Thirty Nine

Early the next morning, Emily awoke in Trent’s arms. She fit there as if they had been made for each other, and slept more solidly than she had in a very long time. She jumped up guiltily when she saw it was six in the morning.

“What is it?” Trent asked sleepily, startled by her sudden movement.

“I need to go back to my room,” Emily said. “They’ll be waking up soon. I should be there.”

Trent looked genuinely disappointed, but nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. “I can wait for you.”

She smiled and kissed him again, quickly, knowing that she was running a significant risk of not leaving.

“You won’t have to,” she said. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Relaxing. We never plan anything for the week or two after the tour. We’re always so burnt by the end that we just need to get away from each other. Why, what’s up?”

Emily sat back a bit and looked at him challengingly. “Well, I’m taking seven-year-old twins to the Science Centre. Would you like to join us?” Are you up for it? she asked silently. Or is this where the too-good-to-be-true part comes in and you bolt. To her surprise, he looked thrilled, and a little relieved.

“I’ve always wanted to go to the Science Centre!” he exclaimed, then got a touch serious for a second. “But I was kind of afraid you’d…” He broke off.

Emily looked at him with interest. He was so transparent, now that she knew what to look for; she realized he was as insecure about her as she had been about him.

“Oh, honey, if you had any idea what’s been going through my head since I heard you sing that song,” she said, taking his face in her hands, looking into those eyes, wanting to erase his doubt with kisses.

“So you liked it then?” he asked, sounding like a lost little boy.

“Yes,” she laughed, seeing the expression on his face. “I liked it a lot.”

She kissed him and extracted herself from their tangle of bedclothes. “We’ll meet you out front at noon,” she said. “Wear your roller skates.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Roller skates?” he asked.

“Have you ever been to the Science Centre with two seven-year-olds?” she asked. “You’ll need them, trust me.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I get it. You’re telling me that your kids are a handful. It’s okay, I can handle it.”

“Don’t be so sure. We’ll see you at noon.” Emily kissed him one last time and got up.


It was with contentedness and relief that Emily watched Trent interact with her children that afternoon. He had met them in the lobby of the hotel and she introduced him to Ellen and the twins. It was obvious to Emily that Ellen liked him instantly, as she winked subtly at Emily and said, “Have fun, all of you,” before she headed off for her workshop. Emily knew things were fine with Ellen, and it felt like a huge weight was lifted.

At the Science Centre, Emily bought tickets for all of them, and then sat back and observed. Trent was a natural with children, and when she commented out of their earshot, he admitted that he’d grown up with younger siblings. “It’s why I like to perform,” he said. “I never got any attention, as the oldest of seven, unless I was acting out.” It was a telling comment, and explained a lot, Emily acknowledged.

Trent was as enthralled with the various exhibits as Ava and Aidan were. He was right in there, to the point that Emily had to ask, “Have you really never been here before?”

“No, never,” Trent admitted, and Emily gaped incredulously.

“I can’t believe a native Torontonian has never been here,” she mocked.

“Ah, but I’m not from Toronto,” he smiled mysteriously, and refused to admit more that afternoon. The odd non sequitur made her realize how much she didn’t know about Trent Buchanan, and a new glimmer of excited anticipation ran down her spine at the prospect of finding out everything that there was to know.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and Emily grew fonder of Trent with each minute. He was so easy with the kids, and they seemed as if they had known him forever.

As the afternoon ended, and they agreed to hit a kid-friendly restaurant, with no qualms from Trent, when it occurred to Emily that she had not thought of Thomas in hours. She realized it without guilt or concern, but with relief. In that moment, she knew that while Thomas may have been her first love, he was not her only. She sensed, as soon as the thought occurred that he was somewhere watching, and he was happy for her. She felt at peace. Suddenly, it was clear to her that Ellen’s words were correct; Thomas wanted her to be happy, and Emily knew now that Trent was the key to her future happiness. It was as if Thomas was there and telling her to go for it. The realization hit Emily with physical force, and she reached up to kiss Trent, in the middle of a crowd, in front of her children, so sure was she that it was the right thing to do. It was no surprise that he kissed her back, with an urgency that told her that he understood her epiphany and celebrated it with her. As if to reinforce the rightness of it, Ava looked over at them at that moment, and Emily caught a look of such relief on her face, that tears welled in Emily’s eyes.

“What, honey,” Emily asked her.

“I’m glad you’re not sad, Mommy,” Ava said, oddly perceptive for her young age, and Emily dropped Trent’s hand to walk around the table to her. She knelt down and gripped her daughter in a fierce hug.

“No, honey, I’m not sad,” Emily said though her tears. "Not anymore."

“Good, Mommy,” Ava said simply, and went back to her chicken fingers and fries. With her daughter’s intuitive comment, Emily knew all possible barriers had been removed, and she was free to explore the possibility and promise of this new love, with the blessing of all her most important people. Emily wiped away her tears of joy and looked at Trent, who sat across from her, beside Aidan, and everything was right.

Thomas was there, in the look and spirit of her children, and Emily knew that it was okay to let him go. She would be thankful of her brief time with Thomas every time she looked at her children, and while she knew she would miss his friendship and his presence forever, she need not miss his love, because it was there with her always.

