"Did he say that? That he doesn't want what you want?"
"He was angry to find me in his house," she said to Parker. "Not even angry. Worse. Annoyed. I'd been presumptuous."
"Oh, for God's sake," Mac muttered.
"Well, I had presumed. I presumed he'd be pleased to see me, to have me willing to fuss over him a bit after he'd had a long, hard day. I had my copy of Truly, Madly, Deeply with me. We joked about doing a double feature so he could see why I loved it, and we'd pair it up with Die Hard."
"Alan Rickman." Laurel nodded.
"Exactly. I had sunflowers, and the planters-God they're really beautiful-and I'd nearly finished making the appetizer when he came in. I just bubbled along for a while. Let me get you some wine, why don't you relax? God! What a moron. Then it got through, loud and clear. He . . . picked up the spare keys, and put them in his pocket."
"That's cold," Laurel said with quiet fury. "That's fucking cold."
"His keys," Emma stated. "His right. So I told him what I thought, what I felt, and that I was finished trying not to want and not to feel. I told him I was in love with him. And all he could really say to that is to give him a minute to think."
"There's your moron."
Emma nearly managed a smile at Mac's disgusted tone. "I got the 'caught him off guard, wasn't expecting.' Even the 'caught me at a bad time.' "
"Oh my God."
"That was before I told him I was in love with him, but it doesn't matter. So I ended it, and I walked out. It hurts. I think it's going to hurt a really long time."
"He called," Mac told her.
"I don't want to talk to him."
"Figured that. He wanted to make sure you were here, that you got home. I'm not taking his side, believe me, but he sounded pretty shaken up."
"I don't care. I don't want to care. If I forgive him now, if I go back-settle for what he can give me-I'll lose myself. I have to get over him first." She curled up again. "I just need to get over him. I don't want to see him or talk to him until I do. Or at least until I feel stronger."
"Then you won't. I'm going to reschedule your consults for tomorrow."
"Oh, Parker-"
"You need a day off."
"To wallow?"
"Yes. Now you need a long, hot bath, and we're going to heat up that soup. Then after your second cry-there will be another."
"Yeah." Emma sighed. "There will."
"After that, we're going to tuck you into bed. You're going to sleep until you wake up."
"I'm still going to be in love with him when I wake up."
"Yes," Parker agreed.
"And it's still going to hurt."
"Yes."
"But I'll be a little bit stronger."
"You will."
"I'll fix the bath. I have a formula." Mac rose, then leaned over and kissed Emma's cheek. "We're all here."
"I'll take care of the soup, and I'll ask Mrs. Grady to make a batch of her fabulous french fries. I know it's a cliché." Laurel gave Emma's leg another squeeze. "But it's a cliché for a reason."
"Thanks." She closed her eyes, reached for Parker's hand when they were alone. "I knew you'd be here."
"Always."
"Oh, God. Parker. Oh, God, here comes the second one now."
"It's okay," Parker soothed, and rubbed Emma's back as she wept. "It's okay."
WHILE EMMA WEPT, JACK KNOCKED ON DEL'S DOOR. HE HAD TO do something or he'd drive over to Emma's. If she hadn't made it clear he wasn't wanted-and she had-Mac had made it double.
Del pulled open the door. "What's up? Jesus, Jack, you look like shit."
"It goes with how I feel."
Del's brow creased. "Oh man, if you're coming over here to cry in your beer over a fight with Emma-"
"It wasn't a fight. Not . . . just a fight."
Del took a harder look, stepped back. "Let's have a beer."
Jack shut the door behind him, then noticed Del's jacket and tie. "You're going out?"
"I was heading that way in a while. Get the beer. I have to make a call."
"I should say it's no big deal, it can wait. But I'm not going to."
"Get the beer. I'll be out in a minute."
Jack got two beers and went out on the back deck. But instead of sitting he walked to the rail and stared out at the dark. He tried to remember if he'd ever felt this bad before. He decided other than waking up in the hospital with a concussion, a broken arm, and a couple of cracked ribs after a car wreck, the answer was no.
And even then, the seriously bad had been only physical.
No, he thought, he remembered feeling like this before, nearly exactly like this. Sick and baffled and confused. When his parents had sat him down, so civilized, to tell him they were getting a divorce.