Thin Ice (18 page)

The morning shift had come on at seven and had the new arrivals wel in hand.

Unable to find Augustus, she asked Sarah if she'd seen him, only to be told he'd left half an hour earlier. Emily accepted the news with weary resignation. She hadn't had a chance to ask him for a ride.

She caled a cab, but when the dispatcher told her it would be at least an hour before he could send anyone because, “It's crazy out there, lady,” she decided to wait in the staff lounge, where she could at least prop up her aching feet.

The lounge was empty. Emily dropped onto the couch, stretched out and closed her eyes. A few minutes later she heard the door click open. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids refused to cooperate. “Let me know when it's a quarter to, she mumbled. “I'm cooperate. “Let me know when it's a quarter to, she mumbled. “I'm expecting a cab."

The next thing she knew she was dreaming. A strong pair of arms lifted her against a warm, solid chest. She smeled cinnamon and musk and nestled closer, smiling. It was only when the unmistakable hum of a busy hospital intruded on her fantasy that her eyes fluttered open, then widened in horror.

"Eric! Put me down!"

He chuckled and did so as she started to squirm. “I had a feeling this wouldn't work."

Her cheeks felt on fire, but to her relief the corridor was empty.

“Just what do you think you're doing?” she hissed as she shoved her arms into the coat he'd wrapped around her.

"Taking you home. I heard you needed a ride. Sarah caled and told me you'd gone off duty. I'd slipped across the street for some donuts and coffee in case you had a break."

He smiled and held up a white bag redolent with the yeasty tang of fresh-baked cinnamon rols. Her stomach gurgled as she reached for it.

Ten minutes later she was asleep in the Explorer, oblivious to the crystaline beauty of nature's treacherous handiwork the night before. The sun was warm on her face, the celo music floating through the sound system low and luling. Only when she realized Eric intended to carry her into the house was she able to raly.

"I'd prefer not to be lugged around like a sack of potatoes, thank you,” she said, placing her hand against his chest.

His good-natured laughter folowed her up the stairs as she headed for her bathroom to shower the stench of death from her skin. She emerged marginaly revived to find the house smeling of breakfast.

The tantalizing aroma of ham, eggs, fried potatoes and coffee drew her toward the kitchen where Eric had, once again, wasted no time in making himself at home.

Emily leaned against the doorjamb and studied him as he turned the sizzling ham. He'd shaved, and looked better than a man had a right to puttering around in her kitchen. She'd never have guessed he'd spent a sleepless night in an ER doing Lord knew what while she worked herself to the bone.

"You're spoiling me,” she accused contentedly as he removed the rest of the cinnamon rols from the microwave. The one she'd wolfed down before dozing off had barely dented her hunger.

The warmth in his smile made her think of an entirely different hunger. “That's the general idea. Come, let's get a decent meal in you before you go back to sleep."

As ungrateful as it sounded, Emily would've preferred to skip breakfast and go straight to sleep—with Eric beside her. He had to breakfast and go straight to sleep—with Eric beside her. He had to be as exhausted as she. But Robbie needed to be picked up at nine and then...

She groaned as she remembered her Sunday dinner for Augustus and his family. She'd never have the time or energy to pul it off now.

"What? You don't like scrambled eggs?"

"Scrambled eggs are fine,” she said, easing into her seat as he set a lumberjack-size plateful of food in front of her. “It's dinner I'm worried about.” Briefly, she explained her plans.

"So you let me demolish half your menu last night?” he asked in chagrined disbelief. “Is there any way you can postpone it?"

Emily poured herself a cup of decaf and freshened his. “And disappoint Robbie?” she asked innocently, smiling. She suspected he'd asked the question partialy in hopes of being invited to the rescheduled dinner. “Sorry. He loves these family dinners.

Especialy dessert."

"Which I also destroyed."

"Don't worry. I'l figure something out."