Emily saw Trent help Aidan wipe ketchup from his face as easily as if he’d known the boy all his life. It was deeply satisfying to Emily and she knew, with that simple gesture that she was in love with Trent, simply and completely, and as much to the point, that Thomas knew, and approved, and it was okay.

She told him then, unable to keep her realization to herself for a second. Looking at him, she reached across the table to take his hand, and said, “I love you.”

“I know,” he replied instantly, holding her hand in both of his and looking deep into her eyes. She was grateful for the chair under her, since her legs went weak with the gaze from his sea-green eyes. “I have loved you from the second I saw you.”

She knew without a doubt that it was true, and that this love was worth any risk she may need to take. She had survived the worst that fate had to offer; the man before her was offering solace from her pain, willing to accept her past, her present. Trent Buchanan was her life after Thomas, the life she had been waiting to start, and all she needed to do was tell him so. So she did.

“We can do this,” Emily said, taking his hand firmly in hers.

He looked at her and the unconditional acceptance on his face, the unquestioning understanding of the work he was in for, confirmed what she already knew, and had known from the moment that she met him.

“Let’s go,” she prompted, pulling at his hand.

“I’m right behind you, honey,” Trent said.

THE END

Thirty eight

After a deep breath, Emily squared her shoulders and stepped into the room. Inside, she saw Blake and Peter, and several young, costumed rockers she thought to be the opening band. Twenty or thirty rough-looking roadies and a few inebriated and excited young women, who Emily assumed to be winners of some radio station’s backstage pass contest, also populated the room. She couldn’t see Trent. She slipped inside the door and leaned against the wall, silently watching the activity. The room teemed with adrenaline-induced excitement. Plastic cups of beer sloshed, rock music blared, and people sampled from a small buffet along the left side of the room.

Then she spotted him, thirty feet away on the other side of the room. At first, he didn’t see her enter, engaged as he was in talking to a fawning young woman. He had a cup in his hand, and he had changed out of his sweat-soaked stage clothes. He had on a dark blue button-down shirt and baggy jeans with the familiar black boots. His hair, damp with perspiration curled at his collar, and his eyes constantly scanned the large room restlessly, as if he was looking for someone. Me, she thought suddenly, he’s looking for me.

Emily’s heart leapt to her throat and again, she seriously considered going back to her hotel room. She shoved her shaking hands into her pockets to still them. I can’t do this, I won't, she thought for the millionth time that night, and she wished desperately for another glass of liquid courage.

At that moment, their eyes locked. She felt the shock of emotion she’d first felt when Trent had touched her hand outside the hospital, and this time it didn’t settle in her belly, it traveled straight down to her toes and back up again. It was a sensation that involuntarily caused her to take a step back, bumping abruptly into the wall behind her in her effort to maintain control of her balance.

Dimly, as if from a vast distance, Emily watched Trent silence the young fan with whom he was talking with a brief hand on her arm and although she could not hear him over the din of the party, she saw him ask, rhetorically, “I’m sorry, would you excuse me?” His eyes never left Emily’s and he stepped blindly around the woman without waiting for her answer. He walked toward her.

As if in slow motion, he crossed the crowded room, working his way methodically toward the door where Emily was standing. His eyes, the colour of a Caribbean sea, never left hers. She saw him brush aside well-wishers and fans. Her heart pounded in her head and her stomach flipped uncontrollably. The song he’d sung her echoed through her mind and she felt that if she moved, her legs would give out under her weight. It was an inexplicable combination of dread and desire that leadened her limbs and kept her rooted to the spot. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to.

“Hey,” he said, uncertainty evident in the tilt of his head as he approached her and reached for her hands. She held them out, unthinking.

“Hey,” she replied. Her mouth was as dry as sawdust and her voice sounded funny to her own ears.

“So,” he began.

It was as if that magnetic field engaged when he moved toward her and she practically fell forward against him. He pulled her into his arms and they both laughed nervously.

“So,” she replied, and, inexplicably, tears threatened. He leaned back, still holding her, and she clung to him, arms around his waist. He touched her face with one hand and tipped her chin up so she was looking at him. She smiled, but it wavered and then she was blinded by the tears filling her eyes.

“Hey,” he said, softly, suddenly concerned. “Didn’t you like it?”

She smiled sadly, half laughing as she replied, “No… I loved it. It was beautiful.”

“So are you,” he said, and then the dam burst.

Emily cried then, uncaring who saw her. She cried for Thomas, not for the loss of him, because those tears were long gone, but for the final instant of her marriage, which had come and gone that evening. She cried sad tears because she knew that this very moment was the end of one life and the beginning of a new one. But she also cried happy tears, because at last she knew where she belonged. With her tears, she mourned the passing of a stage which had been fraught with times both better and far, far worse than she could ever have imagined; now, though, there was a new clarity, and she could see her way to the place she needed to be, and she knew that Trent wanted it too. It was a new beginning, and she felt exhilarated, on the edge of a precipice, no longer afraid to jump, because she knew he would jump too, with her. She was suddenly unafraid to tell him her story, because she knew that he already understood, and accepted, and that knowledge gave her the strength to speak words she had never before said aloud.


