Chapter Six #3
She couldn’t think. It had belonged to her mother. One of the only things she’d left to her. It was a little nothing. A trinket. But it was special to her. And he was right. She never took it off.
Unless…
Unless she was getting a facial. Like she had two days ago.
Relief swamped her. “I must’ve taken it off at the spa. I must have left it there.” She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t even remember…”
He sat down beside her and rubbed her shoulders. “You’re tired, Aub. We’ll go there. We’ll find it.”
“No, wait. I…I didn’t take it off at the spa. I remember now—Emma drove me, dropped me off, remember? You picked me up.”
“And your necklace?”
“I took it off in Emma’s car.”
*
Emma and Connor stood at the entrance to the hospital, but she balked at going in. He turned a curious look on her. “What?”
“I can’t,” she said. “Don’t make me go back in there yet.”
“Why not?”
“I need to be in the air, not in there.” Trading the scents of Scottish Highlands for those of a hospital made her want to cry.
It had occurred to her, somewhere between that beautiful pile of ancient rocks in the Highlands and this asphalt-covered parking lot, that too much of her life had been wasted chasing something that she couldn’t even hold.
What she had done for the past nine years—sell homes, dreams to other people—was all well and good, until you stood back to look at your own life.
All the times she’d said no to a chance, backed away from an opportunity for happiness. All the personal sacrifice she’d made. And for what? Money? Security? Being alone?
Yes, she had Aubrey, but even that had not been by choice. Of course, she’d become like a mother to her niece, but only in exchange for losing Lizzy and her husband.
How brief life was. Her parents. Lizzy and Daniel.
Even Connor, standing once on the brink of happiness with Violet only to have his world pulled out from under him.
What was it that still haunted him from that life?
It wasn’t the loss of his considerable land or his title or even his faithless brother.
It was the loss of the woman he’d loved.
Her heart ached for him, even though she barely knew him.
Emma? Aubrey had told the police officer. She was—is—married to her job.
She supposed Aubrey was right. The truth was, she was a coward when it came to love.
She’d never really risked what Connor had.
Aside from Aaron, there had been two men with whom she’d dabbled in love.
Stephen Black and Cody Burrows. Both years ago.
Neither one substantial enough to earn more than a season of commitment from her in her early to mid-twenties.
Stephen had wanted much more than she’d been willing to give him at that point, and the last time she’d seen Cody, he’d been straddling her best friend, India, in Emma’s own bed, in the middle of an afternoon which she was, in hindsight, grateful she hadn’t spent at the university library.
Maybe that was what had made a coward of her. Despite how other people saw her and the life she’d built, they didn’t see the real her. Maybe she was no better than Connor’s Violet. One thing to the world and another altogether deep down.
But something about that whole story he’d told her made her wonder.
She had no reason to believe he could be wrong about it.
He was an angel, after all. If anyone should know, he should.
But something niggled at her. Something was off.
Or maybe she just couldn’t imagine hurting him the way Violet had.
Or believe any part of her could have been responsible for such a thing.
“Where to?” he asked.
“A place I know.” She took his hand, closed her eyes focused intensely on a place she knew, picturing herself there, feeling the grass beneath her feet. Moments later, they found themselves in Schooner’s Bay, standing under a sprawling oak tree at the center of the park.
Connor stared at her in surprise. “How did you—?”
“Traveling’s not that hard, is it?” she said. “You just have to think yourself somewhere. I just watched you do it.”
“And yet,” he said with a slow grin, “ye surprise me.”
“Just keeping you on your toes.”
The Fourth of July weekend was almost here, and as always, preparations were being made for the celebration that would take place here.
There would be fireworks, raffles, bike decorating for the kids, a parade, and of course, the concert at night.
It was as small-town America as you could get.
She tugged him by the hand toward the gazebo at the center of the park.
All around them, volunteers were decorating the century-old gazebo with garlands and patriotic streamers.
Fourth of Julys here had always been special.
Emma rarely missed an opportunity to promote her company during this season, with park-bench ads and by cosponsoring the gazebo decorations.
In fact, until Aubrey had come into her life to stay, she’d almost forgotten how much fun the Fourth could be.
But once her niece had settled here, made friends, and become involved in this town, Emma had rarely missed a chance to mingle with friends, help with the decorations, or watch the fireworks from a blanket spread under the stars.
Emma had forced herself to slow down in the past few years.
To enjoy this celebration. Now she wondered if last year’s fireworks show would be the memory Aubrey would store away because there might be no more with her.
But she hadn’t come here to the park to torture herself with what-ifs. Instead, she wanted a moment of normalcy. To feel like she was still part of this world and all the people she knew.
There were Jen and Bob Bellows, an older couple who had lived down the street from her for years.
They’d let her sell their home a few years back.
After moving into a fifty-five-plus apartment, they’d never been happier.
Never ones to let a good celebration pass them by, the two of them were wrapping crepe paper around a lamppost, sharing a beer with friends.
