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Jared closed his eyes.
* * *
Emma’s heart twisted in pain.A divorce?Molly wanted them to get a divorce?
Emma sliced a look toward Jared. Had this been his idea? Had he put their daughter up to making this request? She couldn’t tell by looking at him, which only intensified the hurt. Once upon a time, she could read him like a book.
Molly continued, “I know this might seem like a strange request, but I’ve thought a lot about it. It’s obvious your marriage is over. Neither of you is happy. Neither of you is moving on with your life. That’s no way to live.”
As she spoke, she looked from Emma to Jared, then back to Emma again. “If you’ve been waiting for me to grow up or graduate, you don’t have to wait any longer. You don’t have to worry about me any longer. But as long as you two are stuck in this . . . limbo . . . I worry about you. I’ve been worried about you both for years now, and I think it’s time to stop. Don’t you? Please, just go ahead and get a divorce. I know you’ll both be happier.”
Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t know what to say or how to react. This suggestion had come entirely out of the blue. She waited, hoping Jared would speak first.
His mouth remained stubbornly closed.
Figures.She cleared her throat. “Molly, I—”
A knock at the door interrupted her, and the door swung open. Celeste glided inside, followed by an attractive blond woman who was Emma’s age or maybe a little older. They both carried trays loaded with food. “I hope you are hungry,” Celeste said. “Jared and Emma Stapleton, I’d like you to meet Ali Timberlake, owner of the Yellow Kitchen, the best restaurant in Colorado.”
“Oh, Celeste,” the other woman said with a roll of her blue eyes as she set her tray on the buffet.
Emma was thrilled at the interruption. She and Ali Timberlake had spoken on the phone several times as they planned the reception menu. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched as she said, “Ali, it’s lovely to finally meet you. I’m Emma.”
“And I’m Jared,” he said, coming up behind Emma.
Ali shook their hands, complimented Emma on her talent, then presented the items on the buffet. “If anything doesn’t suit your fancy or if you want to add something to the menu, just let me know. We still have time to make changes.”
“I’m sure we’re going to love everything, Mrs. Timberlake,” Molly said. “Mason still goes into moans of rapture about your Alfredo sauce any time Italian food gets mentioned.”
Emma asked a few reception-menu questions, more as a delaying tactic than out of curiosity, but soon the other women left the Stapleton family alone. Emma and Jared stood frozen in place. Molly spoke with false brightness. “We’d better eat while it’s hot.”
Emma had sat through uncomfortable meals in the past, but this one topped them all. The food was delicious, and Emma had no concerns about that part of the wedding. Molly babbled on about centerpieces and music, and Emma’s discomfort grew. This was ridiculous. They were acting like children. She was just about to speak when Jared set down his fork and said, “Enough. This is absurd. Molly, please excuse yourself and allow your mother and me some privacy.”
Molly glanced from one parent to the other and hesitated. “I’m not sure—”
“Molly,” Emma snapped. “This is what you wanted when you set this little meeting up. Let us deal with it.”
Their daughter could be as stubborn as Rocky Mountain granite. “But I haven’t eaten my dinner.”
“Load your plate on the way out,” Jared said.
She huffed, lifted her nose, gave her hair a dramatic toss, and finally sashayed out of the room. When the door shut behind her—loudly—an unexpected thing happened.
Emma’s gaze met Jared’s . . . and they shared a smile.
For Emma, it was a flashback to another time, a good time when their family was . . . a family. The smile was a pin that popped the balloon of tension hanging in the room, but as that force dissipated, another emotion filled the void. Sadness. She felt it, and she could see it on Jared’s face.
How had they come to this?
The ugliness of their fight in the wake of Frank’s suicide had been the catalyst, of course. They both had been mired in pain and guilt and furious at the actions the other had taken. They’d said some terrible, injurious things to each other. But even as she’d packed her bag and stormed out of the house, she’d never expected it to end their marriage. She’d thought they’d needed a cooling-off period.
Somehow, though, cool had become frigid, then frozen. Frozen things shatter when dropped.
Divorce was the word, the sound of their frozen marriage hitting the ground.
“Well . . .” she began, then faltered for more to say.
One side of his mouth lifted in a grim smile. “Yeah, well. So did you know what she had in mind?”
