Miracle In March (13 page)

A deep longing rose within and she sighed. She'd never allowed herself to consider feeling anything again for him, but now, having told him her secret, she wasn't sure if those rules applied anymore. How on earth would she handle things now? She still couldn't give James any more children, though she wondered if he would realistically want more with the high demands already placed on him. Things had changed since the night she left him, but one thing hadn't. And though she tried to quell the resurfacing attraction and unbreakable connection she felt with him, she couldn't help but hope that there could be a chance for them to be together again. A chance for her to make it up to him.

The door to Jackson's bedroom eased open and James emerged. ‘Oh. Hi. Didn't know you were in here.'

‘Just refilling some glasses. You want one?' She held up the bottle.

‘Nah, I'm good.' He glanced towards the porch outside where Marie had lit some citronella candles to ward off the evening mosquitoes. ‘Has my dad got everything set for Celebrity Head?'

‘Yep. Just waiting on you.' She smiled.

‘If it's too weird for you, they won't be offended if you don't want to play. Don't think you have to stay.'

Emma shook her head. ‘No, no. I want to. Weird is good.' She smiled. ‘Unless it's too weird for you?' She raised her eyebrows and shifted her weight to one foot.

‘No, I'm fine. It's…nice, having you here.' He slipped his hands into his pockets and rose slightly on his toes.

Emma scratched her head. ‘Um, thanks. I guess we should…' she gestured outside.

‘Yep. Let's see if you're really Kate Beckinsale.'

They returned to the porch and took their seats, Martin with a pile of post-it notes and pens in front of him on the table. ‘Rightio. I'll pass these around, and you have to write a celebrity or character's name for the person next to you. I'll start.' He wrote on a note and stuck it to his wife's forehead.

Marilyn Monroe.

Everyone smiled. Marie wrote one for James:

Hugh Jackman.

And then James looked at Emma with an inquisitive look in his eyes. ‘Who shall I make you?' He tapped the pen against his chin. ‘I know.' He covered the post-it as he wrote, then patted it onto her forehead. Emma smiled and glanced upwards, wondering what name he had given her. At least it hadn't resulted in an eruption of laughter; everyone seemed keen to keep poker faces so as to not give anything away.

Emma eyed Lizzie with a smile, then wrote the first name that came to mind.

Kate Beckinsale.

She hoped it wouldn't be too obvious.

‘Ha!' André said, then covered his mouth.

‘Oh no, what hideous creature have you made me?' she teased.

‘Not hideous at all,' said James, and Emma wondered if he generally liked the actress or if he was alluding to Emma looking like her, and therefore giving her a compliment.

‘Shh! No hints!' Marie waved her hand over the table.

Lizzie wrote Steve Carell on André's post-it, and André wrote Hannibal Lector on Martin's. Emma assumed that they must have a good father and son-in-law relationship for him to get away with that one.

‘I think our guest should start,' said Marie. ‘Emma, I take it you know how this works?'

She nodded. ‘Okay. Am I female?'

‘Yes,' they all said.

‘Am I an actress?'

‘Um, not exactly,' James said. ‘No. Officially, no.'

Damn.

‘My turn,' said Lizzie. ‘Am I female?'

‘Yes.'

‘Am I an actress?'

‘Yes.'

‘Am I hot?'

‘I can't answer that, you're my sister.' James chuckled.

‘Yes you are,
ma cherie
.' André leaned in for a kiss.

‘So I am?' Heads nodded. ‘Right. Am I blonde?'

‘Hold it right there!' James shot up and dashed inside, then returned a moment later with Jackson's Sound Machine. He closed the door to the cabin to reduce any noise, then pressed the
ba-bow
game show sound which indicated an incorrect answer.

Emma laughed. Boys and their toys. Her ex-students would have loved that machine, though she was sure they'd take it upon themselves to give the rude sounds a workout.

‘Ha, I take it I'm not blonde?' Lizzie twirled her hand towards her husband to pass the game on.

