Forgotten Lullaby. Rita Herron
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slightly, then he seemed to force it to relax. “No. It was a resale. It actually needed some fixing up, but we…that is, I planned to do it myself.”
“Oh.” Emma didn’t know why that surprised her. He obviously knew about building houses—probably had redone everything to his own specifications. “I’m sure it’s lovely,” she said.
Grant rolled his shoulders and tension tightened his shoulders, evident in his rigid posture. “It’s nice. But I still haven’t gotten around to all those projects yet.” He gave her a lopsided smile, an almost apologetic one, she noted, then turned his attention to the road.
Glancing at him once again, she noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his big hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. What kind of a nightmare had they both fallen into? And what about their marriage—did they love each other?
Right now he looked as miserable as she felt. He’d tried to hide it; he’d told her not to worry, that he knew her memory would return once they arrived home. But she saw the fear lurking in his troubled eyes.
She was petrified. What if her memory never returned? Could she stay married to a stranger? Did he want to remain married to her?
“Our cleaning lady came by and straightened up,” Grant said, breaking the strained silence. “Her name is Martha. You met her at the jewelry store where you used to work.”
“I see,” Emma said, hating the formality in her tone.
“And Kate stayed with Carly this morning.”
Kate. Emma clung to her sister’s name like a lifeline. At least with Kate around, she wouldn’t have to face this ordeal alone. Perhaps she could live with Kate for a while. She’d mentioned it to Grant, but had felt his suppressed fury at the idea. Then he’d masked his anger and the doctor had reassured her Grant had a point. Going home might trigger bits and pieces of her memory.
Emma studied her surroundings while Grant steered the Acura down a street lined with ancient magnolias and azaleas. Neat manicured lawns and an array of pastel-colored wooden homes filled the block. Neighbors were out shoveling off the small patches of murky ice and snow from a recent snowstorm, and the trees looked bare and desolate without their leaves. An older woman wearing a blue jogging suit walked along the sidewalk, and two small children raced bikes up and down the street.
“Oh, this is beautiful. I love those weeping willows,” Emma said, sitting up to look out the window.
Grant smiled and visibly relaxed. “That’s the same thing you said the first time we drove down this street.”
A ray of hope darted through Emma. Maybe the minute she saw her home, her past would all come rushing back.
“We looked at that ranch,” Grant said, pointing to a redbrick house with green shutters. “But the wallpaper in the kitchen was hideous. Black with these huge orange flowers.”
“That sounds awful.” Her smile faded, bitterness invading. She couldn’t recall how she’d decorated her own kitchen. She liked yellow and rose and green—had she used those colors?
Grant seemed to notice her sudden change of mood, because he reached for her hand and held it. She studied his guarded features and wondered if they were close, if they shared a special bond, the sort she’d always dreamed of sharing with someone. He smelled wonderful, all musky but fresh as if he’d recently showered and put on aftershave. His hand felt warm and big enveloping hers, and Emma took comfort in his presence. He seemed like a kind man. After all, she wouldn’t have married him if he hadn’t been, would she?
“The Porters live in that house,” Grant said, pointing out a gray two-story with a fenced-in yard. “His wife is expecting any day now.”
“That’s nice,” Emma said. “Do we know them very well? Are we friends?”
Grant sighed. “Not really. You wanted to invite them for dinner last week.”
“But we didn’t?”
“No, I had to work late.”
Emma nodded, wondering at his frown. At least she hadn’t married a bum. Grant sounded like an ambitious man.
“How did we meet? Through your job somehow?”
He shook his head. “No, we met in college. Kate attended UNC, where I went, and you came up to visit her one weekend. We met at a party after a football game.”
“Really? Did we date right away?”
A smile curved Grant’s mouth. “You really have forgotten. Sweetheart, you chased me shamelessly.”
“What?” Emma’s eyes widened. “I…I did?”
Grant laughed softly, a husky sound that warmed her and helped drain some of the tension from her knotted muscles. “You know, perhaps there is an upside to this,” he said in a mischievous voice. “You’ve forgotten all the foolish things I did to win you. I could tell you that you fawned all over me, and you wouldn’t know any differently.”
Emma shivered at the sexiness radiating from his teasing tone. “I may not remember, but I do know I didn’t fawn all over you. I wouldn’t fawn all over anyone.”
Grant’s eyes twinkled as he squeezed her hand. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Emma smiled and studied his long tanned fingers, her own hands clammy with perspiration. He seemed to sense her confusion and released her hand. “So tell me the truth—did I really chase you?”
Grant’s tone turned serious again. “Hardly, sweetheart. It was the other way around. And I’d rather not remember those days.”
This time Emma laughed. And she couldn’t help the faint stirring of her pulse, the tingle that raced through her body at the humility she saw in his eyes. The passion lurking in the dark blue depths excited and frightened her at the same time.
When he’d comforted her in the hospital, a subtle attraction had strummed through her. She’d been drawn to him, relieved he’d stayed with her. His deep husky voice had called to her when she was in that coma, a heady baritone that had pleaded with her to wake up, not to leave him. He’d saved her life. Now that she knew the voice belonged to her husband, she wanted to remember him. But his face, his smile, his voice—it felt as if she was meeting him for the very first time.
They passed a group of teenagers lounging by a car, the radio blasting. She clung to it as a safe topic. “It looks like they’re having fun.”
“The little redhead, Darlene, offered to baby-sit sometime.”
Questions once again swirled through Emma’s mind. She didn’t recognize these people, but they would know her. And what about her baby? Could she be a good mother to a child she didn’t remember? “Has she ever sat for us?”
Grant’s silence lingered a fraction too long for comfort, and Emma raised an eyebrow. “Grant, did I say something wrong?”
“No,” he finally said, his voice clipped. “We haven’t gotten out much since Carly was born.”
“I guess that’s pretty normal,” Emma said, although at the moment she had no idea what constituted normal.
Finally Grant slowed in front of a blue Victorian house with white-lattice trim. “That has to be our house. I can’t believe it. I used to dream about a house like this when I was little.”
Grant smiled hopefully and veered the car into the driveway. A neatly weeded flower bed bordered the front of the house. She could easily imagine it with tulips and petunias in the spring. Three ferns hung from the front stoop, and clipped monkey grass formed a border along the sidewalk to the wraparound porch. Blue jays fluttered down and nibbled at birdseed from a tall stone bird feeder in the center of the yard.
“It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see the inside.”
“It’s