended.
Catie didn't care. "I don't understand. Maybe if you had some kind of plan, it'd be different, but you don't. What do you do, sit in your ugly motel room every night and watch Law and Order reruns and pretend you're thinking about your ex or your photo business and 'working through your baggage'? Even if you are thinking, what good does thinking do?!"
Emma glanced at Catie, chagrinned. She managed a tight-lipped smile. "You are scary-smart, kid, you know that? -Not Law and Order. When you've been a crime victim twice in three months, crime dramas tend to lose their appeal. Otherwise, though, you've got the right of it."
"So what are you waiting for? Come home!"
"I won't put you guys in danger," Emma insisted.
"You don't know who burned your house. Dad says it might have been totally random, because we live so close to the jail."
Emma sighed impatiently. "Catie, if an inmate had escaped and gone on a vandalism spree, it wouldn't been in the news. Someone spray-painted 'Bitch' across the front of my house. That feels pretty personal. I don't know if it was the thugs my ex-fiance ripped off, or if it was someone here in town pissed off because they didn't like to see your dad taking me out to Stub's like he did that night, but either way, I don't think I'm being paranoid in assuming someone out there really doesn't like me. I told you, I'm not willing to bring that kind of trouble on you."
"So if they catch you did it, you'll come home?"
"I'll certainly feel much better," Emma said, but stopped short of promising.
"What if they don't catch anyone? You'll just hide forever?"
Emma shrugged. "I don't know, honestly." She turned to give Catie an apologetic smile, and said, "Here's another problem: I'm hung up on money. Your dad paid for Ludo's vet care. He or George, or both of them -- they won't even tell me -- paid to fix the house. George has been loaning me camera equipment all summer."
"George is loaded, and Dad can afford -"
"I've been paying my own freight since I was nineteen years old, Catie. All of a sudden, I'm in debt up to my ears and I can't see a way to get ahead. I don't care that they can afford it: I care that I can't."
"Emma, honestly, Dad doesn't care," Catie said, but Emma's response was swift and predictable.
"I care. It's important to me to pay my own bills. I don't want to be one of those women whose husband leaves or dies after decades of marriage, and she doesn't even know how to balance the checkbook. I left too many of the financial details to Gary, and that's why I didn't know he had a gambling problem and had let the insurance policy lapse. I need to figure out how to get back on my feet financially. It's important to me."
Frowning, Catie mulled this over as Emma got off the interstate and crossed into New Hampshire. She could understand Emma's reluctance to be dependent upon Finn, though she knew her father didn't see it that way. Catie wanted to grow up and be independent, too. The problem, from her perspective, was that establishing independence seemed like the sort of thing that would take a long time, and Catie wanted Emma to come home now.
Emma drove past the shopping plazas where Catie usually did her school and Christmas shopping, but kept going into a section of town Catie didn't know. When she pulled into the lot of an old, rundown motel, Catie frowned.
"This is where you're staying?" she asked, unimpressed. It was awful -- dingy, small, noisy -- nothing like Emma's sweet cottage or the McCaffrey's tidy house. If Emma preferred this dump, even short term, she must be really desperate.
Emma pulled into a parking space between a dented truck spray painted matte black, and a hatchback with a plastic bag taped in place of the passenger window. "You don't have to come in. I just have to put Ludo in my room so he's not waiting in the hot car while we eat."
"I'll come," Catie said, eager to see what charms, if any, this place could possibly hold.
The room was no nicer than the shabby outside of the motel promised it would be. A grimy green shag carpet clashed with mustard-colored wallpaper and dusty blue curtains and bed linens. Not that Emma was using the bed linens: she'd laid a sleeping bag across the bed instead. The single window was so filthy it was hard to see through. The TV was ancient, like something Catie had seen in a museum exhibit. There was crack in the mirror over the sink, and the bathroom light flickered in a nauseating way.
"You must really be mad at dad," Catie said sadly, as Emma steered Ludo into a metal crate. Ludo grunted resentfully, unused to such indignities. Catie had never known Emma to crate Ludo, even when he'd been recovering from surgery.
"I'm not," Emma insisted. "I just need time."
"Here?"
Emma just sighed. "Let's go get lunch."
Catie squatted down to pat Ludo before Emma shut the door. "Poor baby. He's miserable in there."
Emma grimaced, finally letting Catie see her upset. "I know. It's awful, but that's the rule; when he's in the room, he has to be in his crate. Otherwise, no pets."
"This is so wrong. He's miserable. I'm miserable. You and Dad are miserable. Just come home already."
Emma put her hands on her hips. "No. Enough. It's time to talk about something else. Where should we go eat?"
"I don't care. I told you, I don't even want to go," Catie snapped.
Emma closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. "I miss you. I want to spend time with you. But if you'd rather I just brought you home, I guess I can do that. Seems a terrible waste of gas, though."
Catie scowled unhappily, torn. It would give her some stubborn satisfaction to dig in her heels and make Emma take her home, but that wouldn't solve anything. She'd been lonely all week, missing Emma. She wanted to spend time with her, but not like this, not arguing and talking in circles. She just wanted Emma to come home and for things to go back to normal.
Funny, how having Emma around had become 'normal' in such a short period of time.
They opted to go for Chinese food, and Catie didn't pester Emma anymore on the subject. Emma asked about Phoebe, but Catie only shrugged and didn't have much to say. Em didn't push, and asked about school instead. For the whole meal their conversation lurched from one awkward topic to the next, each of them stiffly polite to avoid further confrontation.
Catie found herself fighting tears as Emma hugged her goodbye. She loved Emma, but this afternoon had been awful, such a disappointment after days of anticipation. Emma wasn't coming back, and Catie was furious, and nothing could fix it.
Finn met Catie at the door. He spread his arms for a hug, but Catie ducked beneath his elbow and ran upstairs, wanting only to be alone so she could cry.
*****
-26-
Emma looked up as the bells above the shop door chimed. She grinned in pleased surprise to see George, and hurried out from behind the counter to give him a hug.
"How was your vacation? I heard you and Leo ran off for a romantic getaway. Oooh!"
George smiled back, but then his expression grew stern. "I to home to hear you'd gone into hiding when Finn's ex came back. What's up with that, Em? You're no coward."
"I am actually. I'm a dreadful coward, but I didn't really leave because of Phoebe," she assured him. "She was just the trigger, but the truth is, I have my own issues."
"Baby, don't we all?" George agreed. "But I don't understand. You and Finn seemed so good together."
Emma sighed wearily. She grabbed George's hands in an earnest plea. "Please don't. I've had this conversation with Finn, with Catie, even with my mom, and you know she and I don't 'chat.' I don't want to rehash it again."
George looked disappointed. "That sucks. I'm finally happy, and I want you to be happy, too. I want the whole world to be happy," he said, his boyish face splitting into an excited grin.
Emma smiled back, glad to think of someone else after too many days stuck in her own head. "You really like this guy, huh?"
George beamed. "I'm crazy about him. I want to have his babies."
Emma laughed.
"No, I'm serious."
"That's wonderful," she said, giving him a hug. "I'm excited for you."
Business at the camera shop was slow (as usual), and the boss was away (also usual), so Emma didn't feel bad about offering George the stool behind the counter and chatting about his weeklong vacation with his new man.
Before long, though, George changed the subject. "So, I've been roped into helping the Chamber of Commerce organize Wellsboro's annual Harvest Festival next month, and I'm hoping you can help me out," he ventured.
