Bookends (17 page)

Thursday’s visit included an unexpected question: “Heard from anybody besides me lately?” Beth leaned against the kitchen sink, eyebrows lifted in anticipation.

Stalling, Emilie gathered her frazzled hair in a fresh knot, then slipped in
a wide barrette to hold it at bay for another afternoon of research. “No, you’re the only company I’ve had for days.”

Beth looked surprised. “No phone calls? From … anybody?”

“My mother, of course. Helen. A couple of friends in Winston-Salem.” Emilie wasn’t about to tell Beth—or anyone else—what happened on Kissel Hill, let alone the outrageous offer Jonas had made.
Call him, indeed!
Not if he were the last kissable man on earth.

“No need to worry about me, Beth.” She guided her toward a cozy, overstuffed chair in the front sitting room. “I’ve lived alone for years. I’m used to a quiet house.”

Beth shook her head. “C’mon, Em, you know what I’m getting at. Have you heard from Jonas?”

Emilie was appalled when an odd sort of laugh came out—almost like a giggle.
Ridiculous.
She never giggled. “Why in the world would Jonas Fielding be calling me?”

“Because according to Sara, you kissed him in front of God and everybody.”

There was no stopping the heat that rose to her cheeks. “Sara said that, did she?”

“Children are notoriously honest. ’Course, I was at the top of the hill and missed the whole thing, but Sara’s account was very … um, descriptive.” Beth glanced at her watch and unzipped her jacket. “Look, I’ve got a good half hour before I have to be home. How about
you
tell me what happened. No skipping the juicy details, either.”

Emilie groaned, coloring further. “It was beyond humiliating. The man kissed me only because he was confused and in pain. Hours later, he didn’t even
remember
it, he was so disoriented.”

Beth’s bemused expression didn’t help things. “The way I heard it, you kissed
him.
”

Well!
“Only because he
asked
me to.”

Beth’s amusement erupted into a laugh. “I thought you said he was delirious.”

Emilie uncrossed her legs with a spirited stomp. “Well, he was alert enough to manage two words: ‘Kiss me.’ ”

“The real question is, Em, did he kiss you back?”

Oh, most definitely.
It was the very tactile memory of his narrow top lip
and generous bottom one pressing firmly and quite intentionally against hers that made the whole scene remarkably unforgettable.

With no effort whatsoever, she could still feel that scratchy chin rubbing along her own, taste the flavors of tea and chocolate mingled together, sense the warmth of him despite his wind-chilled cheeks.…

Enough, Em!

Arranging her features such that they gave away nothing, she said simply, “Yes, I believe Jonas did kiss me back. So you see, it was his idea from beginning to end. I was merely a participant.”

“Ah, but a willing one, right?”

Honestly!
This friendship with Beth was getting more taxing by the minute. “Somewhat.” She slipped enough ice in her voice to stem any further discussion. “How is Sara doing, by the way?”

Laughing, Beth zipped her jacket closed and rose to leave. “You can run, Em, but you can’t hide. Not in this small town. Sara’s fine, of course. Looking forward to more snow tonight, if the forecast is correct.” Beth moved the curtain to peer out at the wintry gray sky. “Who knows? We may have to go sledding again tomorrow. Certainly did prove to be an interesting experience
last
Friday.” She winked broadly. “Maybe that’s why they call it Kissel Hill.”

“Now who’s being silly?” Emilie pulled the front door open with an exaggerated yank. “It was named after the Kiesel family, among the first local Moravians to take communion the day the Gemeinhaus was dedicated in 1749.”
The second Gemeinhaus, that is.

“Always the historian, that’s our Dr. Getz.” Beth shook her head as she headed down the steps, then turned back, a pensive look on her face. “Don’t get so wrapped up in the past you miss the present, Em. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

But when the phone rang the next morning, it wasn’t Beth, nor Helen, nor her mother, nor the church.

It was Jonas.

“It’s snowing,” Jonas announced, sounding much too cheerful about it. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

No. Yes!
Emilie gripped the telephone and kept her voice steady. “You tell me.”

“Time for the practice session we talked about. The weather is perfect.”

“It is?”
That weather thing again.
She glanced at the window, as if the skies might offer a clue. What did snow and kissing have in common, anyway?

“Are you game, Emilie?”

Yes. No!
She gulped. “I … I guess so.”

“Meet me at the house. You know how to get here, don’t you?”

“I’m sure I’ll remember.” As if she could forget. “Do I need to … bring anything?”
Courage for starters, Em.
“Hot chocolate, perhaps?” she added lamely.

“Nah, I’ve got that covered. And Emilie?” She could hear the banked excitement in his voice. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“You do?” She hated surprises.

“You’re gonna love it, I promise.” Jonas paused, his enthusiasm clearly
getting the better of him. “I’ll give you one hint: you’ll be
flying
before the morning is over.”

“I see.”
See what? See myself flying into his arms?
Certainly not! She scrambled for some legitimate reason to bow out. “Are you sure you’ve … recovered sufficiently?”

“Healthy as old Trix here.” Emilie heard a bark of agreement in the background. “Now listen, Emilie.” His cautionary tone pushed her nerves further on edge. “It’s nasty out. Dress warmly.”

“Dress
warmly?
” Her mind reeled at the thought. “Are we … uh, practicing … outdoors?”

A deep chuckle reverberated across the phone line. “You aren’t planning on going sledding in my living room, are you? Granted, not much furniture there, but I’d like to spare the hardwood—”

“Did you say—I mean—
sledding?
”

“Sledding, yeah.” His voice was a question mark. “What did you think we were doing?”

Don’t ask.
“I wasn’t sure … exactly.”

“You seemed to enjoy yourself last Friday. First time, right?”

