When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

44. Emmy

Chapter 44

Emmy

T he dawn light brings color back to my room as it filters softly through the curtains, rendering the monochrome in a muted pallet. I’m lying in bed. Alone. Staring at the ceiling, my mind is a whirlwind of emotions.

Patrick and I opened up to each other last night, me taking a leap just like Kathy said I should, and now it feels like a monster has escaped. A beast with gnashing teeth, set loose upon the world and tearing at the fragile threads between me and the next drama.

What if he tells someone? What if he looks at me differently now? I could see it in his eyes last night. The pity.

A shuddering breath. The vulnerability is raw and painful, an open wound exposed to the air. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

He said he cares about me, and I know I care about him too. But that isn’t enough to get over all the things I’ve worked so hard to keep boxed away. The small scars on my body are only a fraction of the damage inside.

There’s the potential for happiness with Patrick, but equally the potential for me to hurt him and his perfectly imperfect family. Trouble follows me wherever I go. It’s always been like that, even when I was a kid .

“Stop making so much noise, Emmy. You’re always trying to draw attention to yourself.”

“You just can’t help but be difficult.”

“You’re always causing trouble. Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

I take a minute to push my mother’s voice away. Regardless of what happened last night, how I’m feeling this morning, I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it. I force myself out of bed, the floor cool as I move through the house.

I head to Granny Sloane’s room, finding her already awake, her frail frame propped up against the pillows, Stormy lying on the bed beside her.

“Good morning, Granny Sloane.” I help her out of bed and into her dressing gown. “Morning, Stormy.”

“Morning, dear.” Her voice is a little hoarse. “Could you get the paper? We can do the crossword together.”

Her request almost makes me cry. It’s a simple thing that feels monumental, but I can’t let myself enjoy it. It’s only a matter of time before everything with Patrick implodes.

Maybe it was better when it was just fun and nothing serious .

Now we’re teetering on the brink of disaster, and if my relationship with Patrick goes down in burning flames, if he tells anyone what I told him last night, my time here is up. Another scandal to follow the one I left behind in Philadelphia.

Granny Sloane is looking at me, waiting for me to reply. I nod and smile, swallowing the lump in my throat as I put her walker in front of her.

“Of course. I’m honored you asked me. I’ll get the paper and meet you in the kitchen.”

Fetching the paper from the porch, the cold of the fall morning makes my breath fog. Winter will be here soon. Will I even be here in Harbor’s Edge when the seasons change? Or will it be another festive season back home, parties filled with people I have nothing in common with, pretending everything is just fine as Maddy and I play nice in front of my parents.

Back in the kitchen, I hand the paper to Granny Sloane. She pats my hand, her eyes resting on my face, probing. “Thank you, Emmy. You’re a good girl. I couldn’t have asked for someone better to move in with us.”

Her words nearly break me, but I hold it together, smiling back at her. “Let me make breakfast, then we can tackle that crossword.”

I move to the kitchen cupboard and then the fridge, starting the familiar routine of making breakfast. The motions are almost mechanical, a way to keep my mind from spiraling.

Ruby and Nora join us, chatting about the clean-up efforts planned for today, but there’s no sign of Liam, Ruby mentioning that he headed off early this morning. That means Patrick is the one in the shower, the sound of running water rumbling through the pipes in the wall.

As Nora and I set the table, Ruby asks, “Everything okay, Emmy?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Yes, just a lot on my mind.”

Nora leans on the kitchen bench and takes a sip of her coffee, her gaze assessing. “If you need to talk, we’re here. You’re one of us now.”

“Thanks,” I reply. Hasty. Another smile pushed into place. “I appreciate that. But it’s nothing. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

As we sit around the table, Granny Sloane and I working on the crossword together as we eat, fear for the future stabs through me. I need to figure a way out of this mess, but I don’t know if I’m physically able to end things with Patrick. Just the thought of it leaves me feeling sick: heart sick, head sick, like the acrid churn in my stomach will eat me from the inside out.

But how can I look him in the eye again? He knows things that no one should know about me. Call it a temporary lapse of sanity… whatever last night was, it was a mistake. A big mistake. What the actual fuck was I thinking ?

Regardless of what happens with me and Patrick, a plan formed in my mind last night as I tossed and turned, sleep always a step or two away. I think I’ve hit on a way to help him when he’s clearly incapable of helping himself. It’s the least I can do for him. I’d take every ounce of his pain if I could. All the leaden weight of his responsibility.

