Recipe for Romance (15 page)

She supposed she had.

“I haven’t made a decision yet so I’d appreciate if you didn’t say anything to your sister. I should be the one,” she said coolly. Her heart began to race with determination. She would go to that school. There was no reason not to anymore. To think she had almost given up the opportunity for Scott. She had thrown enough years away on him.

When they reached the park on Orchard Lane, Scott came to a stop. “Can we sit over there?” he asked, pointing to a wooden bench under a crab apple tree.

Heart sinking, Emily walked over to the bench. “Are you regretting last night?” she blurted before he’d even had a chance to sit down.

“What?” His brow furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair. “No, no.” He sat down heavily beside her, rubbing his hand over his jaw. She could hear the soft scratching of his skin over the faint call of blue jays. “Quite the opposite,” he said, his voice low and soft, and Emily felt her insides flutter.

Stay with me tonight. Stay with me forever.

Well, she had intended to do just that. Now it seemed he couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. “So you don’t regret it?” She frowned. “I’m sorry, Scott. I don’t understand.”

“Of course I don’t regret it. Last night was...amazing.” He huffed out a breath. “But that’s just the problem, Emily,” he continued.

Emily’s heart sank. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly.

Scott turned to her, suddenly looking like he had aged ten years overnight. “Emily, I need to tell you something.” His voice was low, barely audible, and her breath locked in her chest.

“You’re scaring me.”

His stare penetrated hers, reaching the depth of her heart, pulling her toward him like a magnet. She couldn’t have torn her gaze from his if she wanted to.

“You always wondered why I broke things off with us.”

She nodded, unable to speak from the lump in her throat.

He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes before slowly lifting his gaze to hers once more. “There was a reason.”

“Okay,” Emily said, encouraging him through the pause. What was done was done. She had decided to forget their past and to focus instead on their future. Their present. They were adults now, and they had something—something real—she was sure of it! In the brief amount of time since Scott had returned to town, they had formed a connection, and after last night, they had formed a bond. It couldn’t be broken. Not like this. Not so quickly. Nothing he could say about that night twelve years ago could undo what they had now.

“Did anyone ever tell you the cause of your father’s death?”

Emily felt like her gut was being squeezed through a vice. “What does that have to do with anything?” she replied, hearing the hysterical pitch in her voice. She didn’t want to talk about her father’s death or imagine the brutal way in which he had died. She’d tried to push those images from her mind a long time ago—how dare he try and bring such pain to the surface? “Why are you bringing this up? Are you trying to upset me?”

“He died on one of my father’s job sites,” Scott said softly.

“I know that. Of course I know that!” Emily said sharply. She stared at him angrily. “What are you trying to tell me, Scott?”

Scott pulled his hand free of hers and raked his fingers through his hair. “They said it was human error, that he didn’t pull the brakes on the machinery before stepping down into the ditch.”

Well, thanks for reminding me.
“Please stop,” she said over her pounding heart. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Her legs were shaking and she pushed on her knees with both hands to still them. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“It was human error, Emily, but it wasn’t his.”

Emily felt the blood drain from her face, and the world went quiet. She could hear nothing—not the birds in the trees, not the wind through the leaves, not the beating of her own heart.

“It was me, Emily,” Scott said.

She sat paralyzed, unable to move or even blink. Scott’s clenched jaw pulsed; his profile was hard and unyielding, betraying no emotion. The bastard couldn’t even look her in the eye.

“I don’t understand,” she said calmly, her stone-cold voice unfamiliar to her own ears, as if the sound was coming from someone else, somewhere far away. It echoed from a hollow place.

Scott turned to face her, his expression full of anguish. His bright blue eyes were full of regret, full of pain. Fear knotted in her stomach as she searched his face for understanding.

“It was me, Emily! I was the one! I was on that job site that morning, climbing on machinery no kid that age should be allowed near.”

She was frozen to the bench. “But the police—”

“The police were wrong, Emily! They didn’t have all the facts. My dad set the stage, he got me out of there. It was easy for them to just assume what he told them was correct. There was no evidence to the contrary.”

“I don’t understand.” Her voice was shrill. She reflexively pulled back on the bench, desperate to distance herself from him. From his words. “I don’t understand.”