“Right.”
For a lot of things.
She sighed, her nervous system gearing down, one notch at a time. She’d already said yes. No point backing out now. “What time should I come over?”

“Eleven oughtta do it. The roads are a slippery mess. Take it easy on Cedar Street, promise?”

She heard a soft click, then a dial tone droned in her ear.

“Promise,” she said into the stillness of her kitchen, and hung up the receiver, still dazed. How could she have misconstrued his meaning so completely?

Jonas didn’t remember a thing about last Friday. Except sledding.

So much the better, Em.

She kept reminding herself of that truth, even as she dressed in a blouse that buttoned up to her chin, a sweater that buttoned down to her knees, and scarves that concealed every kissable inch. “There.” She stood in front of the hall mirror, her voice muffled by layers of clothing, her body so thoroughly padded she appeared to have gained twenty pounds. “This should get the message across.”

The actual delivery of Emilie’s keep-your-distance message was delayed
longer than expected. It took fifteen minutes to scrape the ice off her car and four grinding tries before the engine finally sprang to life. Her dependable BMW, kept rust-free from one semester to the next with careful paint touchups and plenty of TLC, came through yet again.

Sitting behind the wheel, hot as burned toast from her efforts and overdone attire, Emilie pulled away from the curb, lightly tapping the brakes to test for traction.

There was none.
Oh, wonderful.

She inched forward, hovering over the gas pedal, as she turned—rather, slid—onto Cedar. A
“slippery mess,” Jonas?
Bit of an understatement there. Week-old piles of gray slush, shoveled toward the curbs, lay hidden under last night’s fresh snowfall and this morning’s treacherous addition: ice.

Clutching the steering wheel, Emilie crawled past the school, then past Trinity Evangelical, noticing how few other drivers had ventured out that morning. A secret shiver of pride ran up her spine.
Brave Emilie and her BMW!
They’d been through so much together, surely they could handle this.

After a steady climb upward, her car crested the hill and started down the other side.
Odd.
The road hadn’t seemed this steep before. On many a sunny day, she’d soared over the rise and down toward Marion Street with nary a moment’s hesitation.

She was hesitating plenty now—inching forward and inevitably downward. Parked cars along the curb, draped with crusty white heaps, loomed closer than seemed prudent. Her destination felt miles away instead of blocks.

From the corner of her eye, Emilie watched a car pull out onto Cedar, fifteen yards ahead. Surely she was going slowly enough to stop.
Surely.
She eased on the brakes, pumping them in slow motion, just like her father had taught her twenty years earlier.

It may have worked then. It wasn’t working now.

Her BMW began drifting sideways. The useless brakes only made things worse. Sliding broadside, her speed increasing, Emilie panicked. Steer
away
from the slide?
Into
the slide?

Immobilized, she hung on, eyes widening with fear.

Without warning, the car in front of her veered right, propelling itself over the curb and out of the BMW’s path.
Thank goodness!

In a split second, relief gave way to terror. The rear wheels locked, then hit a patch of ice. Emilie was suddenly facing backward—
backward!
—staring up
at the snowy hilltop. With a sickening spin, she turned sideways again. Then headfirst, then sideways. Her world became a revolving blur. The only thing in clear focus was the immovable stone gate of the Moravian Cemetery, waiting in ice-shrouded silence at the bottom of the hill.

“Where
is
that woman?”

Jonas checked his watch again.
Eleven-thirty.
No answer when he called her house. Beth, snowbound at home with Sara, said she hadn’t talked to Emilie since Thursday. Helen hadn’t seen her either.

The always-punctual Dr. Getz either changed her mind, ran some errands first, or … 
nah.
He wouldn’t let his imagination go there.

She wasn’t in trouble.

Just late.

For the first time in her life.

When his cell phone rang, he punched it on in mid-chirp. “Emilie?”

Silence. “Nooo.” The female caller sounded perturbed. “This is the other woman in your life.”

The other woman?
Jonas held the phone away from his ear with two fingers, as if handling a poisonous snake.
An old girlfriend, maybe? One of his sisters-in-law?
He eased the phone back against his ear. “That you, Diane? Connie?”

“No, silly man. It’s Dee Dee.”

Caught off guard, he blurted out, “Dee
who?
”

“Look—” she sighed, an undercurrent of irritation rippling below her smooth tone—“I know you collect women like baseball cards, but surely you remember your real estate agent, who—”

“Oh! Dee Dee.”
Of all people.
The woman was like a bad penny. “What can I do for you?”

Her throaty laugh sang across the phone line. “I can think of several possibilities, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

Good.
He glanced at his watch again. “Do you mind cutting to the chase here? I’m … expecting someone.”

“That brainy historian with the mousy brown hair, I suppose.”

Jonas frowned, trying to remember if he’d ever seen a mouse with brown hair.

“Never mind,” Dee Dee added with a groan. “Any more details will just depress me.”

He heard her shuffle through papers, let out a disgruntled humph, then rattle more pages before she declared, “Aha! Here we go. Remember that property adjacent to Carter’s Run, the one you desperately wanted for your clubhouse?”

He remembered, all right. “The one the owner wouldn’t sell, at any price we offered?” His one disappointment about the whole project, and Dee Dee the dealmaker had to bring it up.
Talk about depressing.

“I found another angle, Jonas. Is it too late, design-wise?”

Now she had his attention. “Not if you can give me something definite in the next thirty days.” After months of haggling, he’d been forced to settle for a much smaller clubhouse than he wanted—too close to the street, and too small for anything but the basic services. With the additional corner lot, he’d have the first-class setup he longed for, overlooking the entire eighteen holes.

If—and it was a big if—the budget stretched that far.

“How much, Dee Dee?”