then, after he had taken Teddy from her—
I hate you, Sam Griffin. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you….
Reflexively, Sam crushed the envelope in his hand as he saw again the anger and pain flashing in her eyes, heard again the heartrending sobs shaking her slender body as she sank to the floor of the hospital waiting room, her cream silk wedding dress puddling around her.
Why had she chosen to contact him now of all times? The anniversary of Teddy’s death was only a few weeks away. Was it something to do with that? But then, what could she possibly have to say to him after four long years of silence?
Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Emma Dalton was a part of his past—one of the most devastating parts, to be exact. Surely he would be better off if that was what she remained.
What good could possibly come of allowing her to reenter his world? For years, he had done his damnedest to avoid even the mere thought of her. More and more often lately, he’d actually succeeded. Now…this…
He wasn’t fool enough to think Emma’s opinion of him had changed. And he certainly wasn’t masochistic enough to feel he had to endure another round of her reproach. There was nothing she could say to him that he hadn’t already said to himself a thousand times or more.
He would never forget what had happened to Teddy, nor would he ever forgive himself for it. He knew that he deserved Emma Dalton’s animosity. He deserved it in spades. Of that he had never needed a reminder.
But he had finally come to realize all the mea culpas in the world wouldn’t bring his brother back. That understanding, accompanied by acceptance, had gradually eased his anguish.
For one very long, very lonely moment, Sam fought the temptation to toss the unopened envelope into the trash can, grab his jacket, head for the officers’ club and start working his way through a bottle of Scotch. By the end of the evening, he would be lucky to remember his name, much less all that had occurred four years ago. Unfortunately, that respite would be temporary at best, and with it would also come the possibility of grave repercussions.
Once already, he had come close to destroying his career as a fighter pilot by seeking solace in a bottle of booze. He wasn’t about to risk doing it again. The air force was all he had left now. Which was only just, since the air force, with its promise of adventure, had been all he’d wanted from the moment he applied for an appointment to the academy in Colorado Springs.
Of course, that had been long before Teddy first introduced him to Emma. Then he had begun to realize the freedom he’d craved wasn’t quite as satisfying as he had thought it would be….
Cursing under his breath, Sam shifted in his chair and smoothed the crumpled envelope.
How long had it been since he’d last thought of Emma—really thought of her? Months, he admitted. Yet, in a few minutes’ time, and with nothing more than a plain white envelope addressed in her hand, she had slid under his skin all over again. And there she would stay, giving him no peace, if he threw her letter away without reading it.
He had no intention of suffering through any more sleepless nights than absolutely necessary. And there could be any number of reasons why she had written to him. Reasons that had more to do with the present than the past, he acknowledged. Reasons he had been too egocentric to consider initially.
Surely Emma Dalton had better things to do than send him a venomous letter four years after the fact. Yet he would lay odds she wasn’t the type to seek out, impulsively, a man she had once claimed to despise, either.
Thanks to his mother, who had taken Emma under her wing after Teddy’s death and mentioned her occasionally in her letters, Sam knew she still lived in Serenity and still worked at the town’s library, where she’d recently been promoted to head librarian. She was still single, as well, but lived quietly in the small house she’d bought a couple of years ago.
A steady, responsible young woman making a decent, respectable life for herself despite the tragedy she had suffered. A woman who should, by all accounts, want nothing to do with the likes of him. So why had she written to him out of the blue?
Realizing there was only one way to find out, Sam slit the sealed flap on the envelope and slowly withdrew the single sheet of stationery. He unfolded it reluctantly and saw that she had been brief—very brief—and almost painfully to the point.
Once again, Sam experienced a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he read the two short paragraphs rigidly written in her precise hand.
May 23
Dear Sam:
I am writing to advise you that your mother is ill. Specifically, she was diagnosed with a chronic form of leukemia several months ago. Since the initial treatment she received seemed to bring about a remission, she thought it best not to tell you. At that time she didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She still doesn’t. However, she recently suffered a relapse, and since the current prognosis is not good, I thought you should know.
I have been staying at the house with her and will continue to do so as long as necessary, so you don’t have to be concerned that she’s receiving proper care. But seeing you again would mean a lot to her. Since I realize you might not be able to get away on such short notice, I haven’t told her that I’ve contacted you. She isn’t expecting you, so she won’t be disappointed if you can’t make it. But please try to come home, Sam—for a few days, at least.
Sincerely,
Emma Dalton
Sam read through the letter a second time, wishing he could ignore the one thing Emma had left unsaid, yet knowing in his heart that he couldn’t. Though she had refrained from spelling it out in so many words, he realized there was a very good chance that his mother was dying. And while she hadn’t reached out to him herself—perhaps out of fear that she would be rebuffed by her wild, wayward son—he also knew that she needed him.
Unlike Emma, Margaret Griffin had never held him accountable for his brother’s death. Instead, she had let him know time and time again that her faith in him was as strong as ever. And she had told him more times than he could count that she would always be there for him, just a phone call away—that if he needed her for any reason, she would come to him. As she had, traveling at least once a year to wherever he happened to be stationed.
She had understood how difficult returning to Serenity would be for him, and she had never expected it of him. Even now, faced with a life-threatening illness—her only remaining family half a world away—she hadn’t asked him to come home. Not because she didn’t want him there, but because she hoped to spare him what she knew as well as he would be a painful journey.
The mere thought of returning to Serenity with the anniversary of Teddy’s death looming less than a month away filled Sam with trepidation. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach increased, and his hands shook ever so slightly. Reactions more suited to the moments preceding a dog fight with enemy aircraft high above Earth. Reactions he had overcome when much more than his emotional well-being was at stake.
Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he set aside Emma’s letter, then opened the center drawer of his desk and pulled out a calendar. His current tour of duty would be ending the following week. Though he’d had no specific plans, he had intended to take several weeks of leave before returning stateside.
Barring any unforeseen difficulties,
