Chapter Twenty-Six
Emery clutched the envelope in her coat pocket as she walked to The Turned Page, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Monday morning had arrived with merciless speed, bringing with it the deadline she'd set for herself. Today was the day she would finally tell Eveline the truth. There was no putting it off now. She’d spent most of Sunday in Eveline’s arms, but the day had been ruined because all she could think about was that it could be the last time.
After days of agonizing over just what exactly she was going to say, over how on earth she was supposed to explain any of this, she’d finally given up and decided to play to her strengths.
So she'd written it all down, who she was, what she did, why she'd hidden it, how sorry she was. The words had flowed better on paper than they ever could in person, where she knew she’d just stumble over explanations and excuses.
The envelope felt impossibly heavy in her pocket, weighted with secrets and consequences. She'd sealed it last night, her heart hammering in her chest as she did so, knowing that she could be destroying everything that she’d begun to realize that she wanted.
And just in time, she thought grimly. Domi's unexpected appearance at the shop on Saturday still made her stomach clench with anxiety.
That hadn't been a coincidence; Domi never did anything without purpose.
She'd been sending a message, a warning.
Emery knew her agent well enough to understand that if she thought it would make Emery write faster, Domi wouldn't hesitate to tell Eveline everything.
“Beat you to it, Domi,” Emery muttered under her breath as she rounded the corner onto the familiar street. The bookshop's sign swung gently in the morning breeze, and Emery paused for a moment, wondering if this was the last time she'd see it as a place of belonging rather than loss.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, the familiar bell announcing her arrival.
Eveline looked up from behind the counter, a smile spreading across her face. “Good morning,” she said, and the warmth in her voice made Emery's resolve waver.
“Morning,” Emery said, moving toward the counter where Eveline stood sorting through a stack of mail. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her coat, suddenly clumsy with nerves.
“Coffee's fresh,” Eveline said, gesturing toward the back room. “I made it strong, the way you like it.”
“Thanks,” said Emery, unable to meet Eveline's eyes.
She stepped forward, intending to move around the counter, when her hip caught on the edge.
The display of postcards that Eveline had carefully arranged that morning wobbled precariously for a second before cascading onto the floor in a kaleidoscope of colorful images.
“Oh no, I'm sorry,” Emery gasped, dropping to her knees to gather the scattered cards. “I don't know why I'm so—”
“Clumsy?” Eveline finished for her with a grin, crouching down to help. “It’s rapidly becoming one of my favorite things about you, if I’m going to be honest.”
Their hands brushed as they reached for the same postcard, and Eveline took the opportunity to capture Emery's fingers in her own. “Are you all right? You seem tense this morning.”
Emery looked up and found Eveline's face so close to hers, those dark eyes filled with genuine concern. “I'm fine, just… distracted.”
Eveline leaned forward, pressing a soft, swift kiss to Emery's lips. “Better?”
Emery's heart twisted painfully. After today, would Eveline ever look at her like this again? Would she ever get kissed like this again? Would she deserve to be kissed like this again? It was all her own fault, she knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier, not really.
“Emery?” Eveline prompted, concern deepening in her expression.
It was now or never. With trembling fingers, Emery reached into her pocket and pulled out the envelope. Before she could lose her nerve, she placed it on the counter.
“What's this?” Eveline asked, rising to her feet with a handful of postcards.
Emery stood too, taking a deep breath. “Something I need you to read,” she said, voice wobbly and legs even more wobbly still.
Eveline's brow furrowed as she set down the postcards and reached for the envelope. “Why? What is it? What—”
The shrill ring of the shop phone cut through the moment. Eveline hesitated, her fingers just inches from the envelope.
“You should get that,” Emery said, her voice thin with tension. “It could be important.”
Eveline gave her a long look before picking up the receiver. “The Turned Page, how may I help you?”
Emery watched as Eveline's expression shifted from confusion to concern to alarm.
“Yes, of course. We'll be right there,” Eveline said, hanging up the phone with a shaking hand. She turned to Emery, her face suddenly pale. “It's Abe. He's in the hospital. They say it's serious.”
All thoughts of the envelope flitted away in the morning light. “What happened?”
