An Angel for Emily Read online

  Chapter 12

  YOU ARE GOING TO GO,” EMILY SAID, HER VOICE ANGRY and disbelieving at the same time. “You are going out to a pool hall with those men, drinking to all hours of the night and doing heaven knows what else. And those men know who you are!”

  Michael was calmly shaving, his shirt off, wearing only his trousers, his hair still damp from his shower; he didn’t bother to look at Emily or respond to her anger.

  “Are you going to answer me?” she demanded.

  “They have no idea who I am. Not who I actually am,” he said, wiping the rest of the soap from his face, then inspecting himself for cuts. He wasn’t used to handling a razor blade.

  “They know who the world thinks you are and that’s the same thing.”

  “Do you know where that brown shirt is?” Michael asked, looking through Emily’s closet. “Or maybe I should wear the green one.”

  “Wear one that goes well with blood,” she muttered, leaning against the doorjamb, her arms tight across her chest.

  As Michael went past her, the brown shirt in his hands, he kissed her cheek. “I had a good time today, too, and I’ll miss you tonight, too.”

  “I won’t miss you,” she said. “That’s an absurd idea. I’ve spent so much time with you over the last week that I’m looking forward to time alone. I have several books I want to read.”

  Michael didn’t respond but the little smile he was wearing said everything. Damn him, she thought, but they had had a wonderful day together. She had loved showing him her tiny town and introducing him to people. Most of the men were home for the weekend and he’d stopped by each house and chatted so easily with the people that it seemed that he’d lived in Greenbriar all his life.

  And everywhere they went people liked him. They were invited inside houses for tea and coffee and lemonade. As they sat on the porch of the Keller house, Emily said, “Someday I’d like to have a house like this. I want a big porch and a green lawn and a swing set.”

  “Not me,” Michael said, making her look at him in surprise. Then she turned away. What did it matter to her what he did or did not like?

  “I’d like to have the Madison house. I’m used to big spaces and that’s a big house. And I’d want at least six children.”

  “Your poor wife,” Emily said, watching him.

  “I don’t think anyone would pity my wife,” he said under his breath in such a way that little chills ran up Emily’s spine.

  The next minute Mrs. Keller brought out lemonade and cake and nothing more was said of what either of them would want if things were different.

  Irene wasn’t home from the city yet, if she was going to come, so they didn’t get to meet her. And only one bad thing happened. At the Brandons’ house, Mr. Brandon, a lawyer, stared at Michael and said, “Didn’t I see you on TV?”

  Emily was suddenly too frightened to say a word, but Michael smiled and said, “My picture was shown, yes.”

  Mr. Brandon was obviously searching his brain for what he remembered. “Weren’t you accused of being a Mafia hit man, then dragged to jail by the FBI? And weren’t you shot?”

  “I was,” Michael said cheerfully. “Shot to death. But Emily found me, used a pair of pliers to pull the bullet out of my head and I’ve been her faithful slave ever since.”

  Emily was sure she was going to faint but Mr. Brandon, after an initial moment of shock, started laughing, slapped Michael on the back and invited him to spend that evening out with the boys at the local pool-hall-cum-beer-joint. And that’s where Michael was getting dressed to go now.

  And Emily wasn’t invited to go with him.

  “So, how do I look?”

  Much, much too good, Emily thought but would rather her hair fall out than tell him so. “Fine,” she said stiffly, “and I hope you have a lovely evening.”

  Michael just laughed, kissed her cheek again, then ran out the door—and Emily was left alone for the first time in days.

  With Michael gone, the apartment seemed too big, too empty and altogether unwelcoming. “This is absurd,” she muttered, as she folded and hung up his clothes that he always left strewn where they lay. She was used to spending the days alone, and even most weekends, so why did she think she needed a man she hardly knew to entertain her?

  With new resolve, she pulled a novel from a stack that had been sitting there untouched for a whole week and tried to focus her mind enough to read. When that didn’t happen, she cleaned out the refrigerator. Then she vacuumed the entire apartment and made a casserole—which she froze because there wasn’t room for it in the refrigerator what with all that the women of Greenbriar had brought for Michael. After that she changed the sheets on her bed and put them into the tiny stack washing machine in the kitchen. Then she ironed the new shirts she and Michael had bought for him that morning.

  By then it was 1:00 A.M., yet there was no sign of Michael’s return. She looked up the number of the pool hall in the phone book but managed to prevent herself from calling. He was an angel, so what could happen to him?

  But of course he wasn’t an angel, she told herself. He was just…just…well, she didn’t know what he was exactly, except that he was helpless. She’d had to show him how to tie his shoelaces because he couldn’t figure out how to make a bow.

  At 2:30 A.M., she heard a car pull up by the stairs. Frantically, she ran around the apartment and turned off the lights, then ran to her bedroom, planning to pretend to be asleep and therefore unaware whether he was or was not there.

  But a dead person couldn’t have slept through Michael’s entry into her apartment. He was singing off-key to something about his heart being broken by a two-timin’ woman, and he crashed over every chair, table and bookcase in the room.

  Emily got out of bed, turned on the dining room light and glared at him as Michael grinned back at her. “You’re drunk,” she said tightly.

  “That I am and look at this, Emily my love.” From his pocket, he took out a wad of dollar bills that even across the room looked beer-stained. “I won this.”

  She dropped her arms and her jaw. “You were gambling?” she whispered. And when he nodded, she said, “What would Adrian say?”

  “Sod Adrian,” Michael said, grinning. “That’s my new curse word. I heard lots of them tonight. Want to hear more?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “What makes a word good or bad?” he asked seriously as he pulled wadded-up money from every pocket. “And why is a word bad in one country and not in another? And why are you so very pretty?”

  Losing her prim look, Emily shook her head. “You are going to have a beauty of a hangover in the morning so you’d better get to bed and get what rest you can.” Walking toward him, she put her arm around his waist to help him walk to her bedroom. It was no use trying to get him to the couch because she was sure he’d fall off.

  Companionably, Michael put his arm around her shoulders. “We had pizza, Emily. You didn’t tell me about pizza. And we watched…ah….” He made a gesture of throwing that almost sent him sprawling.

  “Football.”

  “Right. Football. And we saw two men hitting each other.”

  “Boxing,” she said, pushing him to sit on the bed, then she knelt to take off his shoes. “And how did you win all that money? By looking ahead and seeing who was going to win the matches?”

  He had his hand on her shoulder to steady himself. “That was the oddest thing, Emily. I knew who was going to win every game. I even knew what punch was coming when, but it didn’t matter. And the second time we watched the match on…on….”

  “Videotape.”

  “Yes, on video, everyone else in the place knew what was coming, but no one cared. We still liked it just as much the second and even the third time. Isn’t that odd?”

  “You have just stated one of the great mysteries of all time, something that puzzles every woman on this earth. If you find out the answer, do tell me. Now lift up.”

  Obligingly, Michael half stood so Emily