Chapter Thirty-One
EMERSON SAT ON the couch wearing her father’s sweatshirt despite the warm day. She was so nervous, she thought she might pass out as Baz connected his laptop to the television for the video calls. He seemed as nervous as she was. He’d asked where she’d feel the most comfortable, and that was a no-brainer. Her father’s recliner had always been her comfort spot. But then she’d had second thoughts. What if the calls made her too sad? Or if she learned something she might not want to know? She couldn’t imagine either would happen, but it could, and she didn’t want her father’s chair associated with anything negative, so she’d opted for the couch.
He finished hooking up the laptop and surveyed the coffee table, on which he’d put a new box of tissues, a notepad with the names of each person who was calling, two pens, a glass of ice water, and a dish towel. In case you spill , he’d said, to which she’d replied, You mean in case I cry a river?
“Okay, you should be all set.” He sat beside her on the couch and held her hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Excited. Nervous. Like I want to puke.”
“That sounds about right. You’re sure you want to do this?”
“Yes. But I appreciate you asking.”
“Do you remember how to go from one call to another?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You can talk for as long as you’d like with each person. Do you want to go over who’s calling again?”
She looked at the notepad where he’d written the names of each person who was calling, in the order in which the calls would come in. The Vasilious were last on the list. At least that was one call she wasn’t nervous about. They weren’t talkers, so it would be a quick check-in, and it would be nice to see their faces again. “No, I’m okay. And you’re not leaving, right?”
“Baby, the only way I’ll drive away from this house is if you tell me to, and we both know how that’ll end.”
She smiled. “With you telling me you won’t leave.”
“I think I can be a little more creative than that and give you incentives to want me to stay.” He waggled his brows and kissed her.
She was thankful for his humor.
“I’ll make sure the first call goes live and then I’ll give you privacy, but I’ll be right in the bedroom if you need me.”
Her heart was racing. “I’m nervous.”
“I’d be worried if you weren’t, but these people love you.” He embraced her, holding her tight. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He kissed her again and handed her the notepad and pen before pushing to his feet and stepping to the side.
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath and held on to the charm on her necklace. “Okay. I’m ready.” She read the first name on the list and the note he’d written beside it. Migliore Amica. She knew your parents since you were a baby. With a shaky finger on the laptop mouse pad, she clicked J OIN M EETING and held her breath as an empty couch appeared on the screen.
“I’m coming!” came from off screen seconds before Gwen ran in front of the camera and plopped onto the couch, wild dark hair framing her ear-to-ear grin. “Hey, bestie!”
“Gwen!” Her heart leapt, and she looked at Baz. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He held his hands up in surrender. “She made me promise not to. She thought the surprise might ease your nerves.”
“Don’t hate me,” Gwen said.
“I could never hate you. Although I should give you hell for being in cahoots with him and keeping it from me. Now, who is this Migliore chick?”
“If you’d taken Italian with me, you’d know it means ‘best friend.’”
“You only took it because you wanted to date that Italian exchange student.”
“Duh.” Gwen laughed.
Baz chuckled. “You guys have fun.” He headed into the bedroom.
“Is he gone?” Gwen asked quietly.
Emerson nodded. “Yeah.”
“Okay, I totally nailed him for looking at your phone, but, Em .” She leaned forward, speaking just above a whisper. “He adores you and Brennan. He wanted to fly us there. All of us—me, Yuri, and Karina—to be with you when you took these calls. He said we could stay at his place. I wanted to be there, but now that I’m back at work, things are so busy.”
“He did?” She looked at the closed bedroom door, her heart swelling. Blinking her damp eyes dry, she turned back to Gwen. “Thank you for helping him.”
“He did all the work. And honestly, how many times did you tell me you wished you knew more about your family?”
Emerson shrugged.
“A billion. I should have thought to do what he did. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Gwen, you were there for me in ways nobody else ever could be.”
“Yeah, I was pretty great, wasn’t I?” she teased. “In all seriousness, I know you’re probably nervous about talking to everyone, but you should know, Baz talked to like thirty people, and he chose the ones he felt could help you the most. He reminds me of your dad, Em. Charming, generous, and willing to do anything for you.”
Emerson’s eyes dampened, and she fanned her face. “Don’t make me cry.”
“Sorry. What can I do to help you through this?”
“You’ve already done it.” She had the support of her two best friends. “I think I’m going to be okay. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
They ended the call, and Emerson took a moment to prepare to speak with Malika Salah, the older woman who had been her father’s assistant for as long as Emerson could remember. She hadn’t seen her since her parents’ funeral, after which Malika had retired.
