Page 69 of Key West Homecoming

She had come to The Reading Room expecting to learn about the man Gloria had loved. Instead, she had learned more about her grandmother too. Gloria had read books aloud in the evenings, argued about Homer, loved Willa Cather and O Pioneers!, and had once looked at Edmund and told him Emma looked exactly like her father.

Emma thought about the letter waiting for her on Simonton Street.

Tomorrow she would finally read what Gloria had wanted to tell her.

She started toward her car, then stopped and looked back through the bookstore window.

Edmund was still standing near the door.

He raised his hand.

Emma raised hers before turning toward the street, and this time she knew exactly which way she was going.

CHAPTER 12

Rebecca Fairbanks-Nash’s house on Simonton Street was a two-story Conch cottage painted pale yellow, with a wide veranda across the front. Clay pots lined the porch steps, most of them filled with herbs Emma recognized, although there were two she couldn’t name. A pair of teenage bicycles leaned against the side of the house, and through an open window she could hear music and the muted voices of a television.

Emma walked up the path at five minutes to three.

The woman who opened the door was in her mid-forties and still wearing scrubs, her dark hair pulled back and a mug of coffee in one hand. She looked as though she’d come straight home from work.

“You must be Emma. I’m Rebecca. Come in, please. He’s been on the back veranda since one o’clock rearranging the tea tray.”

Emma smiled. “Since one?”

“Twice. At one point he moved a shortbread from one plate to another because he decided the first plate was too large.”

Emma laughed.

“I’m serious. He got up, walked into the kitchen, asked me for a smaller plate, moved the shortbread and sat back down.”

“He’s nervous.”

“He’s beside himself, and I’m going to pretend I haven’t told you any of this. If you could look surprised when you see him instead of laughing, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

Rebecca led her through a small tiled foyer and past a living room with cream slipcovers and a piano covered with sheet music. French doors at the back opened onto a deep veranda where ceiling fans turned slowly overhead. Jasmine climbed one of the columns and bloomed along the railing. Beyond it a small walled garden held a fig tree, an avocado tree and a bed of plants Emma couldn’t identify from where she stood.

Edmund sat in one of two rattan chairs with a book open on his lap. The tea tray beside him had been arranged with obvious care. There were three cups, a small plate of shortbread and a pitcher of iced tea beside the hot pot.

He stood when Emma stepped outside.

“Emma. Right on time.”

“I try.”

Rebecca stayed in the doorway.

“I’ll leave you two.” She looked at her father. “Water, Dad. Please.”

“I’ll drink the water.”

“Thank you.”

She disappeared into the house.