Page 56 of Never Let You Go

Fun? “It’s a work meeting. Accountant.”

Her eyes fleet to me, something weird passing through them. “Oh. Well. Like I said. Go have fun.” Something in the way she says it doesn’t sit right with me, but I don’t have time to analyze any of this. I should get ready, shower, change, get the meeting over and done with.

An hour later, I’m outside Emma’s office. The lights are out, and no one answers the door. I call her cell.

“I’m home,” she says.

That’s weird. “Be right there. I misunderstood. I thought—Never mind.”

Emma lives in a big ass house she kept after her divorce. It’s outside of town, up on a hill, and you get there by a long dirt road covered in snow November through April. At least it’s been plowed today. But I’m over half an hour late for my appointment.

“Hey,” she says as I get there.

“Hey.”

There’s soft music and candles in the dining room.

“Shit. You’re expecting company. Sorry I’m late. I won’t be long, promise. Just need to look over those taxes.” I throw my coat on the hooks she has in her mudroom, take my shoes off, and head for her kitchen.

She lays her hand on my arm. “Come here, silly. You’re the company.” And she walks me to her living room.

There’s cheese on a board, two glasses of wine, a bottle of red. “Caroline here?” I ask, already knowing what her answer will be. I thought we were done with this shit. Guess not.

She smiles and bends over, grabbing the bottle of wine. “She’s at her dad’s. It’s just the two of us.” Yup.

She hands me my glass and we clink. “Happy Valentine’s,” she says.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

“God it’s good to be without the kids, right? I mean, I love my daughter and she’s my whole life but… well, she’s my whole life.”

Awww Christ.

She kicks off her shoes and scoots up next to me on the couch, her legs under her knees, which hikes her skirt up almost to where it would be indecent.

I reach for cheese and scoot farther away when I sit back.

But I think I know what’s coming. It wouldn’t be the first time. I run a hand through my hair, as if that’s going to help me figure how to get out of this.

My phone dings with the ringtone I’ve programmed for Alexandra. I pull it from my back pocket. It’s a photo of Skye painting, her tongue sticking out, focus written all over her face. I smile.

Emma clears her throat.

“Sorry,” I say and put my phone away.

“Was that the sitter? Is everything okay?” She scoots closer to me.

“Alexandra’s looking after Skye.”

“Ouch. Living the dangerous life.”

“What do you mean.”

“Nothing. Nobody’s perfect. Just saying, seeing how poorly she does at a baking apprenticeship she applied for, you gotta wonder how she fares at looking after your kid. You should—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m pretty sure, now, that Alexandra was forced to take the apprenticeship, and I respect her for that. For not being afraid to up and leave on very short notice. For leaving the big city life for the middle of nowhere. For trying to learn a skill she clearly has no talent for. Maybe even no interest in.

For still working hard at it.

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