"Why don't you let me pick him up and take him skating this morning while you catch up on your sleep? Afterward, I'l take him out for a pizza, maybe to a movie, then bring him home too stuffed out for a pizza, maybe to a movie, then bring him home too stuffed and exhausted to notice I ate his favorite pie."

"What about your trip?"

"I'l tel them I had an emergency. Catch a later flight."

She shook her head, touched beyond gratitude. “I can't let you do that. Robbie and I aren't your responsibility. Thank you very much for the offer, but we'l manage."

He took her hand across the table. “I want to help."

She looked into his compeling brown eyes, and realized he wanted to do much more than that. He wanted to be part of her life. She no longer had a problem with that, but she didn't want him to take it over.

And he would, if she let him. Not with the self-serving maliciousness that Ryan had, but with a simple generosity that would threaten her hard-won independence al the same. “There's a bakery down the street where I can get another pie. And the green bean casserole is a snap to put together."

"At least let me pick him up from Glen's for you.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he interrupted. “My bags are packed. I'l stil have time to catch my flight."

She didn't want to press the point. Not after last night. She squeezed his hand. “Al right. Thank you."

* * * *

Superwoman, eat your heart out, Emily thought as she surveyed her dining room table set for eight. She'd puled it off after al—with a little help from an absentee friend.

Refusing to let her spirits be dampened by Eric's absence, Emily walked back to the kitchen to toss the salad. The roast and sweet potatoes were done to perfection, the green bean casserole was back on the menu, her light and fluffy biscuits were in the bun warmer, and the wine was chiled and ready to pour.

Al she needed now were her guests.

After breakfast, she'd slept until noon, and awoken to find the house uncommonly quiet. At first she'd thought Eric had sidestepped her refusal to let him abscond with Robbie, but a swift check of his room had yielded one angelic eight-year-old, exhausted from his night of deviltry. A post-it note on his door said,

“Mum's the word, but check the fridge before you do anything else."

In the refrigerator she'd found a brand new lemon meringue pie.

The doorbel rang just as the grandfather clock in the hal chimed three. Emily wiped her hands on her apron and went to greet her surrogate family with a smile. Instead, she met a deliveryman bearing a long, rectangular box. Inside, she found a dozen long-stemmed peach roses.

For once the sight of flowers didn't make her stomach churn with revulsion. This time it filed her heart with a determination that matched her step as she returned to the dining room to ferret out her one and only vase, a never-used gift Anna had given her as a housewarming present.

As she knelt on the floor next to the china cabinet, dusting the exquisite crystal vase with her apron, her mind drifted back to a late summer afternoon three and a half years earlier. She and Anna had been sitting at a card table in the kitchen, watching Robbie play on the backyard swing set as they drank iced tea and waited for Emily's new furniture to arrive.

"I brought you a little something to brighten up your new home,” Anna said, and beamed as she puled an elegantly wrapped box from the shopping bag at her feet.

Emily accepted the rectangular package with both hands, her eyebrows lifting at its weight. “A little something?"

"Open it, open it."

Emily's stomach knotted when she turned back the tissue paper. It was a vase. A incredibly beautiful, incredibly expensive Baccarat vase. The kind that graced nearly every flat surface in Ryan's sprawling ancestral home. The kind she'd sworn never to own, because it would only remind her that hidden beneath the beauty of because it would only remind her that hidden beneath the beauty of her former in-laws’ exquisite estate lay an ugly, ugly secret.

"Oh, Anna. You shouldn't have.” Her voice trembled with the power of the dark memories the vase evoked. “This ... this must have cost you a fortune."

Anna's response was soft and tender. “It was worth every penny.

When I saw it, it reminded me of you. Beautiful and delicate, yet strong enough to take whatever comes your way."

Shocking them both, Emily burst into tears. It was the only time Anna saw Emily cry. In the five years since Anna had opened her front door and unquestioningly agreed to rent her back bedroom to a pregnant and penniless Emily, Emily had made sure Anna never heard so much as a sniffle out of her. But that afternoon she more than made up for it. She cried in Anna's arms until Robbie skipped through the back door and demanded a snack.

