his hand was on her shoulder.
There was that tingling again.
“You don’t have to apologize for being sensitive. The world could use a whole lot more of that. It’s people like you who make everything that is beautiful.”
Emma stared at him, thinking it was the loveliest thing anyone had ever said to her. If she got nothing else for Christmas, would that be enough?
“Hurry up,” Sue said, appearing out of the living room.
Ryder’s hand dropped off her shoulder but the tingle stayed.
“Hurry up. We have enough people to play charades. You two and me on one team, Mom and Grandpa and Pegs on the other. Come on!”
Ryder’s silence made Emma look at him. She could clearly see some battle in his eyes. He did not want to play charades.
He didn’t say, I don’t want to. He said, “I can’t.”
Sue stepped across the floor, took his hand and tugged. She looked up at him with enormous eyes. “Pleeease?” she whispered.
His face looked not as if he were deciding whether to play charades, but as if he was a warrior deciding whether to pick up his weapons or lay them down.
In the end he could not refuse Sue, was incapable of hurting her, and Emma had the sensation of seeing who he really was.
“Who gets Tess?” Ryder asked the little girl, only Emma sensed the surrender, and how hard it came to him.
“We’re letting her think she’s on both teams,” Sue whispered solemnly.
Emma had never played charades, family games not being high on her mother’s list of priorities, but the girls were experts on the game, and took great pleasure in explaining her responsibilities to her.
After several rounds, Tess fell asleep on the couch. It was Emma’s turn. A little nervous, she drew a card from a bowl. Love Story. Okay. Who was the joker who had put that in?
She didn’t want to try and act out anything about love with Ryder in the room. And how was she supposed to get that subject across with only her limited acting abilities?
Reluctantly, she made the motion the girls had showed her.
“Movie,” Sue and Peggy crowed together, Peggy apparently forgetting whose team she was on.
So far so good. Taking a deep breath, Emma crossed her hands over her heart, smiled, and swayed in what she hoped was a swoon, something she was newly experienced at. She blinked her eyes.
“Giraffe?” Sue said doubtfully.
Ryder snickered. Emma glared at him and drew a large invisible heart with her hands.
“Giraffe that has swallowed something large. Like a potato. Only not one Emma peeled,” Ryder suggested.
Everyone seemed to think he was hysterically funny. He was grinning slightly and she saw that once he had been this man: full of mischief and fun. The grin made him look young, made her think how somber he looked most of the time. What had happened to him? Obviously whatever it was made him the worst possible man to feel attracted to. He was wounded. So was she. That was a bad, bad combination.
Despite knowing that, she went from feeling reluctant and awkward to wanting to make him laugh. She threw herself into her performance, going on bended knee before him, clasping her hands in front of her, blinking dreamily.
“A giraffe with eye problems,” Ryder said.
“Would you forget the giraffe?” she cried.
“You’re not allowed to talk, Emma!” Sue reprimanded her.
“Yeah,” Ryder said. “Whoever heard of a giraffe that talks?”
Emma was exasperated that he would get a talking giraffe out of her practically prostrating herself in front of him with love.
Could she fall in love with him? Given time? Luckily they didn’t have time. Then again, how much time would you need to fall hopelessly in love with a man like him? And it would be hopeless. The remoteness that never quite left his eyes, not even when he laughed, was warning her off, trying to tell her something.
Still, he’d walked into her life twenty-four hours ago, and his appeal was, unfortunately, outweighing the warning, swaying her against her will. She thought of the exquisite tenderness on his face when he had soothed Tess this morning, when he had said to the baby, Mama’s here. She thought of his clumsy awkwardness with the girls, of the way he pitched in to help, of the seamless way he had joined in with the Fenshaws and with her. Emma thought of him telling her about his best Christmas, the light that had come on in his face, she thought of him chasing her down the driveway armed with snowballs. Did all this mean that if he stayed another day she would lose her good sense completely?
“Good sense is my middle name,” she muttered a reminder to herself.
“You’re not allowed to talk!” Sue reminded her, hands on her hips, frowning.
Emma got off up her knees. Naturally she didn’t expect Sue to get her acting out love, but he was being deliberately obtuse. Despite the fact that good sense was her middle name, Emma skipped across the living room, a woman obviously in the throes of love, picked an imaginary daisy, tore imaginary petals off it, he loves me, he loves me not.
“The Birds,” Ryder suggested dryly, though he was obviously enjoying himself at her expense!
She glared at him, blinked again, blew him a kiss, wrapped her arms around herself and hugged, doing her best dreamy look.
“You love him!” Sue crowed.
And Emma felt herself turn bright red. Of course she didn’t love him. She barely knew him! And the little she did know did not bode well for loving him. But she thought of the way he’d been unable to refuse Tim’s request for help or Sue’s plea for him to play the game with them, and she wondered about herself and her strength and the temptations of another twenty-four hours.
Though surely in these circumstances, seeing how people coped with disaster and with life being wrested out of their control, you knew a lot more about them sooner than under normal circumstances.
Emma decided she better move on before she embarrassed herself completely. She motioned that she was doing the second word, pretended to be turning the pages of a book.
“You’re reading,” Sue guessed. “A book. A story.”
Emma clapped her hands, thrilled to have gotten that part over with so fast.
“Love Story,” Ryder guessed, and then gave a shout of laughter, as if his own enthusiasm had taken him by surprise.
Emma realized, staring at him, that what she needed to do was not think about the future or project her romantic nature onto it. She needed to remember the past, and how her ability to fill in the blanks had brought her nothing but grief. With Peter. And with her mother.
She needed to remind herself what grief felt like and to know that the unfathomable darkness