Emma arched her brows suspiciously. "What do I know about Wellsboro's harvest?"
"Oh, no, the farmers take care of that side of things. They'll have a farmer's market, and pumpkin carving, and apple picking, and baking contests and all of that, but also, we set up an art fair in the Town Hall and invite all the local artists to display their work. You would be perfect. You could set up a booth to sell prints. You've taken so many gorgeous pictures around town, I just know that people would love your work. You could make a little money, but more than that, it would be a chance for you to get your name out there. Maybe you could line up some portrait work or even a wedding booking or two."
Emma frowned. The idea was intriguing. She'd love to get her work out in the public eye again, and she needed to rebuild her photography business, but she wasn't sure she wanted to do it in Wellsboro. The town hadn't exactly given her a warm reception. Besides, putting on an exhibit, even a small one, required capital she didn't have.
"I don't know," she hemmed. "I'd need to make enough prints to display and sell. I'd need to frame some, or at least mount them somehow, and..."
"You're worrying about money. Don't," George interrupted.
"Easy for you to say," she snapped.
"Love, we've talked about this. I have more money than I need, and last I checked, I can't take it with me."
"No, but if you have babies with Mr. Fix-It, you can leave it to them. I'm not your charity case, George," she reminded him.
He shrugged dismissively. "So pay me back from the proceeds of what you sell."
She snorted. "I wouldn't count on many 'proceeds.' No one knows me here, and those who do don't like me much."
"Your work speaks for itself. People will love it," George insisted confidently. "Please, please do this, Emma. I'm so proud of your art. I think your photos are beautiful. You make our town more picturesque and mysterious and vibrant than I ever knew it was or could be, and I grew up here. You take pictures of things I've walked by every day of my life, and suddenly, it's as if it's brand new, as if you're showing me these things -- these incredibly familiar views -- for the very first time. It's amazing."
Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at this torrent of praise. She hugged George hard, partially to shut him up, but mostly because it had been so very long since anyone had appreciated her artwork.
"Will you do it, then?" he asked hopefully, hugging her back.
Emma nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She knew that in agreeing to do this, in making the investment of the time time and money it would take to prepare an exhibit in hopes of kickstarting her photography business, she had decided to stay. Even though whoever had burned her house was still around. Even though the Coopers wouldn't sell her groceries and Bitchy Barbara wouldn't cut her hair. Even though Finn's ex-fiancee was living in Emma's own house.
Emma was going to stay, and the idea terrified her. And yet, somehow, she also felt lighter, as if the weight of weeks of uncertainty had slipped from her shoulders.
For a moment, she entertained the impulse to call Finn and Catie and tell them that her decision was made, that she'd be staying. She was certain they'd be thrilled... but what if they weren't? She'd upset them both by leaving, and she'd fought with them both since. What if her decision to leave, even if she didn't stay away, had broken something vital in those relationships? Emma's love for the McCaffrey's, and theirs for her, was new and untested. What if this was the test, and she'd already failed it?
Also, she realized, Catie and Finn would probably want her to move back in with them now that she'd made up her mind to stay, and she wasn't ready for that. She still needed space -- to shift through any remaining feelings about Gary and their broken engagement, to process her grief over all she'd lost in Savannah, and to plan how to rebuild financially. -And no matter what they thought, Finn and Catie and Phoebe needed time and space to sort out their history, too.
No, she decided. She wouldn't tell Finn and Catie her decision until after the Harvest Festival. By then, Pheobe's month would be almost over, and Emma would be ready -- she would aim to be ready -- to move home, either back to Aunt Olive's cottage, or in with the McCaffrey's (if they'd have her).
After discussing some of the logistics of the Harvest Festival -- how much exhibit space she should plan on, how many people usually attended, rough estimates of how many prints she should prepare to sell -- Emma felt more energized and excited than she had in a long while. After months of rootlessness, it felt good to have a plan, even if she was all too aware of how easily it could all go off the rails.
*****
Although Emma's doubts persisted, and doubts and second thoughts plagued all of her quiet moments, preparing for the festival meant she had fewer quiet moments to fill. Since she was starting almost from scratch, having lost most of her portfolio in Savannah, she had to get out and take new photos, as well as making prints of some of the best shots she'd taken over the summer. As a result, when she was not at work at the camera shop, she was hiking all over three counties with cameras she'd borrowed from George, and as soon as darkness fell, she spent long hours in George's basement developing prints.
Ludo joined her on short hikes, but he was still recovering from his attack over the summer, so usually he stayed with George. That was easier, since George professed not to mind, and Emma hated having to keep him crated at the motel. She left him with George most overnights even when she herself drove back to the motel, because she hated to keep him in his crate while she went to work in the mornings. She missed the dog's company, but she knew he was better off.
Often, when Emma made the weary, lonely commute back to the motel from George's in the wee small hours, keeping herself awake with the radio blaring and the windows down to blast her face with the crisp, chill wind of early autumn, she thought longingly of Finn's bed. It was so much closer than the motel, so much cozier and more inviting than the sleeping bag waiting on that hard, creaky bed in that smelly little room. She thought nostalgically o the few nights she'd spent in Finn's arms, the heat and love and sense of safety she'd found with him, which she hadn't been able to fully appreciate at the time.
If she managed -- when she managed, she corrected herself with a mix of stubborn hope and sheer determination -- to make herself welcome in his bed again, Emma meant to do a better job of appreciating it, of appreciating him, and what they could have if this gamble worked. She was throwing all of her chips down on this hand -- all of her meager savings, all of her emotional resources were poured into preparing for the Festival. She would rebuild her career, win over the townspeople (or at least enough of them to make a living shooting their weddings and family portraits), and show Finn and Catie that she, too, could be "all in."
But not yet. No matter how tempting the lure of Finn's body and his bed, Emma needed to keep her distance. Finn and Catie didn't understand her need for space, but they'd given it, and she intended to make the most of it. Her reasons for needing distance were as valid as ever, even as she worked toward a plan that would, with luck, help her find her way back into their lives.
She needed to work on herself, her fears and anxieties and insecurities. Losing Gary, her home, her livelihood, and then having everything threatened again by the attack on Aunt Olive's place and on Ludo -- all of that had shaken Emma badly, cracking her confidence and sense of self until she didn't feel whole anymore. She needed to mend that damage before she could offer herself to Finn and Catie, and thank God for George, who had given her a plan and the means to do it.
*****
-27-
Finn was hungry after a long, productive day of writing. He'd finally found his groove with the Cartwright re-write, and today was not the first time this week that he'd looked up from his computer and found the day had gotten away from him. He'd skipped both lunch and his afternoon coffee break, and now at 6:15 he was beyond peckish.
Catie had agreed (somewhat reluctantly) to accompany Phoebe on an overnight trip to Boston, so at least Finn hadn't needed to feel guilty about leaving his daughter to find for herself while he'd been absorbed in his work. He'd been hesitant about the Boston trip, too. Phoebe had spent so little time with Catie, and she had no parenting experience. Would she know what to do in an emergency? What if they argued? Surely Catie wouldn't run away in a strange city, would she?
The scenarios for anxiety were innumerable, and Finn tried to keep his sanity by refusing to think about all the 'what ifs' that could go wrong. He'd agreed to Phoebe's plan because there were strong points in its favor. He wanted Catie and Phoebe to spend more time together, and for all the risks, the enforced isolation of an overnight in a strange city might help foster that relationship better than they'd so far managed here, where Catie found it too easy to run off with friends or hide in her room whenever things got rocky. (Which happened frequently, considering the minefield of Catie's adolescent mood swings and the Phoebe's defensive prickliness engendered by her own insecurities.) Over the course of forty-eight hours alone together in Boston, Finn hoped they might finally learn how to ride out such rough patches.
