Page 41 of Free to Believe
I am so fortunate. Which is why I think on some level it bothers me that Emily…
A lightbulb goes off. “What about Emily?” I say slowly.
Jenna frowns. “What about her?”
I hold up a hand. “I don’t know, Lynne. And we barely know Emily. But it seems to me she’s willing to take on your old man on more than one occasion,” I say ruefully. “And she’s a designer.”
The look on Jenna’s face when the idea takes root is more satisfying then when a student can tell the difference between Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven. “That’s…inspired, Dad.” Jenna’s wheels are turning at a mile a minute. Then her face falls. “I just can’t see Lynne going for it.”
I shrug. “Why don’t you invite her over for dinner? Get her used to being around here. Then you can go do girl things while I disappear and play for a while. When you’re ready for me to drive her home, I will.”
Jenna bounces up and down like a kangaroo on steroids. “Can I ask her to sleep over?”
I groan, knowing that despite the distance between our rooms I’ll still be woken up by shrieks at dawn. But I won’t deny my daughter any happiness after she’s been so miserable since we moved here. “Yes,” I agree with a father’s inbred reluctance.
But it’s all worth it when she jumps up from her blanket of pillows—which go flying everywhere—and dives into my arms. “Thanks, Daddy.” Dashing off, she calls out, “I’m going to call her right now. Can we have pizza for dinner?”
“Suckering me into a sleepover and pizza, Jen? That’s pushing it!” I call out to her retreating form. But I immediately give in to such an innocuous request. “Find out what Lynne likes on her pie.”
“I will!”
Left alone in the family room, I begin to pick up the mounds of pillows Jenna was nested under. Unconsciously, my eyes travel over to the garage apartment through the windows. Em’s sitting on the back deck—a solitary figure sketching in a notebook with Mugsy at her feet. I’m pulled toward the window to be closer to it, to her.
Leaning against the sill, I’m absorbed in her. She continues sketching for a while. Picking up the phone next to her, her smile shines brighter than the sun blanketing the island as she slips it to her ear. It’s like the infinite promise of summer, warm and seductive.
Ripping myself away, I yell out to Jenna, “Text me when you’re ready to get Lynne!”
“Okay, Dad!”
Hurrying down the hall to the music room, I stop by the bar. Turning on the tap, I fill a glass with some water. I refuse to give too much thought to what I’m about to do.
I haven’t played it in forever. When I hit the music room, I pull out a few reeds, drop them into the glass, and set it on the floor carefully. Letting them soak, I walk over to my sax. Lifting my neckpiece from the back of the stand, I slip it over my head and clip it to the back of the beautiful horn. My breath shudders out.
It feels so wrong and so right.
After I polish and seal the first reed, I scrape off the rough ends. Maybe that’s why playing the sax is so personal to me; even preparing to play it reminds me so much of life. Attaching it to the mouthpiece, I take a deep breath and let the smooth jazz spin me into another world as I work through the crazy emotions that only it can rip from me.
For hours, until Jenna texts me, I play. My lips are swollen from the brutal pressure I’ve put them under. And still, I can’t get my new neighbor—or her words—off my mind.
24
Emily
It’s been a few days since I’ve seen Jake. Thank God. After that kiss he laid on me before walking out, I’m not sure if I’d jump him to grab his face for more or pummel him. It’s a close toss-up.
Jenna, on the other hand, still comes over each day to make certain I don’t need any help before dashing off to work. After I carefully talked with her the second day, she waved off my worry with a huge hug. Telling me I was right, she quickly became my right hand—well, actually, my left leg. Because my leg is still bruised, I’m trying to avoid the stairs down to the beach more than once a day. With Jenna’s invaluable help in the morning, I’m able to take Mugsy for his nightly walks. I sent Jason pictures of my leg yesterday. He warned me I might be looking at a month before I feel up to running the way I was before the bike chain decided to attack.
Each morning, after sleeping to the sounds of the ocean crashing against the sand, I’m beginning to find everything easier: waking, walking, eating, even sketching. The tingle that flows through me when I hold the charcoal in my hands is returning as I sit on the back deck overlooking the ocean. I’m in the middle of playing around with a design cut on the bias with a fluted hem when I hear a familiar screech of “Oh my God!” behind me.
Grinning, I don’t move from the lounger I’m stretched out on. “Hi, Jenna. Come on over.”
“Um, Em? Are you dressed? I brought a friend by to meet you,” Jenna asks hesitantly.
I laugh. Even though I have a bikini on underneath one of Phil’s old shirts in the breezy morning air, to the casual observer it might look like I’m only wearing the shirt. Phil’s fairly broad-chested, so even though I’m the tallest of the women in our family, his clothes still dwarf me. “I’m wearing a swimsuit.”
Two sets of feet come walking along the outer deck. Mugsy lifts his salt-and-pepper head and thumps his tail before resting his head back on his paws. I frown. Normally, he’d be all over company, begging for a treat. I might have to call my veterinarian in Collyer to see what the chances are that Mugs picked up a bug. But I’m distracted from my thoughts as Jenna bounces in front of me. “Hey, Em!”
I grin at her exuberance. “Hey.” I smile at the girl behind her who reminds me a lot of Corinna when she was that age. Tall and lushly built, she’s hiding behind her clothes.Likely she’s going through the same torment Cori went through, I think bitterly. “Emily Freeman.” I hold out my hand and start to stand.