Afterward, she dimly remembered Trent leading her away from the noise of the party, taking her along corridors until they reached a service elevator to the hotel. His suite was on the top floor, and they went there, his arm firmly around her, literally holding her up, as, head in hands, her silent tears blinded her. He settled her into a large chair and left her side only long enough to pour her a stiff drink, and then came to sit beside her, cradling her head to him as she cried. When finally her tears subsided, she looked up at him, and felt like a landscape after a thunderstorm: scrubbed clean, fresh, prepared. He sat, silently, patiently, in a gesture of unquestioning support, as if he considered this bizarre behaviour to be perfectly reasonable. After a deep breath she spoke in a clear, strong voice.

I met him when I was twenty; we met at college. He was taking law. We clicked at a mixer and the rest was history. Dated four years, and when I was done my degree and starting my residency, we got married. His name? Oh, yes, it was Thomas. We had a cute little house here in Forest Glen and in my third year, I found out I was pregnant. Surprise is an understatement. Compounded by serious morning sickness – I lost fifteen pounds before I even figured out what was going on. I knew in my heart what the ultrasound tech was going to tell me – twins. It was the only explanation for how rotten I was feeling. Anyway, we had a healthy boy and girl, Aidan and Ava. They were gorgeous. They’re seven now, in school. Aidan is a little defiant, but Ava is a sweet girl, sometimes so sensitive that I worry for her. Anyway, it was my millionaire’s family – a doting husband, a career, a son and a daughter. Everything was so perfect. Sometimes I had a funny feeling that something was going to happen. Like everything was too good to be true, and my luck was going to run out. I kept thinking I would wake up and discover it had all been a dream, and real life was nothing like it. I lived a little scared then, somewhere deep inside. And then it happened, as somehow I knew it would. The kids were four. Thomas was feeling a little draggy, so he went in for a check-up. He’d put it off for so long, always too busy, but finally, he ran out of excuses. He never told me he felt unwell, he said it would have made me panic. And he was right. It would have. I’m a doctor, for heaven’s sake. His blood test looked funny. It turned out to be leukemia. I spent a lot of time kicking myself about it – he was so pale, and he was always bruised. We used to joke about how people would think I was beating him, he always looked so battered. And colds and sore throats – he was sick for months. Anyway, that day, July 17, in fact, he came home from the doctor and told me he had leukemia. But it was the good kind, he said. The kind eighty percent survive. And he was booked to start his chemo the next day. Wow, well, if you had to have cancer, we joked, in shock, at least we have the good kind. So I never bothered to take a leave from work – his chemo was in the hospital where I worked, so I would just go over and sit with him when I could, and he said it was fine, and we carried on as if this was a minor irritation and not a huge black cloud threatening our entire way of being. We planned our Christmas vacation, and talked about how when Ava and Aidan were just a little older, we’d take them to Disneyland. The first cycle of chemo wasn’t too bad. Thomas felt a little sick, but he kept working a few hours a day. He shaved his head the day before chemo so his hair wouldn’t plug the shower drain when it started to fall out. He said he wanted to be a "considerate invalid". One night, about a week after his first chemo, he got a fever. They told us at the clinic to watch for a fever. For God’s sake, I have treated hundreds of septic chemo patients. He felt fine, but he was flushed and warm, so we dutifully went in to Emergency, in the middle of the night. Thomas’s mother came to stay for a while to help with the kids. We checked in, got him settled on a stretcher in the hallway of the Emergency department. He insisted I go home and get some sleep. I had been on call and I was exhausted. So I went. We laughed about me getting assigned to him the next day at work. He was in good spirits. He told me to kiss the kids. I said I’d bring them by after school the next day. I felt okay leaving him. The hospital was my second home; I knew it from a different side than Thomas did. In fact I was so comfortable, so sure that he would be fine, that I was getting ready for work the next morning, thinking I would just pop in and see him before starting rounds. It was just a little fever I kept thinking. We’ve survived worse. Then the phone rang. It was the hospital. Thomas wasn’t doing well, they said. I should come. I left the twins with Thomas’s mother, who must have been frantic, and went in. They had moved him to a private room on the ward. He was unresponsive, hooked up to a drip and monitors. I sat with him all morning. He was septic, the chemo had crushed his immune system, and an overwhelming infection put him into septic shock. They couldn’t pull him back, with all the antibiotics in the world. He died about noon. He never regained consciousness. It was July 27. We had ten days.

“That was three years ago,” Emily said.

Trent sat, looking at her wordlessly, his own eyes brimming with tears, while hers were now dry.

“You are a remarkable woman, Emily,” he finally said, settling back and wrapping his arms around her once again. “How you get up in the morning and go about your day is beyond me. I am not that strong.”

“I’m not either, but my kids give me the strength. I need to do it for them. I need to give them a normal life.” So this is okay for him, she thought. Good.

“Was that them I saw tonight?”

Her heart lurched for a second and she laughed at the irrelevance of her earlier panic. She grinned ruefully. “Yes.”

“They’re gorgeous. They look like you,” he said.

“Thanks,” she laughed. Suddenly, months of anxiety had evaporated with Trent’s instant and apparently unconditional acceptance of all that was Emily’s life. “Actually, they look exactly like their father.”

“I can see you in both of them,” Trent insisted, and Emily smiled.

“I want you to meet them,” she said. It seemed the next logical thing to do. “But not right now.”

She kissed him then, knew, in that moment, that she would not let him go, ever, damn the risk.