“It was me, Emily! Me! I got in the way. I was climbing on the machine. I left it in gear before I climbed off, and...it rolled. It was an accident, but—” His voice broke on the last word. “I wasn’t even aware of what I did, Emily. I was a stupid little kid. But...I’m to blame for your father’s death.”

* * *

He had feared this moment for twelve long years. He had rehearsed his words, anticipated her reaction and played out every possible scenario until he was in a cold sweat. He hadn’t planned on this. He couldn’t have.

Emily sat on the bench, unmoving. Her creamy skin had paled to a ghostly white. She wasn’t crying or screaming or shouting that she hated him. She was just sitting there. Shaking.

Words he could deal with, but silence was something he was unprepared for. He watched her guardedly, waiting for her to speak, to do something. He ran his hands down his face; his head was pounding. What did she want from him? What did she want him to do? He would do anything in that moment if he knew it would make her feel better. He would get up and leave. He would take her into his arms.

He reached out a hand but she pushed it away before it could reach her. Her eyes were narrowed and sharp. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay,” he said. He heaved a breath and tented his fingers on his lap.

“How long have you known?” she asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her eyes were focused somewhere in the distance and he followed her gaze to a little bird pecking at a bruised and fallen apple.

“Since the night I left town.” He paused. “I was always fooling around on equipment, running around my father’s job sites. I never knew until my parents told me, until I heard them talking—I never knew the part I had played.”

“You were there that day.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And you don’t remember?”

“All I remember is playing on the machines, hopping off. Then suddenly there was all this shouting, and next thing I knew my dad was grabbing me, telling me to get away.” He drew a sharp breath. “My last night in town, I overheard my parents arguing about it. When I confronted them, they told me. For nine years they’d kept me from knowing it had been my doing.”

“And you kept it from me for another twelve,” she murmured. “Is that why you left Maple Woods?”

Scott nodded as shame weighed heavily in his heart. “Yes.” He regarded her carefully before adding, “I didn’t want to hurt you any more than I already had. I thought it was better that way.”

“And now?” She turned a sharp gaze on him. Accusation flashed in her gray eyes.

He hadn’t been expecting that one. He searched for the right words, anything that might ease her pain. “I’m older now. I’ve had time to think. I couldn’t live with myself anymore.”

“Do you feel better now?”

Her words were a punch to the gut. “No.”

She held his eyes miserably, her expression withering as a tear released. She brushed it away quickly with a sniff, turning her attention back to the little bird. “Who else knows?”

“No one,” Scott began and then halted. “Except my parents. That’s why I stopped speaking to them. When they told me what had happened, what they had kept from me—” he glanced at her “—and you...I couldn’t forgive them.”

Emily jaw flinched but her profile held unwavering stoicism. “Not Lucy?”

“Not Lucy.” He drew a breath and reached into his pocket and handed her the folded check.

“What’s this?” Emily asked, taking it.

“It’s what your family should have had a long time ago,” Scott said quietly, watching as Emily unfolded the check and stared at the number.

Wordlessly, she handed it back to him. “I don’t want this.”

He scanned her face, frowning. “Emily, take it. It’s what your family deserved. It would have made your lives easier. Better.”

“Better. You think my life is better now, knowing this, knowing you kept this from me? What was this week all about, Scott? A way to ease your guilt? A way to make up for breaking my heart? A way to make up for—” Her voice cracked and she shook her head, lowering her eyes. Sitting at the end of the bench, she might as well have been sitting across the park or across the town. Across the country. He had never felt more helpless or more incapable of reaching out and just touching her.

“You have no idea how much I care about you, Emily,” he said with quiet force.

She shook her head furiously, releasing a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“Emily.” He was pleading now, and he didn’t care. “I mean it. Just tell me what you want me to do. Is there anything I can do?”

She nailed him with a look of scorn. Her tears had dried, her eyes reflecting something far worse than sadness. “Anything you can do?”

Her tone cut him deep. “It was a stupid question.”

She scowled. “You never should have come back.”

