Читать книгу Dandelion Wishes - Melinda Curtis - Страница 12

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WAS NOTHING Emma disliked more than being made to feel she was a shrew. And that was what arguing with Will did to her.

She’d apologized to him twice, but he still treated her as if she’d pointed a gun at Tracy and pulled the trigger. It left a bleak, bottomless sensation in her belly. Oh, she’d like to blame Will for that feeling, but her guilt was the cause, not Mr. Perfect’s lack of forgiveness. She shouldn’t care that he’d refused her attempt to apologize twice. The only absolution that should matter was Tracy’s.

Emma outran the emptiness as best she could. She’d biked back to Granny Rose’s, driven the riding mower over the half-acre lawn and pulled some stubborn weeds out of the small vegetable garden. She’d called her mom and left a voice mail about Granny Rose, requesting a callback that probably wouldn’t come for days. In the middle of a murder trial, her defense-attorney mother only dealt with life-threatening emergencies. Granny Rose being Granny Rose didn’t qualify.

Emma didn’t want the easel but she couldn’t stand the thought of Granny Rose climbing up the rickety attic stairs and wrestling it down, either, so she carried it to her room. And just to punish herself, she put a fresh canvas on it, got out her sketching pencil and stood like a statue, left hand hovering unsteadily over the canvas.

Since she was a little girl, she’d loved to color, draw and paint. She lost herself in the process of creation, her senses taking in the scene she was trying to capture to an internal soundtrack that was sometimes soothing, sometimes lively and always passionate. But now all she heard was the repercussion of a diesel engine bearing down on her, the trumpet of brakes locking. She was aware of sliding, losing control and the uneven rasp of Tracy’s struggle to live.

She couldn’t imagine Will losing himself in a moment. He noticed everything, as he held himself with a rigid grace the Renaissance masters would have loved to paint. If Will was naked.

Not that Emma wanted to imagine him without clothes. She didn’t sketch or paint people and she certainly shouldn’t be imagining her best friend’s brother in his birthday suit. But the seed had taken flight, just like her dandelion wish. And instead of mentally planning out the foggy-morning image of Harmony Valley’s bridge before moving her pencil, she found herself dwelling on the golden glimmer of his hair in the sunlight, the elegant taper of tan shoulders to his waist, the bunch and release of his quads as he ran uphill. But even those vivid images didn’t liberate her talent, or free her hand, or quiet the internal wail of frustration when the canvas remained blank.

Granny Rose believed Emma could overcome this block. Emma wasn’t so sure. Even as she stood there, her breath came in labored, near-panicked gasps, and not just because her art had deserted her.

What if Tracy never forgave her?

* * *

“WE USED TO eat ice cream with girls on that bench under the oak tree.” Slade stood at the northern corner of the town square, fiddling with a solemn black tie. He hadn’t looked at Will all morning as they’d called on various residents and discussed the benefits the winery would bring the town. “I haven’t seen anyone under there since we’ve been back.”

The midmorning sun warmed what had been a brisk spring breeze, bringing with it the smell of chicken grilling at El Rosal, the one restaurant left in town.

Tracy wandered over to the wrought-iron bench beneath the town square’s lone oak tree.

In his memory, Will saw Tracy as she’d been a year ago—a glow to her cheeks and clothes that didn’t hang off her petite frame.

He thought of Emma’s determination to see his sister, regardless of who got hurt; all the ways Slade couldn’t hide his despair at being alone; Tracy’s resentment; the town’s resistance. His worries stacked on each other until the possibility of failure weighed down his shoulders and dragged at his heels.

Will hadn’t found an opportunity all morning to mend his rift with either his sister or Slade. They had a bit of time to kill before their next appointment. He opened his mouth to apologize.

And Flynn interrupted. “The ice cream parlor closed when I was in high school.” Flynn gazed wistfully into the window of the empty corner shop as he adjusted his Giants cap over his tangle of reddish-brown hair. “Maybe we should open an ice cream parlor instead of a winery. It’d make Rose happier.”

Will rolled his shoulders back and crossed his arms over his chest. When the stakes involved his sister, he stood firm. The winery would succeed. “Harmony Valley is at the end of the road. Who’s going to drive this far for ice cream?”

“How about gelato?” Flynn grinned. “I’d bring a date out here for gelato.”

“You aren’t very discerning in your women or the places you take them.” A hint of a smile slipped past Slade’s bad mood.

“We need to focus on the winery and related businesses. That’s the only way to attract significant outside revenue when Harmony Valley is about as convenient to the rest of the county as the sun is to Uranus.”