Near the amphitheater, where the concert would be held, Mayor Marks—Ronny to his close friends—and his wife, Linda, were doing a sound check for the sound system.
Linda was trilling a silly song. The mayor was laughing while a half-dozen people who were lifting chairs off the flatbed truck nearby enjoyed their antics.
At almost seventy-two, Ronny Marks had been mayor for four terms running, though he showed no signs of wanting to retire from politics.
The community of Schooner’s Bay seemed fine with that.
Lannie Walters, a newly widowed mother Emma knew from high school, was there with her four young boys who were running around the park, largely unsupervised, as Lannie and Gabriella Harcourt, the event coordinator, checked off items on their clipboards, gossiping about the lead singer in the band set to perform at the celebration.
Life went on. Without her. Nothing had really changed, except her.
The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers barbecuing on Owen Baker’s grill in support of all the volunteers made her stomach growl. She glanced at Connor, whose nose was also in the air, taking in the smell of food cooking.
“I bet you’ve never had a hot dog,” she said.
“Aye. Ye’d be right about that,” he said with a small grin.
“Or even a hamburger, I imagine.”
“Not as if I’ve never smelled ’em before. But as ye know, ’tis a mortal pleasure to eat. ’Tis not somethin’ we crave.”
She nodded. “I’m craving it. Right now. I guess that means I’m still mortal. Sort of.”
He smiled at her, that smile that made her feel all warm inside.
“All this,” he said, pointing at the activity. “What’s goin’ on here?”
“Independence Day. It’s a celebration…with fireworks and parades. Hot dogs. Very American.”
He nodded. “Fireworks. I’ve seen ’em. They’re bonnie.”
“You like them?”
“The banger lights? Aye. You’ll likely find a few guardians hangin’ around t’ watch the show.”
“Banger lights?” She laughed. “Well, that’s accurate at least. So, have you ever hung around this particular ‘banger lights’ show before? Would I have seen you and your…your wings if I’d looked hard enough?”
“No,” he said, with a small smile. “Him, on the other hand…I would guess ye might’ve seen him.”
She followed Connor’s gaze to a man sitting on top of the gazebo—an impossible place to get to—cross-legged, watching one of Lannie’s boys who had started climbing up a nearby elm tree. The man was dressed in a long dark coat, completely inappropriate for the warm weather. He looked vexed.
“Don’t you do it, Nathan,” he shouted out to Lannie’s six-year-old son. “Don’t. Do. It.”
Not a single, solitary other person seemed to hear this man shouting at the boy, least of all Nathan himself as he started up the tree.
“Who is that?” she asked Connor, who had his eye on the boy.
“That’s Henry,” he said. “An old friend.”
“You mean…he’s a—?”
“Aye. A guardian, too.”
Henry—a handsome youngish man with salt-and-pepper hair with a face and physique better suited to a Tom Ford runway—glanced down at Connor. He touched a finger to his forehead in salute. “Connor.”
“Henry.”
“This boy.” Henry sighed, pointing to the hooligan who imagined himself Spider-Man. “He’ll be the death of me yet.”
Connor laughed. “A stubborn one, eh?”
“Downright defiant. Nathan! ” he shouted again. “Think about your choices!”
Nathan was a born climber, a logic-defying risk-taker, and already he’d managed to clamber his way halfway up the gigantic tree near the gazebo. Oh no. Emma jerked a look at Lannie, who was still engrossed in gossip and not paying attention to her son’s peril.
“Connor,” she cried. “He could fall!”
“True. He might.”
Emma stared at him in astonishment. “What kind of an answer is that from a guardian angel?”
“Ye dinna understand.”
“That he’s going to hurt himself? Badly?”
Connor sent her a testy look, continuing to do nothing. For his part, Henry sat on the gazebo, hands clasped atop his head in frustration, awaiting the inevitable as well.
Panic began creeping into her. “But isn’t Henry his—?”
“Guardian? Aye, but he canna always interfere. ’Tis the boy’s lesson to learn. Henry’s tryin’ to teach him.”
“That it hurts to fall from a tree? That you can break your neck?”
“To listen to his inner voice. Henry, in this case.”
“Connor!”
He slid a look at Lannie and shook his head.
That made no sense to her at all. If they wouldn’t, she would! She raced to Lannie’s side. “Look up, Lannie! Look at Nathan. He’s way up in that tree. Look up!”
But Lannie couldn’t hear her, of course. She went on chatting with Gabriella, laughing at something she said. Emma shoved a hand at her shoulder, but, naturally, her hand passed right through. Lannie scratched the spot as if a bug had landed on her.
Helplessly, she turned to Connor, who was watching the boy transfer from limb to fragile limb. Henry, whose wings were visible behind him, crouched now on the gazebo.
She gasped at the sound of a limb cracking, the sight of the boy tumbling, crashing down through the branches below him.
Beside her, Lannie finally caught sight of her son falling. For a horrifying instant, she froze. But by the time she was on her feet, she was too late. There was no way she could reach him in time.