Thirty Seven

Some time later, after ‘Some Day’ and an encore or two, Emily wasn’t sure, the band left the stage and the house lights came back up. People filed out of the box and Emily watched elated fans streaming out of the arena, t-shirts and glowing sticks in their hands. She sat quietly, alone in the room, until a polite but pointed cough from the bartender brought her back to earth. Apologizing, she showed him her backstage pass, and he used a phone behind the bar to call a security guard, who appeared and unenthusiastically escorted her through long, featureless concrete corridors beneath the arena’s seats. At the end of one corridor, before a plain metal door, a few fans stood, positively vibrating with anticipation. The guard motioned them back, and although disappointed, none failed to comply and he and Emily slipped through the door unaccosted.

Inside, Emily could hear music and laughter and the clink of dishes. She smelled cigarette smoke mixed with the popcorn-beer-hotdog smell of the arena and grimaced unconsciously. Her stomach lurched and she was afraid she would throw up. If the guard hadn’t been beside her, she would have turned back. Instead, she forced her legs to keep walking and they reached a door from beyond which the sounds and smells of a raucous party emanated.

“There you go,” the guard indicated the door and turned around to leave without seeing Emily’s mute nod of thanks.

Timidly, she approached the door of the room. Although her insecurity and doubt about Trent’s feelings for her had vanished with ‘Life After’, she was highly apprehensive about their meeting tonight. Especially, now, when she had so much she needed to say, and no idea what he would say in response.

Thirty Six

Emily still felt shaky, and lighter than air, as she walked over to the concourse joining the hotel to the arena to join the throngs of Uptown fans heading for the concert. As she walked up to the ticket booth, a thought struck her. What if Trent had seen the kids? That wasn’t how he was supposed to find out about her ‘baggage’. Dread clenched at her stomach and from the distance of a few minutes, she had more than a second’s doubt about the meaning of the look they’d shared for that tiny moment in time. She was distracted enough that the ticket booth attendant twice asked her what her name was.

Taking the proffered envelope, she took a deep breath and pushed the thought from her mind. Although it continued to nag at her, she forced herself to remember the force with which she had felt that connection, and headed into the arena to find her seat.

Long-forgotten memories of adolescent events like this rose unbidden as she was greeted by the familiar combination of arena smells: popcorn, beer, hotdogs, and marijuana smoke. She could see that the house lights were down and the opening band was about to take the stage. The sound of thirty thousand screaming fans was as familiar as the smells, and for a second she wished she’d brought ear plugs.

A man in a maroon uniform jacket pointed her in the direction of her seats. “You’re in the band’s box, ma’am,” he said.

Emily grimaced at the man’s use of ‘ma’am’, and then it dawned on her what he’d said. The box? she thought. Cool. He handed her back her ticket, and she looked down at it, only now noticing a discreet blue ticket marked ‘Backstage Pass”. Looking guiltily around at the hundreds of teenaged girls in her immediate vicinity who, she knew, would give their eye teeth for that little piece of paper, and quickly shoved it in her purse. She headed for the box, nervous, and wishing desperately for Sarah.

The box was directly opposite the stage, bathed in the soft glow of three or four table lamps. Plushy carpet covered the floor, and there were club chairs and a couple of tables with upholstered stools. A bar stood to one side, complete with uniformed bartender, and, recognizing none of the eight or ten people in the small room, Emily headed for the bar and asked for a glass of wine. A row of bar stools lined a narrow ledge near the large open window that overlooked the arena. Emily found an empty seat there, and sat down. She kept expecting someone official to appear and ask her to show her ticket or something, but no one seemed the least bit distressed by her presence, and she relaxed a little.

The opening band played through their set. Their sound was heavy pop, and, judging by the reaction from the crowd, they were well-liked. They looked young, and Emily had never heard a single one of their songs. Nonetheless, the beat was infectious, and she found herself tapping her foot and quite enjoying herself, despite feeling like the oldest one in the room.

After the opening band finished their set, there was about half an hour of set-up before Uptown came on. The crowd was young and ardent, and many carried small glow-in-the-dark sticks that they waved enthusiastically. Emily paced the box, caught up in the excitement of the show, but unconsciously dreading the talk with Trent, when she would reveal the truths that she knew she owed him. And although she knew in her gut that she had blown this lie of omission way out of proportion, it was a significant source of stress: the knowledge that today, the first day they had actually seen each other in person since the trial, was the day she had to tell him that she was a widow with two children.

When the house lights finally went down, Emily thought she might go out of her mind. No one in the box had approached; tension radiated from her, and the people nearby seemed to know it would be of no use to speak to her.

From a dark stage, a familiar chord was struck, and the lights shone on the band, with Trent suddenly front and centre, a guitar in his hands and a microphone at his lips. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, and she found she could not take her eyes off him. Thousands of people screamed for him, and she kept thinking, hey, that guy kissed me. The thought occurred over and over. She wondered how many others could make the same claim. She wondered how any others would kill for the chance.

The show started with a set of three songs from the current CD. Entertaining as it was, Emily found herself longing to hear Trent speak. Finally, after the third song, he did.

“Thank you Toronto!” he shouted. “This is a song called ‘Everyone Needs a Song’.” She recognized it as a fan favourite from one of Uptown’s first albums, as did the crowd, judging by the response.