He also felt like Phoebe deserved some time with Catie. He'd had her for the past thirteen years. The least he could do was let Phoebe have a weekend.
Sure, that imbalance was Phoebe's own fault for leaving the way she had, but if their relationship had ended in a more traditional fashion, Finn would have expected to split custody of Catie. He would have been willing to do so even now, if Phoebe showed any inclination to move back permanently and take her place in Catie's life. He couldn't see himself agreeing to let Phoebe take Catie back to India, though (not that she'd suggested such a thing), and since Phoebe had made clear that she was only back in the State's temporarily, this weekend might be the closest she came to sharing custody. Finn wanted Phoebe to have a sense of what she missed by abdicating her role as Catie's mom. Catie was an incredible kid, and Finn wanted Phoebe to have a chance to figure that out.
More selfishly, Finn was glad to have some time to himself. He'd worked like a demon all day, but even in the midst of his frenzied revisions, somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd been hoping to see Emma tonight. With Catie away, if he could get Emma to agree, they could spend a whole night together. He'd vaguely hoped to take her out somewhere, some place romantic, but by the time he'd looked up from the screen and realized the time, her shift at the camera shop was long since ended.
The camera shop was Finn's best bet for reaching Emma by phone, he'd found. Though it annoyed her to get calls at work, she always answered. When he called the motel, he had to call the office and ask to be transferred to her room, and often the office phone just went to voicemail.
Tonight, he called the motel and was lucky enough to reach a real person in the office, but when the call was transferred to Emma's room, it just rang and rang and rang. He was too hungry to do much else to track Emma down, so he traded his fantasies of a romantic candlelit dinner for two for a quick solo meal at Stub's Barbecue joint, but he'd forgotten to account for that lifeblood of small town living: gossip.
As soon as he arrived, people wanted to talk to him. Joe Evans, the postmaster, was always looking for spoilers and inside information about the Detective Lefebvre series, and that conversation (while waiting in line to order) inspired Stubby, the owner (who was listening behind the counter), to ask about the Cartwright book. Finn didn't really want to talk about either, so he played coy and dodged their questions as politely as possible.
When he made it to his table, a couple of women he knew from church came by to tease him good-naturedly about his lax attendance at Mass, before they warmed up to the topic of true interest: Was it really true that Catie's mother was back in town?
Finn had never learned the trick to deflecting nosy questions, at least not here in Wellsboro where rudeness could spark grudges that could follow you for years. He gritted his teeth and told the ladies that, yes, Phoebe was visiting for the month, and, yes, he was glad to see her, and yes, it was good for Phoebe and Catie to spend time together.
When Clara Solari, Finn's former catechism teacher, asked point-blank if Phoebe's arrival was the reason that "that Wyatt girl" hadn't been around much lately, Finn's store of patience ran out. Narrowing his eyes, he told the old biddy, "You'd have to ask Emma yourself."
Candace Harty, one of the deacon's wives and leader of the Parish Care Council, offered Finn a placating smile. "We're sorry. We just want what's best for you, Finn. A man shouldn't be alone at your age."
"Candy!" Mrs. Solari gasped. "Oh, Finn, she didn't mean that the way it sounded. You're a spring chicken, compared to us old birds."
Mrs. Harty apologized.
Finn shrugged it off, finding it easier to forgive their rudeness as they were walking away. Yet scarcely had he reached for the newspaper he'd brought with him to pass the time while waiting for his order to come up when Mary Alice Cooper stopped by his table.
She greeted him with smalltalk about Catie and her soccer games before mentioning casually, "I couldn't help but overhear Clara commenting that Emma Wyatt hasn't been around much."
Finn suppressed the urge to growl. As politely, but firmly, as possible, he said, "I really would rather not talk about Emma."
Mary Alice's avid expression turned sympathetic. "I hope things didn't end badly between you. Last time we spoke, it was clear you cared about her quite a bit."
"I love her," he said crisply. "Yet I still don't want to talk about her."
"I just hate to see you hurt, Finn. I've seen Catie moping around lately, and I know you must be just as broken up. Then this week, I've seen Emma herself walking around town with her camera, or her car parked at George Hazen's place. I know you said we should be nice to her, but it just sets my teeth on edge - "
"Damn it, Mary Alice, stop!" Finn broke in, angrily. "You don't know as much as you think you do, and it's not your business so I'm not inclined to tell you, but your gossip is tearing down the woman I love. So let me set you straight," he barked, his voice rising. He was aware of conversations falling silent, of everyone nearby hanging on his every word. So much for keeping his private business private.
"Emma and I didn't break up. Phoebe and I are not together. Emma is not stepping out with George Hazen. They're good friends. Also, maybe the reason you've seen her car there is that that's where her mother lives, for God's sake! Now, will you please mind your own damn business? Please?"
Mary Alice's face went pale, and then flushed with embarrassment. She looked around, realized how many witnesses had watched Finn's set down, and crossed her arms over her chest defensively as she huffed, "Well. It's obvious you don't think much of us, Finn McCaffrey, but I hope you realize that the people of this town pay attention to all of these things because we care so much about you."
Finn sighed, sorry to have offended her even though he still resented her meddling. Mary Alice had been a good friend of his mother's, and he knew she was looking out for him, in her own misguided way. Trying to make peace, he said, "I know, Mary Alice. I love this town, and I love how you all look out for me, and I especially love how you look after Catie. -But my personal life is my personal business, and I didn't come in here to face an inquisition about who I'm dating. I'm sorry, but I won't discuss it."
Mary Alice's blue eyes softened. "No, I'm sorry. I know I'm a nosy old goat, Finn. You had every right to put me in my place."
"Finn! Order's ready!" Stubby called out.
"I'll let you get your dinner," Mary Alice said, patting his back as she walked away.
"Good night," he called after her.
When he got up to the counter to pick up his order, he considered asking Stubby to box it up to go, but Stubbs was too busy. Instead, he took his tray back to the table and hoped that his outburst at Mary Alice would discourage anyone else from trying to talk.
He set his newspaper beside his plate and started to eat, head down, reading. Only a few minutes had passed before he heard someone slide onto the bench across the table from him. He looked up in annoyance.
Andrea Greene, dressed in plain clothes and looking harried, held up a hand in a 'stop' gesture. "Relax. I don't want to talk about your girlfriend or your ex-fiancee or any other bit o' honey you may have going. I worked a long, brutal shift and then six hours of overtime on top of it, and all I want is to eat my dinner and go home to sleep. This is the only free seat in the house. Can we just share the table? We don't need to talk. In fact, considering our moods, it's probably better if we don't. Sound good?"
Finn grinned, finding Andrea's blunt honesty refreshing. "Sounds perfect," he agreed, relieved. "Thank you."
Andrea reached across the table and helped herself to a few of his fries, which he was happy to share to tide her over until her order came up. She asked to borrow a section of the paper, and he gladly handed over Sports and Arts and Leisure.
They ate in easy silence, passing sections of the paper across the table in wordless accord. No one else interrupted them, and Finn was so grateful, he leaned across the table to kiss her cheek before he left.
*****
After leaving Stub's, Finn drove by George Hazen's, but Emma's car was not in his driveway now. He called the motel again, but no one answered in the office.
