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Authors: Melinda Curtis
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Rose had told her that was what Tracy struggled with. She knew it affected her speech. But listening to her friend was different. Each of Tracy’s labored words cut a tiny piece from Emma’s heart.
“Thank you. Oh, thank you.” Emma hugged Tracy again.
But this time Tracy stood as stiff and unbending as the old oak tree in the town square.
* * *
“M ADAME S ECRETARY , DO we have any old business?” Larry Finkelstein, Harmony Valley’s mayor, spoke with all the enthusiasm of a clairvoyant foretelling bad news on the cloudy horizon. From the council’s table on the altar, the gray-haired former hippie’s words reverberated through the church as the sun dipped behind the mountains bordering the valley.
Emma shifted in the creaky front-row pew, looking at Tracy, who sat on the opposite bench with Will, Flynn and Slade. Her cheeks were pink, but sunken. Her faded jeans and pea-green T-shirt hung off her bony frame, the drab clothing breathing more life than Tracy herself.
After agreeing to meet, Tracy had stayed as far away from Emma as possible. Was she embarrassed by her condition? Or, as Will implied, was their friendship irrevocably broken and tomorrow’s meeting just a formality?
Emma’s fingers twined tightly together.
Unanswered questions lined up like planes waiting to land at the airport. Did Tracy bear any other physical effects from the accident? She hadn’t limped. Did her aphasia limit her ability to text or type? Had she thought about returning to work or their shared apartment in the city? Was she confident enough to try?
Emma would have to wait until tomorrow to find out.
She hoped Will would let her in.
Will. He sat ramrod straight, as if he were a general about to rally the troops.
Emma’s pulse kicked up in artistic appreciation. Will’s profile was worthy of a talented sketch artist. Straight nose, strong chin, every blond hair in place. His charcoal pinstripe suit and soft gray shirt blended together with just the right pop of color from a swirling-patterned burgundy tie. Dressed for business, Will embodied everything cold and calculated about corporate America.
In her scuffed shoes, pink cotton skirt and green blouse, Emma felt positively dowdy. But she and the town didn’t have to spruce themselves up to present a good image. Harmony Valley was a last, rare slice of Americana, as untouched by corporate America as Granny Rose.
Still, Emma had to give Will some respect. He hadn’t made a scene when she’d talked to Tracy. He’d stood his ground and accepted Tracy’s decision, which must have been hard for him considering what he thought of her and the lengths he’d gone to all these months to keep her away.
Will caught Emma looking at him. He quirked an eyebrow as if to say she shouldn’t get her hopes up.
She smirked at him before glancing over her shoulder, counting nearly forty people in the six-pew church. That was more than half the town. She hoped none of them liked whatever Will was about to say.
Mildred Parsons, the council’s secretary, cleared her throat. “Mr. Jackson’s zoning permits are up for review tonight.” Mildred patted her white, teased curls and gave Will a broad smile that traced the round lines of her oval face. “Do you have anything new to present to us today, Mr. Jackson?”
“Yes.” Will’s confident voice rang up to the church rafters.
The crack of Mayor Larry’s gavel on the council table echoed through the church. “Mr. Jackson has the floor for ten minutes.”
Will stood, holding a remote control device smaller than Emma’s car-key fob.
Given Harmony Valley’s sleepy character, Emma expected this to go about as well as a Democrat presenting at the Republican convention. But then she happened to glance at Mrs. Chambers, who’d been sitting behind Will. The older woman’s wrinkled, full-cheeked smile was positively dreamy. And aimed directly at Will. Other gray-haired women in Mrs. Chambers’s vicinity looked at Will with the
“Thank you. Oh, thank you.” Emma hugged Tracy again.
But this time Tracy stood as stiff and unbending as the old oak tree in the town square.
* * *
“M ADAME S ECRETARY , DO we have any old business?” Larry Finkelstein, Harmony Valley’s mayor, spoke with all the enthusiasm of a clairvoyant foretelling bad news on the cloudy horizon. From the council’s table on the altar, the gray-haired former hippie’s words reverberated through the church as the sun dipped behind the mountains bordering the valley.
Emma shifted in the creaky front-row pew, looking at Tracy, who sat on the opposite bench with Will, Flynn and Slade. Her cheeks were pink, but sunken. Her faded jeans and pea-green T-shirt hung off her bony frame, the drab clothing breathing more life than Tracy herself.
After agreeing to meet, Tracy had stayed as far away from Emma as possible. Was she embarrassed by her condition? Or, as Will implied, was their friendship irrevocably broken and tomorrow’s meeting just a formality?
Emma’s fingers twined tightly together.
Unanswered questions lined up like planes waiting to land at the airport. Did Tracy bear any other physical effects from the accident? She hadn’t limped. Did her aphasia limit her ability to text or type? Had she thought about returning to work or their shared apartment in the city? Was she confident enough to try?
Emma would have to wait until tomorrow to find out.
She hoped Will would let her in.
Will. He sat ramrod straight, as if he were a general about to rally the troops.
Emma’s pulse kicked up in artistic appreciation. Will’s profile was worthy of a talented sketch artist. Straight nose, strong chin, every blond hair in place. His charcoal pinstripe suit and soft gray shirt blended together with just the right pop of color from a swirling-patterned burgundy tie. Dressed for business, Will embodied everything cold and calculated about corporate America.
In her scuffed shoes, pink cotton skirt and green blouse, Emma felt positively dowdy. But she and the town didn’t have to spruce themselves up to present a good image. Harmony Valley was a last, rare slice of Americana, as untouched by corporate America as Granny Rose.
Still, Emma had to give Will some respect. He hadn’t made a scene when she’d talked to Tracy. He’d stood his ground and accepted Tracy’s decision, which must have been hard for him considering what he thought of her and the lengths he’d gone to all these months to keep her away.
Will caught Emma looking at him. He quirked an eyebrow as if to say she shouldn’t get her hopes up.
She smirked at him before glancing over her shoulder, counting nearly forty people in the six-pew church. That was more than half the town. She hoped none of them liked whatever Will was about to say.
Mildred Parsons, the council’s secretary, cleared her throat. “Mr. Jackson’s zoning permits are up for review tonight.” Mildred patted her white, teased curls and gave Will a broad smile that traced the round lines of her oval face. “Do you have anything new to present to us today, Mr. Jackson?”
“Yes.” Will’s confident voice rang up to the church rafters.
The crack of Mayor Larry’s gavel on the council table echoed through the church. “Mr. Jackson has the floor for ten minutes.”
Will stood, holding a remote control device smaller than Emma’s car-key fob.
Given Harmony Valley’s sleepy character, Emma expected this to go about as well as a Democrat presenting at the Republican convention. But then she happened to glance at Mrs. Chambers, who’d been sitting behind Will. The older woman’s wrinkled, full-cheeked smile was positively dreamy. And aimed directly at Will. Other gray-haired women in Mrs. Chambers’s vicinity looked at Will with the
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