Jamie had been about to take up her speech again, about motherhood, love, and hard choices, when Donald suddenly spoke up.
“She’s still watching out for all of you,” he said. “That’s what she did. Watch out for people. Take care of them.”
“Take care of things,” Emma agreed.
And before Jamie could recover from her surprise at her father’s words, Emma suddenly turned around and marched up the back steps and into the house, clearly feeling the rite was concluded. Harley and Marissa needed no invitation. They ran after her. Jamie looked at Debra and her father, then spread her arm to indicate that they should precede her into the house.
At the top of the back steps, Jamie looked over her shoulder. She half-expected some other word from her mother, something more besides “come home,” but apart from a gust of wind soughing through the backyard oak tree, all was silent.
* * *
The Waystation had opted for a train motif once upon a time. There were rails painted onto the beaten plank wood floor. A blue-and-white-ticked engineer’s cap was hung on a hook behind the bar next to crossed red-and-white trestle arms, but the decor had the patina of age, and not in a good way. The trestle arms were dulled and yellowed. The engineer’s cap looked as if it would disintegrate in the wash, and the railroad tracks’ paint was chipped and cracked and wholly missing in spots.
The rest of the rooms were made of beat-up wooden furniture: tables, chairs, barstools, and booths. Cooper seated himself on an end stool with one leg shorter than the rest, so he rocked back and forth while he waited to catch the bartender’s eye: a young guy with a full beard and a shaved head Cooper had never seen before. The man sauntered over after serving a guy on the opposite end of the bar who was shelling peanuts from a bowl, dropping the shells to the floor, his eyes zeroed in on his iPhone screen.
“What’re you lookin’ for?” the bartender asked.
“A beer. Light beer.”
“You don’t look like the light beer type,” he observed, heading back to the taps and pulling one that said Coors.
“He’s a cop,” the guy at the opposite end of the bar said as the bartender handed Cooper his beer.
“That so?” The bartender gave him a longer look.
“That’s so,” Cooper agreed.
“Huh.”
Cooper sipped his beer, thinking the place was pretty dead. It was a Sunday night, and River Glen had a tendency to roll up the carpets early. There was a pool table in an adjacent room that no one was currently using. The only other people in the place were a young couple sitting across from each other, deep into a discussion while they rubbed each other’s arms across the tabletop, and an old guy with uncombed gray hair who desultorily ate some of the peanuts, eyes glued to the overhead TV monitor that was showing a cupcake competition. Go figure.
When the bartender slid him a bowl of peanuts without being asked, Cooper asked him, “Can we change to a sports channel?”
“Have to ask Otis. He picks the channels when he’s here, which is damn near all the time.”
“That all right by you, Otis?” Cooper called to the old guy.
“Competition’s almost over. Lady with the gluten-free seems to really know what she’s doing.”
Cooper watched as well. Otis’s prediction proved right as the gluten-free cupcakes won the day. As soon as the baker was crowned the winner, Otis made a motion that he was through, and the bartender turned to an NFL game. Cooper tried to get interested, but he found his mind wandering back to the cupcake competition, which, in turn made him think of Emma and her obsession with cooking shows. She liked pasta, Jamie had said, almost to the exclusion of all other foods. Just another of the mysteries that made up Emma Whelan.
* * *
Jamie was feeling warmer toward her father after his supportive words about her mother until he showed his true colors almost immediately after both he and Debra had mowed through the hors d’oeuvres by checking his watch and declaring they had to be somewhere else. Debra looked relieved, and they scooted out to the porch. Emma was upstairs, having declared it was time for bed, even though it was barely seven o’clock, and Harley and Marissa had disappeared to Harley’s bedroom as well.
Jamie followed her father and Debra out to their car even though she could tell they wanted to bolt. “Can I talk to you a minute?” Jamie asked.
“I’m really busy, honey. Can it wait?” He didn’t even look at her. She could tell he was already gone.
“It’s cold, too. Brrrr!” said Debra, hunching her shoulders.
“I want to talk about Emma,” Jamie persevered. “Harley’s a sophomore and though she’s in school here, I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying.”
“You’re kidding. Emma needs you,” Debra said, giving Jamie a look that said she was appalled that Jamie could even hint that she might be leaving her sister.
“Emma needs someone,” Jamie said evenly, looking at her father, not his wife.
“You won’t do it?” Donald challenged.
“I’m not saying that. I’m only saying, this is a big change for us. I’m not sure how it will end, and that maybe we should work together to figure it out.”
“Your father and I live on a small houseboat,” Debra put in. “We don’t have a spare room. There’s nowhere she could be, and we all know it would be best for her to stay in River Glen, where she’s comfortable.”
“All I know is, I could use some help.”
Donald sighed. “I’m sorry, but Debra’s right. Emma needs to stay here. And frankly, Jamie, I can’t do it. I can maybe offer a little bit of money for her upkeep, but that’s it. I’m not a
