Bookends (44 page)

A nap? Me?
“It’s dinnertime.” She flipped off the warm quilt, nudging Olive off the couch, smiling as the furry creature stalked off in a feline huff.

Sara and Emilie moved in slow motion toward the kitchen, where the delicious smells of a home-cooked meal perked them up in a hurry. While Sara set the table—she’d learned to use matching plates now—Emilie sliced the meat, drained the beans, then filled two serving dishes. “So much food for just us two. Suppose we make a plate for Jonas and Nathan to have later, just in case they’re hungry?”

There was no “in case.” The two men were always hungry.

After Sara’s long, heartfelt prayer for every animal in the house—and most of the stuffed ones in her bedroom at home—they dove into their meal. The child ate like she’d never seen food before, packing her cheeks like a chipmunk. Emilie ate with greater poise but no less enthusiasm. Dessert would be sugar cake—later for Emilie, when the men stopped by, but now for Sara before her daddy came for her at eight.

Emilie hated to ask, but had to know. “Does it taste like Mrs. B.’s?”

Sara nodded, managing to roll her eyes and chew at the same time. “Mm-mm!” she said between bites. That was good enough for Emilie.

The unexpected brrnngg! of the front doorbell made them both jump in
their seats. “Is that my daddy already?” Sara asked, her lower lip in full pout.

Emilie checked her watch.
Two minutes to seven.
If it were Drew, he was an hour early. If it were Jonas, he’d be late for church.

“Maybe it’s the Easter bunny,” she teased, patting Sara’s hand as she stood to answer the door. “You keep nibbling on your sugar cake while I see who’s come a’calling.”

It was Drew standing on her porch, a tall, lanky man with a smile that commandeered much of his face and eyes brimming with kindness. He stepped inside, instinctively ducking at the doorway, then glanced toward the kitchen. “Is Sara ready?”

“My, you’re early.” Emilie tried not to sound disappointed. “I was looking for you at eight. Give me a second and I’ll gather her things.”

He wrinkled his brow, “That’s funny. I was sure I was supposed to be here at seven. Sorry, Em.”

They both shrugged, chuckling, then headed for the kitchen, where Drew soon had a forkful of sugar cake pointed toward his mouth. Emilie watched them together—father and daughter—and thought of Jonas. Would he embrace fathering with such enthusiasm? Or had fathering Nathan—there really was no other word for it—soured his taste for parenting?

And why are you even thinking such things, Emilie Getz?
Had the man proposed marriage? He had not. Had they even discussed it? They had not. Would she say yes if he asked?

In a heartbeat.

That thought kept a private, half-smile on her face through the process of collecting Sara’s jacket, shoes, a stray toy, a favorite book. Amazing how one child could require such an armload of equipment.

Emilie hugged her more than once before Sara and Drew drove off, taking a corner of her heart with them. The last thing she saw was Sara’s nose pressed against the glass and a small hand waving good-bye.

The tightness in her throat caught her off guard.
You’ll see her tomorrow, silly. Then Saturday at the lovefeast, and Easter, too.
Her emotions seemed especially volatile lately. Whatever happened to her calm, quiet, ordered existence?

“I’ll tell you what happened,” she said to Victor, who was behaving himself in his lofty cage. “The Lord happened. Jonas happened.
Life
happened, you crazy bird!”

Are you talking to Victor or yourself, Em?

“Pretty girl!” Victor squawked back, answering her question.

Laughing softly, she flipped on the stereo to fill the empty house with choral music, then tackled the kitchen, reveling in the simple tasks of washing dinner dishes, wiping counters clean, brushing crumbs into her palms the way she’d watched her mother do a thousand times.

Drying her hands on a towel, she stopped to survey her squeaky-clean domain, enjoying the quiet satisfaction of it, when the sound of a fist banging on wood, mere feet away, snapped her head toward the back door.
Who in the world?
Ignoring the knot in her stomach, she flicked the switch for the outside light and peered through the glass.

Nathan.
What in the world was he doing here—alone, at her place—when he was supposed to be with Jonas at church? The clock in the dining room had just chimed seven-thirty.
Odd.