Song after song, Trent played his heart out, and, to Emily’s surprise, her knees grew weak with each guitar solo. It was obvious that he was having a great time. His passion for his music was something tangible that she could relate to, now that she had finally seen him play. It was the same passion she felt on hearing a baby’s cry after an emergency delivery, or when, in a trauma room, a previously absent heartbeat started up after defibrillation. The same passion that made her go back, shift after shift, to the hospital. At that moment, she felt constrained, claustrophobic in the box, her heart full of emotion she couldn’t label.

Finally, an hour and a half into the show, he said, “I wrote this song a little while ago for someone very special. We’ve never played it before.”

At first, it did not occur to Emily that he might be talking about her. The arena was quiet and he carried on. “I met her a while ago, and she’s here tonight. This is for Emily. It’s called ‘Life After’.”

The keyboardist, whom Emily had not met, played a slow and poignant chord progression. Trent stood before the microphone, his guitar hanging in front of him, his hands at his sides. Wordlessly, he sang a haunting melody, and then the lyrics flowed, seamless with the music.

Your broken heart is on your sleeve
You want to go, but I can’t let you leave
I need to tell you, you need to believe
That I’m your life after

It’s easy to see, I need you with me
I want to be your life after

If I have to, I can wait
We need to start before it’s too late
If only I could see your face
You’d know I’m your life after

I’ll hold you up, won’t let you down
You are my life after

We’re both afraid of what’s to come
But take my hand, we’ll make our way
Through your storm, to the sun
Into our life after

Your broken heart is on your sleeve
I’ll put it together and you can believe
That I’m your life after

Trent’s voice, abandoned by the piano in the third verse, echoed throughout the arena, and for a split-second, was the only sound in the room. He looked toward the box where Emily was sitting, and although she was what felt like a thousand feet away from him, among thousands of people, she felt his eyes lock on hers, before the crowd erupted. Her throat closed in and hot tears pricked her eyes. A public declaration that she meant something was almost more than she could bear.

Suddenly, it felt like every eye in the building was on her, even though she was aware that no one knew she was the woman to whom he’d dedicated the song. I’m not ready, she thought, and tears of grief for what could have been with Trent flowed again. She sat, unmoving, as the band struck the familiar opening chords from ‘Some Day’. Bright and energetic as they were, they could not block the sound of Trent’s words from echoing through her head.

Thirty Five

Age, and a regular paycheck, Emily reflected as they pulled up to the hotel and conference centre attached to the arena where the concert was to be held, had its privileges. Gone were the days of camping out for tickets, scrounging rides from reluctant parents to concerts, dressing inappropriately in the bathroom before the show so the parents wouldn’t see exactly how little one wore. Never again, Emily thought, as she checked into the hotel she had booked the night prior, with her paid-off credit card, would she need to talk herself into a ride home with a dodgy concert-goer long after the buses had stopped running. When she thought of some of the careless things she’d done in her youth, she shuddered and vowed never to let her children make those same choices. She’d drive through the night if she had to, rather than let her daughter get in a car with a stranger.

The kids, bouncing from their forced confinement, raced to push the elevator buttons. The second they had dropped their tiny suitcases in the room, they clamored to go to the water slides. Ellen, sensing that Emily needed to be alone more than she needed the stress of keeping her children, who were actually excellent swimmers, from drowning, agreed to take them down. Emily gave her a grateful hug and collapsed backward on the bed as the door closed behind them, and their noisy commotion faded down the hall.

Emily called room service for a glass of wine and examined her face in the mirror. A good cathartic cry might lift the spirits, but it sure was hell on the looks. She looked tired. Lines etched her eyes and mouth, and her freckles stood out in stark relief from her pale skin. Her hair was coppery and limp in the artificial light. A shower, she decided, and wondered if perhaps she should have ordered coffee instead of wine.

An excessively long, hot shower helped somewhat, and Emily stood, wrapped in a towel, considering her outfit for the night. She’d brought only a summer-weight black dress and sandals, steadfastly refusing to fulfill the stereotype of the over-packing female. Pulling the dress over her head, she noted that it hung a little looser on her than the last time she’d worn it. She thought back, and, with a pang, realized it had been to Thomas’s funeral. Give me strength, she thought, and, paradoxically, it seemed to. She looked in the mirror. She looked good; perhaps a little more mature than the last time she had been to a rock concert. Dressier than perhaps she might have been, but for the fact that, truth be told, it was more Trent and less the show she was here to see. Spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, black heels just high enough to show off her slim legs, but low enough to walk comfortably in. She’d let her hair fall in large, loose curls around her face. No jewelry tonight, just a light dusting of blush, some shimmery face powder she’d found in her makeup bag, and a touch of mascara to, hopefully, draw some attention away from her crow’s feet. A light pink and some liner to her full lips, and she was ready to go.

She tossed back the rest of her wine and looked at the clock. 7:45. Way too early. She turned on the tv and flipped channels aimlessly for a few minutes, before concluding that either there was nothing on, or her attention span was minimal. Her stomach growled, and although she was unsure if it was hunger or nerves, she decided to go down to the hotel bar for a drink and a snack. This also had the added advantage of getting her out of the hotel room before Ellen and the kids got back, relieving her of the need to answer innumerable questions posed in loud little voices.

She sat at a table that looked over the hotel lobby and ordered a drink and a bowl of soup, all she thought her jittery stomach would allow her. She jiggled her foot as she ate, feeling edgy and coiled as tightly as a spring. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a shriek from across the lobby.

