Written on Her Heart (6 page)

“How do you know? Have you spoken with her?”

“We’ve been over this.” He pulled his feet back under the chair. His knee bounced. “I’m not interested in dating.”

“I didn’t say to date her. I asked if you’ve spoken to her.”

Fire blazed under his skin. Feeling foolish and caught red-handed, though he didn’t do anything wrong, he looked away again. “I could tell her the cosmos thinks we have something in common and that’s why we keep seeing one another. I’m sure at this point she thinks I’m stalking her.”

He could see his truck outside the window in the distance. The shade had grown longer, covering the entire vehicle. He didn’t dare look at her yet. A look gave too much away.

“Are you stalking her?”

His head snapped around to find her smiling.

“You’re a funny lady.”

“I try.”

Chapter Five

“Yes! Can you believe it? She dumped him because he joined the service. Who does that?” Emma’s voice edged higher with each word.

“Stuff like that is so messed up. I hate girls like her.” Heather pointed a strawberry laden spoon in Emma’s direction. “Did she ever write him or anything?”

“No.” A pang of jealously filled Emma’s chest. The unnamed ex-girlfriend never tried to reach him, but she could have. Unlike her. She knew the soldier’s name.

“I think our work is done here.” Heather cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Every strawberry who dared cross our path is now puree, pie filling or jam.”

“You think they’d learn.”

Both girls walked to the sink to wash up. The work used to take all weekend. Nowadays they could get it done in one night if the music was right. Satisfaction eased the tension of having tons to accomplish. The rest of the night belonged to them.

“How about a walk?”

“Only if it’s to get ice cream.”

“Done.”

The walk into town never changed. qct Warm July sun warmed Emma’s cheeks despite the hour. At eight o’clock the dinner crowd had come and gone, but plenty of residents made their way along the streets for a glimpse of the day’s efforts. The Strawberry Festival happened every summer. The whole town pitched in to make it an annual success. Some more than others.

“Hello there, ladies.” A shrill voice cut through the street chatter.

“Clarissa.” Heather whispered. “Fitting. She always reminds me of
Silence of the Lambs
.”

“They should’ve named her Hannibal
Lecter
. I’ve seen her eat people alive. Of course, I wasn’t much better back then.”

“Well, now.” Clarissa stopped a few feet away and examined them head to toe. One hand on her hip. The thumb of her other hand caught on the strap to her giant orange Kate Spade bag. Her thumb dragged it unnaturally around her hip in case someone on the street hadn’t noticed her amazing fashion sense. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Somehow you manage to elude me. I heard you were on house arrest, but it’s been years. You finally free then?” She raised a perfectly waxed brow at Emma. “Of course I know silliness when I hear it. You’d never stoop to breaking laws outside of Honey Creek.”

The conspiratorial smile she threw in triggered Emma’s panic button. Clarissa knew too much for her own good.

“We’re on our way for ice cream.” Heather took a baby step forward, and Clarissa backed up.

“Keeping brave company. If I wore a bathing suit every day I’d never dare snack on a thing, let alone ice cream.” Her eye twinkled and her lip twitched.

“You really should start that practice anyway.” Heather turned to Emma, clearly the smallest of the three. “I think you should get a double scoop. Let’s go.”

Clarissa’s forehead climbed into her hair as the friends strode past. Seeing her up close after so many years struck Emma silent. Avoidance as a lifestyle took planning, but it was better than facing questions and sideways looks. Her mom and Heather did most of the evening running for her when a need arose. Getting out during the day was easier. Most folks her age worked outside of town. Like Clarissa. Emma had settled into her routine as town recluse easier than expected. Until Clarissa moved home. Something she swore she’d never do. “The minute I turn eighteen no one in Honey Creek will see anything but my taillights,” she said on a near daily basis for years. When they graduated and parted ways, she didn’t expect her to break that vow. Unlucky for Emma, as everything was, Clarissa moved home and made a pest of herself trying to pick up where they left off. When Emma wouldn’t accept her efforts, she set out to punish her with dirty looks and snide remarks. Just like high school. As much as she wanted to say some things don’t change, her life was proof of the lie. Sometimes everything changed. Lightning shot through her body. Maybe it was time to go home.

“Honest to goodness, I can’t believe you used to be friends with her. She’s such a complete…”

The words faded under the roar of blood between Emma’s ears. Dazzling colors intruded on her periphery, and the ache in her chest transitioned from dull heat to a gripping pinch. She forced her feet forward to the row of benches lining store windows on Main Street. Heather kept her close, murmuring in her ear. No sooner had her bottom touched the familiar wooden seats, Heather shoved Emma’s head forward into her knees.

With a whoosh, warm night air filtered into her lungs. Blood rushed from her head to her extremities until the sounds of Honey Creek returned to her. In the distance a local band practiced. Closer to where she sat, a symphony of hammers pounded signs on posts seeking judges for everything from best jam to pie eating. Two inches from her face, Heather used her best “I’m under control” voice.

“How do you feel? Can you hear me now? Honey, I love you, but if you don’t answer me soon I’m calling 9-1-1.”