He didn't want to go home. He had a whole, kid-free night and next day stretching before him, and he wasn't ready to abandon the fantasy of spending those rare, responsibility-free hours with his lover. If he couldn't reach her by phone, he'd just drive to the motel to find her.
When he got there, her car was not in the lot, and no one answered when he knocked on the door of Room 6. He listened at the door, felling like a creeper, but he couldn't hear anything. If Ludo was within, he didn't bark.
Finn went back to his truck to wait, but that made him feel even creepier, lying in wait for a woman in the too-dark parking lot of a sketchy motel. He tried to read his paper, but he was too aware of people noticing him, of the suspicious glares of passersby as they walked by his truck. He turned off his dome light in the hopes of making himself more discreet, but that was even worse. Now he was not just waiting, he was lurking in the dark.
Irritation growing, he grabbed one of his ever-present notepads and went back to the door labeled "6".
E- 9:15 pm
I stopped by b/c Catie is w/ Phoebe this weekend -
He crumbled that note in disgust as his lack of subtlety. He might as well write: "Came looking for a booty call." (Never mind how true.)
He tried again.
9:15 pm
E-
I came by and was sorry to miss you.
I'm going out to do some shopping.
Will stop back in an hour(ish)
before I give up.
-Finn
He jammed the note under the door and headed off to the Super Walmart, the only place he knew of where he could by a cellphone in the middle of the night.
An hour later, he pulled into the lot again, and this time he was relieved to see Emma's car parked in front of her room and a thin strip of light visible between the mostly closed curtains of Room 6.
As he approached the door, he felt as anxious as a boy on a first date. Nerves twitched in his stomach, along with sheer, randy excitement. He wasn't sure Emma would be glad to see him -- especially when he gave her the new cellphone, as he was fairly certain she would consider buying her a phone (even a crappy, prepaid one) to be interfering with her 'space." There was a good chance they'd fight over it, though he hoped not.
But if they didn't... If Emma let him in... If she'd missed him the way he missed her... If she let him stay the night...? Finn's body practically hummed with giddy anticipation.
He knocked on the door, and his heart rate kicked up when he heard Ludo bark and Emma tell the dog to hush. A moment later, she pulled the door open enough to peer at him above the safety chain. He offered a sheepish smile, his eyes drinking in the sight of her.
She looked tired and more haggard than he'd have liked, but she was still so beautiful. Emotion clogged his throat, so that the only greeting he could manage was a gravelly 'hi.'
"Hi," she said, and closed the door again. Finn's heart sank, but she was only unlatching the chain. Seconds later, she opened the door again and held it wide enough for him to enter.
"Hi," he said again, as he came inside, pulling her into his arms because he couldn't not. To his relief, she didn't resist, though she did step back when he would have extended their kiss.
"No Catie tonight?" she asked.
"Phoebe took her to Boston for the weekend," he reported, with a hopeful grin. "No Ludo?"
Emma didn't smile back. "He's with George. I have to keep him crated here, and he hates it."
"I'm sorry," Finn apologized, knowing how much she loved that dog. "Maybe I could keep you company?"
She didn't seem angry, which was a relief, but she didn't seem thrilled to see him, either. Instead, she seemed guarded and wary. "We said we weren't going to do this," she reminded him. "No sex. "Finn wanted to slump in disappointment, but that felt like giving up. She'd let him in the door, hadn't she? He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked her up and down, his grin saucy. "Make a liar of me, Em. God, I miss you."
Emma chewed her plump lower lip and looked around the motel room doubtfully. Hope surged: was she considering it? Imagining making love in this dingy, nondescript little hovel? Immediately, Finn imagined it, too: he pictured taking Emma on that ugly little bed with the warn bedspread kicked to the floor. He didn't even want to imagine how many couples had trysted on that bed, and yet even as his rational mind recoiled at the thought, his groin tightened. His body didn't care about style or even sanitation at this point: it just wanted Emma.
He stepped closer, into her space. He wasn't trying to be pushy or intimidating, but God, he wanted her. He traced the top edge of the camisole-style tank top she was wearing, skimming his fingertips just along the upper swell of her breasts, loving her softness, the subtle glow of her creamy skin.
"You're gorgeous," he told her, watching his hand move along her delicate collarbones. "I dream about you. I think about you all the time. Not just this -" His gaze flicked up to meet her eyes as his thumb dared to slip below the territory of her shirt. She was watching him, still wary, still worrying her lower lip. Her eyes were dark and unfathomable. Finn wished he knew how to read her better. He wanted to get to the point in their relationship where he wouldn't have to guess what she was thinking, where he would know her thoughts and expressions better than anyone, better than his own. Where they would finish one another's sentences and be able to communicate just by catching each other's eye. "Not just the sex, though God knows, I think about that more than I should," he confessed, his thumb brazenly stroking her puckered nipple.
She awarded him with a quirk of her lips, and by not moving away.
"I miss you. I want you to read the chapters I've rewritten. I want you there for my afternoon coffee breaks, telling me how your day is going. I want you at the dinner table with Catie and I."
"Because I cook better than you do," she said, and now, finally, he could see amusement in her eyes. "Because you like that I bring your afternoon coffee, and I tell you how to fix your book. Tell me, Hot Stuff, what can you do for me?"
Finn gasped as she reached out and boldly set her palm on the bulge at the front of his jeans.
"Mmm, promising," she purred, her fingers exploring as his blood rushed south to greet her touch.
He managed only a choked moan of gratitude before diving in to take her mouth, hungrily, desperately, needing no more permission. Emma opened to him in welcome, meeting his kiss and pressing her body to his as if she shared the sense that they could not get close enough.
"Bed. Now," he grunted between deep kisses. He sounded like a caveman, but he felt like one, too: uncivilized, unpolished, half wild.
Emma pulled back, breathless and beautifully flushed. "Yes. Yes," she gasped. "But just so we're clear, this is a bad idea."
Finn hoisted her up, rocking his hips into the sweet, hot center of her as she wrapped her legs around him. "No. This is the best idea. Let me prove it," he urged, before catching her lips again. He stumbled blindly forward, seeking the bed.
The room was so small, his knee bumped the bed before he expected to reach it, knocking him off balance so that they both pitched onto the mattress. Springs creaked in protest.
"Just like your bed in the cottage," Finn teased.
Emma smacked his arm, but in her next breath, she grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. They stripped with impatient haste and little grace, pushing and tugging at shoes and fabric even as they kissed and groped at the flesh they'd revealed.
Once again, Finn felt like a randy teenager, too eager to have any patience or finesse. His only saving grace was that Emma seemed just as eager. Once they'd undressed, Emma straddled his hips and ran her hands over his bare chest, taking charge -- and once she'd taken the lead, she didn't surrender control. Finn was happy to let her take it, let her take him. With her setting the pace, he didn't have to worry that he was moving too fast or pushing too hard: he just had to keep up, which wasn't a problem.
*****
Afterward, Finn lay sprawled on his back, waiting for his eyes to uncross and his heart rate to slow, and Emma was a limp, boneless, dead weight atop him, still shuddering with aftershocks. As the noise of his pounding pulse slowly receded from his ears, his head filled with words. Praise and wonder and gratitude for the intensity and rightness of their lovemaking. Pleas and arguments and abject begging for Emma to come home.
He didn't trust himself to speak any of this aloud, the former because he feared he'd gush incoherently, the latter because he knew Emma didn't want to hear it. If he argued or begged or reasoned, they'd have the same conversation they'd been having for weeks. Nothing had changed.
