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Ramsey said to Savich and Sherlock, “Vincenzo and his parents got here a couple of days ago. They’re sightseeing. Emma, you said Vincenzo’s still hoping the president will come to our concert.”
“I told him fat chance.”
Molly said, “We’re having dinner with the Rossis Friday night after Emma’s and Vincenzo’s performances. That way none of us will be gnawing off our fingernails. We’ll all be relaxed.”
Ramsey laughed. “We’ll be giddy with pride and champagne.”
Sherlock said, “Emma, how do you and Vincenzo communicate?”
“He speaks fairly good English and I have a translator app on my phone. He’s taught me some Italian and laughs at my pronunciation. I laugh at his English. When he speaks English, it sounds like he’s nearly singing, kind of like Andrea Bocelli.” Emma raised her chin again, just like Ramsey. “I’m six months younger than Vincenzo.”
Molly smiled at Ramsey, who looked pained.
Sean materialized at Emma’s elbow. “Who is this Vincenzo, Emma? You don’t want him for a special friend, do you? Instead of me?”
Emma didn’t hesitate. “Oh no, Sean, Vincenzo’s what you’d call a colleague. My heart belongs to you.” And the sweet girl gave him a hug.
Sean hugged her back, gave her a happy smile.
Savich said quietly, his eyes on Sean, “Emma, you are one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
Emma gave him a blazing smile. “Maybe Sean will grow up to be an FBI agent like you, Uncle Dillon, and he’ll protect me his whole life from—” Her voice fell off a cliff.
“—from any jealous pianist,” Savich finished.
The nameless man in San Francisco slithered right into the middle of the living room.
Molly gave her daughter a hug. “Imagine Sean an FBI agent, but he could also have some form of his father’s talent.” She turned a moment to look at the painting above the mantel. “I love that work. Your grandmother was amazing, Dillon. You whittle and your sister is a political cartoonist. Emma, it’s always fun to think and wonder and make plans about the future even if it’s always possible things never turn out the way you think they might.”
Ramsey looked down at his watch. “Good grief, it’s late. Come on, troops, time to cash out.”
Sherlock kissed Emma on the forehead, studied her a moment. “Goodness, you’re going to be as tall as your mama by June.”
Emma grinned. “I’m shooting for May.”
Cal and Gage were both leaning into their father’s legs, barely on their feet. He reached down, picked them up, one in each arm. Cal said against his father’s cheek, “What was Mommy saying to Emmie?”
Ramsey said, “I’ll tell you next time you beat me at basketball.”
Cal nodded, yawned. “Okay, but you’ve got to lift me closer to the net.”
Sean, pressed against Savich’s side, called out, “Papa and I play horse—he calls it pony, but that’s okay. I beat him sometimes. Well, maybe.”
Amid laughter and more yawns, and Cal and Gage’s slurred kid protests, the Hunt family left to drive to the Hay Adams Hotel.
After the Hunts’ departure, Savich gently pushed a thick curl back behind Sherlock’s ear. He kissed the end of her nose, then picked up their son. “I saw you helping Cal and Gage. Well done, Sean. You ready for bed?”
Astro raced over on stubby legs, barked up at Sherlock.
She hauled up the wriggling dog in her arms, hugged him, and got her face washed. “Don’t worry, Sean, I’ll bring mighty dog. You can listen to him snore.”
When Sean and Astro were finally down and out after Savich sang “Amazing Grace” three times, he climbed into bed, pulled Sherlock into his arms, and said quietly, “When Ramsey and I were in the kitchen, he filled me in on the details about Emma’s stalker or whatever he is.”
“Molly told me stuff, too, when we were sure Emma wasn’t listening. Tell me what Ramsey said.”
“Most of it we already knew. Three weeks ago, Emma was alone in Davies Hall after a practice session with Dr. Reisner when the man came to take her.” He told Sherlock about Emma’s bravery and poise, how she kept it together. “She came out the winner. I thought Ramsey would lose it when he told me what Emma said that day, that maybe it was her own fault. He and Molly told her the only thing she’d ever done wrong was letting the twins eat ice cream with her at midnight. They called her psychologist, scheduled a session with her the following day. She’s okay now, seems balanced again, and optimistic and very excited about playing at Kennedy Center. Do you know, I doubt it ever occurred to this man that his target—only a girl kid, after all—wouldn’t just fold, maybe burst into tears and beg, certainly not she’d fight him and beat him up.” He paused. “I’d say Ramsey nearly burst with pride. I wish I could have seen her in action.”
Sherlock wanted to hit something every time she thought about it. “Molly was proud as punch too. She told me the psychologist said Emma was getting it all out, the fears and doubts, the child’s self-blame. But Emma’s also had several nightmares again about what Father Sonny did to her six years ago. Thankfully they’ve stopped.” She brightened. “Emma’s performing at Kennedy Center is just the thing for her... well, and Vincenzo.” Sherlock wiggled her eyebrows. “I think he’s her first crush.”
