Written on Her Heart (4 page)

****

The restaurant at the lodge bustled with activity. Locals dropped everything for Mrs. Potter’s strawberry jam or anything from her garden. Add a couple hundred tourists and the wait stretched on until almost noon. No doubt her mother wanted to point out how much shorter the wait would’ve been at eight when she called. Of course, no one told her to wait two hours to come over.

“What’re you thinking about? You’re completely preoccupied. Aren’t you going to tell me about the pictures you’ve taken this week or what you and Heather have planned for the weekend?

“I suppose we’ll be at the Strawberry Festival with everyone else.” The words came out in a thoughtless stream. She was preoccupied with a daydream.

“That’s three weeks away. Wake up, Emma. Come down to earth, will you?”

A heavyset waitress wearing orthopedic shoes and enormous blond hair sashayed over. “Right this way.” Either most of her blonde coiffure was a wig, or she could be a spokesmodel for
Bumpits
.

She led them to a table against the wall of windows overlooking the lake. Sun twinkled off the water’s surface. Heat filtered in, warming the table on one side. Children ran in the sand, laughing and chasing balls near the water’s edge.

“Can I get you some drinks to start?” The waitress pulled a pencil from above one ear and hovered it over a tiny mint green pad of striped paper.

“Water with lemon for me, sweet tea for her. Two cob salads, light dressing on the side and two pieces of strawberry pie. We’d like it now so we get it before it’s gone.”

“Too late.” The waitress looked to Emma.

“I don’t want a cob salad. I would like the chicken salad on a roll please. Sweet tea will be fine.”

Her mother shifted in her chair and turned her eyes to the window. Emma worked up a smile, and the waitress disappeared.

“You don’t need all the mayo they put in the chicken salad, and starches are every bit as bad for your…” Her mother trailed off unable to speak the word like usual.

“Heart. For my heart, and I know this. I am not a child, and there’s nothing wrong with my intellect. Every breath I take doesn’t need to revolve around my heart attack. It’s been five years. Nothing else has happened. I am healthy and intend to live for today, not in fear of something that will never happen.” She repeated the mantra her therapist made her memorize for times like these.

Her mother’s eyes glistened. She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry. I worry.”

“Maybe you should see someone about your anxiety.” The fastest way to end the conversation. Worked every time. Therapists talked to people with problems. Her mother’s life was all bluebirds and forest creatures. No problems.

The waitress delivered the drinks and dropped two straws onto the table between them.

“There’s a new teacher at the grade school this year. I hear he’s nice. Handsome too.”

Emma did her best to ignore her mother’s constant pressure to date. She thought her daughter was as beautiful as ever. Motherhood blinded her. In high school she complained she was too young to date. In college she told her to focus on her studies. Now, she forced complete strangers into conversations with Emma on a regular basis. Now, she wanted her to date. Emma had no intention of doing any such thing.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone around to take care of you?” Her cup froze inches from her lips. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I wasn’t insinuating you’re weak or whatever other offensive thought you assigned the comment. I like having a best friend like your father. One day you might want what we have.”

Nice cover. Who wouldn’t want what they had? Emma didn’t think they made those sorts of relationships anymore. Stabbing the lemon in her tea with a crisp white bendy straw, she let her mind wander again. What if the soldier came looking for his journal and found her reading it under her willow? Maybe he’d smile and she’d know who he was by his presence. Her heart fluttered. She needed to see her therapist. She was falling in love with a book.

The waitress returned with two plates. She shoved the bill under the edge of her mother’s cup of dressing and gave Emma a sympathetic smile. Everyone had a mother. Her grandmother still nerved her mother to no end. She had a legacy of intrusive comments and selfish agendas to pass on one day.

Maybe the soldier lost his sight in the war. Then she might have a chance to win him over before he saw her scar and labeled her damaged goods.

“Here you are!” Heather bounced over to their table, and the mood lifted. “Are we on for tonight?”

“What’re you two up to tonight?”

“We hang out at the beach after dark and make fun of the tourists.” Heather winked, and Emma’s mother sucked air.

“First we play chicken on Route 22, well no, that’s right after we split a six pack.” Emma took a dramatic bite from her mayo-laden sandwich then smiled around a mouthful of heaven.

“Very funny. You don’t need to tell me. It’s fine. I don’t need to be included.”

“We’re canning strawberry preserves for the festival,” Heather interjected before her mother climbed onto the floor to wallow. “Emma’s got all our favorite movies and a great music selection. A little of my mama’s wine and we’ll be happy in the kitchen for hours.”

Her mother’s face softened. She looked between the girls. “I’d like to see some pictures of that.” One wink and a round of laughter ensued.

“There’s a new grade school teacher this fall.” Heather looked at Emma and forked a bite of fallen chicken from Emma’s plate.

“So I hear.”

“He’s cute. Probably thirty. Divorced, I think. I don’t know, but he’s pretty cute to have never married.”

“Well, that’s not fair to assume. Look at the two of you.”

“Woman’s got a point.” Heather speared another scoop of chicken salad and smiled. “We should find out where he’s going to be and go look at him. No.” She slapped the table. “Let’s take him some jam and say ‘Welcome to Honey Creek.’”