She clicked the button to join the meeting, and Malika appeared before her. Her hair was shorter and all gray now, her face mapped with wrinkles, but her warm smile and friendly eyes were just as potent as they were years ago. Emerson’s chest tightened.
“Hello, Emerson. It’s lovely to see you.”
Why was she tearing up again? “It’s nice to see you, too. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.”
“Honey, I wish I could have sat down with you years ago. I have so much to share about your father. You and your mom were his world. Did you know that he made up birthdays and events just so you and your mom had a reason to come see him and bring those cookies we all loved?”
And just like that, the floodgates opened. She snagged a handful of tissues. “No.”
“He did. He’d be missing you something fierce, and he’d buzz me on the intercom and say, Mal, give me a name. I’d tell him he had meetings all afternoon and didn’t have time for a cookie break, and he’d say, Yeah, yeah. Have we used Ken yet? I’d consult my list, because God forbid we use the same name twice. He always said you two were too smart for that.”
Emerson laughed. “I can’t believe he did that.”
“Honey, your father was a busy man, but nothing came before his family. In all the years I worked for him, he never once missed one of your school events. He’d have me rearrange his whole week if that’s what it took to make sure he was there for you. He had a few unhappy clients because of things like that, but he was a darn good attorney and an even better friend. I miss him every day.”
“Me too,” Emerson managed through her tears.
“I think he’d approve of your gentleman friend, and I know he’d be in love with your son. Do you remember going to a father-daughter dance when you were in sixth grade, and…”
An hour later, Emerson’s heart overflowing, she took the call from one of her mother’s editing clients, Alison Breacher, a thin blonde with sharp features and kind eyes. “You look vaguely familiar.”
“I was at your parents’ funeral,” Alison said.
“That must be why.”
“I am so sorry that you lost them, Emerson.”
“Thank you. How long did you work with my mom?”
“Five years. You were ten when we first connected. I remember because my daughter, Heather, was nine, and I had written a character who was the same age. Your mother’s notes were so spot-on and in line with my thoughts on parenting and young girls, I felt like I had met a kindred spirit. She’d send me cookies when my books were published, and she’d always include a few special ones for Heather. We found out that we had a lot in common. We were both from small towns with successful husbands and careers of our own. Your mom used to say we had small-town hearts in a world of big-city hype.”
“That sounds like her. Did you see her outside of work?”
“That’s the funny thing. We didn’t get together outside of work, but I felt like I knew her better than friends who I spent time with in person. We used to share pictures of you and Heather and commiserate about life with young girls. She’d text or email and say, Top this , and then she’d tell me something you did, like skipping school or arguing about cleaning your room, and I’d share Heather’s latest blowup. And we’d laugh about how we felt so unprepared to be parents. Some days were so hard we’d cry, but at the end of every conversation, we always said we wouldn’t trade being our girls’ moms for anything in the world.”
“Really?” She grabbed more tissues.
“Yes. Emerson, when Baz contacted me, I was so thankful, because I have something for you. The night your parents were killed, I got an email from your mother with the subject Top this! ” Tears slid down her cheeks. “She told me about the argument you’d had over your curfew and how you’d stormed out to go sleep at your friend’s house. She said she knew this was all part of parenting and testing boundaries and that she hoped one day you’d realize that she only argued because she loved you so much.”
A sob stole Emerson’s ability to speak.
“I missed her so much after…” Alison took a moment to dab at her tears and recompose herself. “I couldn’t bring myself to delete any of our emails. I have them all, and I’ll forward them to you if you’d like.”
“I’d like that very much.” Emerson was so overwhelmed with gratitude, it was hard to speak. “Thank you.”
Half an hour, and many tears later, she took a call from Al Hartness, the owner of the convenience store around the corner from where she’d grown up. He used to smell like cigars, and his personality was as rough as sandpaper, but there was something endearing about the heavyset man with the thick New York accent that had always drawn her to him. Maybe it was that such a rough-around-the-collar guy loved his two miniature dachshunds so much, he brought them to work with him every day. He was bald now and not quite as beefy as he was back then but every bit as gruff.
“I never got to tell you how sorry I was about what happened to your parents. They were good people, and sorely missed.”
“Thank you.”
“Is that your old man’s sweatshirt?” he asked.
She looked down at it, fidgeting with the edge of the sleeves. “Yes. You remember it?”
