Page 9 of Second to None
Chapter 4
Standing beside Emily in the main lounge of the center, Max surveyed the children of various ages, sizes, and ethnicities wedged in or stretched out on the motley pieces of furniture. The melody of Emily’s voice flowed around him as she described the center’s programs and goals.
What a difference a place like the Carver Center would have made in his own young life. He’d never had any sense of security, because his father gambled away their money with the sports bookies. So he’d uprooted Max and his mother every year—or sometimes more quickly—to outrun the latest landlord when the rent hadn’t been paid.
“You offer sanctuary,” Max said. “A true center for their lives. Like the eye of a storm.”
She looked startled by his interruption. “I suppose we do. But also food and help with schoolwork and medical attention.”
He nodded. “Have dinner with me, and we’ll talk more.”
“Have dinner with you?” she repeated, blinking before hope dawned in her eyes. “Does that mean ... um, let me see if the babysitter can stay.”
“If she can’t, I’ll find another one for you.” On top of canceling the dinner meeting he was supposed to be attending tonight.
She blinked again. “It’s not that easy on short notice.”
“I have an executive assistant who can find virtually anything on short notice.”
“I prefer someone Izzy knows already.” There was an edge of irritation in Emily’s voice.
“Understandable,” he said, feeling the corners of his lips turn upward without his willing them to.
She started to say something more, but pressed her lips together and took a breath. “Why don’t you use my office while I make arrangements for Izzy?”
He nodded and followed her to the stairs that led to the third floor. She’d given him a tour of the building, pointing out where the dogs would live on the ground floor. Then she’d stood at one of the windows that looked onto the vacant lot beside the center and conjured up an imagined paradise of raised planting beds and grassy play areas where dogs and children would romp freely.
He’d spent more time covertly watching her than visualizing the lot’s transformation. Her brown eyes glowed with passion, her hands sketched graceful arcs in the air, and her mouth—that soft, seductive mouth—shaped words that brought her vision to life. The narrow window had given him an excuse to move closer to her as she pointed at the lot’s corners, so he could see the texture of her glossy hair and the intriguing laugh lines beside her lips.
She wasn’t the same Emily he recalled from those intoxicating, tortured days at Camp Lejeune. She’d been softer then, maybe because her soldier husband had cornered the market on toughness. Now the steel of her character was more in evidence.
The scent of a light floral perfume drifted up to his nostrils, the remembered fragrance pulling him back to the hot humidity of the North Carolina summer when she’d waltzed around the kitchen barefoot, a cotton sundress floating around her, as she cooked dinner for the three of them. Little curling strands of her hair would cling to the perspiration sheening her forehead and throat. He had wanted to lick her damp skin to taste it.
He felt a tightening in his groin and dragged his thoughts back to the present. Which wasn’t so bad, as he watched the dark fabric of her skirt pull tight over the curve of her bottom with each step she took up the narrow staircase in front of him.
His inability to keep his thoughts under control unsettled him. However, when it came to the Carver Center, he had no trouble with his decision.
*
Emily had the ridiculous sense that Max Varela was staring at her backside. The man who had been nothing but courteous and attentive as he listened to her blather on about the Carver Center could not possibly be interested in the movement of her hips. Still, she did everything she could to keep them from swaying as she climbed the flight of gray linoleum steps that seemed much longer than usual.
Shoving her absurd self-consciousness aside, she tried to interpret his comment about discussing the center over dinner. That had to be good. If he wasn’t going to give them money, he would just say no and leave. Discussion was progress. She crossed her fingers that Lateesha would be able to stay with Izzy, because she needed that grant money yesterday.
With relief she reached the last step and led Max to her office. It was small but had a window that looked out over the street. She offered him the only chair other than the one behind her desk, a solid wooden piece with bright orange upholstery that had come in an odd lot of miscellaneous office furniture donated to the center. He sat with a controlled energy that vibrated off the walls and made it hard to breathe.
“Would you like some water or coffee?” she asked.
“Water would be much appreciated.”
“I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the minifridge that was tucked under the stairs and grabbed two bottles. The heat from the clanking old radiators dried out the air so much that she wasn’t surprised Max was parched—although it was better than no heat at all, as they’d discovered when the boiler cut out the previous week.
When she came back to the office, she expected to find Max working on his cell phone. Instead, he stood in front of the framed photo of Jake, Izzy, and herself that hung on the wall across from her desk. It had been taken by one of Jake’s fellow Marines during the last trip their little family had made to Wrightsville Beach before Jake was killed. She and Jake each held one of Izzy’s hands and were swinging the five-year-old up in the air between them as the surf broke around their knees. The slanting afternoon sun touched their laughing faces with gold, while it brushed light and shadow over the rippling muscles of Jake’s bare torso. Even then, she’d known it was a moment of pure happiness that she should imprint on her memory.
“Jake was the kind of man who made you want to live up to his standards.” Max said. “He was a hero in more than the military sense. He showed you how to be a better person in every aspect of life. I was honored to have him as a friend.”
Tears burned behind her eyelids. “He was a good man. A great father. A wonderful husband.” And he was gone.
“I wish I had known ...” Max twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a drink. “I would have come to his funeral. To honor him.”
