Thin Ice (33 page)

Five minutes later a disapproving Anna saw a determined Emily and a jubilant Robbie to the door.

"Thanks, Nanna. It was great."

Anna wrapped an arm around Robbie and bussed him on the head.

“My pleasure, Scamp.” To Emily, she said, “We'l talk again tomorrow."

Emily nodded, her emotions too close to the edge to talk any more tonight.

tonight.

* * * *

Emily awoke to the feel of Robbie shaking her from behind, babbling franticaly about being late. She'd forgotten today was the day the budding rocket scientists were to present their projects to the class. He raced from the room, shouted he'd get his own breakfast (A heaping bowl of Captain Crunch), and begged her to pleeeze hurry, or Glen was gonna kill him for being late.

Fifteen minutes later Emily and her dark glasses met Robbie at the front door. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself for his reaction to her puffy face. Last night he'd been too excited about the game to notice. She'd also made an effort to stay in the shadows. By the time she'd stopped in to kiss him goodnight, he'd already falen asleep from sheer exhaustion.

But this morning he was wide awake and ... clearly too anxious to get going to worry about why she wore more make-up than usual.

"Come on, Mom! Class starts in half an hour!"

During the ride to school, he tinkered endlessly with the cardboard and aluminum foil launch pad and rocket, then explained in great detail what each piece was before erupting into a plethora of lift-off sound effects. Emily was grateful he stil sat in the back seat.

A panicky Glen paced under the portico at St. Stephens. He yanked opened Robbie's door, assured himself their project had yanked opened Robbie's door, assured himself their project had arrived intact, then swept the project from Robbie's hands. As Glen made a beeline for class, Robbie popped off his seatbelt and scrambled after him, slamming the car door shut behind him. Emily spotted Miranda Manzelrod holding the front door open for the two boys, forced a smile and sent her a “Gotta run” wave, then shifted into drive and headed for work. The last thing she needed was for Miranda to see what Robbie had missed and tel Eric.

Eric. What was she going to do about him? Her head told her she needed to stay away from him, but her heart told her no matter what he might have done before, he would never hurt her or Robbie. Just as she'd changed and grown over the years, so had he.

The Eric she knew was kind, gentle, considerate, affectionate, funny and generous to a fault.

She'd tossed and turned al night as she thought about what Carmen had told her and wondered what to say to Eric when she saw him again. She had to say something. She couldn't let her questions hang between them. If he had an explanation, she needed to hear it.

Deserved to hear it. From the man involved.

But what would happen when he saw her face?

Eric's going to have a fit when he finds out the guy got off scot-free.

He's not the type of man to let someone dis his lady.

It's a good thing the season's almost over ... your young man wil be It's a good thing the season's almost over ... your young man wil be around when you need him for a change.

Seems to me he's just what you need with your smarmy ex-husband sniffing around.

Emily lifted her gaze to the rearview mirror, removed her dark glasses—and felt her heart sink to her lap. She'd lost her touch; artistry had given way to garishness. Beneath her too-liberal application of makeup, her left cheek was stil swolen, her eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles. The split in her puffy lip was already showing through her unusualy dark lipstick.

A horn honked from behind. The light had turned green. Emily swore in frustration and stepped on the gas. Who was she trying to kid? Eric would notice her bruised face, and so would everyone else. What was she going to tel them? She'd been mugged? She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it al.

Instead she drove into the nearest parking lot, puled into a spot and cut the Suburban's engine. For ten solid minutes she sat there, staring out at nothing, as her thoughts swirled fruitlessly.

What was she going to do?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Eric stopped by the hospital just before noon. He hoped to coax Emily into slipping away for lunch. His need to see her had gnawed Emily into slipping away for lunch. His need to see her had gnawed at him ever since he'd stepped off the plane, exhausted and in need of someone to hug. Someone he belonged to. Someone who belonged to him. He'd been disappointed at not finding Emily among the crowd of wives, girlfriends and fans waiting to welcome the team home, but could hardly expect her to hang out at the airport in the dead of night when she had to get up at dawn to go to work.

He spotted Sarah Ferguson flipping through a file cabinet behind the admissions counter. “Hi, Sarah. How's business?” With any luck he could get her to help him spirit Emily away with him.

"Eric. What are you doing here? Oh, no. Has something happened?"

He grinned. “Nope. I made it back in one piece. Think Emily might be free for lunch?"

"Emily? She's ah, out today."

"I thought tomorrow was her day off.” They'd planned to spend the day together, going wherever their mood took them. “Is she at home?"

"I ... realy can't say.” Looking flustered, she turned away and went back to her files. Eric frowned and puled out his cel phone. An avid Saints fan, Sarah usualy talked his ear off.

"Ah ... not here, Eric? Remember?"

"Right. No cel phones in the hospital. Sorry.” He went out to the parking lot.

He let the phone ring a dozen times. “Damn.” Normaly when she was out, Emily left her answering machine on. He tried her cel phone. No luck. He decided to go to Emily's anyway. He found the house empty, the Subway gone. For several minutes he sat in the driveway, the Boxter's engine running, torn between disappointment and frustration. He could accept Emily's not meeting him at the airport, but she could have at least let him know where to find her today. She had to know he would come looking for her.

He swore in frustration, shoved the car into reverse and headed for the nearest bookstore. He'd finished his latest James Patterson in St. Louis and needed something else to read. When he returned an hour and twenty minutes later, the Subway was back. He glanced at his watch and smiled. Robbie wouldn't be home for at least two hours. He just hoped Emily had missed him as much as he'd missed her.

Reaching across the seat, he swept up the roses he'd picked up at the florist beside the bookstore. After three knocks and no answer, he opened the front door and stepped into Emily's foyer, then caled her name. The hearty aroma of basil and oregano drew him into the kitchen.

