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Donna edged to the door and shook her head. “I’d love to, really, but I left Dennis with dinner and the kids, which might be just a shade too much responsibility for him.
Sheila leaned against the kitchen door frame and laughed. The last thing she would call Donna Ember’s loyal husband was irresponsible. A feeling of warm relief washed over her as she watched the headlights of Donna’s van fade into the distance.
“Is Emily going to be all right?” Sean asked when Sheila walked back into the kitchen and began perking a pot of coffee.
“She’s fine.”
Sean swallowed and kept his eyes on the floor. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Sheila maintained.
“Dad thinks so,” Sean replied glumly.
“Well, your dad is wrong.”
Sean’s head snapped upward, and his intense blue eyes sought Sheila’s. “But I thought you liked Dad.”
“I do . . . I like him very much,” Sheila admitted, “but that doesn’t mean he can’t be wrong some of the time.”
Sean sank into a chair near the table. “I should have been more careful.”
“Even if you had, the accident might still have occurred. Just be thankful it wasn’t any worse than it was.”
Sean’s face whitened at the thought. “I don’t think it could have been worse.”
“Oh, Sean, it could have been a dozen times worse.” Sheila took a chair near Sean and touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Emily could have struck her head, or you could have fallen down, too . . . a thousand different things could have happened.” Sheila fought the shudder of apprehension that took hold of her when she considered how dangerous the accident could have been. “Look, Sean, you did everything right. You got Emily out of the water and carried her to me. Thank you.”
Sean was perplexed and confused. “You’re thanking me . . . why?”
“For clear thinking, and taking care of my little girl.”
“Miss Lindstrom—”
“Sheila.”
Sean shifted uncomfortably on the chair. He was still carrying the weight of guilt for Emily’s accident and had transformed from a tough punk teenager into a frightened boy. “Okay . . . Sheila . . . I’m . . . sorry for the way I acted last night.”
“It’s okay.”
“But I was crummy to you.”
Sheila couldn’t disagree. “You were.”
“Then why aren’t you mad at me?”
“Is that what you want?” Sheila inquired, taking a sip from her coffee.
Noah had heard the end of the conversation and stood in the door awaiting Sean’s response to Sheila’s question.
Sean looked Sheila in the eye, unaware that his father was standing less than five feet behind him. “I don’t know.” He shrugged, some of his old bravado resurfacing. “I just didn’t want to like you.”
Sheila’s eyes flicked from Sean to Noah and back again. “Because you were afraid that I might take your father from you?”
Again the blond youth shrugged.
“I would never do that, Sean. I have a daughter of my own, and I know how important it is that we have each other. No one couldevertake me away from my child. I’m sure the same is true of your father.”
Sean looked at Sheila, silently appraising her. His next words shattered the friendliness between them. “My dad still cares for my mom!” His look dared her to argue with him.