“Mommy!” Ava ran toward her, wrapped in a towel, shivering, lips blue, hair dripping, and trailed by Ellen and Aidan, who looked equally cold, and seemed to be pouting.

“Hey, baby! How were the water slides?” she asked, gingerly hugging the shivering girl, trying to avoid her damper parts.

“Great! But Aidan didn’t want to come back. He’s mad,” Ava said.

Aidan grumped and folded his arms across his chest defiantly. “I want to go with you, Mommy,” he said.

“No, sweetie, this is for grown-ups. It doesn’t even start until after your bedtime,” she said.

Ellen interrupted. “Besides, buddy, we’re going back to the room and order a movie. Way more fun than what Mommy’s going to do,” she winked over Aidan’s head at Emily.

“Say good night to Mommy, kids,” Ellen urged them. To Emily, she said, “Have a good time. Don’t hurry back.” She winked again with uncharacteristic and, Emily thought, unneccesary suggestiveness, and the three headed for the elevator.

Emily laughed self-consciously, and wiped her hands on her napkin. She gestured at her waitress for the check, and was looking across the lobby, people-watching, when she spotted him.

He was wearing sunglasses, and walking with Blake and Peter, and a few others who seemed to be part of an entourage. They were being hustled down a back corridor in the direction of the arena. Surprisingly, there were no fans trailing after them, and Emily wondered dimly how security had managed to keep them from being spotted by the screaming hordes outside.

She was completely unprepared for the sensation that came over her when she saw him. Her insides went molten, and she was glad to be sitting down, because she wasn’t sure her legs would have held her up. As he disappeared around the corner, he glanced back and she saw he’d taken off the shades. With a familiar, physical jolt, their eyes met for a split-second, and he hesitated, before being herded along by an authoritative man in a UPTOWN SECURITY t-shirt.

The look they exchanged at that moment left her, literally, breathless. She leaned back in her chair, trying to appear nonchalant as she reigned in her ragged breathing when the waitress came with the check. Emily signed her room number without reading it, and sat for a moment, trying to compose herself. In that second, that blink of an eye that now stretched in her memory to ages, Emily became absolutely certain that this was no mere adolescent crush, and, without knowing how, she understood that Trent felt the same way.

It made what she was about to do all the more difficult.

Thirty Four

Emily and Ellen picked the kids up from school that day, and Emily was tired from a rough night, and irritable with fatigue and anxiety. She tried hard to maintain a civil face, but the constant chattering of the twins grated on her. The picked up drive-through take-out for dinner, as much to keep the kids quiet as for any nutritional purpose, and headed up the freeway. Ellen and Emily chatted a bit, but it was clear to everyone that Emily was distant and distracted, and Ellen picked up the slack, as usual, Emily thought, with the children. Emily was unable to eat a bite, and after Aidan and Ava had finished their food, Ellen put a movie into the DVD player for them and they settled.

“This must be some guy,” Ellen said after the twins had become absorbed in their movie.

Emily’s stomach lurched, either from Ellen’s perceptive comment, or from its silent implication, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she felt awkward discussing her feelings toward Trent with her mother-in-law. It seemed wrong, somehow.

“What makes you say that?” Emily asked warily, avoiding any admission of guilt.

“You’ve been a queen bitch all afternoon,” Ellen said frankly, and Emily glanced over at her, seeing a twinkle in her eye. They laughed, and the ice was broken.

“I guess so,” Emily said. “There are lots of… issues, I guess.”

“Issues? Like?” Ellen replied, shifting in her seat to look at Emily. Emily clamped her hands at ten and two on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead, silently thankful that she was driving and wouldn’t need to return Ellen’s gaze. She remembered the relief she’d felt when she realized that Ellen may not necessarily disapprove of her venturing out into the world, in spite of their relationship to each other, and to Thomas, the now-tenuous thread that held the whole family together.

“Issues like… like it’s been a long time since I’ve ‘dated’,” she said, making her fingers into quotation marks. Even though she no longer considered herself to be dating Trent, she realized the situation might come up again some day. “Like, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready for anything serious.”

“Is that all? I mean,” Ellen said and Emily raised her eyebrows, as if to say, ‘isn’t that enough?’. “Won’t that all reveal itself in time, if it’s the right thing?”

“Well, no, I guess it’s not all,” she said, but she couldn’t articulate any further, and left it at that.

“Those are superficial things that you know aren’t really issues, Emily. What are you really worried about?”

Emily was surprised to feel a lump rising in her throat. “I guess it’s Thomas,” she blurted without thinking, hot tears stinging her eyes involuntarily.

Ellen merely nodded, waiting for her to continue. “I keep thinking he’s here somewhere, and I should just ask him what he thinks,” Emily said, blinking furiously to clear her eyes well enough to see the road. “I know he’s not, but he was my best friend. I never made a big decision without him. This seems big, and it’s big because of him, because I still feel him here. And I want to know what he thinks about it.” Her voice broke.

Ellen reached over and rubbed her neck. “I think you know what he would say, honey,” she said after a moment. “He may not have had a chance to tell you before…” She hesitated, a rare catch in her own voice, and Emily was reminded, forcefully, that Ellen was talking about her son, not just Emily’s husband, not some random character who had no relationship to her own life.