“Ouch. Okay, I give.” Flynn held up his hands, exchanging a look with Slade that seemed to say Will needed to be humored.

“A lot of people are going to come to the council meeting tonight.” Will forced himself to uncross his arms and draw a breath. “If enough of them speak on our behalf, we might sway Mayor Larry or Rose.”

“If people speak positively.” Slade fingered his tie, the movement taunting Will like a red flag in front of a bull. “You’ve lost your perspective. Admit it. This isn’t about saving the town. It’s about you overcoming another challenge, proving something to us or your dad or someone.”

“Prove?” Will sputtered. “I love the smell of success the same as the next guy, but this has nothing to do with my ego. We made a commitment to—”

“You committed!” Slade’s words burst out as if he’d been holding them in too long. “I’ve been crunching numbers and waiting to see how this plays out. But I’ve said all along that wineries are a money suck. I’m all for a tax shelter, but not this one. If I had my way, Harmony Valley would be a ghost town.” Slade stopped and turned away, as if he’d said too much. But then he added in a muted voice, “You should feel the same way after losing your mom here.”

Will followed Slade’s gaze to the skeleton of a grain silo visible over the treetops. The Harmony Valley Grain Company had been the primary employer in the small town until the grain elevator had exploded, killing Will’s mother and three others. The company had closed before the embers were cold, forcing the workforce to move, other businesses to fold, schools to shut down and leaving nothing behind but cash settlements to grieving families.

The Jackson family’s settlement had paid for Will’s and Tracy’s college tuitions. But nothing could replace the fact that they were motherless. Or erase the fear that life could be lost at a moment’s notice.

“You’d abandon this place?” Flynn looked perplexed. “But it’s home.”

“Not to me.” Slade cast a sidelong glance up the north end of Main Street toward the house he’d grown up in.

And then both he and Flynn turned their attention to Will.

Did Will want the town to die?

He shook his head. “There are painful memories here, but more good ones than bad. And as corny as it sounds, residents don’t look at us and tally our net worth. I don’t feel the pressure to add to our resume of work while I’m here.” Although the lack of a new program to code against made him restless.

“That doesn’t bode well for the future of our company.” Slade started to smooth his tie, then seemed to think better of it and set his hand on his waist.

“We are not one-hit wonders.” Certainty rang through Will’s words, despite the whisper of doubt, the one that slipped into his thoughts on nights when he couldn’t sleep. But he’d heard that chorus before and proved it wrong. “Maybe this break and this winery are what we need to reboot that creative spark.”

Will’s gaze drifted to Tracy, whose head tilted up to watch clouds pass by. “This isn’t about my pride. I want to open this winery so Harmony Valley will thrive and my dad won’t be so isolated. I want there to be emergency services here in town rather than thirty minutes away. But mostly, I want this winery to provide a job for Tracy.” Now was the time to say it. He drew a deep breath. “I want her to manage the businesses once we’re up and running.”

“Is that all?” Flynn looked from Will to Slade. “That’s okay with me.”

For one brief moment, Will experienced the lightness of relief.

Then Slade’s voice came down with trust-me-on-this negativity. “We talked about hiring someone with experience. Tracy has none. This makes the risk even greater.”

Will was used to overcoming obstacles and opposition. But for five years, Slade had been on his side. He’d known Slade wouldn’t approve of his choice. He’d known, and yet he’d hoped. “My sister needs a job in a place where people know and understand her. She gets tongue-tied under stress.” He stared down the road toward Slade’s house, realizing how helpless Slade must have felt when his father died. At least with Tracy, Will could keep trying. Slade had no second chances.

The dread Will had been holding back for six months broke free, spilling into his words until he could no longer hide how the weight of responsibility threatened to crush him.

“I worry about Tracy all the time. Can I hope for something close to normal in her speech? What if she has an emergency and can’t get the words out quickly enough? Are people going to judge her intelligence by the way she talks? Tracy’s doctors tell me what to do and I feel hope. And then I try to help her and nothing works.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to expunge the helplessness. “If we can perform CPR on this town and Tracy has a role in our organization, I’d be happy. She doesn’t have to run everything. Maybe just the gift shop. Or the tasting room.”

Slade cleared his throat.

But the flood of Will’s frustration wasn’t finished. “It’s the doubts that drive me insane. Will Tracy be like this forever? Speaking in broken English and with pain so deep in her eyes that I can’t find the bottom? I know Tracy doesn’t want any handouts from me. But if you don’t approve of hiring her, I’ll pay her salary out of my own pocket.