Emma waved a limp hand and shoved her body back against the seat. Life snapped into focus. Two blocks away Nicholas Fenton stood frozen three steps up a ladder. Why did he always look at her like that? Her cheeks burned with indignation. If she had a mustard seed more of energy, she’d march over there and shake his ladder.

“Emma Hastings?” Like being T-boned in a car crash, her head whipped around. A voice dipped in honey made her name sound like a movie star’s. The voice came with a blue button down shirt and dress pants. “I’m James Moss. Your mother pointed me in your direction.” He shrugged with his entire body. His face left her speechless. A charming smile added emphasis to his soft bedroom eyes and chiseled jaw line.

Heather jumped to her feet. “I’m Heather.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m new here. Mrs. Hastings said Emma could introduce me around. I’m teaching second grade this year, and I hear it’s good to make nice with the parents before school starts.”

“You’re the new teacher?” Heather bent her knees in an awestruck dip and looked back at Emma.

James didn’t look at all like Ichabod Crane as she’d expected. More like James Dean. Her chest ached with release from whatever happened to her a minute before. She had a feeling her heart might’ve fluttered if it could.

“Where are you from?” Heather never wasted time. Emma knew the questions to come were variations of “Is it far?” and “Do you have single friends there?” Then the more personal ones. “Do they have jobs and how soon can we meet?”

She took a moment to breathe.

Her eyes roamed the immediate area. No one looked her way. Nicholas stopped scowling and went back to hammering. Clarissa looked like a small blond dot in the distance. If her mother had any brains left, she was hiding somewhere out of reach.

Like someone switched on a radio, the lyrics of Tim McGraw’s
Live Like You Were Dying
presented loud and clear in her mind. Her soldier got through so many hard times on those lyrics. He promised himself never to be afraid when he got home. He wrote that he’d try anything once and really live his life. She needed to take his advice. Empowerment surged, and her chest became light as a feather again. No sign of the attack. Panic attack. Emma slid her fingertips under her thighs to keep from bopping herself on the forehead. She had constant panic attacks after the heart attack. It’d been two years since the last one, but she recognized it now and blamed Clarissa.

No more.

As if possessed, her body stood erect and spoke. “My mother is so thoughtful. I’d love to show you around, introduce you to the families. I might know some people.” Her voice sounded steady and chipper. She suppressed a shiver. Her mother was chipper. Annoying and happy.

Emma wanted happy.

James extended a hand between them and they shook.

Heather pulled her neck back over her shoulders and smacked her lips. “I have someplace to be, so I will let you get to it, and I’ll talk to you later, Emma. Nice to meet you, James.” She turned on her heels in a circle, probably deciding what she would do next and walked off into the crowd. God bless her.

“I hear you’re a photographer.” James slid Emma’s fingers into the crook of his elbow and moved away from the bustling workers with her.

“How long did my mother have you cornered?” What hadn’t she told him?

He chuckled. “Well, I have to say everyone has been more than friendly here. Your mother was no exception.”

Emma turned her head in tiny disagreement. “They’re all nosey. Be careful what you say around here unless you want to hear it from a third party with a few embellishments and some jail time included.”

“I could use some stories like that to toughen my image. Teaching second grade doesn’t scream James Bond.”

“How about
James and the Giant Peach
?”

He bumped his arm into hers, and she sidestepped over her feet until he caught and reeled her back in. “I imagine you’re not far off.”

“You’re not from a small town?”

“How do you know?”

“Because if you were, you would’ve known what your questioners were up to.”

“You got me. I lived up North. I taught in Akron public schools for 10 years. That’s about two and a half hours from here. Have you ever been?”

“No. Not Akron. I’ve been to Cleveland a few times. Concerts. Sports.” Clubs, mischief, mayhem.

“Nice.” He stopped to look down at her. “You’re a sports fan? What’s your favorite?”

“Fishing?”

He waited a long moment before bursting into easy laughter and moving again along the sidewalk with her. “Let me guess. You went with a group, and it didn’t matter what sport. Right?”

“Pretty much. In college I went anywhere. Did anything. Feared nothing.”

“Ah…the old days.”

“Yeah. The old days.”

Silence enveloped them in a comfortable, easy way. The crickets and bullfrogs played a tempo perfect for an evening walk. Carpe diem. Maybe her mother deserved a thank you not a pie in the face. She gave Emma an opportunity to slide out of her shell. Turn over new leaves. And all those other things she’d preached for years.

“Skydiving,” she whispered.

“What?”

Oops. “Sorry. Skydiving.” She laughed. “I guess I had some old Tim McGraw on my mind.”

“Boyfriend?”

This time Emma stopped.

“Joking. He’s a country singer. I know.” James smiled, and they took another step.

“Do you remember the song? Skydiving, Rocky Mountain climbing.” She did her best not to sing the lyrics but keep the tempo.

“No. I’m more of a hip-hop guy.”

“A what now?” She looked at him, waiting for the punch line. Maybe another “just kidding.”