All A Heart Needs B&N (3 page)

He drew in a breath, feeling his body harden at the memory. He wanted Jessica. But he couldn't have her. She was not for him.

A knock came at his door, followed by his father's booming voice. "Sean?"

He groaned in dismay. He'd never wanted to move back home, and even though the garage studio was detached from the main house, it was still too close to his parents for his taste. But he'd sublet his condo when he'd gone on tour and that lease wouldn't run out for another three weeks. So, he'd accepted his mother's offer to stay here. He had a feeling he was about to regret that decision.

Another impatient knock came at the door, which didn't surprise him at all. Jack Callaway was a determined man with strong opinions, and he usually got what he wanted when he wanted it. Success was always his goal and failure was never an option. Jack had high expectations for himself and everyone in his family, and Sean had never managed to meet those expectations. He and his father had been butting heads since he was a kid. He had a feeling that would never change.

Rolling out of bed, he stumbled to the door, knowing Jack would no doubt have something to say about the fact that it was almost noon, and he was just getting out of bed. He might be twenty-eight years old, but his father had yet to see him as anything but the kid who'd always disappointed him.

He opened the door, his gaze narrowing on the sight of his father dressed in a black suit. "Where are you going?"

"The same place you are." Jack gave his wrinkled t-shirt and sweats a look of disapproval. "Why aren't you dressed? We're leaving in ten minutes."

"What are you talking about?" He rubbed his temple again, the pain in his head getting worse now that he was talking to his dad.

"Your cousin Camille's wedding. It starts in an hour."

He vaguely remembered his mother mentioning something about a wedding, but he hadn't realized it was today or that he was supposed to go. "I thought just the two of you were going."

"When have we ever had a family wedding where everyone wasn't invited? Not that you would know, since you rarely show up to anything."

He had no reply to that. It was the truth.

"Well, are you coming or not?" Jack demanded.

"No, I can't come. I have to work today."

Irritation flashed through his father's eyes. "Can you get out of it? It would make your mother happy if you'd come with us."

"I can't imagine that she'll miss me. There will be dozens of Callaways in attendance."

"That's what you always think, but it's not true, Sean. When you're not there, you are missed. You're part of this family whether you want to be or not. You take family for granted. Someday you may regret that." Jack paused. "Since you're not going to the wedding, you can do your mother a favor."

"What's that?"

"She promised to send a stepladder over to Jessica. She's moving into the Emery's old house today. You can take the one in the backyard."

His stomach turned over. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he could hardly turn down such a simple request. "Fine. Is that it?"

His father stared back at him and then shrugged. "That's it."

Sean closed the door and let out a sigh, bothered not only by the conversation with his father but also by yet another mention of the Emery house. His feelings were completely irrational, but that didn't make them any easier to shake.

Another knock came at his door, and he jumped. Damn he was on edge.

It was his stepmother, Lynda, this time. Although stepmother wasn't really a label that made any sense, since Lynda was the only mother he could remember. His biological mother had died when he was a toddler.

Lynda, an attractive blonde with blue eyes and a warm, loving smile, wore a short maroon dress with black heels. In her hands she held a plastic container.

"Jack said you're not going with us to the wedding," she said.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was today, and I have some things to do."

"Well, I'm disappointed, and I think Camille will be as well, but I'll give her your best. Your dad says you'll take the ladder over to Jessica. I want you to take this, too. I made Jessica some sandwiches. She's going to be too busy unpacking to worry about food. Keep it in the fridge until you go."

He took the container out of his mom's hands with a sinking heart. "All right. So is anyone else around today? Shayla or Colton?" he asked, referring to his two youngest siblings, who still lived at home. Maybe once his parents left, he could rope one of them into going over to the Emery house.

"Shayla is coming to the wedding with us, and Colton is working. Give my best to Jessica."

"Yeah, all right," he said, knowing he was out of luck.

After his mother left, he put the food into the refrigerator, then headed for a shower.

A half hour later he was headed down the street with the sandwiches and the ladder. As he traced the steps of his childhood, he felt like he was going back in time. While he'd visited his parents' house over the years, those visits had usually been quick hits, and he'd never taken any time to walk around the old neighborhood. Now he was assailed with memories.

All the houses in this part of the city had yards, an unusual sight in San Francisco, but the blocks around his parents' house felt like a suburban slice in an urban environment. He and his brothers and sisters had taken full advantage of the wide streets and grassy lawns, playing baseball, football, kickball and hide-and-seek with the other neighborhood kids. They'd played late into the night, especially on long summer evenings.

Good times, he thought, feeling a slight pang for the past. But as he turned the corner, the wistful longing turned into a racing pulse of fear. There in the middle of the block was the Emery house.

It was a two-story structure with three wide brick steps leading up to the front door. After the fire devastated the garage and first floor, the house has been remodeled. Despite the cosmetic changes, it still felt like Stacy's house. He could almost see her sitting on the steps, tossing a baseball into a mitt while she waited for him, or she might have been on her skateboard speeding along the sidewalk, or turning cartwheels on the front lawn.

The memories made his gut clench, and as he drew closer, his steps slowed. He couldn't remember when he'd last been on this street. He'd avoided it after the fire. Even when he'd gotten his driver's license he'd managed to never go down the block. A desperate desire to flee grabbed hold, and it was all he could do not to run.

He reminded himself that he wasn't eight years old anymore, and the fire was ancient history. That drove him another fifteen yards down the sidewalk. He paused under the tall, shady trees across the street from the house. It was where he'd been standing when Stacy had come running out of the fire.

His heart thumped against his chest. He had the shocking thought that he wasn't going to be able to do this. He wasn't going to be able to walk across the street and go inside that house.

What the hell was wrong with him?