This, though -- he pulse-pounding rush of their physical joining, the soul-deep comfort of skin and muscle and bone, the reassurance of being able to feel each other's breath and heartbeat -- this had changed. Emma had let him back into her bed, even if only for one night, and he had to trust that the communion of their bodies would make his pitch more persuasively than any argument he could muster.
So he bit back the words and kept silent. He stroked his fingers through Emma's dark curls, which had been growing longer all summer and which now reached below her chin. He smoothed a palm up and down the ridge of her spine, and another from the curve of her buttocks along her thigh to her knee. He worried she was losing weight -- her bones seemed sharper, closer to the surface of her skin -- but he knew she'd be offended if he mentioned it.
Emma was slowly coming back to herself. She pressed soft kisses across his chest and trailed her arms up his ribs to grip his shoulders. He tangled his hand in her hair and used that grip to urge her to lift her head, and when their gazes met, she was smiling, relaxed, and so beautiful she made his chest ache.
Marry me, he thought, and had to bite his tongue against the urge to ask. This wasn't the moment. She couldn't accept him now, not while she sorted through whatever she'd come here to sort. Yet in that moment, Finn knew the future. Someday soon, he would ask. He'd wait until she was ready, until he could be sure of her, and she could be sure of him. He would wait, but eventually, soon, he would ask, and she would say yes.
His confidence in this premonition made it easier to relax, to quiet the urge to pester her about coming home. She would come back to him. He just had to trust her.
"What?" she asked, noting some change in him, some sense of the words left unsaid.
He shook his head dismissively and kissed her. "I love you."
She frowned warily, starting to pull back already, but when he didn't follow that declaration with anything more demanding, she returned to her easy sprawl against him. "Love you, too," she whispered, nuzzling his neck.
Finn's cock twitched with interest, not quite ready for a second round but open to persuasion. He shifted his hips, trying to give himself more space without dislodging Emma. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea and think he was just a rutting beast, pawing at her insatiably.
Emma hummed and wriggled, pressing into the few centimeters of room he'd just made. "Mmm," she breathed, tonguing his earlobe.
Then, inexplicably shifting gears, she raised her head and squinted at him. "What kind of shopping were you doing so late at night?"
He didn't want to tell her. He meant to give her the phone, but not now. It would only make her angry, since he knew she didn't like it when he spent money on her, or made decisions on her behalf without consulting her. She'd resent this, and it would ruin the moment. Now that she'd asked, though, he had to answer.
Gently, he slipped from beneath her and went to retrieve the shopping bag he'd dropped on the table by the door. He brought ti back to the bed and sat down beside her. He wanted to lay down and take her back into his arms, but he knew there was a good chance she'd send him packing as soon as he opened the bag.
Emma watched, the skin between her eyebrows creased with curiosity.
"Hear me out before you get mad," he said.
She rolled over and flopped back against the pillows with a disgusted sigh. "You know any conversation that begins with 'Now don't get mad' is pretty much guaranteed to make people mad, right?"
"I know, but listen. I got you a cell phone. I'm not trying to control you or micromanage your life, but I worry about you here and out and about without a phone. This isn't the safest motel, and you said yourself that one of the reasons you left is that you're not sure who vandalized your house and whether they're still after you. It terrifies me that you might be in trouble and not have a phone. I'm not trying to infringe on your space, but I have to know you can call for help if you need it," he explained earnestly.
He pulled the phone out the bag and handed it to her. Well, thrust it at her, more like, as words kept tumbling forth. He didn't want to give her a chance to argue, so he just kept talking. "It's the cheapest one they had, a prepaid one. I wanted to get you a smartphone and add another line to my family plan, but I know that would freak you out, so I didn't. I got you this crappy phone and put fifty bucks on it, so you can at least call and text in emergencies."
Suddenly, Finn realized that Emma didn't look mad. She wasn't arguing. Instead, she looked... embarrassed? Her cheeks flushed and she frowned at the little black flip phone in her hand. He shut up, finally. He was missing something.
"Oh, Finn," she said softly, closing her eyes in dismay.
"What?" he asked nervously. Was this the calm before her temper exploded, or something else? She left the phone on the bed and retrieved her purse from the top of the dresser. She rummaged through it, eventually producing an iPhone in a protective case. She held it up sheepishly.
"Have you had that all along?" he asked, stunned. Had she had a phone all this time, and never given him her number? Had he never thought to ask?
She frowned guiltily and shook her head. "George upgraded his phone last week, and he let me have his old one. He added a line to his plan."
A sudden, hot surge of jealousy left Finn speechless. Unbidden, he recalled Mrs. Cooper's gossipy report that she'd seen Emma's car at George's, and for a split second, reason fled. He got up and started to dress, finding his pants on the floor beside the bed.
No. No. He knew that George and Emma weren't romantically involved, but it hurt that they were so close when Emma had pushed Finn away. He shook his head bitterly and scanned the room for his shirt, keeping his gaze low. He couldn't look at Emma or those fucking phones.
"Finn, don't. I'm sorry," she apologized, reaching for him. She caught his arm, and he held very still, fighting there urge to shake her off.
"I don't get it," he said through gritted teeth. "You won't let me buy you a goddamn cup of coffee, but you let him - " He couldn't even finish the sentence, he was so mad.
Emma sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding his arm by the wrist, but only very lightly. He could have pulled away. He wanted to, but he didn't. "It's different coming from him. It's... You've done so much for me already, Finn. The job this summer - "
"We both know I wasn't doing you a favor," he scoffed.
"You were. I needed a job, and you gave me one. Sure, you started out only planning to humiliate me, but it didn't work out that way," she reminded him. "Then there's the repairs at the house."
"George paid for most of that, too," Finn grumbled, even more angry about it now than he'd been at the time.
"And Ludo's vet bills. And you gave me a place to stay," she continued.
"So?" he asked. "I'm not keeping score, Emma. At least not between you and I. -Between me and George, yeah, and I'm not liking my stats."
Emma stroked his arm placatingly, her lips turning up in a sly smirk. "Baby, I cannot even imagine a sport where you would not beat George handily."
Now he did jerk his arm away. "We're not talking about sports!" he snapped.
Her smile vanished. "It's different with George," she tried to explain. "He's a trust fund baby with no family. He spends more money on toiletries than I do on gas. Money isn't as important to him."
"It's important to you, though. I don't have a trust fund, but I make a good living. I could buy you a fucking phone!"
Emma hugged herself defensively, and the sight of her slender arms wrapped protectively across her still-naked breasts doused his anger a bit. He never wanted her to be afraid of him. He stepped back until his thigh bumped the table by the door, letting her know her know he wasn't a threat.
"I didn't come here to fight," he said grimly. "Just -- It fucking hurts that you won't let me help you, Emma, when he - " He broke off, shook his head, and started again. "I love you, Emma. In my book -- and I know I'm gonna sound like a caveman, but in my book, the makes you mine. My responsibility. Mine to worry about. Mine to protect. But you won't let me. So I told myself you want to be independent, and maybe I don't like it, but I get it. I respect it. And then you turn around and let George-Goddamn-Hazen give you a fucking camera, and an iPhone, and who knows what'll else, and suddenly it feels less like you want to be independent and more like a sign that I should fuck off. It feels like rejection."
Emma's eyes were shiny with tears. "It's not. How can I explain?"
Finn had no idea, but he sat down in the ratty chair at the table to wait while she tried. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears again, and the effect was not nearly so pleasant as it had been after sex.
