Dear Emily (24 page)

“Sit down, Emily, I’ll pour you some coffee,” Kelly said quietly.

“I guess you want to know who…whose cars were in the driveway. Well, they…Rose and I invited the girls to a belated New Year’s party the twin organization had and…only twins can belong, but the party is open to guests…that kind of thing. The…others all seemed to hit it off pretty well and there were some new members and those members brought other sets of twins we’d never met before because they hadn’t joined up…we thought…it was so nice to enjoy their company and I am babbling and don’t know why,” Rose said.

“You made us feel like we did something wrong,” Lena said coolly. “I guess it was wrong to go to bed and leave the mess, but we agreed to get up early and clean it up. We drank too much wine. So, if that’s a sin in your book, we’re sorry.”

“We didn’t know you were coming home last night,” Nancy said. “Why didn’t you join us instead of going upstairs? I think your whole attitude stinks, Emily. Why are you making us…at least me, feel like we did something sneaky and underhanded? We live here too. You said we could entertain or did that mean only when you were here?”

Ben’s kid sister. Relief washed over her. She should say something, give some indication that it was all right. But it wasn’t all right. She knew before the words tumbled out of her mouth that she was, as Ian always said, cutting off her nose to spite her face. Her stupid, stubborn streak was going to do her in again. Maybe they’d just met the men a few weeks ago, maybe they weren’t really involved, but they would be sooner or later. And then, one by one, they would leave. And she’d be alone.

Emily nodded. She felt uncomfortable, as if she didn’t belong anymore. “Of course you have the right to have a party. Congratulations on getting the new business. I got some myself in New York. It’s all in the envelope on the counter. This is very hard for me to say, but I think it’s time you all moved on, found your own place. We can’t be the Campfire Girls forever. I’m…ah, I’m going to sell the house and get a townhouse or a condo. Maybe in Park Gate. Take your time, there’s no rush. Actually, take as long as you like.” She set her coffee cup down on the counter and left the room.

In her room, secure within the confines of the four walls, Emily cried like a baby, hiccupping and sobbing into the pillow. Damn, it wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. Being the initiator was supposed to ease the pain of the eventual parting.

And all because of a stupid party. Well, she couldn’t backtrack now. Even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Get on with it, Emily, do what you have to do. But what the hell is it that I have to do?

You have to stop depending on other people for your happiness. You need to get a life of your own. Put all your old ghosts to rest and that means Ian too. Then you go on. Again.

What do you want Emily?

“I want…to be happy, contented, to have someone to talk with, to share with, the good as well as the bad, someone who isn’t judgmental. Ah, but isn’t that what you just did? You not only judged, you tried and convicted all your friends. Even Ben. You are a mess, Emily.”

A moment later she was out the door, taking the steps two at a time. She ran through the rooms, careening around the dining room table and out to the kitchen. She skidded to a stop. They were all crying. She was crying.

“It’s okay if you leave. I just didn’t want to have to go through it seven times. I thought if I told you all to go I’d only hurt once. I can’t stand…I didn’t think I could take it again. I watched all of you through the dining room window and you all had someone and I just knew, just felt, that…” For a moment she thought she couldn’t go on. “I’ll work at it,” she managed to say. “Don’t be angry with me. It was stupid of me. In my mind I was coming home with presents, new business, new face, new boobs and I wanted us to…to…it doesn’t really matter now. I was stupid and doing exactly the same things I did when I was with Ian. I had hoped I’d grown, gotten smarter, but emotionally, I guess I screwed up.”

They were all over her, touching her face, peering at her, standing back to check out her bustline, as Nancy put it. Then they were all talking at once, about the different sets of twins, what each had to offer, about business, the weather, the house, everything under the sun. The bottom line was, “We missed you, Emily. It wasn’t the same without you.”

“I missed you too,” Emily said, dabbing at her eyes. “I went over to Ben’s last night when I saw you all through the dining room window and this young girl answered the door. I pretended I was looking for another address. I thought he’d given up on me. Everything kind of overwhelmed me after that. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course. Isn’t that what family is all about?”

“Are we blessed or what?” Emily asked happily.

Blessed.

“E
mily, will you marry me?” Ben asked. “This is the fifteenth time I’ve asked you in the last two years. Is this going to be my lucky day?”