“Since when are you interested in dating someone from town?” Heather made it a policy not to date anyone from Honey Creek because the town rumor mill had relationship ruining listed as part of its responsibilities.

“I’m bored.” She put the fork on the table. “I hoped you two would hit it off and he’d have a hot single friend back home, wherever that is, that he’d introduce me to.”

Emma’s mother smiled so wide every tooth showed.

“I wonder if the journal is his?” Emma bit the inside of her cheek as soon as the words escaped.

“What journal?”

“Emma found a journal yesterday, and she’s obsessed with it.”

Emma’s mouth fell open. “I’m not obsessed. I’m interested. It’s like reading a memoir.”

“Uh huh. A memoir of a person who’s still looking for it.” Heather laughed loud and people looked. She covered her mouth gracefully with one hand. “Have you finished it yet?”

“No. There’s so much in there. Notes scrawled on the margins and around other notes. I even found some sketches. Beautiful sketches.” Her voice lowered to a whisper remembering the pencil etchings of the lake shoved under the front cover. He saw the beauty. Blades of grass with dew and geese skating over still water.

“Wow.”

“Right?”

Her mother and friend exchanged a glace.

Emma shoved the sandwich between her lips before she said anything more, like how meticulously he crossed his t’s and dotted i’s. Attention to detail meant a lot to a photographer. He loved his mom too. She lifted her eyes to examine her mother. She’d never thought of her mother the way the soldier wrote about his. He admired her sacrifices. She stayed home with him instead of working. She cut corners to make up for the lost income and never complained.

Two men walked into the restaurant laughing and smiling until they saw her. Caught in the images conjured by memories of his words, she choked on a swallow of tea. Her throat closed as the man she saw yesterday, Nicholas Fenton, walked in with Jackson, her builder. The moment he laid eyes on her, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips closed from a belly laugh to a mere part.

“Is it no good?” Heather stared at her glass. “Unsweetened?”

“Isn’t that your architect?” Her mother waved at Jackson.

The mouthful of tea threatened to burst through her lips, but her brain couldn’t contact her throat to force it down. When she finally swallowed, it hurt. Her eyes smashed shut for a moment and reopened to find the man looking like she felt. Anguished.

“His friend seems upset.”

Heather snorted. “I’d say. What’d you ever do to him?”

“What?” Emma turned her eyes away and felt fire light her cheeks. When she saw him yesterday, he looked the same way. At the time, she thought he was just upset or cranky by nature. Today she watched the laughter fall from his face. Right after spotting her.

Heather asked a good question. What had she ever done to him?

Chapter Four

The restaurant over the lodge bulged at capacity the first two times they stopped. The third time turned out to be the charm. Nicholas and Jackson planned to eat at a table overlooking the lake and review the landscaping project. Breakfast ended long before a table became available.

Jackson loved what he did, and being with him inspired a myriad of possibilities Nicholas hadn’t considered before. He made a joke about adding a dog park for Mavis. An image of his hound at a park set off a spark of laughter. Mavis preferred people watching to activity.

As they moved up in line, he looked for an available window table. Across the room, two wide green eyes locked on his, and the expression held him fast. How could she be here too? Silly question. She was everywhere he went, wasn’t she? His mouth shut in response, cutting the laughter short. Jackson continued to chuckle at the joke. Nicholas couldn’t remember what was funny. He’d slipped into another world. Her eyes narrowed. She looked startled, but also angry. No doubt she thought he stalked her. He’d think she stalked him, if he didn’t keep arriving second.

“There’s Emma and Mrs. Hastings.” Jackson laid a huge hand over his shoulder. “Dang. What’s her friend’s name? She introduced us once. I can’t remember.”

“Emma.” Nicholas tried the word on his lips.
Emma
.

“No. Emma’s the redhead.” Jackson shot a hand overhead and strode away from the counter toward the three women. Emma’s expression slid through a set of emotions he recognized and a few he didn’t. Surprise. Anger. Regret. A shimmer of something unnamed hid between each set.

“You with him?” A waitress in a Dolly Parton wig anchored a hand on one hip. She nodded to Jackson’s retreating figure.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on then. You’re in my section.” She set off after his friend. Nicholas slunk along behind her, wishing he could disappear. Come back later. Hide under a table.

He squared his shoulders at the thought. He didn’t survive what he had to fear a girl. Her eyes followed his every step. She looked away and back a half dozen times, eyes widening more with every glance. He, on the other hand, only managed to stare.

Her skin looked too pale, but beneath those light green eyes and wild red hair, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. A dash of freckles ran over her nose and across her cheeks almost too faint to notice. He liked the way her lips seemed to coordinate the theme, thin, pink and upturned despite the desperate look in her eye. When he realized she might want to crawl under a table too, a kinship formed in his heart. Ridiculous. He dismissed the thought.

But why did she want to hide? Did she want to hide?

“This is Nicholas Fenton, a buddy of mine.” Jackson motioned to him, and Nicholas stepped forward to shake hands. “This is Mrs. Hastings, her daughter Emma and her friend Heather.” Apparently her name came back to Jackson on the walk over.