Ellen continued, her voice again as solid as it had ever been. “I know how much he loved you, Emily, and I know he would want you to be happy, just like I do. You’ve been through hell, and you’ve survived. You’re a strong woman with good instincts. You won’t do anything stupid.”

Emily laughed gratefully, in spite of her tears. “I’m not so sure, El. I had it pretty bad for this guy, at one point, even though it’s not like that now. But What if I did do something stupid?”

“Well, I’ll always be here to drag you back down to earth,” Ellen said simply. “And so will your children. And so will Thomas.”

Emily glanced over at Ellen, wondering if maybe she’d misheard her.

“You were right, Emily, when you said that Thomas was your best friend. And he’ll always influence you, no matter how long it’s been since you last spoke. But he’s not here and the only responsibility you have to him now is to raise his children well. Part of that is being happy, living a normal life. I have no doubt but that it’s what he would want for you, even if he couldn’t provide it himself.”

Emily nodded thoughtfully. “I think it’s the whole first step that’s so intimidating,” she admitted. “I never even told Trent about Thomas or the kids, or you. It almost feels like if I say it out loud, it really will be true that I will never see Thomas again. And I don’t know if I can live with that.” She started to cry again.

Ellen was quiet for a moment. “I understand. But we will see him again, you know. We see him everyday.”

Emily looked quickly at her, confused. Ellen gestured to the two sweaty blond heads, dozing in the back seat, headphones askew.

“I see Thomas every time those kids look at me. Every time they speak. Sometimes, it’s so real, I almost call them by his name.” Again, Ellen’s voice caught and she blinked back tears.

“They are Thomas’s legacy. They are how we will remember him, every single day, and they are how we will honour his memory.” She stopped, the normally stoic woman struggling for control of her emotions.

“It’s okay to move on, honey. He’s gone, but not forgotten, and I know he would want us to, as hard as it is. Moving on doesn’t mean moving away.”

Emily smiled at Ellen, knowing she was right, and feeling unburdened for the first time in three years.

Thirty Three

As it turned out, Emily went alone.

Sarah called at three Friday afternoon. Her voice was weak and disappointed. “I’ve been puking all day, Em. Some sort of stomach flu.”

Emily panicked a little. Sarah was supposed to be her buffer, to bolster her nerve. Emily had, so far, managed to keep things with Trent on a very safe level, and she needed, tonight more than ever, to keep it casual. Despite her best intentions, she worried that her resistance would be low after so many days of obsessing about doing the right thing. She tried not to remember his stubbled jaw, his dimples, the sea-green eyes that cut through her defenses. Without her best friend, she expected it would be like walking into a party alone. She wasn’t ready to stave off temptation unsupported.

“What?” she asked, frantic. “What about Gravol? I could get you something stronger from the hospital; I could write you a scrip…”

“Believe me, honey, no one is more sorry than I am,” Sarah said sadly. “I have been ralphing every ten minutes for hours. I’ve tried drugs. I’ve tried ginger ale. I just can’t do it. I’d be throwing up all over your car the second we started driving. I would be no fun at all.”

“Well, crap,” Emily said. “What if we waited a couple of hours? I’m sure they won’t start playing until nine or ten…”

“It’s killing me to say this, Em, but there is absolutely no way I am letting you miss this for me. You need to go and I need to stay here and talk to the toilet bowl.”

“Oh, Sarah… I don’t know if I can do it alone!” Emily wailed.

“Of course you can, honey. You’re a grown-up. You’re a doctor for God’s sake, not a hormonal teenager trying to impress a rock star. You can hold your own in any crowd.” Sarah sounded like she was fading as they spoke.

“I’m not so sure, Sar,” Emily said, processing the prospect of finding her way to the concert and backstage by herself. That stuff had always been Sarah’s thing, anything that took nerve. Sarah was the bold one, the flirt, not Emily. Emily was the quiet, studious, just-along-for-the-ride type. “I’m…” she broke off.

“Don’t feel bad, Em,” Sarah said, mistaking Emily’s insecurity for sympathy. “I already feel sorry enough for myself. Go and have a good time. Tell me all about it tomorrow. Right now, I need to go puke again. Bye.”

Emily heard retching as Sarah’s phone clattered and the line went dead. She looked at the receiver in her hand. Now what? How was she supposed to do this on her own? Then again, it would be difficult to ‘get together’ after the show, as Trent had suggested, if Sarah was there. Sarah might feel like a third wheel, not that she ever failed to find something to do when she was out having fun. Even still, Emily thought it might be uncomfortable, and suddenly felt a little braver, knowing she wouldn’t need to worry about making sure her friend had a good time while she broke up with the man of her dreams.

In the background all day, too, had been Emily’s vague discomfiture about the entire situation. She hadn’t slept well last night, her fitful dreams full of anxiety images borne, she knew, of the continued and barely conscious sense that she was somehow betraying Thomas, even though her intentions were, she thought, honourable. In one barely-remembered dream, she was yelling at Thomas with a seemingly bottomless fury that left her trembling and soaked in sweat when she woke suddenly, confused. It was a dream she knew she’d had before, many months ago. It had occurred most frequently during the challenging time when Emily was most bitter about her widowhood, and the absence of her children’s father. It didn’t take Freud to figure out that Emily was working through her anger at Thomas’s death, and although she knew intellectually that it was a normal reaction, it nonetheless provoked significant guilt. She thought she’d got past that nightly reminder of the more unsavoury side of her grief, and the recurrence of the dream was disconcerting. She slept poorly the rest of the night, considering its implications.

