Page 49 of Tackle

“He joined the Phantoms straight out of college,” Will supplied. “He also holds the Phantom’s record for most sacks in a single game.”

Oz felt his cheeks heat. They were veering off on a football tangent, which he hadn’t wanted to do.

“Really? I didn’t know that.” Emerson sounded impressed. Okay, maybe they could stay on the subject a little longer.

“Yeah, last season. Five sacks in a game against the Broncos,” Will was quick to announce. “He beat out Tate Graham who held the record for over ten years.”

Emerson’s dad joined the conversation. “I don’t follow American football but that sounds mighty impressive.”

“Yes, sir.” Beyond uncomfortable, he turned pleading eyes to Emerson who thankfully got the message.

“Mom, did you make this? I don’t recall seeing it before.” Emerson picked up a serving bowl that held the cranberries.

“I did. Made it a few months ago. Do you like it?”

The conversation veered and it stayed off football for the rest of the meal.

“You have a great family,” Oz said.

Dinner was over and the dishes done and he and Emerson were in her old bedroom. All of her childhood things were still there but the room was now also being used for storage. Oz spied a sewing machine on a stand at the foot of the bed, boxes piled six high and two deep in one corner, and a rolling wardrobe rack jammed with hanging clothes positioned in front of the closet. He was sure the closet was just as full.

A large mirror in an oval frame sitting atop a short dresser, caught his eye and he made his way over. Stuck in the frame were clusters of photos.

Oz recognized Emerson’s sister and brother, mom and dad, and who he was sure were childhood friends. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to an old black and white picture of a woman standing on a grass covered hill, her dress and hair flying in the wind.

Emerson came up beside him. “My gran.”

He heard something in her voice and turned to see she wore a wistful smile.

“The one with the recipes?” Emerson had told him the story of how she acquired the tin that hung in a place of honor on the wall of the pub.

“Yeah.” She fingered the photo.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “She was beautiful. You look a lot like her.” Though the photo was old with a few lines marring the surface and not in color, Oz could see the woman’s long, straight hair was dark and her complexion pale.

“That’s what Da always says.”

“It’s her eyes.” Even though the picture was taken at a distance Oz could still see they were Emerson’s eyes. “The shape and the way they’re shining, just like yours.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest, still staring at the photo. “I’m happy I look like her. Even though I never got a chance to meet her, I’m glad we’re connected in that way.”

Oz pulled her to him a little tighter, strangely, feeling the connection too.

Chapter Sixteen

A loud screech had most heads in the pub turning. Emerson’s included. Running out from behind the bar, she rushed into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Britney was perched on top of the center island chopping station. “Rat! Rat! I saw a rat.”

Emerson waved her hands. “Shush! Keep your voice down. Do you want the whole restaurant to hear?”

She grimaced. “Sorry.” Holding out a shaky finger, she said, “It ran that way.”

Emerson followed with her eyes to where she indicated but didn’t see anything. She did notice the pantry door was ajar though. Making her way over, she peeked through the gap. All she saw was darkness and shadows. Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. Slowly and quietly opening the door a bit wider, she shined the light. At first glance, she didn’t see anything scurry, so she directed the beam into all the dark crevices.

Still nothing.

She dared a step inside. Kicking a few of the bags and barrels that sat on the ground with the toe of her sneaker, heart pounding in anticipation of something jumping out at her. She waited in vain.

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