Setting the roses on the kitchen table, he noted the pasta machine, Setting the roses on the kitchen table, he noted the pasta machine, two-pound bag of semolina flour, and a loaf of Italian bread on the counter. She must have been at the grocery store when he'd stopped by earlier. He picked up a wooden spoon, dipped it into the sauce gurgling on the stove. He inhaled deeply, then tasted the sauce. Closing his eyes, he prayed for an invitation to dinner.

Peering out the back door, he spied Emily planting a double row of purple and white flowers that looked like they might be impatiens beside the steps. He smiled and savored the sight of her, just as he'd savored the taste of her sauce. She was kneeling on the ground, a kitchen towel smudged with dirt at her side, her hair gleaming like burnished gold in the late afternoon sun.

Two purple, two white, two purple, two white; methodicaly she planted. He wondered if she'd deliberately chosen Saints colors to plant. Amused by the thought, he opened the door and stepped outside. “Hi, sweetheart."

She stiled, slanted him a sideways glance, then resumed planting her flowers. “Helo, Eric."

Helo, Eric? That was al she had to say? After five of the longest days of his life? He stared at her bent head, then out across her yard. Beside the shed he spotted the mower, spattered with fresh grass clippings. The smel of spring lay heavy in the warm afternoon air. “I stopped by the hospital, but Sarah said you'd taken the day off."

"I had some things to catch up on."

"I had some things to catch up on."

"The yard looks nice. If I'd known you were planning to mow it today, I'd have given you a hand."

"I didn't mind. It gave me time to think."

She hadn't stopped with her planting, or looked at him again.

Unsettled by her less than warm welcome, he sat on the back stoop, braced his forearms on his thighs, and loosely clasped his hands between them. She only had four more flowers to go.

Waiting for her to finish would give him time to colect his own thoughts.

"About anything in particular?” he asked as she mounded freshly turned dirt around the base of the last plant.

"You could say that."

Something was wrong. This dispassionate woman was not the same woman he'd kissed goodbye five days ago—or even the same woman he'd spoken with on the phone Monday night. Then again, he'd been so ful of himself that night, he'd barely given her a chance to get a word in edgewise. “What's wrong, Emily?"

"I don't think we should see each other again."

His stomach bottomed out. “May I ask why?” he asked with a lot more calm than he felt.

"We're not compatible."

He stared at her and wondered if he'd heard right. She finished planting and started tugging at some weeds, lying them in a pile beside her. “Seems to me we were plenty compatible Saturday night,” he said slowly.

"In bed, yes,” she said, surprisingly matter-of-factly. “Outside of it...” She paused, ran the back of her hand across her forehead, and stared at her faded white aluminum siding. “We're moving in different directions."

He studied her profile as she resumed weeding. Was that what this was al about? His leaving when the season ended?

"I'l be back, Emily.” He figured it would take him a few days at most to check on things in Barton. Not that there was that much to check on. A closed-up cedar and glass house, a solitary grave overlooking the Rainy River. Five hundred acres of roling farmland, woods and streams where he planned to build a hockey camp for kids when he retired. He spent his summers there because he didn't have anywhere else to go. Because by the end of May al he wanted was to stay in one place for a while, unwind, enjoy some peace and quiet before the grind of another eighty-four-game season started up again. When he got tired of his own company, he hopped on a plane and made the rounds of his restaurants. It wasn't much of a life, but it was what he had.

He needed to ask Emily about her plans for the summer. Maybe she and Robbie could come up to Barton and visit for a while if she could swing some time off from the hospital.

But Emily clearly wasn't in the mood to discuss vacation plans. She yanked at the weeds harder now, al but slammed them into the pile beside her. “And when fal comes you'l leave again,” she said. “A day or two here, a week or two there—"

"I have to travel. Emily. It's part of my job.” She kept weeding.

“Are you suggesting we save ourselves the trouble of saying goodbye later when we can do it now, before anyone gets hurt?” She weeded even harder, if that were possible. “Wel, it's too late for that, Emily. It already hurts. I hated getting on that plane Sunday, knowing I wouldn't see you again for five days. Hel, I missed you before I backed out of your driveway."

She broke her rhythm. “I missed you, too."

"Then why the cold shoulder?"

"I don't want to spend my time missing you. It's not healthy. It gets in the way of my work, my relationship with Robbie..."

Her words sliced him to the bone—but he knew she was right. It wasn't healthy to spend every waking moment missing someone so much you ached in the night with loneliness. He'd been alone for most of his life, but he'd never known true loneliness until he'd gone to bed without Emily beside him. A long-term relationship between to bed without Emily beside him. A long-term relationship between them would involve more lonely nights than he cared to think about.

"What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly. “Give up hockey?"

"Of course not. I'd no sooner ask you to give up your career than you'd ask me to give up mine. Al I'm saying is the two aren't compatible. You work nights and travel, I work days, nights and weekends. You could be traded at any time and sent to another city. I have a home, a secure job..."

Something glinted in the neighbor's yard and she looked up, away from him, toward the neighbor's house, where a mammoth marmalade cat lazed in the sun. “...A son who deserves to grow up in a safe, stable environment, surrounded by people who love him

... people he can count on to be there for him."

Eric thought of Robbie's hockey games he'd had to miss. “As opposed to someone who comes and goes on an erratic schedule,” he said flatly.

She cast him another quick, sideways glance. “At this point, Robbie stil considers you a part-time friend, an infrequent visitor. But if we continue seeing each other, he could come to depend on you as much as—"

She stopped, closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

"As much as what, Emily? As much as you do?"

"As much as what, Emily? As much as you do?"

She didn't answer, just resumed weeding. Furiously, if he stopped to think about it.

"I don't know, Emily. I'm getting some seriously mixed signals here.