"It's not only that George has so much money he doesn't care about it. It's all that it's... well, maybe because we're friends and not lovers, so the stakes aren't as high, or maybe because I know what he needs from me, in return for his generosity. George is a social butterfly, but he doesn't actually have many friends here. He's different. He's lonely. Plus, there's more quid pro quo: he lets me use his photography equipment, I teach him how to use it. It's not an equal trade, but it's something. With you, it's... murkier. We're having sex, and so I don't think either of us wants to create the impression that you're buying my favors, you know?"
Finn scowled. "Create that impression with who?"
Emma shrugged.
"When have I ever given the slightest indication that my support is contingent upon sexual favors?" he demanded loudly.
"Shhh! Neighbors!" Emma hissed, glancing at the wall through which they could hear a TV in the room next door.
"When?!" he repeated.
"You haven't, but I don't want to feel... beholden. It's nothing you've said or done, but the sex does change our dynamic. I can't take your money, Finn. I don't like taking George's, either, but I'll pay him back and he'll let me. You won't let me."
Finn raked his fingers through his hair in irritation, but he couldn't really argue with that. The idea of taking her money, even as repayment for a loan, filled him with revulsion. It seemed to reduce everything between them to a business transaction, which was probably why Emma was comfortable accepting his help in the first place.
"Okay," he relented. "I get it. I don't like it, but I get it."
Emma packed the cellphone back into the shopping bag. She carried it over to him, set it on the table, and boldly plopped herself down in his lap. She stroked his hair and petted his shoulders, soothing his fading anger.
"Can I get your number?" Finn asked, still petulant. "Or must I keep leaving messages for you with the front office?"
She smiled sweetly. "You can have my number," she promised. "Delores – in the office – will be disappointed. She loves it when you call. "
He leaned his head on Emma's shoulder, breathing in her sweet, vanilla scent. She stroked her fingers through his hair and he let the anger go with every deep breath. He didn't want to be angry. He'd been missing Emma too long to waste this time in anger.
"Can you stay tonight?" she whispered, kissing his temple.
"Please," he agreed without hesitation.
Emma smiled, took his hand, and led him back to bed.
*****
-28-
Emma woke early, just as the first grey tendrils of dawn began to peep around the edges of the curtains. Finn lay curled at her back, his knees behind hers, his warm breath heating her hair, his arm slung across her waist and his palm curled around her breast. She smiled, content. She had missed this, missed him. She'd slept better in his arms than she had in weeks.
One more week until the Harvest Festival. Not even: today was Sunday, and she had to be ready to set up her display booth on Thursday afternoon or Friday morning. After that, if all went as planned, she'd get enough visibility from the Festival to hopefully win a few clients, and then she'd be back in business. –And waking in Finn's bed would hopefully become her new normal. She shivered with anticipation, and Finn tightened his embrace, nudging his morning excitement against her backside (or maybe she pressed back against him just a little bit).
Finn was awake now, and Emma moaned softly as his sleepy groping became more purposeful. His thumb slid back and forth until her nipples were tight, stiff, and achingly sensitive. His hot mouth pressed kisses along the curve of her shoulder, the tendon in her throat, to the base of her ear, which he sucked between his teeth and nipped gently, making Emma gasp and shiver.
She turned and found his mouth open, waiting for her.
"Good morning," she said.
Finn grunted, insinuating his leg between her thighs and using his grip on her buttocks to pull their bodies flush together. "Now it's a good morning," he said. "Come home with me, love. We can do this every morning."
Soon, she almost said, but stuck to the plan. Finn and Catie would learn about her show, and her decision to stay in Wellsboro, at the Harvest Festival along with everyone else. She had a lot of work to do between now and then, and if she spent the week in Finn's bed, it wouldn't get done... but that didn't mean she wouldn't enjoy this while it lasted. She didn't have to be at the camera shop until almost 10:00, and it couldn't be much later than 6:00 now.
She scraped her fingernails along Finn's ribs, grinning as he jerked away from the ticklish sensation. "Convince me," she said.
His eyes sparked with hope and determination. "Yes, ma'am. Challenge accepted."
He kissed her until she was breathless, and then he ducked under the sheet and kissed his way down, down, down... until she was dizzy and shaking and shuddering at his touch.
They shared a shower and left at the same time, Emma planning to go to work, Finn hoping to get a few hours of writing in before Phoebe and Catie got back from Boston. As soon as they stepped out the door, though, Emma froze.
"Where's my car?"
Finn looked around. The spot right in front of the room, where Emma's care had definitely been the night before, was empty. Still, he scanned the whole lot, hoping they'd just misremembered where she had parked it. Yet, no, the little Volkswagen wasn't there. Finn's truck was right where he'd left it, a few spaces away from the empty space where Emma's car had been
"Did you hear anything?" Emma demanded, her eyes wild. "It was right here! We should have heard it start!"
She stepped into the empty space, a few mere yards from the motel room, and turned around in befuddlement.
Finn shook his head regretfully. "I slept like a rock. I'm sorry." Before dozing off, Finn had been vaguely aware of a lot of unfamiliar noises: cars coming and going from the lot; traffic on the street, which was far busier than his neighborhood; televisions from neighboring rooms; voices of guests walking by outside the room. Eventually, though, he'd been able to shut out all of that and fall asleep, and he'd slept hard.
Emma stomped her foot and cursed. "This can't be happening to me." She looked up at the sky and yelled, "Have I not met my quota of shit luck yet, Lord?!"
Finn winced at the blasphemy, but he couldn't argue. He felt cold all over with fear. A crime had happened only feet from where they slept, and the woman he lived was clearly the target of someone who wanted to hurt her. When her house had been burned, he'd told himself that it might be random, the work of teen vandals or someone from the nearby county jail. Now he could tell he'd been deluding himself. Someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail through her window while she should have been sleeping, nearly killed her dog, and wrote "BITCH" in huge block letters across her porch. How could he have imagined that that might not be personal?
Now that someone had stolen her car, Finn's brain was so busy making connections of the information he'd ignored that he felt like his head should be buzzing. These attacks were targeted, and the person responsible knew where Emma slept, even here in this dingy, hole-in-the-wall motel. She wasn't safe.
Worse yet, though, was the knowledge that it wouldn't take much to scare her away for good. She'd already fled her home, Wellsboro, her mother, and whatever gossamer ties bound her to Finn and Catie. Now that her stalker had found her here, Finn feared Emma's instinct would be to run. What would stop her from fleeing the area entirely? Certainly not her crappy job at the camera store.
He put his arms around her and hugged her tightly, so afraid that she would disappear. She squeezed his shoulders for the briefest span of heartbeats, and then she pushed him away.
"I can't," she said, shaking her head. She was too pale, yet her eyes were clear and her voice was steady. "If I lean on you, I'll fall apart, and I don't have time for this shit."
She sounded strong and determined, but determined to what? Was she planning her escape even now?
"What can I do?" he asked, hating that he felt so helpless.
"Call the cops," she suggested, pulling her own phone out of her purse. "I need to call George."
Finn frowned. Jealousy flared anew. Now was obviously not the time to rekindle last night's argument, but why the fuck should George be her first call?! Shouldn't she call the cops? Or the motel office, to see if anyone had seen anything? Or her boss, to explain that she'd be late — or out — of work today?
He watched as she held her phone to her ear, but when she noticed him standing there, she snapped, "Cops, Finn! 9-1-1!"
He pursed his lips in irritation, but pulled his own phone from his pocket and dialed.
