so stupid.
“Maybe you’d better look.” Holly’s eyes sparkled. She laughed a little. “With the fuel shortage, flights might be grounded. You might end up stuck here.”
“Emerson,” Daisy said sternly. “I do not, under any circumstances, want you to say that you’re moving out of his house. Promise me.” Daisy gripped her arm and stared into her eyes, almost a glare.
“I’d like to make that promise. But I had absolutely zero intention of saying that I was going to fly out on the soonest possible flight, and while I have zero intention of saying that I’m going to move out, I don’t think I can promise. I just...I don’t even know what came over me. There was...there’s so much emotion, more than I can handle in...”
She couldn’t put it into words, couldn’t tell them how the pain mixed with the longing and the loneliness and the blame and the guilt and then with their children, and she just...just didn’t say what she wanted to.
It came out yucky and bad and backed her into even more of a corner than what she had been in.
She wasn’t sure she could get out. She felt like she needed to fight.
“It doesn’t even make sense. I don’t make sense.” She put her head back down on the table.
“Of course you do. It’s hard. But think about it. Think about what you really want. Or, even better, think about what’s best for everyone and what God wants you to do.”
“Exactly.” Daisy nodded at Holly. “Not just what you want, but what about your kids? What’s best for them? Could you make a sacrifice for them? And, more than that, think about what’s right.” Daisy’s eyes seemed wiser than her years. Maybe because of all the patients she’d seen, and the counseling she’d apparently done, since it was a small town and the doctor seemed to do it all.
Emerson nodded. “You guys are right.” She took a deep breath. They’d spent enough time talking about her. “So. Why are you guys all still single?” She eyed her friends. “Do I need to go start shaking the bushes in Cowboy Crossing? There’s gotta be some single men worth giving the time of day to.”
Silence settled down for a little bit, and all the sudden, all three triplets started drinking their tea. Big gulps in some cases.
Emerson laughed. “Sore subject?”
Violet put her glass down. Empty. “Just make up with your husband. Trust us. What you have isn’t easy to replicate.”
By the time Emerson left the Forresters’ house, it was dark and late.
She pulled up the lane. The farmhouse came into view from the light of the harvest moon. The porch light shone brightly—a beacon that let her know she’d been remembered and cared for—but the lights in the house were all off.
Not surprising, since Reid would probably be up before the sun to feed the animals and start the long day of work. They hadn’t talked about the farm, but probably nothing much had changed.
She got out of her car and breathed deeply of the harvest scents. Deep earth, spicy leaves, clear, fresh air, the heavy-sweet scent of corn pollen.
The wind crackled leaves and ruffled through her hair.
Switzerland had clean, fresh air and lots of beauty, but she’d missed the farm smells, the comforting feel, and the people who looked at her and knew her, and shared her background, her interests, and her values. That’s what her hometown was. Familiar. A support.
It felt good to be home. And not just because of everything she’d been thinking.
She looked at the house, the dark windows, the silent white walls, the decades of families represented in the ghosts that whispered in the wind, where the three people she loved most in the world slept.
Three. Because Houston and Dallas were the loves of her life, but if she were honest with herself, she loved their father just as much.
Chapter 7
Gravel crunched, headlights flashed, and shortly after that a car door slammed.
Reid should get up, go somewhere else, so Emerson wouldn’t know he’d been waiting on her. Not that he’d exactly been waiting, he was just sitting in the kitchen, well past his normal bedtime, and for the last hour had been straining his ears to hear the exact sound he’d just heard.
He wanted to make sure she got home safely.
He’d already texted Deacon twice. Maybe three times. Okay. Four. Since he was the brother that lived closest to the Forrester triplets.
Deacon had probably been in bed. Maybe he’d been up, but he hadn’t