“Last night Slade said Tracy was a distraction. But he’s wrong. Carving out a place in the world for her is my life’s work right now. And these businesses we’re proposing can give her that place.” If only he could make Tracy see. “If I can’t fix Tracy so she can return to her old life, I need to help her create a new one. Everything else, including our next multimillion dollar sale, is a distraction.”

Will hadn’t realized an empty street could be so silent.

Slade stared at Will with fathomless black eyes that neither condemned nor supported.

“Slade,” Will began, “what I said last night... I was a jerk.”

“You get a pass,” Slade said gruffly.

“I need you standing by me. You and Flynn.” Together, the three friends could do anything—if they all concurred.

“We’re doing this, then?” Flynn asked Slade.

Their financial partner nodded curtly. “Since I’m in charge of our investments, I’ll agree to pursue rezoning if you both agree that at each step in development we review our options. If this winery ever becomes a losing proposition, we cut our losses.”

Flynn and Will agreed.

Will was determined he’d never let the winery come to that. His tension slipped away, loosening his limbs. He scanned the town square, tensing when he noticed it was empty. “Where’s Tracy?”

Flynn pointed. “She headed back along the river toward your house.”

The river path would take Tracy past Rose’s home. Where Emma, Tracy’s Pied Piper, was staying.

Will stepped off the curb, but Flynn held him back. “You have to let Tracy deal with Emma in her own way.”

Will pulled his arm free. “She’s not strong enough yet.”

* * *

“EMMA!” GRANNY ROSE returned from her visit to the elementary school in the next town around eleven-thirty, her booted feet echoing throughout the old house. “Come here.”

Emma saved the print ad she’d been revising for one of her clients on her laptop before going downstairs.

She found Granny Rose on the porch, reaching through an open window to start the record player. “Schoolchildren make me want to dance for joy.”

After her bike ride, Emma’s legs felt as if they were in plaster casts, stiff and cumbersome. Dancing would be impossible.

The Andrews Sisters began singing about a bugle boy. What little booty Granny Rose had started shaking. Her arms stretched out midair, fingers snapping. And then she held out her hand to Emma. “Let’s dance, sister. I’ll lead.”

With a slump to her shoulders, Emma shuffled forward. “Do I have to?”

“It’s either that or color!” Pointing to a coloring book on the table, Granny Rose laughed, the sound rippling above the music, cresting over Emma’s sour mood and washing away most of her reluctance.

At first, Emma stumbled through the steps of the swing like a zombie with two left feet. But then, miraculously, her muscles warmed and loosened and her spirits lifted. She and Granny cut a rug back and forth across the porch as if competing in their own dance competition.

* * *

TRACY HAD SLIPPED the noose of Will’s leash and was heading back to the house like a schoolgirl playing hooky.

Her body and spirit needed a lift. Life here didn’t feel much different than in the rehabilitation hospital. Banned from driving, she still couldn’t go where she wanted when she wanted. Harmony Valley was another cage and Will her jailer. It was hard to believe, but being a shock-therapy lab rat might allow her more freedom.

And then she heard music.

Although it was a tune from a different generation, it was the music of Tracy’s youth. The music she’d learned to dance to—big-band swing. Just listening to the song as she walked down the narrow path by Harmony River buoyed Tracy’s steps.

The Andrews Sisters beckoned her closer, inviting her to set aside her worries, if only for a few minutes. She couldn’t see Rose’s house through the trees, but with the volume up this loud, the older woman had to be outdoors, dancing on the wraparound porch as if her shoes had wings.

Tracy and Emma had danced many a summer night away on that porch. Tracy had danced away her grief after her mother died.

Taking the path around a blackberry bush, she stopped in the shade of the eucalyptus grove.

She and Emma—

Emma was dancing with Rose.

Emma.

Dancing. As if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if the crash hadn’t permanently destroyed her dreams.

Had Emma been dancing the entire time Tracy was in the hospital?

Her pulse quickened until it felt like her heart would hammer its way out of her chest if she didn’t do something. She took a step out of the shadows, but a hand on her arm held her back.

“Don’t,” Will said.

Tracy snapped her arm free and turned toward Rose’s house, fueled by anger at both Emma and Will.

Will yanked her back again. “Don’t.”

Emma had been here all this time? Dancing?

“What are you going to do?” Will’s contempt was palpable. “Dance with them?”

That was the furthest thing from her mind. Tracy wanted to yell at Emma, wanted to make her listen to all her frustrations. She wanted to shout and scream and howl in pain. She wanted to accuse and blame. She wanted to finally have someone understand the anger and uncertainty that beat a pounding staccato in her chest.

