Engaging emma, p.16
Engaging Emma, page 16
Emma bit her lip. “Thanks for your help today. It went faster with you there.”
“I had a good time.”
She nodded, her smile a little shy. Tucker closed her door good and tight and waved as she pulled away. He watched until she disappeared down the hill.
That night he was in bed by nine o’clock. He was so exhausted that he forgot to check in with his grandmother, instead falling quickly and deeply asleep.
The house was unusually still the next morning as he made his way downstairs.
“Gran?” he called. His grandmother was an early riser, but she didn’t answer. “Gran?” he called again.
No answer. Tucker searched the house. Gran’s bed was still made. It was only seven thirty. Where could she be?
Tucker went into the kitchen, searching for his phone to call her. He’d been so tired when he came in last night, he could have left it anywhere. Then he heard it ringing. In the pantry. He’d grabbed a bag of chips on his way up to his room last night, he must have—yep. There it was on the shelf next to a jar of Skippy. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Tucker? Tucker Madsen? You’d better get over here right away.”
“I’m sorry. Who is this?”
The caller, a woman, made an impatient noise. “It’s Earlene Jackson. Miss Lily isn’t doing so great—”
“I’m fine!” Hearing his grandmother’s voice in the background made Tucker relax a little.
“Oh no, you’re not! Just sit down, and—” He heard bits of muffled conversation as he grabbed his keys from the counter.
“Text me the address,” he said, already on his way out the door.
Five minutes later Tucker pulled up in front of a charming cottage-style home three blocks east of Main Street. It was a pretty little house painted pale yellow with gray trim, dormer windows, and a stone chimney peeking over the roof. The brick walkway let to an arched entry where a smiling plastic Santa was tacked to the front door. He’d just raised his hand to knock when the door swung open and Early Jackson pulled him inside. She was dressed in a yellow satin robe covered in black cranes, her head wrapped in a towel.
“She’s asleep again,” she whispered. “On the couch in there. Stubborn old mule. She wouldn’t let me call you last night. Go on in. I’m just going to run upstairs and change.”
Tucker took a hesitant step into the room. Early’s house was . . . lovely. When he stepped inside, he wasn’t sure what he’d find. Maybe a lot of cats because Early was a little out there. So yeah. This was unexpected. Beautiful crown molding and built-in bookcases. An arched window reached floor to ceiling, framing Early’s Christmas tree, which was decorated with glass snowflakes and silver tinsel. Gran was dozing on an overstuffed couch flanked by coordinating armchairs. There was a baby grand tucked into the corner, its closed lid covered with dozens of photos.
“You look surprised.” Early’s quiet voice came from behind him. “What did you expect? A house full of birds? Or, worse, cats?”
He gave a short laugh and walked over to the piano, a photo in a simple black frame catching his eye. He recognized a very young Early with feathered hair and tanned skin. She was standing in front of a young man in a tux who had his arms wrapped around her from behind. Tucker blinked. The young man was his dad.
“He was my date to the prom that year,” Early said.
Tucker picked up the picture to take a closer look.
“Kinda shook things up around here. I was two years older than your dad. He was a football player; I lettered in art. We were an unlikely couple, but what can I say? He was a babe.”
“You dated my dad?”
“You didn’t know?”
This was weird.
“I had no idea. Wow.” He turned to Early, who was now dressed in a collared dress and crinoline that swished as she sat on the piano bench.
“I figured as much. We women tend to be more sentimental about first love than men are,” she said.
Tucker had to ask. “So is that the reason you dress like this?” He didn’t mean to be rude but gestured toward the crinoline anyway. “Is it because my dad broke your heart?”
“What? Oh my heavens, no! Don’t misunderstand me. I loved your daddy with all the fervor of an eighteen-year-old girl. We were together for almost two years. It broke my heart when I left for college—thought I’d never love another man. But I did.” She took another picture from the piano and handed it to him. In this photo Early, wearing a loose-fitting white dress and a wreath of flowers in her hair, stood next to a guy in a tux. Her wedding picture, he guessed. “I was married to Michael for nearly twenty years.” A faraway look came into her eyes. She was silent until Tucker cleared his throat. “Hmm?” she said. “Oh yes. I dress this way because it makes me happy. Shakes things up a bit too.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but not much happens around here.”
Tucker felt the start of a smile.
“You two done?” Gran flung back the afghan that covered her and sat up on the couch.
“Am I done with Early? Yes. With you? Not even close. Want to explain why you’re sleeping so much again?” Tucker crossed the room to his grandmother and laid a hand on her forehead. No fever, but she looked exhausted.
“I’m old! Old people sleep. Not that big a mystery. Help me up.” She grabbed his hands.
Tucker looked back at Early, who stood with her arms folded across her chest, her arched eyebrow aimed at Gran. “Lily, I think you should—”
“Early,” Gran interrupted, “thanks for the bed and the company. Hope I didn’t put you out,” she said.
Early just stared, and Tucker looked between the two women.
