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“Do you want to sit down?” Emmy asked, scooting over one spot to offer him her former chair.
“No…I…” He fumbled for a word and volunteered a soft smile instead. “I’m going to see if Melody needs a hand with the coffee, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first.” He flicked his attention to Vin, but it was obvious the words had been for Emmy.
“We’re fine.”
Tucker gave a quick nod then backed out of the door like the room was on fire.
“You make that boy nervous,” Vin noted.
“I think it’s the hospital.”
Her father chuckled, which briefly became a hard, hacking cough, and Emmy’s heart seized to hear the noise. Her dad wasn’t a smoker, so she wasn’t worried about his lungs, but she imagined he might cough hard enough for his heart to explode. When the hacking interlude had ended, Vin’s cheeks were redder than usual and his eyes were glazed in a film of tears.
“He likes you,” he said, as if the entire thing hadn’t happened.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it matters.”
“I’m with Simon,” Emmy reminded him.
“Ah yes, the intrepid reporter. Well, here’s what I see, kiddo. Simon lives in Chicago, and he’s nowhere to be found. Tucker Lloyd lives in San Francisco and is supposed to be attending a b
aseball game tonight. Which one of them is here with you?”
He didn’t need her to answer. Her father, as usual, was a keen master at calling the plays the way he saw them.
Chapter Twenty
Simon Howell lived in a fancy, too-expensive-for-its-own-good apartment about five minutes from Lincoln Park. He loved to tell people about the building’s proximity to the park and the beach as if he were pointing out the winning features on a purebred dog. It drove Emmy nuts at parties when he would talk about the ease with which he could walk to the Magnificent Mile.
All she was thinking about in the cab ride from the hotel to his apartment was how lucky she was he didn’t live in the suburbs.
She’d split the cab with Tucker to his hotel and left him on the steps while she continued her trek to her boyfriend’s apartment.
Take tonight, see what there is. Don’t make rash decisions.
Right, because Emmy was one to make rash decisions so often.
The cab stopped in front of Simon’s building, and Emmy slipped the driver a handful of bills before getting out. The air was warm, making her skin tingle in the early evening. Between the two flights, her hours at the hospital and the stress of the day, Emmy was exhausted. She wanted a bubble bath, a full bottle of wine and a long sleep.
Maybe days of sleep.
The doorman let her in, and once in the elevator she pressed her head against the cold, shiny gold wall. She took several deep breaths, letting her exhalations leave fog on the metal.
Sleep. Wine. Bath.
No, that wouldn’t work. Bath. Wine. Sleep.
The elevator doors slid open, and she dragged her feet down to Simon’s apartment and knocked. It was still suppertime, and she worried he might have made plans. She hadn’t called him, giving herself every excuse not to. The plane didn’t allow phones. The hospital didn’t allow phones in the recovery area.
The reality of it was she didn’t want his participation in the events of the day. Simon was a fixer. He needed to make everything work, and when it didn’t, he tended to sulk. The last thing she’d wanted was sulky Simon at the hospital making her even more miserable. It might not have been fair, but it was honest. Now she was assured everything with her father was okay, and she was ready to let her boyfriend in to the events of the day.
Footsteps approached from behind the door, and she was relieved to know he was home. Simon opened the door, still wearing his dress shirt from the office and a pair of gray slacks.
“Em?”
“Hey.”