He scoffed. “He wore it damn near all winter long, and he didn’t make a stranger of himself. He’d come into the store five minutes before closing a couple of times a week because your mom had a hankering for chips or ice cream or a candy bar.”
“He did?” She could imagine him doing that.
“Yes, ma’am. We’d get to talking, and I would get home half an hour late, and my old lady would give me hell.”
Emerson laughed. “I’m sorry. He was a talker.”
“I enjoyed our talks. He was proud of you. Always talking about things you said and did. Your boyfriend told me you’re still making those cookies. That’s a good thing. No one makes ’em like you and your mother did. She was a special lady.”
“Yes, she was. I’d be happy to send you some cookies.”
“I’d like that, but you better not. My wife gives me grief if I eat too much sugar these days.”
It made her happy that he had a wife who loved him. “Did my mom ever tell you why she started giving out cookies?”
“I was there when that came about. It was your idea, and you were as proud as a peacock.”
“What do you mean, my idea? I thought she had always done it.”
“Not as far as I know. Or at least not for me. That was all you, Emerson.”
“Do you remember how old I was?”
“You were a little thing. Maybe four or five. You used to come in to play with my dogs, Red and Blue. One day you came in with a cookie from the bakery around the corner. One of those white ones with sprinkles on top. I made a joke, saying I wished I had a cookie like that, and you offered me yours. I didn’t take it, of course, and the next day, you brought me a cookie you and your mother had made. You’d decorated it, and I’m not gonna lie. It was not pretty.”
Emerson laughed. “Well, I was just a little girl.”
“Little and proud to be giving it to me, and it was darn good. The dogs were begging for cookies, too, and you turned to your mother and said she needed to buy some dog food so you could make them cookies, too. After that you came in about once a week with different kinds of cookies for me and doggy biscuits for Red and Blue.”
“I don’t remember that, but I’m glad I know it now.”
“You used to say you were going to be everyone’s favorite baker, and your mother would say, favorite and poorest , because you refused to accept a penny for the cookies. I told your mother I could ask you not to make me any more cookies if it would help, and she looked me in the eyes and said, And dull that beautiful light in her eyes? No, thank you …”
By the time Emerson took the call from Gwen’s parents, her emotions were raw. She was glad to be facing a less emotional conversation with the handsome couple who commanded attention when they walked into a room.
For the briefest moment, when their faces appeared on the screen, Mr. Vasiliou’s gaze swept over Emerson, tension lines appearing at the sides of his mouth. Theodore Vasiliou looked every bit as Greek as his ancestors, with dark hair and eyes to match, olive skin, and strong features. His wife, Odette, sat beside him, her back pin straight. She was supremely self-possessed, with thinly manicured brows, perfectly coiffed thick dark hair like Gwen’s, and a coolness that bordered on aloof.
Emerson sat up a little taller, smoothing her hair. “Hi.”
“It’s nice to see you, Emerson,” he said. “You’re looking well.”
If he were anyone else, she might think he was being kind, given that she’d been crying on and off all afternoon. She knew her eyes and nose had to be red and puffy and her skin splotchy. But when it came to Mr. Vasiliou, she’d always felt barely seen, and she had a feeling that was what she was getting now. The cursory appraisal of a man who had taken on a broken teenage girl out of a sense of duty to his old friend.
“I don’t think I look very good right now, but thank you.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Emerson. You look great ,” Mrs. Vasiliou said.
Mr. Vasiliou put his hand on his wife’s arm, but his eyes never left Emerson as he said, “We’re not doing that today.”
Mrs. Vasiliou’s smile faded, and she put her hand over his.
“Emerson, we owe you an apology and an explanation,” he said evenly. “Odette and I know we aren’t the most loving people, and we have never been very good at parenting, but we tried our best to do right by you.”
She swallowed hard at his unexpected humility. “You were good to me.”
“There’s a difference between being good to someone and being good parents. Good parents give of themselves. Their time, their emotions. Your parents were good people and incredible parents. They lived and breathed for you from the moment your mother found out she was pregnant. It’s always been different for us. We were not planning on having a family, and when Odette got pregnant, we thought we had enough love to give to a child, even if our brand of love was different, and the timing was serendipitous, with your mother being pregnant, too. We assumed the feelings your parents spoke of, and the ability to show them, would come with time. But…”
“But we’re wired differently,” Mrs. Vasiliou said almost urgently. “We wanted to be the kind of parents your parents were. But it turns out that wanting is not enough. We feel love. We would give our lives for Gwen and you, but we’ve had to accept that we can’t create warm, fuzzy emotions from hearts that don’t know how to nurture it. Gwen has called us selfish many times, as you know, and she’s not wrong. Sometimes it’s easier to run away than to face your failures. But we tried to make up for it by hiring capable nannies, and when…” She pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly.