The front door opened, and Jessica came out. She wore faded jeans and a clingy knit top, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She set a potted plant on the top step. As she straightened, she saw him, and instantly stiffened. After a second, she gave him a wary wave. She was probably wondering why he was just standing there, staring at her house.

Knowing he couldn't take off now, he forced himself to cross the street, thinking it would have been a lot simpler to just go to his cousin's wedding.

"I didn't expect to see you, Sean," she said as he reached the bottom step.

"My mother said you needed a ladder."

"I do, but I'm sorry she bothered you with it."

"It's no big deal. She also sent sandwiches."

Jessica came down the steps and took the container. "That was nice of her."

"She likes to feed people."

An awkward silence fell between them.

"So you're moved in?" he asked.

"The house came mostly furnished, but I had our bedroom sets delivered and some other personal items. I still have to unpack clothes, linens, all that stuff." She cleared her throat as she met his gaze. "Sean, I feel like I should apologize."

"Why? You can move into any house you want to."

"I'm not talking about the house. I shouldn't have kissed you last night. I guess I had a little too much Fireball whiskey."

He didn't know what to say. He couldn't remember a time when a woman had apologized for kissing him. Was he now supposed to say he was sorry for kissing her back?

He wasn't at all sorry. He'd thought about kissing her for months. And the fact that she'd taken the decision out of his hands was just fine with him. But the kiss was over. And it shouldn't—make that
couldn't
—happen again.

"I hadn't been out in a while," Jessica added. "I loved your music so much. I got caught up in the moment."

"Don't worry about it. It's not a big deal."

"Right. No big deal."

They stared at each other for another long minute. Finally, he said, "So what do you need the ladder for?"

"The switch for the trapdoor leading into the attic isn't working, so I need the ladder to reach the latch on the ceiling. I tried a chair but I wasn't tall enough. I need to get into the attic so I can see what Mrs. Emery has stored up there. Then I'll know how much work is ahead of me."

"What are you going to do with all her stuff?"

"First I'm going to organize it, then talk to her about what she wants to keep and what items need to go to charity or in the trash. Apparently, she doesn't have any relatives who can help." She paused as she gave him a long look. "Emma told me you were good friends with the girl who died. I'm sorry about what happened. You must have been devastated."

"It was rough."

"I know what it feels like to lose someone without any warning. It's hard to take it in. You keep thinking it's a mistake."

As Jessica spoke, he could see the lingering pain in her eyes. She'd lost her husband in an accident less than two years ago. But she had it together. Here he was, shaken up over a girl who'd died two decades ago. He needed to get over it. "Where do you want the ladder?" he asked.

"You can leave it out here. I'll take it inside later."

He liked her answer, because it meant he wouldn't have to go into the house, but he knew she was just making things easier for him and harder for herself, and that he didn't like. "I'll bring it in." He hoped he wouldn't regret the impulsive decision.

She gave him a doubtful look. "Really? This house seems to bother you a great deal."

"I can handle it."

"Okay. Then follow me."

After they entered the house, Jessica paused just inside the entry. "I'm going to put the sandwiches in the refrigerator. Then I'll show you where the attic door is."

As she disappeared down the hall, he propped the ladder against the wall and walked into the living room.

Aside from the original fireplace, everything was different. When Stacy had lived here, the room had been filled with dark blue couches and fluffy pillows. There had always been toys or books lying around. There had been a television in the corner with video games and they'd played those for hours on the weekends. But there was no real sign of life in this room now. The furniture was elegant but old and appeared to be very uncomfortable. The cream-colored walls had been painted gray, making the room look dark and unappealing. It might have suited Helen Emery, but it sure didn't look like Jessica.

"Does the house look the same to you?" Jessica asked, coming up next to him.

"The living room sure doesn't. It's kind of drab, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I'm going to get rid of that furniture eventually, but it's going to take some time to sort things out. Are you ready for the upstairs?"

"Lead the way." He grabbed the ladder and followed her up the steps.

As they reached the landing, he saw the door to the master bedroom was open, but the doors going down the hall to the right were closed. Relief ran through him. He wasn't ready to walk into Stacy's bedroom just yet.

"The trapdoor is there." She walked past the closed doors and the bathroom, stopping at the end of the hall. She walked over to the wall switch and flipped it. "See, nothing happens. I need to pull the steps down manually. It looks like there's a latch on the ceiling."

He gazed overhead and saw what she was talking about. He opened the ladder, then climbed up and unhooked the latch. Then he pulled on a cord to lower the collapsible staircase. Those stairs brought another memory into his head. He and Stacy used to go up to the attic to play with all the costumes in her grandmother's chest. He wondered if they were still there.

"I'm going up," Jessica said as he moved the stepladder out of the way.

"I'll go with you."

"Really?"

"Stop asking me that," he grumbled. He'd come this far. He might as well go the rest of the way.

He followed Jessica up the steps. The attic was exactly like he remembered, which wasn't surprising. The fire had been contained to the first floor.

What he was surprised at was how much junk had been crammed into the space. There were steamer trunks, dressers, suitcases, boxes, old furniture, skis and poles, tennis rackets, even a bunch of camping equipment. The only light came from a bulb hanging on a wire overhead, and a small window that looked out over the street.

"Well," Jessica said, planting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. "This is going to be a big job."

He nodded, his attention moving to the easel in the corner. The chalkboard had magnetic letters on it, and Stacy's name was still spelled out across the top. His stomach turned over, and despite his resolve to face his fear, he felt a little sick.

"Sean?" Jessica questioned. "Oh. Her name is still there."

"As if she stopped playing a second ago," he muttered, finally dragging his gaze away from the easel and back to Jessica.

Concern showed in her eyes. "Maybe you should go, Sean. This is obviously hard on you."

"It is hard, because there's something you don't know."