Tracy opened her mouth to tell Will what she had in mind, but all that came out was, “I...”

Her pulse dragged to a sluggish near halt.

Who was she kidding? It would take hours to get everything off her chest.

Will must have sensed her defeat because he pulled her deeper into the trees, farther down the winding path toward the river.

And she let him.

* * *

“TRACY?” EMMA STEPPED out of Granny Rose’s arms. She thought she’d seen Tracy in the trees, her blond hair catching a ray of soft sunlight. Emma ran down the front stairs and into the eucalyptus grove bordering the river. “Tracy!”

But it wasn’t Tracy who awaited her. It was Will.

Beneath the trees, he exuded none of the golden-boy aura she’d admired on Parish Hill. He was breathing heavily, as if he’d been running. But his blond hair didn’t glisten, his skin didn’t radiate vitality and there wasn’t a fleeting shout of laughter as when he’d first seen her this morning.

“How can you dance?” The anger in Will’s voice thrust barbed points at Emma, bringing her to a halt. “You were dancing like you were happy.”

The emptiness that never receded completely expanded inside of Emma, filling her with a bleakness that welled into her eyes and threatened to overflow. But she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Will. “I wish I could make you understand. Part of me cringes every time I feel a hint of happiness because I caused the accident that nearly killed Tracy. Me.” She tapped her chest. “I carry that with me every day and I always will. But I was trying to make my grandmother happy just now. I owe it to her.”

Glaciers were warmer than Will’s expression.

“So if I was smiling, if I looked happy, I’ll admit, there may have been a moment when the music swelled and I felt hope. Hope that I’d finally see for myself that Tracy is okay.” She searched the area again for any sign of her friend, but she was gone. “I’d switch places with Tracy and take on all her suffering if I could. It would mean the world to me if she forgave me, but she doesn’t have to. Whatever she thinks, whatever she feels, I’ll honor that, but she has to tell me herself. Please,” she added, feeling suddenly weary.

Will’s gaze cast about as if searching for his arguments. Finally, he said, “Tracy was crushed when she saw you.”

“She was here?” Emma clung to hope.

“You upset her. She went home.” Will looked along the river toward his family’s property. “She’s hit a plateau in her recovery. She needs rest before her next round of therapy. Once her communication improves, she’ll be better equipped to handle the stress of the everyday world.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “And people like you.”

“Me?” Emma stepped back.

The edge returned to his voice. “People like you don’t look before they leap, you don’t think about the burn you’ll get twirling near the fire. You and your grandmother get a whiff of excitement and off you go, without considering the consequences.” His gaze returned to the river. “But people like Tracy, like my father and me, we have to be careful of every step we make.”

Will was referring to something other than the car accident. He’d been fifteen and Tracy eleven when their mother died at work. Mrs. Jackson had been a frequent Sunday visitor at Emma’s house, taking part in Rose’s theatricals along with Emma, Tracy and, occasionally, Will. Emma had loved Mrs. Jackson’s infectious laugh, her boundless energy, her joie de vivre. She and Granny Rose were like sisters and Emma had wanted to be just like them. And she had, up until the accident.

After his mother’s death, Will had seldom left his computer except to haul Tracy back home for supper or away from whatever mischief the two girls had gotten into. He’d never come over for Sunday theatricals unless forced. He’d started treating Emma as if she had a contagious disease.

She hadn’t realized. She hadn’t known.

This was why Will had shunned her all those years, treating each trip or excursion she and Tracy took as if it was hazardous. This was why Will had kept her away from Tracy, because he thought she’d hurt Tracy worse than she had in the accident. He planned to cocoon his sister the same way he’d cocooned himself, burying himself in work instead of living life to the fullest.

Emma wanted to tell him, I don’t leap without looking. But he wouldn’t believe her. He’d spent nearly fifteen years forming an impression of her as someone he and his sister should avoid. Emma wanted to tell him, You can’t cover yourself in bubble wrap the rest of your life. Instead she said, “You can’t hover over Tracy the rest of her life.”

“Why not?” He held himself very still, as if he wanted to be swayed by her logic.

“Because she deserves the right to choose her own road, be it safe or risky.”

Will shook his head. “She tried your way, Emma. It’s better if she stays on my road from now on.”

“Don’t do this.” Emma touched his shoulder as he turned to go. “You’ll lose her.”

Will turned back, his gaze anguished. “Can you guarantee I won’t lose her if I let her go her own way?”

Emma couldn’t. No one could.