Page 39 of Free to Believe
“That a brain that’s curious never goes back to its original size?” I can tell she’s impressed and trying to not show it.
“That wasn’t the quote I was thinking of. I was thinking of the one where he said something along the line of not having special talents but curiosity.”
“Ah, but I do have talents, Em.”
I feel my heart thump in a slow, steady rhythm in my chest as her eyes drop down to my lips. Turning her back to me, she reaches into her fridge for a bottle of water. “What kind of talents?”
Appreciating her effort to get the conversation back on neutral territory, I tell her, “I’m a musician. Slap an instrument in my hand and I’m a happy man.”
Turning around, with water in her mouth, she nods. I see the liquid slide down her throat as she swallows. Just what every man wants to know—what a woman he finds infinitely attractive looks like swallowing. “Dani mentioned you’re a music teacher?”
It’s a question, so I pull myself back to our conversation. “I am.” I’m a little more than that, but I don’t reveal that to anyone.
Not even my daughter. Not yet at any rate.
“Do you enjoy it?” Her genuine curiosity makes me relax. A little.
“Now, I do. When I first started out, I felt like I was giving up on every dream I ever had,” I admit.
Something dark flashes behind her eyes. Something completely unreadable. “I can appreciate that.”
“You mean there was something you wanted to do other than design? From what I’ve seen, you’ve made a pretty big name for yourself.”
She begins picking at the label of the bottle. “Something like that.”
She doesn’t offer any more insight, instead retreating inside herself as if I’m no longer in the room. “What was it?”
She shuts down. I literally witness her draw into herself. I want to walk around the counter and break through that facade. It’s like there’s two Emilys living inside her. One’s so open and warm that I’m fighting everything inside myself from doing something infinitely stupid like kissing her again. The other’s this closed-off cynic who looks like she’s being submerged under the weight of the world.
It’s the second Emily who responds. “I’ll tell you the very day I let you see the journal you touched the other night,” she vows with self-deprecating humor.
It shouldn’t anger me, but it does. “Why can’t you just give me a straight answer, Em? That it’s none of my business?”
“It’s none of your business, Jake,” she says immediately.
“Why not? It’s not like you have anyone else on the island to lean on.”
“Maybe I want it that way.”
“Do you really? You don’t want anyone to care?”
She’s crushing the bottle of water in her hand. “It’d be easier. That’s for damn certain.”
“You’re full of shit,” I challenge her.
Defenses fully in place, she goes on the attack. “What the hell is with you today? Hours ago you were confronting me on what I said to your daughter. Then you’re kissing me. Is this some kind of test to break me? Believe me, a lot of men have tried.”
“Now, see that? That’s what concerns me.” I shove away from the counter.
“What? That I’ve been involved with men who are assholes? News flash, Jake: I’m not a saint.”
“No, I’m now concerned because you might teach my daughter that all men are,” I say quietly.
“Bigger news flash: she already is beginning to think they are. You’re doing a fine job of that all on your own without my help, apparently. Hey, where are you going?” Em yells after me as I walk out the door, closing it gently behind me.
It’s time to have a serious conversation with my daughter. Because Emily’s right.
Jenna’s the one who matters.