Early was the first to break. “Fine,” she said, looking up at Tucker. “I mean, it’s all fine. Fine and dandy. Nothing to worry about. Happy to help.” She gave a stiff smile and followed them to the door. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“Thanks again, dear.” His grandmother leaned over and kissed Early on the cheek before heading out to the car, leaving Tucker to follow.
“Good luck with her,” Early whispered to him.
“Thanks, I’ll need it.”
When Tucker got in the car and closed his door, he asked, “Are you trying to kill me?” as he started the engine.
Gran rubbed her forehead, eyes closed. “Not lately. Why?”
He backed out of Early’s driveway. “I was scared when I saw you hadn’t come home last night. Why didn’t you call?”
“Just trying to keep you on your toes,” she replied sleepily.
They rode in silence back to the Big House. Tucker helped his grandmother into a chair and turned on the TV. He pulled out his phone and googled area doctors as he went into the kitchen.
He stopped short at a scene of perfect domesticity—if you didn’t take into account the flour spilled across the counter, the overturned container of salt, and the haphazard stack of cake pans in the sink.
In the middle of this mess stood Emma, hair piled high on her head, one rebellious strand falling like a ribbon across her face. She kept swatting it away as she finished frosting an enormous chocolate cake. He’d never seen a cake stacked so high. Just looking at it had his mouth watering.
She hadn’t noticed him yet; she was too busy turning the cake on a pedestal, trying to even out the frosting until the sides were smooth. The room was warm with the scent of chocolate and sugar. He took a step closer, and Emma looked up.
“Did you know Early was married to Michael Jackson?” he asked.
Emma paused, spatula poised midair. “Was that before or after he married Priscilla Presley?”
“Elvis was married to Priscilla. Michael Jackson was married to their daughter, Lisa Marie.”
“I’m a little scared that you know that. So is that where you’ve been all day? With Early?” She glanced at him over the top of the cake as she continued to smooth the frosting.
“Yeah. I was picking up Gran. Long story. Guess what else?”
“Early was abducted by aliens as a child, then dropped off in Roswell, New Mexico?”
“Close. She dated my dad in high school.”
“Ah. You saw the picture.”
“You knew!”
“He looks just like you, or I guess you look just like him.”
“They were together for almost two years until she left for college. Dad never said a word. Neither did Gran.”
“Maybe she didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Early was two years older than my dad. It was high school. There’s no way Gran approved of their relationship.”
Emma shrugged and gave the cake a final spin. “Maybe she didn’t. But it’s been—what?—forty plus years since they were together? I’m sure Miss Lily is over it by now.” She set down the spatula and wiped a hand across her forehead, leaving a fresh trail of cocoa powder.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he watched her carefully lift the cake from the stand and slide it into a white baker’s box.
“The bazaar is tomorrow night. These cakes are for the silent auction.”
Tucker smiled. Emma Jane McAllister had a good heart. He moved closer to her. “Am I going to that?” he asked, touching her cheek where a streak of cocoa was smeared.
His grandmother walked in, and Tucker took a step back. “You most certainly are. You’re my date,” Gran said.
“Did you know about Dad and Early?”
“Of course I knew. I took the picture. I wasn’t worried.”
“Yeah, but Early said—”
“First love always seems to leave a mark, doesn’t it?” She shot him a look, nodding toward Emma. “Early got over it, and so did your father. If it had been meant to be, they would have found each other again.” Another look, this time leveled at Emma, who quickly ducked her head and started on the next cake.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tucker was almost ready for the bazaar. He’d just buttoned his shirt when his phone rang.
“Guess where I am,” Meredith whispered before he had a chance to say hello. “Never mind. You’ll never guess. I’m at Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn.”
So she was in New York again. Tucker looked outside. It was dark here, and New York was an hour ahead. “Why are you in a cemetery at night? Did you kill someone?”
“We’re doing the Vanity Fair shoot here. The photographer is doing something with the lighting right now.” Given the supernatural bent of Meredith’s show, a cemetery now seemed a little prosaic.
The photo spread was the cherry on top of the sundae of Meredith’s year. Her client, Dempsey Malone, had been featured in the young Hollywood issue of Vanity Fair magazine several months back. Meredith had been stalking people at the publication ever since, lobbying hard for a feature article for Dempsey.
“It looks like she might get the cover!” He could hear the excitement in her voice.
“That’s great, Mere. Congratulations!”
“I know! So how are things out there?”
“Fine. There’s a benefit at The Barn tonight, raising money for a local park or something. I’m taking my grandmother,” he said.
After their discussion a couple of days ago, Tucker and Meredith had talked a bit more yesterday evening, carefully avoiding the subject of their relationship. Meredith seemed happy with their two-dimensional conversations and didn’t press for any deep discussion about where things stood between them. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who was uneasy about that topic.
“Tell me about the shoot,” he said.
She didn’t have to be asked twice. It turned out Meredith’s contact at Vanity Fair was a huge fan of the show, but the photographer had never heard of Dempsey. Meredith didn’t feel the man was properly deferential toward such a huge talent. Tucker walked the room while she detailed the clothes, makeup, and lighting, his silence punctuated by the occasional, “Uh-huh.”