She opened the back door with the slightest twinge of apprehension. “Hello, Nathan.” She took in the sullen features, the slouched shoulders, the downturned corners of his mouth. “I didn’t expect—”

Without a word or a warning, he lurched forward and staggered over the threshold, then caught himself on the doorjamb, gripping it for balance, his head hanging down at an angle.

The scent of liquor was faint but distinct. More than anything, the air around him smelled of fear.

“Nathan?” Her heart squeezed into her throat. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She glanced behind him, seeing nothing there but the white gazebo in the dusk-filled garden. “Is … Jonas with you?”

“Do I look like my brother’s keeper?” His growled words were slightly slurred but clearly sarcastic.

The one that needs a keeper tonight is you, Nate.
She’d never seen him in such a state. His eyes were unfocused, his breath was thick, and he desperately needed ten minutes with a sharp razor and a wet comb.

Emilie kept her voice as steady as possible, praying between every word. “Something’s happened, Nathan, I can see that. Tell me why you’re here, what I can do to help you.”

He was unsteady but standing, looming over her, misery and anger vying for control of his features. Any self-control seemed lost to liquor hours ago. “You wanna
help
me?” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been too much
help
already. You lied to me, Emilie.”

Lied?
Struggling to swallow, to keep her tone even, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean.”

He swore at her, slamming the door behind him.

“Nathan! Please.” She backed up a step. “I need you to wait outside while I call Jonas and ask him—”

“No! Not Jonas.” Without preamble, he reached out and snatched her left wrist with one muscular hand, wrapping his other hand around her throat, pulling her against his chest so she couldn’t wriggle free.

“You lied to me, Emilie.” His words, ground out with barely contained fury, were more menacing than his actions. “You told Jonas about Tuesday.” His hand around her throat began to tighten. “You did, didn’t you? You told him.”

Her heart slammed against her chest. No man had ever been so rough with her. Anxiety and anger washed over her, threatening to drown her.

No! Don’t let him bully you, Em.

Straightening her spine as best she could, Emilie said in her calmest, most authoritative voice, “I did not lie to you.”

“You were the only one who knew about it, Emilie, the only one who saw me.” His voice was a ragged knife; his anger far beyond reason.

But she had to try. “I said nothing to Jonas about last Tuesday. And what would I have told him? That you were playing hooky. That you were sitting at his computer, punching in numbers that were meaningless to me.”

His hands, large like Jonas’, began exerting more pressure on her wrist, and even more on her throat. “Nice try, Doc. You’re too bright not to have figured it out. How else would Jonas know about my money transfer in time to mess it up?”

Her breathing felt pinched. “Nathan … please!” Her voice was high and faint. It was hard to get the words out. She could feel bruises already forming where his fingers manhandled her too-long, too-pale neck.

She had to push through the pain.
Must, Em. Must!
He had to understand. “I had … no idea.” He squeezed harder. “Please! I didn’t lie. I didn’t know.… about … the money.” She coughed, trying to clear her throat. “Don’t do this, Na—”

He cut her off with a curse. “You ruined everything!” He shook her, making her neck crack and ache with each jerking motion.

“I never … I never …” She was dizzy now. Light-headed. The atmosphere
in the room was changing to a pale, starry blue. More than anything she wanted to lie down.
Yes, there on the cool floor.
As though from another room, she heard Nathan shouting things she didn’t understand. Ugly things, angry things.

That was when she realized, however dimly, that Nathan was in much more pain than she.

“Please … stop. Please …” It was the last thing she remembered saying before the back door flew open and crashed against the cabinets.

Jonas.
Roaring like a lion.

“Get your hands off her, Nathan!”

The hands disappeared.

She dropped to her knees, bent over and gasping. Pulling in air like a lifeline, then falling back to a sitting position, her back propped against the refrigerator.

Time elongated. Seconds became minutes.

Jonas looked at her with love and fury in his eyes, concern on his features. Looked long enough to see that she was breathing steadily. Waited until she nodded and waved a dismissive hand that said, “Don’t worry, I’m okay,” before he turned and slammed Nathan against the counter.

His righteous anger charged the air. “How
dare
you touch her! How dare you hurt her like that!” Jonas was breathing like a locomotive, huffing in angry bursts. “Did you think you could get away with this? With … all of this?”