‘See, I knew you'd have fun, James,' said his father. He shrugged, then pressed the laughter button. It was good to see James enjoying himself after all she'd put him through and the angst of the first few days.

‘Am I female?' asked André in a high-pitched voice.

‘No.'

‘Glad to have that confirmed. Your turn, Martin.'

‘Am I male?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Am I talented in what I do?' He raised his eyebrows.

Emma exchanged glances with the family, Marie scrunching up her face. ‘Some would say so,' Marie said. ‘I guess you could be considered a good cook!'

‘Oh. Am I a celebrity chef?'

Laughter filled the air, and not from the Sound Machine.

Hannibal Lector's Cooking Show — giving you a hand in the kitchen…

‘Well, am I?'

‘Um, that would be a big fat…' James said, then pressed the
ba-bow
button.

‘I'm confused.' Martin scratched his head, and Marie patted his back in pity.

After Marie asked if she was female and an actress, the obvious first questions, she asked if she was still alive.

‘Sadly, no.' said Martin.

‘Trust you to give me a dead person!' She whacked him on the arm.

‘Finally, my turn.' James rubbed his hands together and asked the usual first questions, then asked if he was hot.

‘Smokin',' said Lizzie. ‘But it's weird saying that to my brother.'

Weird or not, it was true. In both cases.

‘Am I American?'

Emma took hold of the Sound Machine and pressed the incorrect button.

‘Bugger.' He snatched the machine back from her and gave her a teasing look. ‘Let's see how long your reign is, Em.' His relaxed expression became stiff, and Emma's mind went blank.
Em.
He hadn't called her that since…since the good old days. By the look on his face he had realised the same thing. It was as though the hurt and pain from the past five years had evaporated and they were back in old times, but with a fresh perspective.

‘Um, let's see,' she began. ‘If I'm not an actress, then am I a character?'

James pressed the clapping button.

Character, character…it had to be someone well known. Someone James would know that I know…

‘Am I a young character?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

She had a thought. A memory. She could be wrong, but…

‘Am I Hermione Granger?'

‘How the hell?' Lizzie exclaimed.

James pressed the applause button again and everyone added their own real applause. ‘Nice work.'

‘How did you get that so soon?' asked Martin.

Emma had wondered whether to keep digging with questions first, but the memory of when she watched the first Harry Potter movie with James when it was on television gave her confidence.
She had said to him that night, ‘If I could be a fictional character, I would be Hermione Grainger.'

‘Why?' he'd asked.

‘So I could put a spell on you.'

‘You already have,' he'd said, before leaning close to her and planting a delicious kiss on her lips.

‘Just a hunch,' Emma replied to Martin's question. She stole a glance at James, whose familiar look in his eyes told her he remembered that night too.

‘So, game is over, yes?' asked André.

‘No,' said Martin. ‘Emma may have won but we still need to ascertain second and third place.'

‘Okay then, let's see if I can guess which hot actress I am.' Lizzie rubbed her hands together.

‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom?' Emma asked James, gesturing behind her.

‘Technically it's yours,' he replied. ‘Go ahead.'

She stood and left them to discover their temporary identities, and tiptoed past Jackson's room to the bathroom, though James had said he didn't wake as easily as he used to. She pushed open the bathroom door and as she stepped inside, her gaze focused on something on the floor. A smile eased onto her face as a warm, satisfied sensation embraced her from within.

On the bathroom floor was a plastic tray filled with sand.

James had taken action on her suggestion to help Jackson get used to the feeling of sand underfoot, even though he'd told her off for offering such advice. Stubborn sweetheart.

She peered outside the bathroom door for a moment and watched him from behind as he played the game with his family. He pressed the Sound Machine at his sister who, like Marie had done to her husband, whacked him on the arm. Emma grinned. Ridiculous games and mild violence — signs of a happy family.

The feelings she'd tried to quell earlier rose to the surface, and she recognised them for what they were. There was no hiding from it. As much as she was scared to step back into this world with James, she knew what the alternative was like and she no longer wanted it.

