There was nothing free.
But she was a musician, and it was her scene.This is where the opportunities are,her manager had told her often enough.This is where you have to be.And she agreed with him. Edgewood was a backwoods town no one ever left. She was one of the few who’d gotten out.
So why was it constantly pulling her back?
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE NEXT MORNING, EMELINEwoke to find Joel beside her in bed, checking his phone.
“Morning, beautiful.” He reached to pull her closer, still staring at his screen. As his hand slid across her abdomen, the last bit of sleep clinging to Emeline evaporated.
Her whole body tensed up.I need to break this off.
Right now.
“Joel.”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t do this.”
Lowering the phone, he glanced up at her. “Do … what?”
She stared at the ceiling, diligently finding patterns in the white stucco. “Us.”
Joel went silent. The air prickled between them. “You’ve been through a lot, Em.”
True. But that wasn’t it.
Or maybe that was exactly it.
“Let’s talk about this when we get back to Montreal, okay? When you’re far away from this place and back to your normal self.”
Emeline wanted to laugh. Her normal self?
Who is that, I wonder?
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
He didn’t hear her. Or rather, he was ignoring her. He did that, sometimes, when he thought she was wrong about a thing. Like he wasn’t going to argue, he was just going to go ahead and do what he wanted anyway.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, glancing over at him.
Predictably, he changed the subject. “Is this your mom?” He reached over to the bedside table, where a picture frame stood facing them.
Emeline wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. She wanted this done and over with. But as Joel lay back, holding the frame up between his hands, she fell silent beside him.
“I guess we know where you get your good looks from.” Joel grinned, then handed her the frame. He kissed her cheek and got out of the bed.
Emeline stared hard into the frame, no longer seeing or hearing Joel.
The photo was of her mother and a much younger Tom at the beach. They stood with their backs to the camera and their faces turned towards each other, giving Emeline a view of their profiles. The sky was pure blue in the distance. Glittering sand stuck to their skin, a gob of white lotion streaked the back of Tom’s neck, and a small crescent moon tattoo stood out against Rose’s pale shoulder blade.
But what held Emeline’s attention was the look on her mother’s face.
Inside the frame, Rose Lark was staring up at Tomás Pérez. Smiling like her heart would burst from happiness.
Emeline had seen a smile like that before: on Grace Abel’s face when she looked at Sable Thorne.