Emerson grabbed tissues. She didn’t know what to do with this information. She was sad for all of them, but mostly for Gwen’s parents.
“Your parents helped us learn how to be the best parents we could be, which was far from good enough,” Mr. Vasiliou said. “When they were…” His jaw clenched, and he looked up, closing his eyes for a beat, while his wife gracefully wiped her tears. When he looked at the camera again, his eyes were glassy. “When we lost them, we lost the best parts of ourselves, too. We were barely holding on to our ability to function, going to therapy instead of work and doing our best to make sure you and Gwen had the tools and the help to process your grief and move forward.”
“You did well by us,” Emerson said through her tears.
“When your friend Baxter called us, the things he said hit home,” Mr. Vasiliou said. “He made us realize that it was time to stop avoiding the hard conversations. Your parents would be thrilled that you’re with a young man who embodies all the things they valued and who will fight for your happiness. The thing is, Emerson,” he said with tears in his eyes, “if we could go back and find you another family to stay with—a family who was better equipped to help you—we wouldn’t have given you up. Because we may not be able to show love in the same ways your parents could, but we love you. You are, and have always been, an important part of our family. So, yes, we’re selfish, and we’re deeply sorry that we aren’t capable of more.”
Emerson grabbed more tissues, breathing shakily as she tried to soak up rivers of tears. “I wouldn’t have gone to another family. I needed you and Gwen, and you opened your home and your hearts to me without question. Warm and fuzzy doesn’t top that kind of love. I don’t think I knew that until this very moment, but it’s true, and I love you, too.” She wished Gwen had been on the call with them. She needed to hear what they’d said firsthand. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he said.
“Is that why you haven’t gone to see Gwen? Because you feel like you failed her in some way?”
Gwen’s mother lowered her eyes, but her father nodded. “Having a baby is stressful enough. I’m not sure she’d want us there.”
That made her ache even more. “I understand why you’d feel that way, but I know she wishes you’d come meet your granddaughter. She doesn’t care if you’re warm and fuzzy. She just needs you to be present. She needs to know she matters more than a trip.”
Mr. Vasiliou looked at his wife, taking her hand in his before turning back to Emerson. “We will go see her. You really are a remarkable young woman, Emerson. Always thinking of others, even after all you’ve been through. You are definitely your mother and father’s daughter.”
“Thank you. I can’t think of a higher compliment,” she said, wiping her eyes. “And thank you for everything you did for me when your hearts were breaking, too.”
When they finally ended the call, Emerson stared blankly at the screen, chock-full of love and gratitude for her parents, for the people who had given of themselves today, and even more so for the incredible man who had given her this gift.
She pushed to her feet and headed out to the backyard, where Baz had taken Brennan earlier. Brennan was sleeping on a blanket in the shade, and Baz was chopping wood on some kind of wooden block. She had no idea where he’d gotten the ax or the logs, but he was a shirtless sight to behold, his muscles glistening and flexing as the ax came down and he split a log in two.
He looked over and tossed the ax to the ground, his long legs eating up the distance between them. “How’d it go, darlin’? How are you feeling?”
“Like I have no more empty pages.” Tears fell from her eyes, and they wrapped their arms around each other.
“Thank God.” Baz kissed the top of her head, and she breathed in his rugged scent.
“I didn’t know how badly I needed to hear those things, and I don’t know what you told Gwen’s parents, but they were wonderful. Thank you. Now I can really tell Brennan about his grandparents when he’s older.”
“Good, babe. I’m so glad it helped.”
She tipped her face up, and he kissed her.
“Sorry I’m sweaty. I wanted to get wood ready for our fire tonight.”
“I like you sweaty. Where did you find an ax? And did you cut down a tree in the woods?”
“No. Blaine dropped everything off for me. I told him what was going on and said I’d come get it after you were done. He knew I was worried about you and wanted to make sure I was okay.”
“I guess being present really is more important than being warm and fuzzy.”
Baz’s brows knitted. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about the calls.” She kissed his chest and took a step back. “I think I’ll sit on the blanket with Brennan and watch the show.”
“What show?”
“The Baz Wicked Lumbersnack Show.”
“I’ll give you a lumbersnack.” He hauled her into his arms and kissed her senseless.