“And not judge?” Cristina wondered skeptically.
“And not judge,” Emma repeated calmly. “You brought this up, Cristina. There must be something you want to get off your chest.”
Cristina stared at the closed curtains across the room, a faraway look in her eyes. “There are so many things,” she whispered, sounding uncharacteristically sad. Wistful. After a moment, she focused on Emma again. She looked very tired. “But I still don’t think it’s right.”
“What?” Emma asked, confused.
“For a young girl like you, so full of life, to surround herself with death. Maybe you’re the one who is afraid.”
“What do you mean?” Emma asked.
“Maybe you’re such an expert on death because you’re afraid to live,” Cristina said in a thready whisper. Her eyelids closed. She didn’t speak again for several seconds. Emma thought she slept, and grew lost in reflecting on Cristina’s words.
“You really do believe it, don’t you?” Cristina asked in a quavering voice after a minute. She opened her eyes. “That dying isn’t frightening?”
“No,” Emma said quietly. “I know it.”
Cristina studied her searchingly for several seconds, and then closed her eyes again. Emma watched over her as she sunk into a comfortable sleep.
Was there any truth to what she’d said about her being afraid of life? Her relationship with Colin for the past two years had kept her comfortable. Safe. That seemed glaringly obvious now. She’d clung onto the familiarity. She’d needed security after the death of her mother. Maybe Colin was tired of being her security blanket and longed for something more risky. More passionate.
Who could blame him?
“Emma.”
She started from her thoughts and turned in her chair, surprised to be interrupted. Margie was already gone for the day. Cristina and she were usually alone on this floor of the house at night, and her patient was fast asleep. Mrs. Shaw stood just inside the threshold to the bedroom, perhaps rightfully aware she wouldn’t be welcome by Cristina.
“I’ve come with a message,” Mrs. Shaw said. “Mr. Montand says you forgot to leave your keys in your car, and so he can’t service it. He asked if I could collect them from you now.”
Emma stared, heat rushing into her cheeks. The decision of whether or not to le
ave her keys in her car this afternoon had taken on gargantuan significance in her head. She’d been a coward not to leave them. Wasn’t she a coward, period? Now it felt as if her vulnerability and confusion had been put on display for Mrs. Shaw, a very undesirable audience.
“I’ll get them,” Emma said breathlessly, hurrying to her purse. She handed her keys to the housekeeper a moment later. “Thank you for doing this.”
“He asked me to give you the entry code to the garage.” Mrs. Shaw said the five numbers like she was uttering a malediction at Emma, before she turned and glided out of the suite.
* * *
It’s not a big deal, Emma reminded herself later that night as she looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Debbie was there for her shift and had been briefed. Emma was free to go. She was just going to the garage to pick up her car. There was absolutely no reason to be nervous.
If you’re just going to claim your car and it’s not a big deal, how come you put on perfume and eyeliner? she asked herself snidely. She’d tried to put on some powder, too, to conceal the hated, light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, but eventually washed it off. Amanda could make them disappear when she applied Emma’s makeup, but Emma herself always botched it.
Thinking of the familiar little makeup ritual with her sister made hurt and anger slice through her. She stifled it with effort.
Her brown eyes looked especially huge, whether from anxiety or the eyeliner or the contrast of her pale face and blond hair, she wasn’t sure.
You look like a deer in headlights.
That’s what she felt like, too.
Annoyed by her uncalled-for nervousness, she left the bathroom and said good night to Debbie. Cristina was still sleeping.
Unlike last night, she could see thousands of stars in the sky when she walked out the rear entrance. Her memory served her correctly. She easily found the hidden garage door behind the grove of trees and shrubs and used the passcode. Her footsteps sounded abnormally loud on the concrete floor of the mudroom. When she entered the huge space, she saw her car parked first in line on the row of vehicles on the right, along with a pair of long, coverall-covered legs and brown work boots sticking out from beneath it. Rock music was playing. Emma looked around for the source of the music but saw no radio. There must be built-in speakers somewhere.
“Hello?” she called out uncertainly.
Montand rolled out from beneath her car on a creeper, catching himself with practiced ease on the bumper with a gloved hand. Emma held her breath as she watched him sit up. He gripped a wrench in one hand. Unlike last night, he was clean-shaven. The goatee had disappeared, but he looked no less piratical. His hair was a mess of finger-combed, rich brown waves. There was a streak of oil on his jaw. His aquamarine-colored eyes lowered over her slowly.