He swallowed hard. So there it was. Worst-case scenario. She hated him. Had he really ever expected anything different? His chest felt like lead as he nodded slowly, resigning himself to the consequences of his actions. “I’ll go. I’ll go tonight.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” she said, her tone turning his breath to ice. She stood and walked calmly away without so much as a look back. His eyes never left her until she was completely out of sight. It was the last time he would ever see her and he had to hold on to her right up until the very last second.

Chapter Eleven

I
t was time to leave Maple Woods. For good this time. There were just a few more things to take care of and he could catch the red-eye to Seattle.

The sadness in Emily’s eyes was a memory he would have to live with forever, but he told himself it was better than leaving again without telling her. A niggling of doubt began to creep through his mind, causing his gut to stir uneasily. He had done the right thing, even if it had opened old wounds—hadn’t he? Emily deserved the truth. Mr. Porter deserved to have his family know that his death had not been a result of his own careless error.

Scott walked slowly through town, past Sweetie Pie and Lucy’s Place, past the town square where a few nights ago he and Emily had danced together. His mind filled with an image of Emily framed by the glow of the lights hanging from the trees, stepping toward him under the umbrella of the leaves, her lips curving into a smile as he took her in his arms and twirled her to the beat of the music.

He’d never forget that smile.

The lights were on in Lucy’s house, and he climbed the stairs to her front porch slowly, prolonging the moment when he would say goodbye to her again, when her opinion of him would change forever. If he didn’t say something to her, Emily surely would.

Before he could turn and run from his problems again, he forced himself to knock loudly on the door. He peered through the long window frame until his sister appeared. She hesitated when she saw him, drawing a breath before she approached the door.

“Good of you to come,” she said, struggling to meet his gaze.

Scott frowned. “How are you?”

Lucy looked around the room, seeming to try to hide from his question. “Not good, Scott.”

Of course she wasn’t good. He didn’t even know why he’d asked. “I’m sorry, Lucy. If there’s anything I can do—”

She snapped her eyes to his. “Are you going to stop by the hospital again? Dad’s awake, and I’m sure he’d appreciate a visit from his only son.”

From the briskness in her tone and the defensive lift of her chin, he suspected she already knew the answer. “I’m heading out of town tonight, actually.”

A bitter burst of laughter escaped from her lips. “Of course you are.”

Scott ignored his sister’s biting tone and crossed into the living room. “We need to talk,” he said firmly. His blood felt thick and cold. There was no going back now.

Lucy hesitated, sensing the change in his mood. “What’s going on?” she asked, her brow furrowing. She looked tired and worn-down. Her hair was pulled back in a loose knot and her face was pale and wan.

It killed him to do this to her but she had to know. Now. Before he left for good.

He motioned to the sofa near the window. “Can we sit down?”

Lucy bristled. “I have a lot to do before I get back to the hospital, Scott. Can this wait until after visiting hours, or will you already be halfway to Seattle by then?”

“This can’t wait.” He grimaced at the sharp edge to his voice, watching as his sister’s eyes darkened. Her brow furrowed as she took a seat at the edge of the sofa. She looked impatient and restless, and more than a little curious.

Scott averted his gaze from the handful of framed photos Lucy kept on the mantle, unable to look at the face of the man who had determined his path and who had selfishly put their family above all others. Too restless to sit, he gripped the back of a wing chair as his gut tensed with emotion. There was no time for sentimentalities now. It would only make this more difficult than it already was.

“Scott?” He looked down to meet her stricken face. “What is going on, Scott?”

Dragging this out wasn’t an option. “Do you really want to know the truth? Why I left all those years ago? Why I couldn’t forgive Dad?”

Lucy looked on the verge of tears. “Of course I do,” she said. “But—maybe I should let it go. What’s done is done. It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” Scott said sharply. He heaved a sigh, steadying himself. “It’s not too late,” he repeated more calmly. “We have to make things right when we still have the chance. And that’s what I’ve decided to do.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“It shouldn’t have gone on for so long.” He swallowed. “The night I left home, I discovered something that I couldn’t live with.”

Lucy’s frown deepened. She nodded. “Go on.”

“Everyone always said that Mr. Porter died by his own carelessness. That he forgot to pull the emergency brake on the excavator, that human error caused it to roll over him.”

