but she’d learned not to repress the memories of her baby’s death. But it was as if the discussion of his parents’ personal situation had made him . . . shut down. Was that why he’d winced when his father walked in? He didn’t want Emily talking to him?
She should be offended, but instead, she was intrigued. His new coolness was like a blazing warning sign, but she’d started this conversation, and she was going to finish it.
“I could use your advice,” she said, after taking a sip of her Diet Coke.
Another frown. “About adoption?”
Not likely. “No, about my grandmother’s letter. Every older man I see, I find myself wondering. I need to know the man’s name.”
They were interrupted by Linda, who brought another round of drinks.
With her elbow on the table, Emily rested her chin in her palm. “What makes this difficult is how much my father loved my mother.”
“And that’s part of the reason this hurts so much,” Nate said.
She eyed him. “Wow, cowboy, that was insightful.”
He took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed, not agreeing or disagreeing.
“My mother,” she began, then paused for a moment. “ ‘Mother’ isn’t the best word for her. After my father died, she was wrapped up in her store, then in her succession of men. I was third in line.”
She was waking up all the twisted emotions she thought she’d put behind her—the hurt, the anger, the despair. And love? Could she still have a spark of love for a woman who had kept the truth from her all these years? Emily thought of her own mistakes, and knew she was just as flawed as anyone else. But a lie like this . . .
“I can’t be surprised she kept this terrible secret,” she said softly. “The night before my wedding, she told me she hadn’t wanted to be a mom so young, and when my dad died, the responsibility was overwhelming, making everything worse. She’d made mistakes. At the time . . . at the time I was furious with her for laying that on me just before my big day, and I didn’t understand how a woman couldn’t want her own child. But I might have misjudged what she was trying to say to me. I think she was apologizing in her way, and giving me a warning that life doesn’t always end up as we want. Maybe I also wasn’t seeing the clue in her words, about her ‘mistakes.’ I need to discover what I can.” Now that time had passed, and she’d carried her own child, it was also far easier to imagine how her mom had felt when eighteen and pregnant—afraid and penniless. But her mom had never gotten past the ambivalence about her pregnancy.
Nate pointed at her with a french fry. “Then tell me how I can help.”
“I talked to Cathy Fletcher, her high-school friend.”
“Ah, so it wasn’t just interest in St. John’s that sent you there.”
She shrugged and smiled. “Cathy assumed Mom got pregnant in San Francisco, so I didn’t correct her on that. No point in letting the whole town know.”
“And you trust that I won’t do the same?”
She studied him, trying to come up with a flippant reply, but couldn’t. “Yes.”
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back, his expression unreadable. It was almost as if . . . he didn’t like being trusted. He was probably trying to keep the boundaries intact between them since she was doing such a poor job.
“If you’re asking my opinion,” Nate said, “I’d go to the source, Doc Ericson. He’s been here forever. If your mother consulted him, she might have told him the father’s name in confidence.”
Emily straightened in surprise. “I didn’t even think she might have gone to a doctor. It’s a good lead, thank you.”
“I’ll introduce you.”
She started to protest.
“Of course you can make an appointment yourself,” he interrupted. “But with privacy laws nowadays . . . you might have to bring proof of her death or something, and maybe I could just persuade Doc to help.”
She let out her breath, feeling reluctant. “Okay, good point.”
“I have another lead. You said you were looking for part-time work, right?”
“Just remember, I’m not working for you!”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “Trust me, I’m not asking. But a job has been staring you right in the face—at Monica’s Flowers and Gifts.”
“She has two employees.”
“I’m not talking about Karista.”
“But Mrs. Wilcox has been sick,” Emily protested. “Monica would never fire