Flamingo Diner

“All of it,” her mother replied. “I want to sleep through all of it. I don’t want to wake up until the nightmare ends.”

Alarmed, Emma reached for the bottle, but her mother held fast. “You can’t hide from this, Mama. None of us can. There are decisions to be made.”

“Then you make them,” her mother told her, sliding beneath the covers and turning her back. It was like watching a turtle slowly retreat into its protective shell.

“What about Jeff and Andy? They’re going to need you. I need you.”

“You’re strong, Emma. You’ll do just fine. Maybe Kim can fly down and help you.”

“Kim has to work, Mama.”

“Then you’ll manage. I know you will.”

This was the second time someone had told Emma she was going to have to handle things. She wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. Panicked by the prospect, she said urgently, “No, Mama. You’re the strong one. We’re counting on you.”

“Don’t,” her mother said flatly.

Emma stood where she was and stared at her mother’s back, feeling more shut out and alone than she ever had in her life. Her mother was overcome with grief, totally in shock. That’s what it was. It had to be. Rosa Killian wasn’t the kind of woman to turn her back on her family, on her responsibilities. All her life she had taught her children to be caring and generous with their support for friends in need. This retreat from reality wasn’t like her at all.

Was it possible that her mother had guessed it hadn’t been an accident? Was that what she really couldn’t face? Sooner or later, they would have to talk about it, all of it, but obviously not tonight.

Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to her mother’s damp cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

She waited for her mother to say, as she always did, “I love you back,” but there was only silence.

Outside the door to her mother’s room, Emma leaned against the wall and let the tears flow unchecked down her cheeks. She was beginning to fear that when her father’s car had gone into the lake, she’d lost not only him, but both of her parents.

Matt couldn’t make up his mind whether to go or stay. After Andy had charged past him, he’d considered leaving, but something told him that Emma was going to need him after she saw her mother. Rosa wasn’t herself. Not that anyone could blame her, but she was deliberately shutting everyone out, her kids included. Jeff and Andy had never needed her more, but she hadn’t reached out for them after Matt had delivered the news about Don. When Matt had refused to deny the news of Don’s death, she’d simply gone into her room and closed the door behind her. He doubted it would be any different with Emma. His heart ached for her, for all of them.

He’d been ready for the tears when he’d met Emma at the airport, but not the underlying vulnerability. The Emma he remembered had been strong, resilient, like her mother. She’d had a biting wit and a confidence that came from knowing that she was well loved. He’d figured the years would only solidify those traits. But if confidence had failed Rosa at a time like this, it was only reasonable that it would have failed Emma, too.

After all, this was hardly a normal circumstance. For all he knew, Emma could take on the world under most conditions.

He found the coffee in the kitchen cupboard and started to brew a pot, then decided tea would be better. Hadn’t he heard somewhere that tea was supposed to be soothing? Or was that just herbal tea? God, why didn’t he know these things? Why wasn’t he better prepared to help this family he loved get through this crisis? In his years on the police force, he’d somehow mustered the courage to deliver bad news, but he’d rarely been left to deal with its aftermath. With friends involved, however, he couldn’t walk away. He felt like he owed it to Don to stay and cope with the fallout from his passing.

He was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, boxes of tea spread out on the table, when Emma walked in. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression shattered. Matt would have reached for her as he had at the airport, but there was something about her rigid stance that told him she wouldn’t welcome his embrace a second time. In fact, she looked as if she were holding herself together by a thread. He didn’t want to do anything to shatter what was left of her composure.

“I was going to make…” He hesitated, then shrugged sheepishly and gestured at the boxes of tea and coffee he’d dragged from the cupboard. “Something.”

Her lips curved into a fleeting smile. “Couldn’t make up your mind?”

“It’s a little late to be drinking coffee. I thought tea would be better, but I don’t drink the stuff, so I wasn’t sure what kind to make. So, can I get you a cup of something? You tell me.”

“Chamomile tea would be wonderful,” she said, slipping into a chair at the table.

Matt noted the exhaustion in her eyes. “Would you rather go to bed? You’ve had a tough day. You don’t have to entertain me. I can take off.”

“No, stay, please,” she said urgently. “I don’t want to be alone just yet. I won’t be able to get to sleep.”

“Okay, then,” he said, pouring hot water over the tea bag, then setting the cup in front of her.

He pulled out a chair across from her. “How’d it go with your mother?”

“She’s in bad shape. She doesn’t want to deal with any of this. She says I should do whatever I want.” She regarded him with despair. “How can I make the kinds of decisions that need to be made? I have no idea what sort of funeral to arrange. She’s our mother. He was her husband. These are her choices to make. I don’t know if they have burial plots, a particular funeral home they prefer. How could I know that? I thought it would be years and years before I needed to know details like that.”

“She’s still in shock,” Matt said. “She’ll be better in the morning. Then you can all make the decisions together. You need to include Jeff and Andy in this, too. They’re feeling lost right now, too.”

“I’m sure they are, but they have each other at least. I was the one who always relied on Mama. She was my role model.” Emma looked at him, a mix of hope and doubt on her face. “Do you really think she’ll be better in the morning?”

Matt wanted to believe it. He knew Emma needed to believe it, so he reminded her, “Your mother’s a strong woman.”

Emma shook her head. “I always thought so, but she’s retreated to someplace I can’t reach her.” She touched her cheek. “She slapped me.”

Matt stared, spotting the faint trace of pink in Emma’s pale complexion. “Why on earth would she do that?” he asked, genuinely shocked.

“I told her that Dad was dead, that he wasn’t coming back. I insisted that she face the truth and she slapped me.”

He reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I really am. You know she’s distraught. She’ll feel awful tomorrow.”

“She apologized. As for tomorrow, I’m not sure she’ll feel anything. She seems determined to sleep through everything.” She regarded him with a look filled with hurt and confusion. “What do I do if she’s not better? Do I make the decisions without her?”

“Nothing has to be decided right away,” Matt reassured her. “If she’s not up to it in the morning, you, Jeff and Andy can talk things over and decide what you want. I’ll help in any way I can, too. I can talk to the funeral home, make the arrangements, whatever’s necessary.”

“It’s not your responsibility,” Emma said.

Matt met her gaze evenly, refusing to be shut out. “I loved him, too, you know.”

Her expression instantly apologetic, she squeezed his hand. “I know you did.” She sighed heavily, then glanced around. “Where are Andy and Jeff? Have you seen them?”

“Andy’s in his room. Jeff’s outside, unless he decided to take off after I came back in.”

“He’s in the old tree house, I imagine. They used to love that place. I was barred from ever going up there.” She gave him a faint smile. “I used to sneak up when they weren’t around. In fact, I had my first kiss up there.”

“Oh, really?” Matt said, feeling an unmistakable trace of envy for the lucky boy. “Who was it?”

“Owen Davis,” she announced, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, shocked. “You had a thing with Owen Davis? Did your father know about it?”

Emma chuckled at his reaction. “Of course not. He would have been appalled. Owen was not only two years older than me, he rode a motorcycle. He was every girl’s fantasy of a very dangerous guy.”

“More than me?” Matt inquired, wondering just where he’d shown up on her personal radar.

“You weren’t dangerous,” she said as if the idea were ludicrous.

“Your father thought I was.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You were one of the family.”