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‘I know, but...’ The other option was staying in New Jersey, finding some poky apartment she could afford on the salary she’d get as a waitress or cleaner, the only kind of job for which she was qualified. ‘I like to dream,’ she admitted with a wry sigh, and Meghan nodded in understanding.
‘What about another job as a housekeeper? A live-in position, so you could have Ava with you?’
‘I’m not sure there are many of those going around.’
‘You only need one.’
‘True.’ Emma glanced down at her daughter, who was starting to stir, her little face turning red as she screwed her features up in preparation for one of her ear-splitting howls. ‘We’d better get going,’ she told Meghan. ‘Princess Ava needs her lunch.’
Back at the house she and Meghan fed Ava and Ryan, and then ate their own lunch while the two children played nearby.
‘All right, let’s do this,’ Meghan said, ever practical, and resolutely Emma nodded as her sister pulled her laptop towards her and brought up the webpage for an agency that supplied jobs in the cleaning and hospitality industries.
Emma suppressed a groan as some of the available jobs scrolled by: night-time cleaning at a business park in Newark, janitorial work in a local elementary school.
‘I don’t...’ she began, but Meghan cut her off with a quick shake of her head.
‘We’ll find something. Something perfect. There’s no rush.’
But there was a rush, Emma thought glumly, even if she didn’t want to say as much to her sister. Meghan might be happy to have her stay indefinitely, but she wasn’t always so sure about Pete; as the breadwinner he surely felt the strain on the family finances more than anyone.
And she also knew she wanted more for her life than living in a spare bedroom, changing diapers and dreaming of sleep.
Maybe a poky apartment and a job cleaning school toilets would be it, at least for the interim. If she was careful she could save enough money to go somewhere, maybe travel again, this time with Ava. She pictured herself working her way through Europe, her baby in a backpack, and, while it held a certain quirky charm, she was also realistic enough to acknowledge how difficult that would be.
She could, she supposed, go to stay with her father, but he had been decidedly nonplussed about his unmarried daughter having a baby by a man who was serving a life sentence in prison, and in any case her father was immersed in his work, as he had been since his wife had left him fifteen years ago. He hadn’t even seen Ava yet.
No, she needed to do something on her own. Stand on her own two feet, however wobbly she was.
‘Let me have a look,’ she said, and pulled the laptop towards her. She browsed the jobs for a few more minutes, taking down details, until Ava started crying, ready for her afternoon nap.
‘I’ll take her upstairs,’ Emma said, scooping her protesting daughter into her arms. Ava wrapped her chubby arms around Emma’s neck and snuffled against her chest. Her daughter was demanding, even difficult, but she still managed to make Emma’s heart melt with love. She’d never regret her decision, even if she ended up cleaning toilets for the rest of her life.
Life could still be an adventure, she told herself as she settled Ava in her crib. It was all about attitude. No matter where she was or what she did, she could still enjoy her daughter, maybe even try photography again. She hadn’t picked up her camera since Ava’s birth, except to take a few photos of her daughter. The spontaneous, candid moments she’d captured on film all over the world had been hard to find here, and Emma had been too exhausted and overwhelmed to look for them.
She was just coming downstairs, Ava asleep hopefully for at least an hour and Meghan at playgroup with Ryan, when the doorbell sounded. Hoping the noise wouldn’t wake Ava, ever a light sleeper, Emma went to answer it.
And stared straight into the face of Larenzo Cavelli. Shock blazed through her as she looked at him; he was thinner, the angles of his cheekbones a little sharper, everything about him a bit harder. A faint scar ran down one cheek, starting by his eyebrow and ending at his jaw. She noticed these changes distantly, her mind dazed and spinning; she could not actually believe it was him. He was here. How? And why?
‘Larenzo...’ she finally managed, her voice a rasp, and his face didn’t show so much as a flicker of emotion as he answered.
‘Hello, Emma.’
* * *
Larenzo gazed at Emma dispassionately; she was clearly shocked to see him, but he felt nothing when he looked at her, except perhaps a twinge of remorse, a flicker of bittersweet memory. That night they’d shared so long ago felt as if it had happened to someone else. It had happened to someone else. Eighteen months in prison changed you. For ever.