He happened by the window and saw Emma heading toward her truck, arms stacked with two of the cake boxes. He watched her sidle closer and make a grab for the door handle. She missed. She tried to see around the boxes, feeling for the handle again. Maybe he should go down and—
“Isn’t that amazing?” Meredith asked.
“Sorry. What was that?”
“Leonard Bernstein is buried here. Did you know that?”
“Uh, no.” Tucker tugged the shutters open as Emma finally got the door open.
“All kinds of famous people are, and . . .” Meredith launched into a monologue on New York history. Tucker grinned as he watched Emma struggle, wedging her body against the truck door and jamming her foot against the runner. She was parked on a slight incline, and it looked like gravity was giving her a hard time. She finally got the cakes loaded into the cab of the truck when she suddenly glanced up at his window.
Busted. Tucker felt a flash of adrenaline. Might as well own up to it. He waved. Emma shook her head, smiled, and waved back before getting into her truck and driving away.
“Tucker,” Meredith’s voice interrupted. “Are you tired? You sound like you’re miles away.”
“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s been a crazy week. I’ll let you go. I know you’re busy.”
“Okay. I should get back to Dempsey.” She paused, then said, “I’ll call you sometime. We should talk about . . . things.”
Tucker paused. “We should.”
“I miss you,” Meredith said.
“Oh yeah,” Tucker said. “You too.”
* * *
They drove the long way around to The Barn because Gran didn’t think she could make the walk down the hill no matter how clear the path was. When they pulled into the parking lot, it was packed. People streamed toward the open door of The Barn, music and laughter inviting them inside, where it was light and warm.
“This will be good for business,” Gran said. The eaves glowed bright with Christmas lights. Tucker helped her out of the car, and she put her arm through his. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered as they stepped inside.
Swags of white lights and pine boughs hung between the rafters, wreaths were tacked to the high windows, and red ribbon twirled down wooden support posts. The serving tables were piled high with every kind of treat imaginable: cakes, cookies, pies. A kid stood on tiptoe and reached into a tall glass jar filled with peppermint candy while the band played Christmas songs over shouts of laughter and friends calling to each other.
Tucker waded through the crowd. His hand was shaken and his back slapped more times than he could count. He craned his neck above the crowd and looked for Emma. He finally spied her over by the bandstand in deep conversation with Hopper Spickett. Felt another ping of jealousy. He had no right to, but it was there just the same. He started that way when his grandmother tugged on his arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw the look on her face.
“Steer me the other way,” she muttered. “Here comes Myrna Hudson. She always talks to me as if I’m deaf and dumb.”
“Why would she do that?” Tucker asked, moving her toward the tables.
Gran’s grin tilted sideways. “Poor dear’s about as entertaining as a stack of phone books. My mind tends to wander when she starts going on and on about that granddaughter of hers over in Bolivar. One day I ran into her at Grimm’s, and she got her motor running, and I honestly thought the ice cream would melt before she stopped yakking. I was off in the ether when she asked me a question. When I didn’t answer, she assumed I hadn’t heard her, so she asked again, only ten times louder than before. Snapped me right back to the frozen-food aisle. Ever since then she comes at me like she’s speaking through a bullhorn.”
Tucker was holding a chair for his grandmother when a bony finger jabbed his shoulder. He turned and looked down into the pinched face of an honest-to-goodness blue-haired woman. Gran gave his foot a swift kick.
“You must be Miss Lily’s grandson. Everyone is talking about you! Dolly Bricknell says you’re taking over for Doc Braithwaite. What great news! I’m Myrna Hudson. I’m on the library board with Miss Lily,” she said with a nod.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hudson.”
The woman leaned across him and shouted, “So good to see you tonight, Miss Lily! You look fine!” His grandmother’s eyes went as wide as quarters.
Tucker stepped between them. “We’re glad to be here,” he said.
The blue-haired lady patted his arm. “You know, my granddaughter over in Bolivar has the worst case of impetigo you’ve ever seen. Darling girl. Just imagine what a handsome doctor like you could do with a challenge like that!”
“Hey, Myrna.” Emma appeared out of nowhere. “Come over to the auction table. I want to show you how we displayed your pies.” Like an angel sent from above, she dragged the old woman away with flattering words about the lightness of her pastry.
“Thank heaven for Emma Jane,” his grandmother said, watching them go.
The band eased into a bluesy version of “White Christmas,” and Tucker held out his hand to Gran. “Wanna dance?”
* * *
Emma left Myrna rearranging the display of her baked goods, shaking her head, and saying, “Oh, this is all wrong. I’ll take care of it. You’ve obviously got your hands full.”
Emma was grateful for the exit. She wandered over to the children’s Christmas tree, a sparkly aluminum contraption Early Jackson had donated for the party. Kids swarmed a low table, busily coloring paper ornaments to hang on the silver branches. Nancy Welles grabbed Emma’s arm and told her how pretty everything looked. The mayor flashed a smile at her from across the room and gave her a thumbs-up. Hopper caught her eye and raised a glass, and she smiled and nodded. He’d stopped her earlier, asking her to save him a dance.
