the leukemia yet. When I casually asked about her health, she mentioned—just as casually—that she’d been ill, but not how seriously. I didn’t want to press her my first day home, so I didn’t say anything about your letter. I know we’re going to have to talk about it eventually, and we will. But until then…” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid she won’t ask for my help if she has a bad spell. And if I’m the only one here…” Again he allowed his words to trail away before adding, “At least she would have you to turn to if you stayed a while longer.”
“How long are you planning to be here?” Emma asked, her frown deepening.
“A minimum of four weeks, longer if necessary.”
“She has an appointment a week from Monday with her doctor in Houston. Since she won’t be able to keep that a secret, I suppose I could wait until then to go home,” she conceded, albeit reluctantly.
“I’d really appreciate it,” Sam said.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to upset Margaret.”
With a look of resignation on her face, Emma tossed the nightgown on the bed, gathered an armful of clothes from the suitcase and turned back to the open dresser drawer.
Feeling as if he’d been summarily dismissed, Sam said nothing more as he backed out of her bedroom doorway and collected his bags.
“What’s going on up there, you two?” Margaret called from the foot of the staircase. “Dinner’s been ready for almost twenty minutes now.”
“We’ll be right down,” Sam assured her.
“You said that once already.”
“This time I mean it.”
“What about Emma?”
“I’m on my way now,” she replied.
Stepping out of her bedroom, she paused to exchange a wary glance with him, then started down the steps.
Sam eyed her thoughtfully a moment longer, then crossed to his bedroom, opened the door and dumped his things on the floor. He noted that his mother had changed the bed linens and curtains since his last visit home. But much to his dismay, the room still had the look of a shrine about it—a shrine to his boyhood. Fortunately, that could be remedied in the time it would take him to pack everything away in a couple of cardboard boxes.
By the time he reached the kitchen, Margaret was ready to serve. Since they were all hungry—or at least seemed to be if the way they filled their plates and set to eating was any indication—they managed to get through most of the meal without having to exchange more than the minimum of polite conversation.
Sam relished every bite of his mother’s old-fashioned home cooking, helping himself to another serving of both the salad and the casserole. Emma ate heartily, as well, though she declined seconds. And though Margaret’s appetite seemed somewhat diminished, she, too, finished everything on her plate.
“Sure you’ve had enough?” she asked when he finally sat back and pushed his empty plate away.
“More than enough,” he replied, smiling gratefully.
“I hope you saved room for a slice of fresh peach pie.” As his mother stood, she picked up his plate. “Emma baked it yesterday—homemade from scratch.”
“There’s vanilla ice cream, too,” Emma added, helping Margaret clear the table.
“Sounds tempting, but I really stuffed myself with the King Ranch chicken.”
“Then I’ll make it a small slice,” Margaret said.
“All right, but no ice cream…please.”
“Coffee?” Emma appeared at his side, holding out a steaming mug. “It’s decaf.”
“Thanks.”
Sam took the mug from her, but she turned away before he had the chance to add a smile.
“You know, I’ve been thinking…” Margaret began as she returned to the table with his pie.
“About what?” Sam asked, eyeing with chagrin the slice she had cut for him.
He had forgotten that his mother’s idea of small would be twice the size he’d had in mind. But the first bite was so luscious, he doubted he would have any trouble finishing it.
“That car you rented,” Margaret replied as Emma returned to the table with mugs of coffee for herself and his mother. “You don’t really need it. You can use mine instead and save yourself a bundle of money.”
“It’s not that expensive. And returning it to the San Antonio airport would be a hassle. Someone would have to drive over in another car and give me a ride back. Someone other than you,” he stated bluntly, hoping to ward off what he fully expected would be her next volley.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she wasn’t up to making a long drive, especially on her own.
“Well, yes. Someone other than me,” Margaret countered with a faint tinge of sarcasm, then faced Emma with a beguiling smile. “You wouldn’t mind following Sam in my car and driving back with him, would you? Tomorrow. After church, of course.”
Trying hard to mask his dismay, Sam glanced at Emma. She stared at Margaret for a long moment, a stricken look on her face, then bowed her head and gazed intently at the contents of her coffee mug, saying nothing.
“I’m sure she has a lot of things she’d rather do with her Sunday afternoon,” he said.
“Oh, no,” his mother said. “She’s been wanting to go to San Antonio for ages. Haven’t you, dear? To visit that nursery where they sell those Old Garden roses you like so much. You could stop at the needlepoint shop on the Riverwalk, too. Dolly called to say the canvas and yarn she ordered for me finally came in. I’m fairly sure both places are open on Sunday afternoon, so you could make a day of it. Unless you do have other plans…”
“Not really,” Emma admitted. “But what about you? Don’t you want to ride along with us, too?”
Sam couldn’t help but hear the desperation in her voice.
She didn’t want to go off on her own with him any more than he wanted to go off on his own with her. But his mother seemed oblivious to that fact. Seemed being the operative word, since she had always prided herself on being highly perceptive.
What was she up to? he wondered. Surely not match-making. She, of all people, had to realize how impossible any union between him and Emma would be.
“I think I’ll just stay here and take it easy,” Margaret replied, then turned her gaze on him again, her eyes laser sharp. “So that’s settled. We’ll go to Mass at nine, have breakfast at the Serenity Café—they still make the best pecan pancakes in town—then you can hit the road.”
“Only if Emma is sure she doesn’t mind,” Sam said.
“I don’t.” Without looking at either of them, she stood quickly, her jerky movements belying her words, and took her mug to the
