“Where is everyone?” Oliver asked with curiosity as he followed Matthew to the Clarkson home.
“They’re at East Light, doing repairs. Everyone’s gone except for me and my mom.”
Oliver’s thoughts drifted back to the day Emma had walked with a sack full of books into Abigail McKenna’s sickroom, where he lay convalescing.
“She stayed behind?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s bread day,” Matthew replied, “so she’s in the kitchen.”
Matthew led Oliver up the steps to the front door and walked in. “Mom! Someone’s here to see Grampa!”
Oliver kicked the sand off his boots before he entered. He quickly ran a hand over his windswept hair and wished he’d thought to bring a comb.
“Who is it, Matthew?” she called out.
The sound of her voice and the familiar scents of the house stirred more memories for Oliver—mostly of fresh feelings of hope and anticipation when he knew he would spend time with Emma and talk to her about things he’d never spoken about with anyone.
Seven years ago, she’d brought him back to life, and he’d been alive ever since. He’d come a long way since the war and the ordeal of theBelvedere.
“It’s the captain of a ship!” Matthew shouted as he ran into the kitchen, leaving Oliver to stand and wait uneasily in the entrance hall, where he listened to Emma speak in soft tones to her son.
A full minute must have passed before she finally appeared, wearing faded, baggy blue jeans and a white oversize collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her dark hair, which had grown long, was loose and wavy about her shoulders. The sight of her was like a thunderbolt in Oliver’s chest.
“Hello, Emma,” he said, doing his best to be friendly and open.
She cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Captain Harris. What a surprise to see you.” She took a tentative step forward. “Goodness. What in the world are you doing here? How long has it been?”
All he could do was shake his head at the time it had taken him to finally come back here. “Too long. How are you?”
“I’m well. But ...” She glanced in the direction of the sea. “How did you get here?”
“I came on my ship,” he explained. “TheOverton. We’re bound for New York, but we’re ahead of schedule, so I thought I’d stop by.” An awkwardness overcame him, and he waved his hand about. “I took a small tender boat on my own and left it on the beach.”
“I see.”
They gazed at each other in silence for a few seconds.
To Oliver, Emma seemed taller somehow. Her figure was more womanly, but of course it would be. She was a married woman now, and she’d had a child.
Suddenly he felt the distance between them, deep as a canyon. The last time they’d spoken, she’d confessed a passionate love for him, and he had rejected her quite cruelly, which had, of course, been a necessity. Months later, her letter about her father’s accident had suggested she bore no ill will toward him, which had come as a tremendous relief. But Oliver never heard from Emma again after that. It was her father who kept in touch over the years.
Matthew darted out of the kitchen, slammed into her legs, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
Emma laughed. “This is my son, Matthew.” She looked down at her boy and pushed his blond hair back from his forehead.
The mood grew lighter, and Oliver was glad.
“We met on the beach,” he said cheerfully. “Matthew was kind enough to show me the way here.”
“Yes, he told me that,” Emma replied. “He also said you came to see my father. I’m sorry to tell you that he took the Jeep to East Light this morning and won’t be back until suppertime.”
Oliver scratched the back of his head. “That’s unfortunate. Is your husband here?”
It would be proper to meet him. Oliver wanted that very much.
Emma inclined her head slightly, then spoke to Matthew. “Darling, will you be a gem and go outside to get me some flowers for the table tonight? Roses will do fine.”
“Is Captain Harris staying for supper?” Matthew asked.
