"Oh, no. I still owe you another two or three more favors. I remember that water sure was cold. If you hadn't gotten me out of there, I wouldn't be doing favors for anybody."
He leaned down and automatically put his palm against Emma's forehead. She gasped and leaped back.
Ramsey just smiled and patted her shoulder. "It's all right, sweetheart. Dr. Haversham just wants to make sure you're not sick like your mama. He's always checking everybody around him. Foreheads are his specialty."
Then Dr. Haversham remembered. This was the little girl who'd been kidnapped and sexually abused. He smiled down at her. "You seem to be in great health to me. You've got a fine forehead. You stick close to your mom, okay?"
"Yes, sir, I will," Emma said, but she kept back, staying close to Ramsey. He felt her hand slide into his.
She was holding the piano up with only one arm. He quickly reached down and picked her and her piano up. "Let's see Dr. Haversham out, Emma. Then we can bring some water to your mama."
"She won't like having to go to the bathroom all the time, Ramsey."
"I wouldn't either, but it's her fate for a while."
26
MOLLY SLEPT THROUGH the night. The next morning, she felt weak, but her stomach was settled.
Ramsey gave her three slices of toast, thick with strawberry jam. Both Ramsey and Emma sat on the end of her bed, watching her take every bite. Finally, Molly laughed and said, "Enough. Look, two slices. I'm stuffed to my tonsils."
"You don't have any tonsils, Mama."
"Close enough. Now, I need a shower to feel really human. Ramsey, can you get us out of here today?"
He shook his head. "Let's give it another day, Molly. You've got orders to stay close and rest. Take those pills and keep drinking your water. I got you the bottled stuff. If you're good, if you're feeling even better this afternoon, we can go over to my favorite Mexican restaurant on Lombard Street for dinner."
Molly groaned and clutched her stomach.
"Okay then. Chicken soup it is."
She was exhausted by the time she'd blow-dried her hair and dressed. She looked at the bed, freshly made, the comforter turned back, at Ramsey, who was just smiling at her, and flopped down. "A woman picked out this bed set. It's so bright and whimsical. Am I right?"
"Yep. Probably my secretary. I like it. Here, drink this entire glass, all twelve ounces. Then, take a nap.
I'm going to take Emma over to Cliff House. The beach there is wonderful, right below what we call The Great Highway. She'll see some seals. We'll build a sand castle and throw a Fris-bee for one of the many dogs that hang out with their owners over there. I'll bring her back dirty and happy. I want that bottle to be empty."
They'd been on the beach only twenty minutes when a huge panting black Lab came trotting over to Ramsey and butted his head against Ramsey's leg. A woman called out, "Just tell him to eat dirt if you don't want to throw that Fris-bee for him."
But Ramsey patted the Lab's big head. "You up for this, fella?" He pulled his ancient chewed-up yellow Frisbee out of the old duffel bag that also held his and Emma's sandwiches, potato chips, and soft drinks, and flung it a good thirty yards. The Lab raced after it.
"Now Bop's never going to leave you," a young woman said, striding up to where Ramsey and Emma stood. Emma's eyes were on Bop as he hurled himself into the air, but couldn't extend far enough to catch the Frisbee.
"He'll get it next time. He has to learn your style. Just tell me when you're tired of throwing for him. This your little girl?"
Emma quietly slipped her hand into Ramsey's. She pressed against his side.
"Yes," Ramsey said. "This is my little girl, Emma."
"I'm Betty Conlin," the young woman said and thrust out her hand. Ramsey shook it. The woman knelt down in front of Emma. "Hi. How old are you?"
Emma gave her a long assessing look. She said finally, "Bop's coming back. My mama's home in bed.
We're here so I can play and try to forget about things. We're here so Mama can rest and get well."
"I see," Betty said and rose, and, naturally, she did indeed see. She smiled. "Here, Bop!"
Ramsey snapped his wrist and sent the Frisbee flying again. Bop had already begun running. He caught it on a three-foot leap. Ramsey yelled out, "Nice goin', boy, well done!"
He was laughing. There was dog slobber on his hands. Emma was playing in the sand one foot away from him. The sun was bright, making the ocean surface gleam like light blue diamonds. The sound of the waves sweeping onto shore was a constant rumble behind all the human voices. All they needed was Molly with them, lying on a blanket, drinking lots and lots of water and probably needing a bathroom, of which there were none anywhere close. He looked down at Emma and saw that she was staring at Betty Conlin. He didn't need to worry about any woman coming on to him. Emma would protect him. Well, for the moment they couldn't have Bop without Betty. Bop came dashing back, played tug-on-the-Frisbee with Ramsey, dropped it, and took off running. Ramsey let loose with a really long throw, skimming low toward the water. He shaded his eyes, watching Bop. The Frisbee caught a sliver of upward air and went flying even farther. Maybe fifty yards?
He turned when he heard Betty say something. He nodded and watched Bop finally catch the Frisbee well into the surf. He bounded back through a spray of water that looked like diamond droplets beneath that crystal sunlight.
"Did you see that, Emma?" He was grinning as he turned.
Emma was gone.
He felt instant overwhelming panic.
"What's wrong?" Betty was saying even as she was patting Bop.
"Emma," he said. "Emma." He whirled about searching. He heard a cry, jerked about toward the Cliff House, but saw a little boy fighting with his sister.
He yelled again at the top of his lungs, "Emma!"
Oh God no. This couldn't be happening. No, she had to be close. They couldn't have taken her far, not in just the couple of minutes Ramsey hadn't been looking at her. The sun was in his eyes.
Then he saw a man walking quickly down the beach, heading south. He was wearing a long dark brown overcoat. There was a huge bulge in that overcoat. He had Emma under that overcoat. How had he done it so fast?
Ramsey took off after him. He didn't say a word, didn't scream at the man, just sprinted. The man stumbled suddenly, lurching toward the water. Emma's head poked out of the side of the overcoat.
She yelled at the top of her lungs. "Ramsey! Ramsey!"
Now he did call back. "It's over!" He was nearly on him. The man jerked back his head, saw that it was over, dropped Emma, and took off back up the beach to the high concrete retaining wall. Ramsey started after him, then heard someone yell. He whipped back and saw Emma.
She was lying motionless on the beach. Two little girls were standing over her, one of them holding a blue bucket in her hand. A woman was running toward them. He ran back, gently pulled the little girls back,
and knelt down beside Emma. She was drawn up in the fetal position, her eyes closed, her hair slashed across her forehead, strands stuck to her cheeks.
"Emma." He lightly touched his hand to her shoulder. "Emma, love. It's me, Ramsey. Are you all right?"
She moaned low in her throat. Slowly, she turned to face him, staring up at him.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. "Well, just a little. He covered my face and hit me on my head."
The bastard had struck her, put her under his coat, and simply walked away. He looked toward the retaining wall. There were a lot of people milling around up there, but no man wearing an overcoat. Of course he could have just taken it off, and probably had.
He gathered Emma up against him, hugged her tightly, and kissed her. He'd nearly lost her. No more than three, maybe four minutes, and he'd nearly lost her. A woman said, "Did that man try to steal her?"