“I’m afraid not, Ben. I’m not marriage material. We both know that. Stop trying to make an honest woman of me. I like my independence. If I got married, I’d smother you. That’s my nature. It’s better this way. For me. If you…”

“Don’t say it, Emily. I don’t want anyone else. I love you, have always loved you. We’re so good together.”

“And I want to keep it that way. For some reason that piece of paper that says you’re man and wife changes things. Can we talk about something else?”

“What would you like to talk about, Emily?”

“My upcoming trip to Los Angeles to see Ian.”

“So, what else is there to talk about? You’re going, you made up your mind, so what is there to discuss?”

“I guess I just want your opinion.”

“I’m the one who suggested it, remember? Is there something else on your mind? If so, tell me. I’m not a mind reader, Emily.”

Emily smiled. “I leave in the morning. Want to come along?”

“Nope. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“You are the sweetest man I know, Ben Jackson,” Emily said, cuddling next to him.

“I’m not sure I like being called sweet. What’s wrong with rugged, handsome? I like sinewy.”

“All those things.” Emily smiled. “I can’t imagine my life without you and my housemates.”

“Emily Thorn, I swear that is the nicest thing you ever said to me.”

“Shut up and make love to me.”

He shut up and did as instructed.

She didn’t just look good, she looked smashing. A mover and a shaker. Or a woman on the prowl.

The Armani suit was perfection in itself, the shoes positively sinful, showing off her legs to their best advantage. Her makeup was flawless, her hair so fashionable she fit right in with those on the fast track.

She had an appointment at the Bayshore Clinic in the name of Ann Montgomery for three o’clock with Dr. Ian Thorn.

What she hadn’t counted on, wasn’t prepared for, was the crowd of protesters outside the clinic with their homemade signs and pamphlets that they tried to shove in her hand. She brushed them aside as she struggled past the knotted groups. She wondered if she’d come at a bad time or if this was a daily happening.

Inside, she took a deep breath, announced herself to the receptionist. When the nurse on duty handed her a form to fill out, Emily smiled and said, “I’m here for personal reasons.” She handed the clipboard back to the nurse.

“Doctor will see you now,” the nurse said five minutes later. “First door on the left.”

The urge to cut and run was so strong, Emily clenched her fists and dug the heels of her shoes into the carpet. Deep breaths. Real deep breaths. Okay, walk slowly, open the door just as slowly. You’re lookin’ good, Emily. Act like it.

This wasn’t Ian. Not this pudgy, balding man whose hand was trembling as he held it out to her. “Miss Montgomery, my nurse said you’re here for personal reasons. A lot of patients say that at first. Sit down, relax.”

“Ian, don’t you recognize me? It’s me, Emily.”

“Emily!” Shock. Disbelief. Outrage. It was all there for her to see in his red face. He’s drinking too much, Emily thought.

“That’s my name,” Emily said, sitting down. She crossed her legs, pleased at the way the Armani skirt hiked up. “I came all the way across the country just to see you.”

“Why? What do you want? What did you do to yourself?”

“Actually I don’t want anything. There’s not a thing you have that I would ever want. I just wanted to see you. Well, maybe I wanted to tell you something. I burned all your white shirts.” She paused a moment, for effect. “I guess it’s my turn to ask you what you’ve done to yourself. You look like you’ve been rode hard and hung up wet. The good life, huh? If I was one of those women out there, I’d never let you take a knife to me. Your hands are shaking. You have the face of a drinker. You must be what, forty pounds overweight, and is that a smudge I see on that white shirt?
Tsk, tsk,”
Emily said, clucking her tongue.

“What do you want, Emily?”

“Nothing. Truly, Ian, I don’t want anything. Now, how much do you charge for your initial visit?”

“A hundred dollars,” Ian said automatically.

Emily wrote off a check and placed it precisely in the middle of Ian’s desk. “See, I’m even paying for your time. I said I didn’t want anything. I wanted to see if the years were as good to you as they were to me.” She stood up, twirled around for his benefit, then sat down. “What you did to me was unconscionable, but I survived. Bet you don’t know a thing about me. Or do you?” Ian shook his head. “I am Emily Thorn of the famous Emily’s Fitness Centers. Of course we’re mainly on the East Coast so it’s possible you haven’t heard about us. I make”—she leaned over the desk to whisper—“seven figures a year.” Of course it was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Come off it, Emily.” At the same time he rang for his nurse. When she poked her head in the door, he barked, “Call Stan Margolis, my old attorney in New Jersey, and ask him to tell you everything he knows about an enterprise called Emily’s Fitness Centers. Do it right now.”