Damn it, she still loved him.

James didn't know what he loved more, the refreshing sensation of the salt water enveloping his body as he swam, or the fact that he no longer chose to hold onto the hurt and frustration caused by Emma leaving.

With each stroke through the water, he pushed further towards a greater feeling of relief, but as waves tumbled around him and pushed him backwards, he was reminded of his fears. His doubts. His insecurities.

Emma's already moved on.
Now that she's cancer free she obviously wanted to have some freedom, travel, see the world. Not commit herself to the responsibilities and challenges his life would offer her. She'd had enough of those, and he didn't want to burden her with any more.

Under the water, all sound muffled and he thought that if Jackson would go in the water he would probably like the sensation, the numbness of it. But swimming lessons hadn't proved effective yet. He was hoping he could try them again when they got back home.

Home. Where
was
home, really? Was it an actual place or was it a place
within
him that when he felt like he'd arrived there, would be with him anywhere he went?

Emma was probably finding her home too.

James surfaced and allowed the buoyancy of the waves to lift him effortlessly up and down, ebbing and flowing like the breath that swirled in and out of his lungs. He smiled as he remembered waking to two sale notifications in his inbox. The VIP program had started. Two clients, ready to go. If it were to really take off he would like at least six clients as a minimum to form a solid networking mastermind group to share ideas and successes. The high price meant he would likely not be bombarded with orders, and should it take off more than expected he would have to cut off the numbers at some point, otherwise the coaching sessions would take up too much time.

James dove under the waves again, each burst of energy through the water clearing his mind, calming the never-ending thoughts and worries that swung from one topic to another. He'd never been able to calm his overactive mind, but getting into the water helped somewhat. Even though the movement was constant, water grounded him.

Emma used to ground him too.

But now she had the potential to shake the ground he stood on.

He moved towards the shore until his feet met lumpy sand beneath him, and he walked out of the water.

Speak of the devil. Emma was heading in his direction, but she had her head in a book as she walked.

‘Good book?' he asked when she neared.

She stopped abruptly. ‘Oh. Hi.' She lowered the book and slipped it into her bag, then took off her sunglasses. ‘Not bad. Have you been for a swim?' she asked, then shook her head. ‘Oops, I think the answer is obvious!'

James chuckled. ‘And if my powers of deduction are intact, I'd say you are on your lunchbreak?'

‘Correct.' She smiled. Her eyes lowered for a moment then connected with his again. Was she checking him out? It
had
been a while since they'd seen each other. He would have reached for his towel but it was further up on the beach.

‘Thanks for last night.' She swiped a strand of hair from her face and tucked it beneath her cap.

‘It was fun,' he replied. ‘And I'm sorry about your dad's stroke, I hope he's managing okay.'

She shrugged. ‘Taking it day by day. I'm sorry about your Nonna. I think it's lovely what you're all doing here for her.'

‘Thanks. In hindsight I think it would have been easier arriving on the weekend, spreading her ashes, and then having our week-long break. There's sort of this…uncomfortable anticipation hanging over our heads. Dad's trying to keep busy with activities and overeating to keep his mind off it, I think.'

‘Understandable. How's Jackson coping? Did he know your gran well?'

Emma's concern for his son was admirable. He had barely thought about how it might affect Jackson, as the boy had never gotten close to Bella so James just assumed he wouldn't have felt much difference with her not being around anymore. ‘He's been okay. We visited her, but he's not too good with nursing homes and hospitals so it was always a challenge. I think it's the smell or something, and the narrow corridors. Last time he was there he had a meltdown, so I had to alternate visits to Nonna with my parents so one of them could be with Jax.'

A thin crease formed in Emma's forehead. ‘There must be so much you have to think of on a daily basis, to help him.'

James nodded, scratched his head. ‘Oh, and, thanks for the suggestion of the sand tray. It occurred to me after you left that you probably saw it in the bathroom last night.' His cheeks warmed. ‘Sorry I fobbed off the suggestion at first. But it made sense when I'd had a chance to think, so —'