The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

Bob looked at the house. “Boy is having trouble breathing and yet I’ve got to take him to this goddamn football game.”


“I’m not crazy about it either,” Emma agreed. “But I understand his desire. He can’t exist just for the sake of existing, right? There has to be some pleasure in life.”

“You think I don’t get that?” Bob asked, not unkindly. “I’d do anything to give that boy what he wants. But I don’t want to hasten . . .” He clenched his jaw and shook his head, and shifted his gaze away from Emma.

How difficult this must be for Bob Kendrick. Emma walked down the steps and put her hand on Bob’s arm. He wouldn’t look at her. He was looking away, toward the mountains, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes indicating a hard squint into the sunlight. “I wish more of it was in our control,” she said. “I wish I could make it better for you somehow.”

He glanced at her sidelong. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “Okay, well, I got work to do.” He stepped away and Emma’s hand fell to her side. Bob began to shake salt out of a big container over the ramp. She wondered why he would be so concerned about salting the ramp, because it wasn’t as if Leo would be going out tonight. But then it dawned her. If there were an emergency, if Bob had to carry his son to a hospital . . .

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“Yep,” Bob responded tightly.

Emma didn’t think twice about going by the park this afternoon. She knew the kids would be out, and she could see the snow flying before she turned into the park entrance. She smiled at the sight of them on the playground hurling snowballs at each other. Today, two other children had joined her little brood. It appeared that they had divided into teams.

Emma parked in the lot, maneuvering through the big patches of snow. She emerged carefully from the car. She donned some mittens, and began to walk across the park to her bench. The snow crunched under her boots as she walked, and the bench was covered in snow. She brushed it off and sat, wincing a little at the wet cold the snow had left behind. Just as she settled in, Quinn hit one of the boys in the side of the head with a snowball, which resulted in a shrieking wail. Emma stood up; she heard a door bang open and a moment later, the kids’ mother was hurrying across the street.

“What’d you do?” she shouted as she rushed toward them.

Emma watched in fascination as the children gathered around the mom while she tilted the boy’s head back and examined the point of contact.

In the next moment, she was loudly ushering all the children back across the street. Two of them went obediently, but behind the mother’s back, Quinn and Brynn tried to snuff snow down each other’s shirts. That ended when the mother whirled around and smacked Quinn.

The strike startled Emma. “Hey,” she muttered as the mother and her kids went into the house. Quinn held her hand to the cheek her mother had slapped. That most definitely did not mesh with Emma’s fantasy family.

“Because it’s only a fantasy,” she muttered to herself. She glanced at her watch. It was four o’clock. It was cold out, and she thought of going home. But now, in the silence of the park setting, she kept hearing her conversation with Leo.

You’re not unlovable.

Maybe he was right. Maybe in some universe, Emma was not as despicable and disgusting as she felt. Was that possible? Was she kidding herself? And really, what was the point of even wondering? She had screwed it all up with Cooper. She’d been playing with a bit of fantasy there, too, she realized, and folded her arms tightly across herself. But the reality was that she’d taken the medal, she’d been caught, and she’d made a fool of herself in front of Cooper. There was no hiding it, no pretending it hadn’t happened. There was no way Leo could help her whitewash it—the damage had been done. She’d just have to renew her determination to stop acting out.

If only it were that easy. If only she could just tell herself not to do it anymore and then not do it.

She heard the sound of snow under someone’s foot and stood up. Probably the teen girls, she thought, and hitched her purse over her shoulder. But when she turned around, it was not teen girls striding toward her, it was Cooper Jessup.

Emma was surprised to see him and, truthfully, a little happy. But as Cooper marched toward her, she realized that he did not look happy to see her—he looked very unhappy. And then she realized where he was—in her park, her private park, at her secret bench. How did he know she was here? Emma glanced around, half expecting an entire audience to leap out and accuse her of stalking children. She took an unconscious step backward. “Cooper? What are you doing?” she asked uncertainly as he strode around the bench to where she was standing.

“Looking for you,” he said coldly. “I just have one question, Emma. What the hell is the matter with you?”