Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Emmy rose before the sun, her mind still full from last night.
Her thoughts kicked in the moment she’d gained any semblance of consciousness.
Had her dad woken up in the night to find himself in an empty room?
Should she have stayed with him in case he did?
He was in a precarious state, and she’d heard of people slipping into death once they were alone.
She sent up a prayer that God would keep him breathing long enough for her to get back to him, and if it was in God’s will to take him, to at least let him have one final Christmas.
She padded downstairs and tiptoed into the kitchen, but the hearty scent of brewed coffee told her she wasn’t the only one awake.
Madison was already at the kitchen table, facing the back window, a mug in her hand. She turned around when Emmy entered.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Emmy asked.
“No.” Madison gestured toward the coffee maker. “Want some?”
“Absolutely.”
Emmy went over to the cupboard and pulled out a mug. She filled it with the warm liquid and added some sugar.
“I wasn’t planning on everyone being here. In fact, we’d already eaten all the food to empty the fridge, because we were supposed to be in New York. I need to get groceries at some point.”
“Yeah,” Emmy said, worry for her dad burying the monotony of her sister’s observation. “What time do visiting hours start at the hospital?” Milky-brown liquid pooled in a spoon sitting on the counter, so Emmy used it to stir her coffee.
“Eight a.m. to Eight p.m.”
Emmy took her mug to the table and sat down next to her sister.
Eight a.m. Two and a half hours seemed like a lifetime. She wanted to get back to her dad and see how he was doing. No news was good news, right?
“I’m so sorry we missed your show,” Madison said.
“Don’t be worried about that in the slightest.”
“I have been worried about it. So much. I know how hard you worked.” She twisted around. “Have you stopped to consider what you’ve accomplished?”
Emmy pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, and put her feet on the chair. “What do you mean?”
“The PR job Vivienne gave you was a waste of time. You and I both know that. Then, you were a waitress and a barista—neither of which were jobs that showcased your specific talent. So the first time you’ve been able to use your God-given skills, in a single year, you made it to New York’s Fashion Innovation Conference. Holy cow, Emmy.”
“I haven’t even had a moment to consider that.”
“It’s astonishing. And you didn’t even get to see your designs on the runway, did you?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter.”
Madison frowned. “It would’ve been nice to celebrate your hard work.”
“Mitch said one of my designs got a standing ovation. That news is good enough, considering the circumstances.”
Madison’s mouth hung open. “Oh my gosh! Emmy! That’s incredible.”
“It’s funny, my life cruised along with no major turns one way or another and then the minute I have one of the greatest highs, it’s met with this inconceivable low. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well, Mom’s illness taught us many years ago that life isn’t fair.”
They both sipped their coffees in that unifying quiet that they’d managed for so many years.
“Speaking of your job, you haven’t mentioned anything about Mom. Has Mr. Augustine said anything more about her?” Madison asked, always the first to break the silence.
Emmy shook her head. “Workdays are so chaotic and exhausting that we don’t have time to talk, really. But there is one thing I haven’t had a chance to tell you.”
“What?”
“Earlier in the year, I took Mom’s clutch, and he recognized it.”
“Really?”
“Not only that, he was the one who bought it for her.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. And I’m pretty sure the note was from him too, although I never got a chance to ask him, and even if I could, he isn’t terribly forthcoming about that time in his life.
By his uneasy response, I’m wondering if something awful happened to his fiancée.
” She gripped her mug. “But I do wonder what the note was about. I checked online and there’s nothing on that street at all. It’s a side street.”
“He and Mom were friends; it would be easy for him to send a note over to meet up for something. Maybe the note was to give her the clutch, and after he gave it to her, she shoved the paper in there and forgot to throw it away.”
“Yeah, probably. I asked Vivienne if she knew anything, but her answer didn’t make much sense.” Emmy shrugged. “She said the only thing on that street was rain. I don’t get it.”
“I doubt the note is anything at all. Just trash.” Madison twisted toward her. “Speaking of Mom’s former life, when Dad moved in with me, he brought one of her sketchbooks he found. She’d shoved it way in the back of the closet, apparently. He was going to bring it to you.”
She got up and went upstairs, returning with the large sketchbook. She handed it to Emmy.
“It’s full of drawings and notes. Dad and I looked at the first few pages, but none of her jottings made any sense to us non-fashion people.”
Emmy pulled the book toward her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Dad.”
“I plan to. I’m willing him to get better. And I’ve prayed, so here’s hoping God’s on our side with this one.”
Madison gave her a look of solidarity. “Wanna get ready and be there right at eight—just the two of us?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t wait to get to her father.
“Oh, I’m glad you two are here,” a nurse said from the hallway nurses’ station when Emmy and Madison got back to their father’s door. “I just gave him his round of medication, so he’s going to get sleepy, but he’s awake.”
Emmy gasped and looked happily at her sister.
“Come inside.” The nurse beckoned them into the room.
Their father was pale, his mouth slightly open. A mix of confusion, winces of pain, and concern showed in his expression. He looked almost gray, his eyes glazed and unfocused. His gaze moved slowly over to the door and when Emmy and Madison stepped inside, a tiny sparkle shone in his eyes.
“I thought I was dying,” he said, his voice so raspy that he didn’t even sound like himself.
“You’re very much here.” Emmy went over and took his clammy hand. “I’m glad you’re alert.”
Madison stood next to her.
He swallowed, wincing again, and shifted uncomfortably. “I swear, I thought I saw your mom when I was out.”
“What was she doing?” Madison asked.
“She was singing in the kitchen, the way she used to do when she washed dishes. After dinner, when she was washing up, was my favorite time to run behind and put my arms around her.”
“I remember,” Emmy said. “You would squeeze her and make her laugh, and then you’d tickle her, but she couldn’t react because her hands were all sudsy.”
He attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace. “When I saw her, she looked up and smiled, and my heart melted. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her smile.” His eyes glazed with emotion and he swallowed again. “She said... I’ll see you later. And then, I woke up.”
Emmy sent a silent prayer of thanks.
“But she said something else.” His eyelids closed as if they were getting heavy, but he was working to force himself to stay awake.
Emmy and Madison looked at each other and then leaned in.
“What did she say?” Emmy asked.
His eyes rolled back in his head, and he yawned. “She said, ‘You need to tell them.’”
“Tell us what, Dad?” Madison asked.
But he’d fallen asleep.
They quietly left him and stepped into the hallway.
“He’s doing okay,” the nurse said, patting Emmy on the shoulder. “It’s an absolute miracle.”
Emmy smiled. “Could he be loopy or not quite with it?”
“Absolutely,” the nurse replied. “But he’s showing strength. I’d stick around.”
Emmy and Madison went down to the lounge and bought a cup of juice before settling at a table for two.
“I wonder if he was just talking nonsense,” Madison said.
“I have no idea.” Emmy set her paper cup down and scooted the chair to the table. “It would be amazing if Mom was actually there in his dream. Do you think it’s possible?”
“Definitely, knowing Mom. If anyone could show up, it’s her.”
“If it was her, what do you think she wants Dad to tell us?”
“Oh, I doubt it’s anything earth-shattering. Probably that she loves us or something.”
“Yeah.”
Emmy tried to ignore the urgency she’d noted in his gaze as he fought sleep, and she couldn’t help but question—if his dream were true—what else did her mother want them to know?