Lucy stared at him in confusion. “Richard Porter? Emily’s father?” Lucy’s brow rose. “Scott, why are you even bringing this up?”

He held up a hand. “Mr. Porter’s death was an accident. But I was the one who caused it.”

Lucy stared at him in disbelief. Scott held his breath against the silence of the room. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said calmly.

Scott sighed, burdened by the need to repeat himself, to confirm the horrible circumstances. “I was on the job site that day,” he explained. “Just like I always was in my spare time as a kid. And I was the last person on the machine before it rolled down into the ditch.”

Lucy was staring at him with an intensity he had never seen before. She didn’t blink. “You remember this?”

“No!” He combed his hair off his forehead, stared into his hands. “I was nine years old. That day was a blur to me. I just remember climbing on the equipment, running around in the dirt, and then the screams. The frantic way Dad grabbed me and thrust me into your car, hissing at us to go straight home and to never say a word if questioned.”

Lucy nodded. “Right. I remember that, too.”

“But I heard Mom and Dad talking the night I left town. They were talking about it, Lucy. They were talking about that day, and what happened. They kept it a secret from me for nine years. That’s why they never liked Emily. That’s why...why I couldn’t be with her after I found out.”

She leaned forward. Her eyes looked wild, her face was a chalky-white. “They said
you
caused the accident?”

Scott nodded. “Yes!”

Lucy stared at him wordlessly, and then finally relaxed against the couch. Her mouth was parted, but no sound came out, until finally she said, “I’m sorry, Scott. But that’s not what happened that day at all. I was there. I was dropping off sandwiches for Dad’s lunch when it all happened. I’d just finished putting them in the trailer when the shouts rang out and Dad started yelling for me to get back in the car and go, to take you home. I was there, Scott. And in the chaos of everything, no one bothered to ask me what I saw.”

* * *

The timer to the oven buzzed. Right on time, Emily thought with a small smile. The test of a true baker was being able to know when a pie was done by the smell, and by the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting through the kitchen, instinct told Emily this was going to be one good deep-dish pie. Almost good enough to fill that hole in her heart.

She placed the dish on the cooling rack and closed the oven door with her hip. With hands already coated in flour, she rolled fresh dough into a large circle and then carefully positioned it in a glass pie plate. The comfort of the routine distracted her, and she felt her shoulders relax as she filled the shell with the fruit mixture from her large ceramic bowl. She took care in spreading the filling evenly with the back of her wooden spoon. A sprinkling of brown sugar would add a nice flavor under the second crust, she decided on a whim.

Crimping the edges together, she took small pleasure in the well-honed skill, remembering the way her mother had first taught her to squeeze the crusts between her thumb and forefinger. It was comforting and peaceful to work with her hands—a constructive way to work through the grief.

She carefully set the pie in the oven and turned the timer. The kitchen was a mess and she huffed in dismay as she tossed a dish towel over her shoulder. There was only one issue she took with baking: cleaning up afterward.

Still, cleaning was better than wallowing in pity and eating her way through half a gallon of fudge ripple ice cream. The past week had been a whirlwind of emotions, and it would take some time to get back on track. If she could focus on the normal routine of her day, then she should be okay. Someday.

In a way, she should probably be relieved. After all, for years she had held on to the pain Scott had caused her when he dumped her without a word. Now she could at least scratch that ridiculous sentiment off her list. To think she had been so shattered over something so...trivial! In light of the damage Scott had really caused her, it seemed almost laughable that she should have ever been so upset over a teenage romance that never led to anything more. There was no room for pining now. Last night had been an illusion. An experience built on hopes and dreams. And lies.

For twelve years he had hidden this secret from her—from everyone!—all this time knowing that her father hadn’t died by his own careless error, the way everyone in town believed.

It was wrong, and so very unfair that this was all they remembered him by. And it wasn’t even true! Deep down she had never believed it—her father was good at his job, he took pride in it, but she knew her mother lost sleep about it, and she could still remember her mutterings at the funeral. He had worked too hard. He was tired. Worn-out. Maybe...