Afterward, while Robbie napped for the first time in his new room, Emily told Anna about Ryan and his family's tradition of violence.

The subject had never been mentioned since, and when the furniture had arrived that afternoon, the vase had been carefuly tucked out of sight. Anna's doing, but Emily hadn't had the wil or desire to pul it out again, even to please Anna.

Until tonight.

Gold, red, blue, orange. Upper, lower, even, odd. Emily felt as if she'd entered a foreign country and the road signs were in code.

With a tight grip on Robbie's hand, she braved the throng of spectators that clogged Stump Arena's massive concrete corridors and wished she'd let Eric take her on a dry run that afternoon the way he'd wanted to.

But no, she'd had to insist she'd be fine. He had enough on his mind already. Tonight's game against the Wild was crucial in determining the Saints’ chances of making the playoffs. Besides, the page in the telephone book describing the Arena's layout had seemed straightforward enough, and Anna had told Emily al she had to do was veer left beyond the turnstiles and keep walking until she hit section ten.

Instead she felt as if she'd circled the arena twice, al the while moving against traffic. She hadn't counted on the place being so huge. Or so crowded. People were everywhere, lining up in front of the concession stands until they were twelve deep or more, hovering around the booths seling T-shirts, hats, pennants and posters, loitering in front of the restrooms, holding up the wals as they waited for friends or family.

Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Doggedly she marched onward, determined not to miss their section. Robbie scampered beside her, too enraptured by the idea of attending his first NHL game to notice his mother was out of her element.

his mother was out of her element.

"There it is, Mom!” Robbie pointed to a large number ten painted in black on a Saints purple and gold background.

"Finaly,” she breathed, and cut across the flow of traffic. They approached a striking brunette wearing a navy skirt and Saints purple blazer. Emily handed over their tickets, then puled Robbie out of the path of a boisterous group of men carrying plastic cups of beer. The usherette escorted them to a lower-level section filed mostly with wel-dressed women. Emily was wondering where the women's coats were when Robbie tugged at her arm.

"Can we go down and watch the team warm up, Mom?"

She looked over to where a smal crowd stood next to the Plexiglas barrier that separated the seats from the rink, and muled over the best way to get there without climbing over several rows of seated fans. “I suppose so, if—"

"Here they come!"

Emily blew out an exasperated sigh and tried to keep her sights on Robbie's red pulover as she folowed him down the aisle. She reached the Plexiglas barrier as the last of the Saints emerged from the locker room to skate in circles around half of the rink. The Wild folowed the Saints onto the ice, having to skate their way through the already circling Saints to get to their half of the rink. Murmuring,

“Excuse me,” left and right, Emily wedged her way closer to Robbie, pressed against the glass.

Robbie, pressed against the glass.

"There's Eric!” Robbie waved franticaly, but Eric was skating with one of his alternate captains, their heads bent in conversation. They glided by, and entered the lineup of players practicing their shots.

Watching the players warm up, Emily couldn't get over how enormous they looked. How imposing. Their friendly expressions, however, softened the impression. As they laughed and joked with each other, they seemed more like a group of overgrown boys looking forward to a good time than a team of men determined to win a playoff berth.

"Here he comes again!” Robbie resumed his frantic waving. Eric looked Robbie dead in the eye and winked. A split second later he was gone again. “Did you see that, Mom? He winked! He knows we're here!"

Emily watched Eric return to the lineup for more practice shots and thought he was the sweetest man she'd met. Not to mention the most graceful. “I saw, sweetheart. Now why don't we go back to our seats and let someone else watch for a while?"

The teams returned to the locker rooms. Emily settled in to peruse her program. Beside her, Robbie stood, a human lightning rod absorbing the electric current of excitement building in the air.