Emily's Daughter. Linda Warren
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say things like that. As soon as I can clear my schedule, I’ll come and check Mom over.”
“Thanks, Em. I can always count on you. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she replied, but before she could say anything else the phone went dead.
Emily hung up and ran both hands through her hair, loosening the clasp. God, she didn’t need this today. The past seemed to be looming over her and she couldn’t escape it. First, the dream, then Jackson, and now the old problem with her mother. What else could happen?
CHAPTER TWO
THE AFTERNOON WAS JUST as rushed as the morning, and at six o’clock Emily said goodbye to her last patient and headed into her office. Jean followed.
“That’s it, thank God,” she sighed. “I’ll file the charts and finish up for the day.”
“Okay,” Emily said absently, leafing through some notes on her desk.
Jean made to leave, then turned back. “Did you meet the computer guy?”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“The computer guy,” Jean repeated. “All the women are talking about how fine-looking he is.”
Emily glanced back at her notes, trying to remain detached, trying not to react. “I didn’t notice.”
“What?” Jean shrieked. “You’re hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. If it’s not an old man, you’re not interested.” Realizing how the words sounded, Jean quickly back-pedaled. “That came out wrong. I meant—”
Emily stopped her. “Don’t worry about it. I know what you meant.”
“Thank God.” Jean rolled her eyes. “I’d better go before I get my foot completely stuck in my mouth.” At the door, she couldn’t resist adding, “I just think you need to get out more, have some fun.”
“I appreciate your concern, but most likely the computer guy’s married.”
“Oh, no.” She walked back. “He’s divorced.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “Really? How would you know that?”
Emily was sure Jackson was married and had a family by now. He probably had another daughter…a daughter who—
“I talked to Dr. Benson’s secretary who talked to Dr. Benson’s nurse, who had all the juicy details.”
“The grapevine,” Emily groaned.
“Yeah, it comes in handy sometimes.”
“And sometimes it’s totally inaccurate,” Emily pointed out.
There was a pause, then Jean asked, “Are you interested in him?”
“Heavens, no,” Emily was quick to deny. “I’m just curious.”
“That’s how it starts,” Jean said with a laugh.
Emily ignored that remark. “I’m not on call this weekend, am I?”
“No,” Jean answered. “Why?”
“I’m thinking about visiting my family.”
“Okay.” Jean nodded, and left, returning to the filing area.
Emily went back to her notes, blocking out Jackson Talbert’s face, blocking out the past and everything else—everything but her work. She had to get over to the hospital, to check on Mrs. Williams. She flexed her shoulders and stood up. It had been a long, exhausting day, not to mention humiliating, and now she needed a hot bath and some sleep. She removed her white coat and hung it on a peg.
She massaged the back of her neck, trying to ease the ache starting at the base of her skull.
“Had a hard day?” a familiar voice asked.
She swung around, her eyes huge in her pale face. “Jackson,” she whispered.
He was leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved in the pockets of his gray slacks. He had lost his tie and several buttons on his lighter gray shirt were open, revealing the beginning of dark blond chest hair. Her stomach tightened uncontrollably as she relived the sensation of running her fingers through…
“You remember my name,” he said, and pushed away from the door.
She stared at his face—the lean lines, defined cheekbones, straight nose and green, green eyes. Everything was the same…except for the tiny lines around his eyes and mouth and the gray in his blond hair. Jean was right; he was fine-looking, even more so than she’d recalled. And he was now a man instead of the boy she had given herself to.
Seeing that he was waiting for an answer, she collected herself. “Of course I remember you.”
I’ll never forget you.
“Earlier you acted as if we’d never met, never…”
He let the unfinished sentence hang between them, and to stop the nervousness in her stomach she slowly took the stethoscope from around her neck and placed it on her desk. She chose her next words carefully. “I didn’t think my colleagues would be interested in my girlish infatuation.”
“Infatuation?” He raised a dark blond eyebrow. “Wasn’t it more than that?”
To me, it was.
But the words that came out of her mouth were “No, I don’t think so. You left and never came back and I got on with my life.” She hated that she couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice.
He knew she was lying and trying to hide it. He remembered that about her. She had a hard time lying, especially to her mother. He used to tease her about it. But through the nervousness, he could hear the hurt in her voice. He should’ve gone back. He’d never wanted to hurt her, but he’d gotten so caught up in his own turmoil that he could only think about himself. Looking at her, he regretted that.
He couldn’t help asking, “Did you wait for me?”
Every minute, every hour of every day.
“Of course not,” she denied emphatically.
She was lying again. He could tell by the way she ran her hand along the edge of the desk. He was making her nervous. Why? He just wanted to talk.
The terse chitchat was disconcerting her. She felt as if her emotions were in a blender and someone had pushed the high button and any minute she was going to explode all over the room.
“I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly, reaching for her purse. “I’m expected at the hospital.”
Jackson was taken aback by her sudden departure and he was thinking of ways to keep her talking a little longer. He saw a picture on her desk. He walked over and picked it up. It was a family portrait of her parents, herself and another young woman. Her mother had been pregnant all those years ago, and this had to be the baby. Emily had so many problems with her mother’s pregnancy, but judging by their smiling faces everything had obviously worked out.
“This must be your sister,” he said.
“Yes, that’s Rebecca. We call her Becca,” she replied, and swung the strap of her purse over her shoulder.
Why didn’t he leave? She didn’t want to talk to him.
“She looks like you when you were seventeen.”
“Yes, everyone says that,” she found herself saying. “But her hair is lighter and our personalities are completely different. Becca’s very outspoken and direct. She’s always talking and laughing and getting involved in things that my parents disapprove of. She’s constantly arguing with my mother and—”
She stopped, unable to believe she was telling him all this. For a moment, it seemed like old times when she used to pour her