soapy, squirming baby, she discovered. Grace loved the water and patted her hands on the surface, dousing the front of Rachel's clean shirt, but the baby giggled and looked so pleased with herself, Rachel just smiled and decided to live in the moment.
She worried over getting soap in Grace's sensitive eyes and worried over how to get her hair wet and rinsed and about Grace trying to eat the washcloth again. Emma hovered right behind Rachel, and Rachel thought Emma's devotion to the baby was adorable.
"I have three sisters," Rachel told the girl. "All older than I am. My oldest sister, Ellen, claims she spent all her time taking care of me when she was a teenager."
"I don't mind taking care of Grace," Emma volunteered.
Rachel smiled. "I didn't think you did, and you're very good with her, Emma. She's lucky to have you."
They got Grace out of the tub and wrapped in a big blanket, then took her into the living room and laid her on the sofa while Rachel wrestled with her over the business of getting her dry and dressed. Grace cooed and swung her arms and legs and kept rolling over and trying to crawl away.
"Is she always like this?" Rachel asked.
"She's always busy, and she doesn't like to be still anymore," Emma said, staring at the pictures on the mantel. "Is this you and Sam?"
Rachel picked up the wriggling baby and glanced over her shoulder to the photograph. Oh, God, she thought, feeling another big tug on her heart. Sam.
"That's from the summer we first met," Rachel said.
"He's kind of cute," Emma offered.
Rachel laughed. "You're going to be twelve soon, right? I was about your age when I saw Sam for the first time."
Emma said nothing, just blushed, and Rachel sensed that she was shy at the idea of boys as Rachel had been when she was almost twelve. Seeing Emma now and that old picture, Rachel remembered so clearly being thirteen and absolutely breathless at the sight of Sam McRae.
"He was the first boy I ever really noticed. The only one, really. You know what I mean? When I was just discovering boys and deciding there was something wonderful and interesting about them."
"Yes," Emma whispered, wide-eyed.
"Do you have your eye on a certain boy?" Rachel asked.
"No," she said, too quickly. "Well, maybe, but I don't think he even knows I exist."
Rachel nodded. She knew how that was, and she would bet Emma didn't have a lot of time to waste admiring boys. Poor Emma probably spent her time taking care of her brother and sister. She wouldn't have lazy afternoons to spend wandering through the mall with her friends, giggling and whispering over every boy they passed, or going to parties or anything like that.
"When you first met Sam," Emma asked, "what was it you liked about him?"
"Everything," Rachel said. "Absolutely everything. He was only a year ahead of me in school, although he's two years older than I am. He's from Chicago, but after his parents died, he missed a lot of school. By the time he settled in here in Baxter with his grandfather, he was a year behind. He seemed so much older than the other boys, so much taller and broader and more solid.
"He was quiet, kept to himself, and all the girls made fools of themselves over him. He had those black eyes and black hair, and he was so intense, so serious. I don't think he was very happy here. You know how some people, particularly when they get old, seem to have permanent scowls on their faces, and they're always mad about something?"
"Yes," Emma said.
"Sam's grandfather was like that. He was rude and unhappy and kept to himself. I can't imagine he was thrilled to have Sam with him, and Sam must have felt the same way, because he never seemed to be there. I'd walk into town with my mother or my sisters, and I'd see Sam standing on the corner of some street, just watching everyone. Or he'd be in the park, planted against the trunk of a tree as if he were the only thing holding it up. He made people nervous, I think, because he was so big and had a way of
She worried over getting soap in Grace's sensitive eyes and worried over how to get her hair wet and rinsed and about Grace trying to eat the washcloth again. Emma hovered right behind Rachel, and Rachel thought Emma's devotion to the baby was adorable.
"I have three sisters," Rachel told the girl. "All older than I am. My oldest sister, Ellen, claims she spent all her time taking care of me when she was a teenager."
"I don't mind taking care of Grace," Emma volunteered.
Rachel smiled. "I didn't think you did, and you're very good with her, Emma. She's lucky to have you."
They got Grace out of the tub and wrapped in a big blanket, then took her into the living room and laid her on the sofa while Rachel wrestled with her over the business of getting her dry and dressed. Grace cooed and swung her arms and legs and kept rolling over and trying to crawl away.
"Is she always like this?" Rachel asked.
"She's always busy, and she doesn't like to be still anymore," Emma said, staring at the pictures on the mantel. "Is this you and Sam?"
Rachel picked up the wriggling baby and glanced over her shoulder to the photograph. Oh, God, she thought, feeling another big tug on her heart. Sam.
"That's from the summer we first met," Rachel said.
"He's kind of cute," Emma offered.
Rachel laughed. "You're going to be twelve soon, right? I was about your age when I saw Sam for the first time."
Emma said nothing, just blushed, and Rachel sensed that she was shy at the idea of boys as Rachel had been when she was almost twelve. Seeing Emma now and that old picture, Rachel remembered so clearly being thirteen and absolutely breathless at the sight of Sam McRae.
"He was the first boy I ever really noticed. The only one, really. You know what I mean? When I was just discovering boys and deciding there was something wonderful and interesting about them."
"Yes," Emma whispered, wide-eyed.
"Do you have your eye on a certain boy?" Rachel asked.
"No," she said, too quickly. "Well, maybe, but I don't think he even knows I exist."
Rachel nodded. She knew how that was, and she would bet Emma didn't have a lot of time to waste admiring boys. Poor Emma probably spent her time taking care of her brother and sister. She wouldn't have lazy afternoons to spend wandering through the mall with her friends, giggling and whispering over every boy they passed, or going to parties or anything like that.
"When you first met Sam," Emma asked, "what was it you liked about him?"
"Everything," Rachel said. "Absolutely everything. He was only a year ahead of me in school, although he's two years older than I am. He's from Chicago, but after his parents died, he missed a lot of school. By the time he settled in here in Baxter with his grandfather, he was a year behind. He seemed so much older than the other boys, so much taller and broader and more solid.
"He was quiet, kept to himself, and all the girls made fools of themselves over him. He had those black eyes and black hair, and he was so intense, so serious. I don't think he was very happy here. You know how some people, particularly when they get old, seem to have permanent scowls on their faces, and they're always mad about something?"
"Yes," Emma said.
"Sam's grandfather was like that. He was rude and unhappy and kept to himself. I can't imagine he was thrilled to have Sam with him, and Sam must have felt the same way, because he never seemed to be there. I'd walk into town with my mother or my sisters, and I'd see Sam standing on the corner of some street, just watching everyone. Or he'd be in the park, planted against the trunk of a tree as if he were the only thing holding it up. He made people nervous, I think, because he was so big and had a way of
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