16. Mara
16
MARA
M y voice sounds groggy when I answer the blaring telephone next to the bed in my hotel room. If the front desk is blasting me with an early wake-up call, I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.
I’m immediately alert and awake when I hear Beckett’s frantic tone, “Mara, I need to see you right away.”
“Is Embry okay?” Panic edges my tone.
“Yes, she’s fine,” he quickly reassures me. “We’re both fine, but we need you.”
I hate it that my heart gives a little jolt at his last words. It’s evidently going to take a while for my muddled brain to fully accept that Beckett is taken, and he always will be. I can’t compete with a dead woman, nor do I want to.
I bolt out of bed and stretch the landline phone’s cord to grab clothes from my suitcase as I say, “I’ll be right there.”
After what has to be the quickest shower and teeth brushing session in the history of womankind, I race out of the hotel room to my car.
Even though Beckett assured me that Embry is okay, I know he wouldn’t track me down if it wasn’t important. If my little girl needs me, then I am going to be there––from now on.
I can’t do anything about my absence in her life in the past, but I will make damn sure it never happens again.
I’m in such a hurry to get to Embry that I try to emerge from the car with my seatbelt still attached. After that jolts me back to reality, I quickly unsnap it and race toward Beckett’s front door.
The best laugh in the world wafts around the house, so I change my intended direction and hurry to the backyard.
Beckett is pushing Embry high on her swing, and the child’s face is lit up with glee.
When she sees me, her already huge eyes widen even more before she squeals, “Mara!”
I beam, thrilled that she’s obviously so delighted by my appearance until she lets go of the swing’s chains and launches herself through the air.
Fear ices my veins as I realize that it’s way too far for her to fall. I lunge in her direction, but I can’t get close enough to catch her.
Miraculously, she lands on her feet and runs forward.
I crumple to my knees, almost unable to believe my eyes that she landed that jump and is uninjured.
Not seeming to sense anything amiss, Embry runs up and wraps her arms tight around my neck in the best hug of my entire life.
I squeeze my eyes tight and hug her back, savoring the sweet-sweet moment.
Beckett jogs up to us and chuckles as he says to me, “You’re white as a sheet. It might take a while for you to get used to our little daredevil.”
I can’t deny the surge of hope that flutters in my heart when he uses the plural pronoun ‘our’ and insinuates that I’ll be around her going forward. Perhaps he will be open to having me be a part of Embry’s life, without me having to drag him to court to force the issue.
It’s tempting to hold on tight when Embry pulls back from hugging me, but I force myself to let go. Smiling down at her, I say, “That was quite a jump, young lady!”
“Nah, that was nothing,” she brags, before smiling wide and showing off her missing front tooth.
Quickly turning her attention to her father, Embry asks, “Brekkie time?”
He chuckles before answering, “That sounds like a great idea, but I have something important to discuss with Mara first.”
When Embry’s pink lips pucker into the beginnings of a pout, he suggests, “How about if you play in your room for a few minutes, and then we’ll all make pancakes together for brekkie?”
“With blueberry syrup?” she asks, proving that she regularly drives a hard bargain.
At Beckett’s affirmative nod, she fist pumps with her tiny hand, then says, “Yes!” before darting in through the back screen door of the house.
We both chuckle at her enthusiasm before plopping down on the steps that lead up into the back of the house.
I’m suddenly nervous over what Beckett wants to talk with me about. I know what I’d like for him to say, but I sincerely doubt it will be anything of the sort.
Stalling for time, I ask him, “How did you find my hotel room’s number to call first-thing this morning?”
“There is only one hotel in town, and Sandra went to school with the owner. It wasn’t difficult to talk them into connecting my call to your room, despite the early hour. If you hadn’t picked up the phone, I was going to drive down there and pound on your door,” he reveals.
Unable to stand the suspense a moment longer, I ask, “What was so important that you were willing to wake me up bright and early this morning?”
Beckett runs his fingers through his thick hair, suddenly seeming nervous. “I was so excited to tell you, but now the thought of saying it out loud is daunting. I’m afraid you’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Never,” I assure him, meaning it. I ache to touch him, but know that it would be unwelcome. Instead, I focus on my curiosity and add in a soft tone, “You can tell me anything.”
I have to lean forward to hear him when, staring down at the concrete steps, Beckett says, “Sandra came to visit me last night.”
My entire body deflates. Trying to put forward a brave front, I say, “Oh, that’s great.”
Despite my best intentions, my voice emerges sounding flat.
Not seeming to sense my enormous disappointment that this was his big news, Beckett turns to look at me and says in a thrilled tone, “It was great!”
He takes one of my hands within both of his as he turns to face me. I have to remind myself that it is just a friendly gesture as he rushes on. “I know it sounds nuts, and everyone will probably think that I was just dreaming, but she was really there.”
I nod my head, trying to be an encouraging friend––even though his obvious undying love for his late wife is ripping my heart to shreds.
Not seeming to sense the turmoil making me feel queasy, Beckett continues. “I was facing the wall when I felt the mattress indent beside me. I started to turn to see what it was when I heard Sandra’s voice telling me to just relax and that everything was okay.”
I work to keep my face from revealing the pain his words create as he gushes, “I could feel the warmth of her at my back, and I could smell her signature honeysuckle scent. It wasn’t just a dream. She was really there.”
His adamant words have me nodding my head again. I’m not sure if I actually believe in visits from beyond the grave, but I can tell that he believes it was real.
He seems to be expecting me to say something, so I murmur, “I’m so happy for you.”
That much is true. I am happy for him. He obviously needed this. I just hope it’s enough to keep his loneliness at bay for a while.
He seems lost in thought as he says, “I was always so jealous when I would hear stories about people being visited by their loved ones who have passed on. I just knew that Sandra would visit me if there was any way she could make it happen. And now she has.”
Whether it was real or simply a dream, the man is practically giddy with joy.
His expression darkens a bit when he adds, “I felt so guilty about what happened with you last night. I was afraid that I was letting Sandra down and betraying her memory by letting things get physical with another woman. I still feel married to her.”
Even the strictest interpretations of marriage are only ‘til death do us part’, but I sense that it wouldn’t do any good to mention that. Instead, I manage to say around the acidic lump in my throat, “Right. I understand.”
“So does she!” Beckett exclaims as if this is a great epiphany.
His giddiness is cutting me to the core. Every instinct in my body tells me to leave this man and lick my wounds for a while, but the child inside the house is the strongest magnet in the world holding me here just to be near her.
I gaze out at the flat horizon and wonder what kind of wretched, lifelong torture I’ve signed myself up for by coming here.