The water hisses off and ten minutes later, Patrick steps into the kitchen, his dark hair wet from the shower, yesterday’s stubble roughening the sharp of his jaw. My body reacts in ways I wish it wouldn’t and his eyes linger on me, hungry, regretful, full of something that looks like pity and which makes me want to cut my eyes out so I don’t need to see it.

He wants to say so much and holds my gaze for too long. The monster is out, pacing around us as we stare at one another.

The others can sense something between us. How could they not? There’s a combustible heat about to burn all the oxygen in the room, no matter how hard I try to ignore it when they’re around.

“I’ll see you all later tonight,” he finally says, waving off Granny Sloane as she asks him to have some breakfast. “I can’t stay. I’ve got a busy day today.”

“Make sure you eat lunch,” Ruby calls after him as he heads down the hallway. The door thuds shut a moment later.

Nora excuses herself after Patrick leaves, and I do the same, catching up with her in the living room as she pulls her cell from her handbag, the blue glow of the screen reflecting on the pretty planes of her face.

She glances up as I come closer, too close for just a normal conversation, and she frowns, twin lines forming between her eyebrows, waiting for me to speak.

“I need to tell you something,” I say in a low voice, “but you need to swear to keep it a secret. You can’t even tell your mom. Not yet, not until we figure out what to do.”

Nora looks even more worried, her cell slipping from her hand back into her bag. “Sure. Please, you can tell me anything.”

“I found out something about Patrick.” A glance toward the kitchen. “He’s been paying for Joe Heart’s medical expenses because Joe has no insurance.”

Nora’s eyes widen, and she looks at me with surprise. “That’s… wow. Patrick never mentioned it.”

“Exactly. I don’t think he’s told anyone. I was thinking maybe we could do a fundraiser or two to help pay some or even all of the costs. It’s not fair for him to bear it all, and it’s part of the reason he’s been working so hard.”

Nora nods slowly, her mind working through the possibilities. “We could make the pageant a double fundraiser to start with,” she suggests. “Raise money for Joe’s medical expenses and for the children’s Christmas presents.”

A wave of relief washes over me, running alongside the cold, numb current that fills me whenever the pageant comes up. “You think that would work?”

She smiles, her expression turning thoughtful. “I think it’s a pretty good idea, actually. I’ll talk to the mayor and see if we can make it happen. The community will rally around this, just like they do when the Valiant Hearts ask for volunteers. A lot of people knew Danny and cared about him. And don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Patrick. But I’ll drop by Joe’s house later to get his permission, though.”

“Thank you so much,” I say. “I wasn’t sure how to organize something like this, especially as the newcomer in town.”

“I’m just glad you told me about this.” She pulls me into a hug, holding me and smiling at me because she doesn’t know all the things her brother knows. “I can’t believe Patrick’s kept this a secret. Maybe he was trying to protect Joe.”

Or maybe he still blames himself for Danny’s death, even though it wasn’t his fault—although I keep that thought to myself. As we pull apart, Nora’s crystal blue eyes are filled with determination.

“We’ll get this done, Emmy. Patrick deserves a break. And so does Joe, of course.”

I nod, grateful that Patrick has her in his corner. “Thank you, Nora.”

She squeezes my hand. “We’re in this together. I’ll let you know once I’ve spoken to everyone.”

An engine grumbles to a stop outside the house and we both glance out the living room window. A baby-blue VW beetle has pulled up to a stop on the street. “It’s Betty! My car!”

I’ve already opened the front door when Mike steps out onto the pavement. His eyes meet mine briefly before flicking up the street. There’s something in his gaze that unspools the anxiety sitting in my chest.

A black town car with tinted windows is moving toward us at a steady pace. My heart contracts, and I know before it even stops behind Betty that it’s my parents. Mike shoots me an apologetic look, no doubt taking in the emotions playing out across my face.

He crosses Granny Sloane’s storm-damaged front yard, me walking forward, legs moving without me even realizing, the two of us meeting on the pitted path.

“Sorry, Emmy,” he says in a low voice, “I should have called you, but your mom wanted to surprise you. She was in town asking about you, and Jimmy was getting coffee at the bakery. He told them to come to the garage because your car was done, and they could follow me here.”

I sense Nora’s presence behind me, standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. The driver of the town car gets out, an older guy, anonymous and nondescript, just like my mom prefers. He opens the rear door, keeping his eyes downcast, not looking at me or my mother.

She steps out onto the hurricane-damaged street, her outfit impeccable. Her short blond bob is even blonder than the last time I saw her, and dark glasses hide most of her face, but I can tell that she’s staring right at me.