"Emory Osborn," he said, when I opened the door. I shook his hand. His was that soft boneless handshake some men give a woman, as though they're scared if they squeeze with all their masculine power they'll break her delicate fingers. It felt like shaking hands with the Pillsbury Dough Boy. This was something Jess O'Shea and Emory Osborn had in common.
"Come in," I said. After all, he owned the cottage.
Emory Osborn stepped over the threshold. The widower was maybe 5‘ 7", not much taller than I. He was very fair and blue-eyed, handsome on a small scale, and he had the most flawless skin I'd ever seen on a man. Right at the moment, it was pink from the cold.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I told him.
He looked directly at me then. "You were here in the cottage last night?"
"Yes, I was."
"You saw her?"
"Yes."
"She was alive."
I shifted uneasily. "Yes," I told him reluctantly.
"Did she speak?"
"She asked after the children."
"The children?"
"That's all."
His eyes closed, and for one awful moment I thought he was going to cry.
"Have a seat," I said abruptly. I startled him into sitting down in the nearest chair, an armchair that must be Varena's favorite from the way she'd positioned it.
"Let me get you some hot chocolate." I went into the kitchen without waiting for an answer. I knew there would be some since Varena'd offered it to me the night before. There it was, on the counter where she'd set it, along with two mugs. Luckily, the microwave was built-in, so I was able to heat the water in it. I stirred in the powder. It wasn't very good, but it was hot and sweet, and he looked in need of both sugar and warmth.
"Where are the children?" I asked as I put his mug on the small oak table by the chair.
" They're with church members," he said. His voice was rich but not big.
"So, what can I do for you?" It didn't seem that he would say anything else unless I prompted him.
"I wanted to see where she died."
This was very nearly intolerable. "There, on the couch," I said brusquely.
He stared. "There aren't any stains," he told me.
"Varena slung a sheet over it." This was beyond strange. The back of my neck began to prickle. I wasn't going to sit knee to knee with him—I'd been perched on the ottoman that matched the chair—and point out where Meredith's head had been, what spot her feet had touched.
"Before your friend put Meredith down?"
"Yes." I jumped up to pull a fitted sheet from the closet. Giving way to an almost irresistible compulsion, I refolded it, and knew I'd straighten all the rest, too. The hell with Varena's finer feelings.
"And he is—?"
"My friend." I could hear my voice get flatter and harder.
"You're angry with me, I'm afraid," he said wearily. And sure enough, he was weeping, tears were running down his cheeks. He blotted them automatically with a well-used handkerchief.
"You shouldn't put yourself through this." My tone was still not the one a nice woman would use to a widower. I meant he shouldn't put me through it.
"I feel like God's abandoned me and the kids. I'm heartbroken," and I reflected I'd never actually heard anyone use that word out loud, "and my faith has left me," he finished, without taking a breath. He put his face in his hands.
Oh, man. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want to be here.
Through the uncurtained window, I saw a car pull in behind mine in the cottage's narrow driveway. Jess O'Shea got out and began his way to the door, his head bowed. A minister—just the person to deal with a lapse of faith and recent bereavement. I opened the door before he had a chance to knock.
"Jess," I said. Even I could hear the naked relief in my voice. "Emory Osborn is here, and he is really, really ..." I stood there, nodding significantly, unable to pin down exactly what Emory Osborn was.
Jess O'Shea seemed to be taking in my drift. He stepped around me and over to the smaller man, claiming my former seat on the ottoman. He took Emory's hands in his.
I tried to block out the two men's voices as I continued the job of packing, despite the feeling I should leave while Emory talked with his minister. But Emory had the option of going to his own house if he wanted complete privacy. If I looked at it practically, he'd known I was here and come in the cottage anyway ...
Jess and Emory were praying together now, the fervent expression on Emory's face the only one I could see. Jess's back was bent and his hands clasped in front of his face. The two fair heads were close together.
Then Dill stepped in, looking at the two men praying, at me folding, trying to keep my eyes to myself. He looked startled and not too happy at this tableau.
All three dads in the same room. Except that one of them was probably not really a father at all but a thief who had stolen his fatherhood.
Dill turned to me, his whole face a question. I shrugged.
"Where's Varena?" he whispered.
"At our folks‘," I whispered. "You go over there. You two need to talk about what's going to happen. And aren't you supposed to be meeting Jack at your place?" I gave him a little push with my hand, and he took a step back before he recovered his footing. Possibly I'd pushed a little harder than I'd planned.
After Dill obediently got in his car and left, I finished refolding and found I had packed all the remaining items in the linen closet. I checked the bathroom cabinet. It held only a few things, which I also boxed.
When I turned around, Jess O'Shea was right behind me. My arms tensed immediately and my hands fisted.
"Sorry, did I surprise you?" he asked, with apparent innocence. Yes.
"I think Emory is feeling a little better. We're going over to his house. Thanks for comforting him."
I couldn't recall any comforting I'd done; it must have been in the eye of the comfortee. I made a noncommittal sound.
"I'm so glad you've returned to reconcile with your family," Jess said, all in a rush. "I know this has meant so much to them."
This was his business? I raised my eyebrows.
He reddened when I didn't speak. "I guess it's a professional hazard, giving out emotional pats on the back," he said finally. "I apologize."
I nodded. "How is Krista?" I asked.
"She's fine," he said, surprised. "It's a little hard to get her to understand that her friend's mother is gone, she seems not to see it as a reality yet. That can be a blessing, you know. I think we'll be keeping Eve for a while until Emory can cope a little better. Maybe the baby, too, if Lou thinks she can handle it."
"Didn't Lou tell me she'd taken Krista to the doctor last week?" I asked.
If Jess noticed the contrast between my lack of response to his observations about my family and my willingness to chatter about his child, he didn't comment on it. Parents almost always seem willing to believe other people are as fascinated with their children as they are.
"No," he said, obviously searching his memory. "Krista hasn't even had a cold since we started her on her allergy shots last summer." His face lightened. "Before that, we were in to Dr. LeMay's every week, it seemed like! My goodness, this is so much better. Lou gives Krista the shots herself."
I nodded and began opening cabinets in the kitchen. Jess took the hint and left, pulling on his heavy coat as he walked across the yard. Evidently he wasn't going to stay at Emory's long.
After he left I wrote a note on a pad I found under Varena's phone. I hopped in my car and drove to the motel. As I'd expected, Jack's car wasn't there. I pulled up in front of his room. I squatted and slid the note under his door.
It said, "Krista O'Shea didn't go to the doctor recently." I didn't sign it. Who else would be leaving Jack a note?