“She lied to me!” Nathan shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her.

Jonas’ voice dropped to a deadly pitch. “And
you
lied to
me,
brother.” He dragged in a ragged breath and pushed it back out, the sound echoing his anger and frustration. And disappointment.

“Nate, to think I trusted you.” He shook his head, not letting go, still holding Nathan against the counter. Though matched in height, Jonas was more solid. And sober. Emilie didn’t doubt his words—and tone of voice—alone would have pinned his brother to the wall. “I trusted you with everything I owned and everything that mattered to me.” He turned in Emilie’s direction, checking on her again, letting her know he loved her with his brief but potent gaze.

Emilie nodded to let him know she was fine.

She was nothing of the kind, but Jonas had enough trouble on his hands at the moment.

Jonas snapped his head back toward Nate, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m ashamed of you, brother, and ashamed of myself for trusting you.”

Nathan met his brother’s indictment without flinching. If there was remorse there, it didn’t show. The only emotion she sensed, rolling off Nathan like steam, was fear.

Jonas pressed for answers. “Why did you do it, Nate? Why did you mess with the books? And why did I come here tonight and find you …?” Jonas pounded his fists on his brother’s shoulders, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough.

Nathan dropped his head and shook it. It didn’t look like remorse from where she was sitting. It looked like cowardice.

Jonas wasn’t buying it. “I asked you a question, son.”

Nathan’s head shot up, and his voice with it. “I am
not
your son! Can’t you get that through your thick head?” Nathan straightened, shoving Jonas back a half step. “I don’t owe you, okay? He was
my
dad, too, and he died trying to save
your
friend, and that’s all there is to it.”

Jonas stepped closer, widening his stance. “Now listen—”

“No,
you
listen! Nobody made you my dad, you got that?” Nathan’s eyes were fiercely bright, his anger cutting through his alcohol-induced fog. “You are not my dad and you can’t tell me how to live.”

“
You
are the one who always calls asking for advice! And for money. Ten thousand in the last two months, Nate.”

Emilie gasped at the sum.
Ten thousand dollars!
Gone in two months?

Jonas’ tone was as solid as granite. And as hard. “Where did it go, Nate? Looks to me like your rehab time was not well spent.”

“I told you I’ll pay it back.” Nate dipped his head again, bitterness seeping into his voice. “Right now I’ve got more problems than you can possibly imagine.”

“Yeah, and your biggest problem is standing right in front of you.” Jonas grabbed his arms, as if trying to shake some sense into him. “Nathan, this afternoon Dee Dee called and told me what she thought you were up to. That’s when I checked the accounts, found your digital fingerprints all over them. What you did amounts to attempted embezzlement. That’s serious jail time, do you understand that?”

Nathan shrugged, not looking up. “I figured you’d cover for me.”

“
Cover
for you? That’s taxpayers’ money, Nate, not mine. And then there’s
this business tonight.” He turned in Emilie’s direction, hands firmly gripping Nathan around the elbows, keeping him immobile. “Did you welcome his company tonight, Em? Was he invited through this door?”

She shook her head and managed a shaky, “No.”

Jonas swerved back to Nathan, his jaw tense. “I thought not. So we’re talking forcible entry. Plus assault and battery—”

“I haven’t got a weapon,” Nate shot back.

“Your anger alone is a weapon!” Jonas lowered his pitch but not the intensity. “Your words are weapons and your hands are weapons, Nate. Emilie has the bruises to prove it. Unless you can convince me otherwise, I intend to call the Lititz police and press charges.”

“Nooo!” Emilie struggled to stand, then realized her legs were like jelly.

Jonas shook him once, hard, then let go and paced across the room, hands jammed in his pockets, his dark eyes more intense than she’d ever seen them, his brows gathered into a painful knot. His emotions were raw, edgy, and easy enough to read: He needed to move before he hit something, namely Nathan. He needed to understand, to make sense where there was none.

Finally he stood still and simply stared at Nate, waiting.

The air was charged.

Nate said nothing, not even with his expression.

Jonas finally broke the silence with a weighty sigh. “Sit down, brother. We gotta talk. Nobody needs twenty thousand that badly unless they’re in trouble. You in trouble, Nate?”