George must have answered, because Finn heard Emma launch into conversation a second before the dispatcher said, "9-1-1, where is your emergency?" Then, because of road noise and a patchy cell signal, Finn had to devote his entire attention to his own conversation.
By the time he got off the phone, Emma had gone back into her hotel room, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw her packing her clothing into a battered suitcase.
"You're leaving," he said, his voice too flat to constitute a question.
"George is picking me up as soon as I'm done with the cops."
Finn's temper snapped. "Jesus Christ, Emma! Am I not right here?!"
She glared at him. "Really? You want to have this fight again now? Because I'm a little distracted at the moment."
He sighed heavily, reminding himself that this moment was worse for her than it was for him. He struggled to keep calm. "No," he said slowly. "I don't want to have this fight at all. I'm trying really hard not to be a jealous bastard, but I'm right here. Me, the guy who loves you. The guy who spent last night in your bed. Who, less than an hour ago, was inside you. I'm right here, willing and able and eager to help. Begging to help! Why the fuck are you calling George?!"
So much for reining in his temper.
Emma slammed the drawer she'd just emptied and yanked open the one beneath it. "Because the camera equipment I had in the car was his, and it was expensive shit. Worth more than the car, easily. He's got a right to know it's gone."
"That sucks," Finn said. When she cut her eyes at him again, he elaborated. "It really does, and I'm sorry. -But you said he was coming to pick you up. -And then what, Emma? Do you even have a plan?"
She made a bitter, scoffing, choking sound and whirled to face him. "A plan? I am holding off blind panic by sheer force of will right now, so no, fuck no, I haven't got a plan."
Once again, Finn tried to push aside his own hurt feelings so that he could help Emma. Of course she was panicky, but as long as she didn't have a plan, he had hope. He had to help her find a way forward that didn't require running away.
"Let me help, love," he urged, softening his tone. He reached for her, but she shook her head and shrugged him off.
"Don't hug me. I told you, if I stop, I'll fall apart."
Someone knocked at the door before Finn could answer, and he was relieved to have something to do. He opened the door to a uniformed cop, a young man in his early twenties, with sandy hair and a sunburned face.
"Did you call about a stolen car?" he asked.
Finn held the door wide. "Yeah. I'm Finn McCaffrey. I called, but it's my girlfriend's car. This is Emma Wyatt."
Emma left her packing to come forward. She told the officer, "I parked right out front." From the door, she pointed to the empty spot. "It was there at 10:30 when I let Finn in, and then when we went to leave this morning, it was gone."
"Did you hear anything?" The cop, whose name tag read 'Nilsson', asked.
Emma glanced at Finn, and her cheeks flushed. "We were pretty ... absorbed," she admitted, with a fleeting, tiny smile.
Finn bit the inside of his lip against the urge to beam, as hope and pride surged within him. He told Officer Nilsson, "There's a lot of ambient noise here; traffic and so on. I tried to tune it out."
Nilsson took a small flip pad from his pocket and made notes as he asked Emma about the car: year, make, model, registration, color, identifying bumper stickers or damage. She told him about the camera equipment inside, but he shook his head doubtfully. "If they'd wanted to steal that stuff, why bother taking the car?" he asked.
"Why would anyone want a ten-year-old car with electrical gremlins and almost 200,000 miles on it?" Emma countered.
The officer shrugged. "Opportunity, most likely. Did you leave it unlocked?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "No. I moved here from Savannah, Georgia, which is a nice town but not a place you'd leave thousands of dollars of camera equipment in an unlocked car. I was already in the habit of locking up, but with the summer I've had, I've been even more fanatical about security."
"The summer you've had?" Nilsson echoed, his brows rising with interest.
Emma wrapped her arms around her chest and sighed before explaining about the fires in Savannah and Wellsboro. By the time she finished, Nilsson's eyes were so wide, his brows practically reached his hairline, and Finn was feeling queasy. Listening to Emma lay out the catalogue of recent catastrophes reminded him again of how stupid he'd been to dismiss the attack on her house in Wellsboro as random.
"You reported these incidents to police?" Nilsson asked.
Emma nodded wearily.
"Any leads?"
"Not that I've heard. I know the Savannah mess had to do with my fiance's gambling debt—"
Nilsson's gaze flicked to Finn, who shook his head and said quickly, "Not me!"
"But because I didn't know about Gary's habit, I couldn't tell the authorities anything useful," Emma continued, without interruption. "They had me look through these huge binders of suspects' mugshots, but I couldn't identify anyone."
"What is your fiance's name and date of birth?"
"Ex-fiance," Emma corrected pointedly, before providing the requested information, which Nilsson wrote down in his little pad.
"What about the Wellsboro incident? When was that? Do you think it was the same people?"
She shrugged. "I hope so. Those guys were scary as hell, but I'd rather only have one stalker. -But I don't know. I didn't settle into Wellsboro easily. A lot of people in town don't like me."
"Tell me about that," Nilsson prompted, his pen hovering over the page.
Emma shot Finn a look that said, You want to take this one?
He tried to keep it brief. "My ex-fiancee left town with Emma years ago. People got the wrong idea."
Nilsson frowned. "You both have ex-fiances?"
They nodded.
"But you're together, right?"
Finn guessed where this was headed. "Yes, but our exes wouldn't do this. Phoebe and I split up twelve years ago. She was in India when both fires happened."
"And Gary?" Nilsson asked Emma.
Emma's eyes were wide. "He disappeared the week the house in Savannah got attacked. I'm actually afraid he might be dead." She paled. "You think he might have followed me here, and gotten pissed when he saw I'm with Finn?"
Finn didn't think that was likely, somehow, but then, none of this made sense. Every possibility was just as unlikely, just as sickening to consider: Gary, or thugs from some organized crime bank, or one of his friends and neighbors. There were no good options.
"I think I'd better look into it," Nilsson replied. "Who else? You said people in Wellsboro don't like you. Tell me more."
To Finn's growing horror, Emma recounted a summer's worth of slights and shuns by people he had known his whole life. Finn had known that the Coopers had told her they didn't want her in the store, and that she hadn't been able to find a job in town, but he'd had no idea of the abuse she'd encountered. It made him furious and ashamed of his community. Bitterly, he thought that if this latest attack did end up chasing Emma out of town, maybe he and Catie should go with her.
George arrived in the midst of Emma's seemingly unending recitation of abuse by his community. He shook Finn's hand and caught Emma in a sideways hug as she spoke to the officer, and Finn gritted his teeth as she stayed tucked beneath George's arm and leaned into the embrace when she'd rejected every offer of comfort from Finn.
"And who's this?" Nilsson asked George.
George shook the officer's hand. "George Hazen. I'm a friend of Emma's."
"How do you fit into this story?" Nilsson asked.
Emma answered for George. "I called and asked him to come. The cameras in the car were his."
Nilsson's gaze flicked to Finn, who tried to keep his expression clear of the jealousy that churned in his gut. Unfortunately, Finn had never had much of a poker face. Nilsson made another note, then asked them each for their IDs. He took all three driver's licenses out to his cruiser, explaining that he needed to enter their information into the computer in his car.
When he'd gone, George hugged Emma again, but when his gaze met Finn's, he quickly let go.
"Hey, man. Good to see you here," George said affably.
Finn did not return the sentiment. The best he could manage was a terse half-smile.
George's gaze shifted to Emma and then back to Finn as he picked up on the tension between them. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No. Finn has a green-eyed monster up his ass," Emma said, returning to her packing.