Emily shrugged. “How’s business? Why didn’t you have the guts to tell me to my face you were leaving instead of sending me a Federal Express letter?”

“I didn’t want a scene. You loved scenes.”

“How many clinics do you have out here?”

“Six, not that it’s any of your business. I’m thinking of getting out. Every day I have to fight those people out there. We’ve been fire-bombed twice, robbed six or seven times, and now it’s worse. I didn’t bargain for this,” he said, his words coming out in a tumbled rush.

The phone on his desk buzzed. Ian picked up the receiver and said, “Dr. Thorn. Stan, good to hear your voice. Fine, fine. Yeah, lots of smog. I have a patient sitting here.”

Emily smiled at the expression on Ian’s face. How was it possible that she’d been so besotted with this man?

Ian hung up the phone, an ugly look on his face. “I want half.”

“Of what?”

“Whatever you have. I gave you your start. Turnabout is fair play.”

“What about the start I gave you?”

“I gave you everything you wanted,” Ian snapped. “Pay me off and I can stop slicing up women for a living.”

“Go to hell, Ian. I divorced you. Long ago. You have no claim on anything I have.”

“Do you still have the house?”

“Oh, yes with two mortgages. I took out an equity loan in case you decided you wanted your half. It’s yours; name the time and date when you want to take possession. I’ve kind of let it go. Now I have a condo in Park Gate. The house is worth very little,” Emily lied. “I’ll give you five thousand for it or it can go into default. Darn, I meant to bring that up. Thanks for mentioning it, Ian. Well, I really should be going now.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You always did. When did I ever lie to you, Ian?”

“All right, I’ll take it.”

“Not until you sign this waiver. And this transfer for the deed.”

“Write the check,” he said, signing. “What about the tulips?”

“What about them?” she asked as she wrote out a second check and placed it on the first.

“Did you keep up with them?”

“For a while. There aren’t any flowers now. I don’t have time to tend a garden.” Then Emily asked softly, “Are you happy, Ian?”

“Who the hell do you know who’s happy, Emily? You always did ask stupid questions like that.” He shoved the checks in his desk drawer.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m happy?”

“Well, are you?”

Emily smiled. “Very happy. You broke my heart, Ian. I mean that literally. But it mended. For a while I didn’t think it was possible. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong. Once I realized I’d wasted half my life on you, the comeback was relatively easy. What’s happened to you, Ian?”

“Nothing. Don’t go looking for things to say just to be nasty.”

“You’re wasting your life the way you wasted mine. It’s too late for you, Ian, you’ve lost your edge. Look at the tremor in your hands. You need to give this up before something goes wrong. Go into dermatology.” She began to walk toward the door.

“Come on, Emily, you must still have some feelings for me. We were together a long time. Let’s have dinner for old times’ sake. Don’t you remember the good times, the good old days?” His voice was desperate-sounding.

“Ian, this is me, Emily. What good times, what good old days are you talking about? All my feelings for you are gone. You pretty much repulse me right now. All that education, all that medical knowledge, and look at you. You’re pathetic. You’re also a pisspot,” she said over her shoulder.

Ian opened the drawer of his desk and stared at the checks Emily had given him.

Time to go home, to the big, lonely house in the hills that was full of treasures, all bought and paid for with abortion money. He removed his surgical coat and slipped into his sports jacket. He wished then, the way he wished every day, that there was a back door to the clinic so he wouldn’t have to fight the protesters outside.

As he made his way across the parking lot, the noise and babble finally got to him. He raised his fist and shouted obscenities. He heard the shot, even thought he saw the sun spear off the barrel of the gun. He felt himself lose his balance, his arms grappling with the thin air. He felt his face mash into the dirty asphalt.

And then nothing.

Emily packed her small overnight bag as she waited for Room Service to bring the garden salad and vegetable soup she’d ordered for dinner. She snapped the small bag she would carry on the Redeye she was taking to return home in a few hours.