“Heart attack, early this morning,” Eveline said, already reaching for her coat. “He's been asking for us.”
“I'll close up,” Emery said, moving toward the door to flip the sign to ‘Closed.’
Eveline nodded, distracted, as she gathered her purse and keys. Her eyes fell on the envelope still sitting on the counter. “What about—”
“It can wait,” Emery said quickly. “Abe is what matters right now.”
They hailed a taxi outside the shop, the ride to the hospital passing in tense silence. Eveline stared out the window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Without thinking, Emery reached over to cover them with her own. Eveline turned her palm up, interlacing their fingers.
THE HOSPITAL CORRIDORS seemed endless as they followed a nurse to Abe's room. And when they found him, he looked smaller somehow, diminished against the white sheets, his skin almost as pale. Monitors beeped steadily around him, an oxygen tube running beneath his nose.
“Abe,” Eveline said softly, moving to his bedside. “We're here.”
His eyes fluttered open, recognition slowly dawning on his face. “Ah, my favorite booksellers,” he said, his voice weak but still carrying that familiar warmth. “Good of you to come.”
“Of course we’ve come. You gave us quite a scare,” Eveline said, taking his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, about as well as an old engine running on fumes,” Abe replied with a weak chuckle that turned into a cough. “Doctor says the old ticker's finally wearing out.”
Emery moved to his other side, her throat tight with emotion. “We brought you something,” she said, reaching into her bag for the book of poetry they'd grabbed on their way out of the shop, Abe's favorite Rossetti collection.
Abe's eyes brightened. “Always know just what a man needs.”
A doctor entered then, a young woman with kind eyes and an air of quiet authority. “Mr. Neville needs rest,” she said, checking the monitors. “But you're welcome to stay for a short visit.”
“How is he?” Eveline asked, stepping aside to speak with the doctor.
Emery stayed by Abe's side, her hand still holding his.
“You look troubled, my dear,” Abe said, his blue eyes surprisingly sharp despite the circumstances.
“I'm worried about you,” Emery said, which was true, though not the whole truth.
Abe's lips quirked in a knowing smile. “Not just that, I think.” He squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “Secrets become harder to tell the longer we keep them,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “Trust an old man who's kept too many.”
Emery's breath caught. Did he know? Had he somehow pieced it together?
Before she could ask, Abe's eyes drifted closed, his breathing becoming more labored. The doctor returned to check on him, adjusting something on one of the machines.
“He needs rest now,” she said gently. “You can come back tomorrow if you'd like.”
In the hallway, Eveline spoke quietly with the doctor while Emery stood by, catching fragments of their conversation. “His age… systems shutting down… comfortable as possible…”
When the doctor left, Eveline turned to Emery, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “She says he's wearing out. That at his age, there’s no chance of a full recovery from something like this. That… that he’ll be more fragile now and…” She didn't finish the sentence.
“I'm so sorry,” Emery said, pulling Eveline into an embrace. For a moment, they stood there in the sterile hospital corridor, holding each other. Until Eveline heaved a sigh and stepped back.
“I know it’s life,” she said. “I just hate that it’s so short.”
“Abe has had a good life,” Emery said, taking her hand. “And it’s not over yet. He’d kill you for talking like he’s already gone.”
“He would,” Eveline said, with the ghost of a smile. “Wouldn’t he?”
The walk back to the bookshop was silent, both lost in their own thoughts. The Romance Book Club was meeting tonight. They should stay open for it, they agreed, though neither felt particularly festive.
When they finally returned to The Turned Page, the day's brightness seemed at odds with their somber mood. Emery unlocked the door, the familiar bell jingling overhead as they entered.
Everything looked exactly as they'd left it hours ago, the half-sorted mail, the stack of books waiting to be shelved, the display of postcards hastily reassembled before they'd rushed out.
And there on the counter, where Emery had placed it in what felt like another lifetime, lay the envelope.
It faced upward, Emery's elegant handwriting, Emerald Pearl's handwriting, stark against the cream-colored paper. The truth, waiting to be revealed.
Emery and Eveline both stopped, their eyes drawn to it.
The envelope just lay there.
And Eveline reached for it.