George winced. "Sounds uncomfortable."
"Very," Finn agreed stiffly.
George frowned. He looked at Finn. "You know I'm gay, right?"
Finn's lips pursed in irritation. "Yes. I also know you've seen a lot more of my girlfriend lately than I have."
"Yeah, but we're just friends."
"Even if you're not sleeping together, the fact remains that you're the one she calls when -"
"Finn, if this is your idea of 'helping,' you can leave anytime," Emma said icily. "I don't need anymore bullshit on my plate today."
Chastened, Finn shut his mouth. He closed his eyes and took another calming breath, once again trying to pack away his own ego so that he could be the support Emma needed. With effort, he said, "You're right. I'm sorry. George, thank you for being such a good friend to Em."
"That's all I am to her, Finn," the other man vowed.
Finn nodded and tried to change the subject. "Emma, what do you need? Can I call your insurance company? Help you pack?"
Emma asked him to pack up her bedding, and eager to have a job, Finn stuffed her sleeping bag — still fragrant from their night together under it — into its stuff sack.
"Are you going back to Finn's?" George asked, sounding so genuinely pleased at the prospect that some of Finn's irritation faded.
Emma, having emptied her last drawer, zipped her suitcase with vicious force. "No. Someone is stalking me. I'm not bringing that to either of your doors."
Finn's chest tightened. This was what he'd been afraid of. She'd said she didn't have a plan, but when she'd called for George to pick her up, he'd prayed it meant she intended to stay with him. Finn didn't like it, but as least George was close. Yet now Emma sounded like she planned to leave town entirely, and Finn was terrified that she would.
George's brow creased worriedly. "Where will you go?"
Emma scowled. She looked to Finn, and then at George, and then she crossed her arms defensively and wouldn't look at either of them. "I don't know, okay? It's not like I've got a lot of options. I thought — I don't know, maybe I could sign Aunt Olive's house over to Mom, and -"
"No," Finn interrupted. "Baby, please don't run. I know you're scared, but I will do anything to keep you safe."
George's tone was just as pleading. "You can't give up. You're so close. You've done so much work. The show is in four days."
"What show?" Finn asked.
"Never mind. It's not happening," Emma snapped.
"No! I'll never be able to find someone else this late in the game," George protested.
"Right, George, because this is all about you," she retorted archly.
A gray-haired woman knocked on the open doorframe. She was wearing a Christmas-themed sweatshirt bedecked with snowmen and reindeer, though Halloween was still weeks away. "Emma dear?"
"Hi, Delores," Emma said politely. "I'll be checking out this morning."
The woman looked concerned. "I saw the police car outside. Is everything okay, dear?"
"Someone stole my car."
Delores gasped. "Oh, no! Here?"
"Right outside," she confirmed.
"Did you hear or see anything suspicious?" Finn asked Delores.
The older woman shook her head. "No, but we don't live on site. I closed the office and went home around 9:00. Are you the cop?"
"No, that's Finn, the one you said has 'The Bedroom Voice,'" Emma reported.
Finn coughed in surprise.
Delores gave him an assessing once-over. "Hmmm. Bedroom Face, too. You're a lucky girl, Emma."
Emma rolled her eyes. "Did you miss the part where I said my car was just stolen?" she grumbled.
Delores sighed. "I'm afraid I've got more bad news, hon. Your boss just called the office. He was mad you weren't at the shop. I offered to put the call through here, but he said not to bother, just to tell you..." She grimaced, chagrinned, and then spit out, "Well, you're fired. No easy way to put it. I'm sorry, doll. Sounds like this is not your day."
Finn swore. Another of the tenuous links tying Emma to this area had just been severed. "Em, I'll call him. I'll explain about the car," he offered urgently.
She shook his head. "Don't bother. He's a dick, and I hate the job."
Nilsson came back with their IDs. After introducing himself to Delores, he followed her back to the office to check the footage from the surveillance camera that overlooked part of the parking lot. Before he left, he told Emma he'd call her as soon as he had any news about the car.
As soon as they'd gone, George returned to the conversation that had been interrupted by Delores' arrival. He told Emma, "You can't leave. I'd be heartbroken."
"Me too. Catie three," Finn agreed.
"Once again, boys, it's not about you," Emma retorted sourly.
"Okay," George said. "It's about you. Let's consider. You have spent the summer, and especially this last month, working your tail off to rebuild your life here. You're so close. If you leave, you'll have wasted all that effort with nothing to show for it. Plus, if these yahoos followed you here from Georgia, there's no reason why they wouldn't keep after you.. You can't live like that, always on the run. If nothing else, Emma, you can't afford to live like that. There's no way your mom can buy your house—she's on a fixed income—and if you think Finn or I will give you money so you can abandon us, you're not thinking straight. And don't even get me started on your dog. We've practically got shared custody, now, and there's no way I'm letting you take him on the lam, when you've got no plan and no money for dog treats."
Finn wanted to clap with gratitude, but as soon as he looked at Emma, his grin slid off his face. She was pale and trembling, and her eyes were flooded with the tears she'd been holding off all morning. She stared at George for an awful moment, and then all of the color leached out of her face. She turned and ran for the bathroom.
As a parent, Finn had seen that sudden, white-faced, oh shit look before, and he leapt over Emma's bags to make it to her side seconds after she dashed for the toilet. He held her hair back from her temples as she retched and heaved, as George called out desperate apologies from the other room.
Finn kicked the door shut to spare Emma's dignity. When she finished puking, he helped her to sit down on the floor, leaning heavily against the tub, and then he dampened one of the scratchy whitish-gray washcloths stacked by the sink and knelt to wipe her face.
Emma leaned back against the cool ceramic tub and let him take care of her, but she didn't open her eyes.
He smoothed damp hair back from her temples and kissed her cheek. "You okay? Ready for some water to rinse your mouth?"
"Ugh," she croaked, shaking her head gingerly, eyes still closed. "I wish you hadn't seen that."
"Please," he scoffed. "I've been holding Catie's hair back from the bowl her whole life. Don't worry about it."
She cracked one eyelid and squinted at him. "He's right. I can't go."
"No," he agreed, stroking her hair gently.
"I can't stay, Finn."
"You can," he disagreed. He set his palms lightly on her cheeks, cupping her face until her eyes opened and met his gaze. Then he vowed, "I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I'll install a security system. We'll ask the cops to do driveways. I'll get better locks. Whatever you want."
Emma shook her head. "None of those things will do any good if someone throws a Molotov cocktail through your window."
The very idea was frightening, but Finn couldn't let her see his fear. "I'll get state of the art smoke detectors and put fire ladders in the upstairs bedrooms. We'll get through this, love. You have to trust me."
"How can you even offer? I'm dangerous. You have to take care of Catie!"
"You're not dangerous. I want Catie to know that we take care of the people we love; that we help our friends when they need us. Besides, you know Catie will never forgive me if you leave."
"You'll never forgive me if anything happens to her," Emma said starkly.
"I can keep her safe. I can keep you both safe," he promised, hoping to Christ it was true.
She just shook her head sadly.
Desperately, Finn said, "Stay with George if you'd rather. He probably already has a security system, and if not, I know he'd be just as willing as I am to get one. If Catie is the reason you won't stay with me, then stay with George. Please."
Emma swallowed convulsively, but rather than lurching toward the toilet bowl again, she pitched herself into Finn. She pressed her face against his t-shirt and sobbed.
He wrapped his arms around her prayed he wouldn't have to let go.