The thought of her mother that day haunted her almost as much as the memory of her father’s grin, the way he would swoop her and Julia into his arms each night when he came home, as if they were weightless. He’d lift them up and somehow, with his support, it was as if they could fly.

And now she alone knew the truth. She would have to tell her mother, and Julia. She would have to bear that responsibility, brace herself for their reaction.

Emily bit her lip as she scraped the pie filling from the wooden spoons. She would not think of the pain in Scott’s eyes. She would not think of the remorse in his tone. The anguish—
no.

Tears prickled her eyes. She quickly blinked them away as she heard a key turn in the lock and her sister appeared.

“Hey there!” Julia smiled brightly and plopped her bag down on the table with a heavy thud. She glanced around the dirty-dish-strewn kitchen, eyes gleaming as she spotted the pie. “Oh, yum! Or...” A wave of disappointment crossed her face. “For Sweetie Pie?”

“For you,” Emily said impulsively. She could always make another tonight. God knew she wouldn’t be finding sleep, and keeping busy was better than dwelling on her own misery.

Julia’s face brightened. “Really?” she said, already grabbing a plate from the cabinet. “Should I get one for you?”

Emily shook her head. “I get enough at work,” she fibbed. She pressed her hand to her stomach. It had churned itself raw. She wasn’t sure she would ever have an appetite again. With a tight smile she cautioned, “You might want to let it cool a bit first.”

“Oh, pshaw.” Julia sliced a large wedge and eagerly cracked the crust with her fork. “Delicious,” she said when she had swallowed the first bite. “You really do have a gift, Em. I’m not just saying it to be nice, either. You know I’m honest to a fault.”

“Thanks.” Emily turned her back and lifted the faucet handle to soak the dirty mixing bowls.

Julia leaned a hip against the counter. “So have you given any more thought to that school?”

Her chest felt heavy. She had given quite a bit of thought to it, but her emotions weren’t to be trusted just now. Her judgment felt clouded. “I’m still thinking about it,” she said evenly.

“Did you talk to Scott about it?”

Emily closed her eyes. “Julia.” She sighed.

“Well, don’t let him be the deciding factor, Emily,” Julia said. “Promise me that much at least. If there’s something between you, he can wait. There are some things in life you have to do for yourself, Emily. Not for me. Not for Mom. Not for Scott.”

Emily turned around to face her sister and wiped her hands on a nearby dish towel. She felt weary, but she knew if she went to bed and closed her eyes she would just be haunted by demons she didn’t want to face. “What about Lucy? She’s depending on me.”

“You’ve done nothing but take care of us since Daddy died,” Julia said. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to do something for yourself? I know how much you care about Lucy—she’s a great friend to all of us—but she can take care of herself. She would want this for you, Emily. She sees your talent! Don’t hold yourself back. It’s too big of an opportunity.”

Emily held her sister’s gaze. She couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. As tempting as it was to shelter Julia as much as she had tried to all her life, keeping this information from her sister would make her just as guilty as Scott.

“Julia.” She stopped. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Julia frowned and then took another bite of pie. “We are talking.”

Emily hesitated. “It’s about something else. Something...serious.”

Julia set her fork down, her expression sobering. Immediately Emily wished she could have kept her mouth shut. In a matter of seconds she was going to shatter her sister’s world, tear open wounds that had never properly healed and now never could.

“What is it?”

Emily tipped her chin in the direction of the cramped living room and they silently settled into their usual spots. Unable to make eye contact, Emily stared into her lap. “It’s about Dad. It’s about what happened to him.”

She waited for Julia to say something, but for once, her sister was speechless. There was no turning back.

“The accident wasn’t Dad’s fault,” she said.

“Then whose was it?” Julia demanded quickly.

Emily pressed her lips together. “It was Scott’s fault.”

The room went still. Emily wasn’t even sure she could feel her own pulse. She waited for Julia to speak, to say something, but she couldn’t be sure her sister was breathing, either.

“Scott?” Julia finally said. “But how—”

“He told me. Today.” Emily gave her sister a level stare. Julia’s eyes were so wide, Emily could make out the whites around her green irises, which had darkened to mud. “He was nine years old and he was the last one on the...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. “He didn’t know it was his fault. And when he found out, nine years later, he left town.”