Now She's Back

She was safe. Here, where Nan’s love still lingered, warming the corners and the open spaces, safety waited for her to call upon it. She dropped her things on the tufted bench and scurried to the kitchen to plug in the tea thing and start dinner.

She had Nan’s tomato soup in the freezer. All these years, and Emma still didn’t know how to divide the components to cook for one. Nan’s recipes were built to feed a family.

She set the dining-room table for one and chose a bottle of wine from the creepy basement where Nan had installed shelves along one stone wall.

It was like sitting down to eat with her grandmother. Except when she poured one glass, she had no one to toast; no one to tell she was glad to be home, but was afraid coming home had been a mistake. Owen could have done the work and reported his progress to her father.

A knock at the door startled her out of her thoughts. Clutching her napkin, she went to answer it. She was so in tune with every memory of Noah and each new thing she’d learned about him, she recognized his navy-suited arm in the window beside the door.

On the one hand, she couldn’t face any more of his bewildering memories of their past, or his refusal to discuss it. On the other hand, she didn’t want to talk any more about the things they couldn’t fix.

She simply didn’t understand the emotions that racked her from just being in this town.

She opened the door. “Noah? Something wrong?”

He looked her up and down. “Owen told me I’d treated you badly, and I should apologize.”

“Since when does he tell you what to do?”

“Since I’ve assumed he might be right.”

“Maybe we are incapable of sorting out what’s always been wrong between us. Maybe we don’t need to.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“Let’s celebrate your absolutely correct decision with a bowl of soup and some wine. I could even dig up a grilled cheese if you want.”

“Why are you here in Bliss, when being here makes you unhappy?”

“Why have you stayed in Bliss when staying tortures you?”

He bent his fingers and scraped his nails over his forehead. She wanted to grab his hand and make him stop hurting himself.

Finally, he dropped both hands to his sides, flexing them into fists. “You’re the first person who’s noticed.”

“Because I spent so much time trying to figure you out.”

“I was always exactly what I said, torn between wanting to be with you and trying to look after my family.”

Emma turned toward the kitchen. “I was never used to trusting anyone. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t tell truth from a story I thought you’d just made up.”

“So you believe me now?”

She looked back at him, shrugging out of his jacket. His face, in rest, was still taut. His eyes kept secrets.

“No,” she said.

“Talking really makes things better between us.”

“Nothing has to get better because I’m only here until your brother makes my house all better. Do you want a sandwich?”

“Yes, please.”

He came with her and opened the fridge, taking cheese from the deli bin. As Emma warmed the soup, Noah sliced cheese. She took bread from a tin decorated with a couple in WWII-era sailor suits.

“Let me do this,” he said. “Your soup is getting cold.”

Nan had never possessed a microwave, so he’d have to use the stove, but Noah could take care of himself. “Fine,” she said.

Another knock at the door caught her before she reached the dining room. “This will be Owen,” she said, “unless he called my father.”

“You’re good,” he said. “I’m betting on Owen. He wouldn’t rat me out to your dad for bothering his little girl.”

She grimaced, opening the door.

“Just making sure you two aren’t at each other’s throats.” Owen came inside without asking. “Something smells good.”

“Owen needs a sandwich and some soup, Noah.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you really okay?” Owen asked in a lowered tone.

“Fine. He won’t talk about anything that’s real. I’m fed up with begging. Situation normal. Come on through to the dining room.”

Noah stepped into the hall. “Owen,” he said, “everything okay?”

“I’m still sober.” Owen grinned at them both, remarkably content. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

Emma walked toward the dining room. Noah went back to the kitchen.

“I’m the only one who likes some of the old times,” Owen said, left on his own.

Emma slipped through the darkened living room to take the wine back into the kitchen. Noah looked up.

“Why are you doing that?”

“I don’t want to tempt him.”

“He has to learn to live in the world.”

She wanted to snap, “You never have,” because he was so content to hide out on a mountain in Tennessee. But that would have been lashing out with a temper she wanted to control. Her desire for such a petty attack disappointed her. She’d hoped to come home and be normal.

“Owen?” she asked, raising her voice. “Do you want water? Soda? Tea?”

“Water’s fine, but you can bring back that wine bottle.”

“We’ll all have water.”