Today’s visit with Ian had taken its toll on her. Her bravado and smart-aleck talk with her ex-husband had confused her. She still wasn’t sure why she’d come here. The business with the house had merely been an excuse. With Ian she had always needed an excuse for everything. Old habits were hard to break. Until she’d seen him face to face, she’d felt connected to him even though they were divorced. Now, though, she was finally able to say there was nothing about Ian she ever wanted to see or hear of again. If there was a connection, her visit had severed it once and for all.

Maybe now she could give some serious thought to taking back her maiden name; legally. It was something she’d thought about many times, but had never acted on.

Emily carried her bag over to the door just as a knock sounded. She opened it to admit the waiter with her dinner. “I didn’t order this,” she said, “but it’s okay, leave it. You might have a problem with the person who gets my salad and soup, though.” She signed the slip, added a generous tip, and sat down to eat a thick ham and cheese sandwich with potato chips and pickles on the side. The frosty bottle of Budweiser looked wonderful. She loved beer, but rarely drank it. She turned on the TV and leaned back in the chair, propping her feet on the bed while she munched contentedly.

Until she saw Ian’s face flash on the screen. She turned up the sound that she’d lowered when the waiter appeared. Her eyes were wide with shock as she tried to comprehend what she’d just heard. Ian was dead, shot in the parking lot by an abortion foe. She’d just spoken with him a few hours ago, she’d called him a pisspot, and now he was dead. She would never, ever, hear his voice again. He was out of her life. Forever.

Emily cried then, deep, bone-searing sobs that rocked her body.

Hours later, when there were no more tears, Emily washed her face, brushed her hair, put on fresh lipstick. Her eyes were red-rimmed now, slightly swollen. She opted to forgo eye makeup, knowing she was going to tear up again and again.

What was she to do now? Should she return home as planned? Should she go to the police station? And say what? Ian was her ex-husband. She wasn’t involved in his life anymore. Who would handle his affairs? Did he have a live-in love, a wife somewhere? Who was his local attorney? Maybe she should call Stan Margolis back in New Jersey and ask his advice. Who was going to plan his funeral and where was he to be buried? Ian never wanted to talk about life insurance or discuss cemetery plots. In these past years did he do any estate planning? Was she obligated to stay and…and what? Emily threw her hands in the air.

Emily placed the call through the operator, telling her she didn’t know the number. “Tell whoever answers the phone that this is an emergency, a life and death matter. Actually it’s death. Yes, I’ll hold,” Emily dithered.

The attorney’s voice when it came on the line was professional-sounding, much like Ian’s. She took a deep breath and explained the situation. Finally she said, “I don’t know what to do. What I mean is I want to do the right thing. Leaving sounds so…callous. I’m willing to do whatever you think is best.”

She was frazzled now, pacing and wringing her hands. Margolis was going to call the police, explain, and call her back. Should she call home? It was nine o’clock back in New Jersey, six here. Her friends would be home now. Usually the first thing they did was turn on the little television set on the kitchen counter for the evening news. Ian’s death would have been on the news; she was certain of that. Violent deaths always made the news. Call now or wait till Margolis called her back? Cancel her airline flight or not?

Emily finished the beer in the bottle. She continued to pace.

It was six-thirty when the attorney in New Jersey called her back. “The police would like to talk with you. It’s a formality, but I do think you should make an appearance. Delay your flight till tomorrow. If you need me, call.” Emily copied down his home phone number and stuck it in her purse.

She used up another twenty minutes canceling her flight and calling the women, who had already heard the news. “No, no, there’s nothing any of you can do. I’ll call you when I get back from the police station. Do me a favor and call Ben.”

At the police station Emily was taken into a small room, where she explained her visit to a man who said he was a homicide detective. He listened intently. “I knew he wouldn’t…at least I thought he wouldn’t want to talk to me if he knew it was me…I suppose this doesn’t make sense to you…right now it doesn’t make much sense to me either. I can’t explain why I came here to California at this particular point in my life…perhaps because…because…I might be getting married. More likely than not I won’t…that didn’t make sense, did it? Something told me to come and…and I did…I don’t even know if Ian ever got the divorce papers. What should I do now? Who’s in charge of his affairs? I don’t want to step on any toes, but if there is no one, out of decency I’ll make the final arrangements. When will…when will…Ian be…do you know?”