"I'll see to it. There now, lamb." Mrs. Grady stroked a hand down Emma's hair. "You're home now. We'll take care of everything. Go on with Parker."
"I can't stop. I can't make it stop."
"You don't have to stop." With an arm around Emma's waist, Parker led her upstairs. "Cry all you want, as long as you need. We'll go up to the parlor. To our place."
As they started up to the third floor, Laurel bolted down. Saying nothing, she simply wrapped an arm around Emma from the other side.
"How could I be so stupid?"
"You weren't," Parker murmured. "You aren't."
"I'll get her some water," Laurel said, and Parker nodded as she led Emma to the couch.
"It hurts, so much. So much. How can anyone stand it?"
"I don't know."
When they sat, Emma curled up, laid her head in Parker's lap.
"I had to get home. I just had to get home."
"You're home now." Laurel sat on the floor, pushed tissues into Emma's hand.
Burying her face in them, Emma sobbed out the pain and grief throbbing in her chest, twisting in her belly. Raw sobs scorched her throat until there were none left. Still, tears spilled down her cheeks.
"It feels like some horrible illness." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Like I may never be well again."
"Drink a little water. It'll help." Parker eased her up. "And these aspirin."
"It's like a terrible flu." Emma sipped water, took a breath, then swallowed the aspirin Parker handed her. "The kind where even when it's over, you're weak and sick and helpless."
"There's tea and soup." Like Laurel, Mac sat on the floor. "Mrs. G brought it up."
"Not yet. Thanks. Not yet."
"This wasn't just a fight," Laurel said.
"No. Not just a fight." Exhausted, she rested her head on Parker's shoulder. "Is it worse, do you think, since it's my own fault?"
"Don't you dare blame yourself." Laurel squeezed Emma's leg. "Don't you dare."
"I'm not letting him off the hook, believe me. But I got myself into it. And tonight, especially tonight, I worked myself up to wanting-expecting," she corrected, "things that weren't going to happen. I know him, and still I jumped off the cliff."
"Can you tell us what happened?" Mac asked her.
"Yeah."
"Take a little tea first." Laurel held out the cup.
After one sip, Emma blew out a breath. "There's whiskey in here."
"Mrs. G said to drink it. It'll help."
"Tastes like medicine. And I guess it is." Emma took another sip. "I crossed his lines, I guess you could say. I don't find those lines acceptable. So we're done. We have to be done because I can't feel this way."
"What are the lines?" Parker asked.
"He doesn't make room." Emma shook her head. "I wanted to do something for him. Part of it was certainly for me, but I wanted to do something special. So I went by the nursery," she began.
When she finished the tea, the ache throbbed behind a thin cushion. "I had this moment, when I had to tell Michelle I didn't have a key. Part of me stepped back, said: Stop."
"What the hell for?" Laurel demanded.
"And that's what the rest of me said. We were together, a couple. And under that, good friends. What could be wrong with going into his place to surprise him with dinner? But I knew. That other part of me knew. Maybe it was a test. I don't know. I don't care. And maybe it was worse-the buildup, the crash-because I'd run into Rachel Monning at the bookstore. Do you remember her, Parker? I babysat her."
"Yes, vaguely."
"She's getting married."
"You babysat for her?" Laurel held up her hands. "They're letting twelve-year-olds get married?"
"She's in college. Graduating next year, followed by her wedding. Which she wants here, by the way. And when I got over the genuine shock, all I could think was, I want that. I want what this girl I babysat has. Damn it, I want what I see on her face. All that joy, that confidence, that eagerness to start a life with the man I love. Why shouldn't I want that? Why aren't I entitled to that? Wanting marriage is as legitimate as not wanting it."
"Preaching to the choir," Mac reminded her.
"Well, I do want it. I want the promise and the work and the children and all of it. All of it. I know I want the fairy tale, too. Dancing in the moonlit garden, but that's just . . . Well, it's like a bouquet or a beautiful cake. It's a symbol. I want what it symbolizes. He doesn't." She leaned back, closed her eyes a moment. "Neither of us is wrong. We just don't want the same thing."