Now, months after she last remembered having the dream, Emily wanted to believe she had worked through some of the anger, but the guilt remained. When she was at her lowest these days, she entertained herself by listing all the things she had to feel guilty about. Her anger at Thomas’s death, and her subsequent relief that his pain had ended, premature though the end was. Then there were the twins; fatherless in a rotten world, she worried constantly that she wouldn’t be able to compensate for Thomas’s absence, despite the stability provided by Ellen’s tireless efforts. And lately, of course, there was the prospect that someone may someday be vying for a place in their lives; someone who would invariably be compared to Thomas on some level by someone. Was it fair to put them through that? Could they even take to someone new after losing the one man that had been the solid foundation of their little world? Should they be expected to?

Of course, Emily reminded herself, and now added to her guilt list, Trent didn’t even know about the kids. Who knew? she thought. Maybe he’d hear about her ‘baggage’ and run screaming in the opposite direction, solving all her dilemmas in one fell swoop. At least it was her problem, not the kids’. It was only her heart that was broken again, not theirs. And if Thomas’s death had taught her one thing so far, it was that she could survive a broken heart. She’d had to, for Aidan’s and Ava’s sakes. No choice there. Now, though, she simply wasn’t willing to put herself in a position to have to survive another one.

Thirty Two

Emily felt instantly as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. After Ellen left the kitchen, she called Sarah.

“Hello?” a sleepy voice said.

“Oh, shit, Sarah, I’m sorry, I woke you up,” Emily said.

“’S’okay, Em. I worked last night. What’s up?”

“When do you work again?” Emily asked. She knew Sarah would not sleep again when she told her what was up, so decided to tell her only if she might be able to come along.

“Monday,” Sarah replied.

Good, Emily thought. I can’t do this alone. “Trent called,” she said, hoping her dramatic presentation would catch Sarah’s attention. There was a pause on the line. She heard Sarah scrambling around in her bed.

“Really?” she asked. Emily detected a note of disbelief in her voice.

“Yes, really,” Emily said, with mock indignation.

“Hey, why are you asking when I work again? That wasn’t just to make conversation, was it?”

Emily shook her head to clear it of Sarah’s veiled warning. “No, it wasn’t,” she admitted.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s invited me to their show Friday night.”

Sarah spoke in measured tones, barely suppressing obvious excitement.

“And you are telling me this… just to make me jealous?” she asked, and Emily could hear her grinning.

“He’s giving me two tickets. Do you want to go?”

Sarah screamed, forcing Emily to hold the phone away from her ear. She laughed. “I guess that’s a ‘yes’?” Emily asked. She couldn’t bear to tell Sarah that she was planning to tell Trent that they couldn’t see each other anymore.

When Sarah had regained control of her faculties, she accepted the invitation. Emily, trying to laugh, said, “How old are you, anyway? It’s a rock concert, not the lottery!”

“You don’t understand, Em. I love this band! I have been a member of their fan club for years. I remember when they played the Marble Club in town on weeknights. I was so jealous when you got to meet them! I have always had a major thing for Peter.”

“You are a member of their fan club?” Emily asked, teasing. “I had no idea.”

“You shut up. Oh, Em, it’ll be just like old times! Going out on the town together… I’m so excited!”

“Well, almost like old times, except that we’ll be accompanied by my children and my mother-in-law,” Emily said. She explained the plan.

“Well, okay,” Sarah agreed. “So we go in your car. At least it’s not a minivan.”
Emily laughed. “So you won’t have any trouble getting away?” she asked.

“It’s why I stay single and childless, baby. No one to answer to. I’ll be there. I’ll be the one in the miniskirt, with the pierced bellybutton.”

Thirty One

Trent called a few weeks later, as Emily had half-expected, half-feared he would. Emily’s first instinct was to ignore the call. But, inexplicably, she found herself answering the phone, not sure at all what to expect. Her final words to Trent had not exactly been pleasant. Time had steeled her resolve, and this time she was prepared to hear his voice, and had spent countless hours considering what her reaction would be if she ever did see him again. What she wasn’t prepared for was his friendly tone. No hint of the anger, nor the desperately sad resignation she had heard that final night.

“So what are you doing next Friday?” he asked. This was completely at odds with her memory of the man who’d unceremoniously agreed that it would be best not to see each other, a concession which, she had to admit, had bruised her ego a bit, in addition to what it did to her heart.

Emily consulted her calendar, and said warily, “Nothing, why?”

“Oh good, I was afraid you’d be working. It’s our last show of the tour and I wondered if you’d like to come.”

She thought for a minute. She had to admit, it sounded like fun. It had been years since she had been to a rock concert. Maybe, she thought with optimism uncharacteristic of her recent funk, she and Trent could actually carry on a civilized, platonic conversation. Maybe they could be friends. Feeling stronger than she had since the trial, the prospect was not as daunting as she may have thought then. Once that thought occurred, the idea of a night out was very appealing. It also occurred to her that although Trent had provided her with copies of everything that Uptown had ever recorded, she had never seen them play live. It might be fun to see Trent Buchanan at work.

It would be tough, though, to justify the night away from the kids, and for the three-hour trip each way, it would have to be an overnight stay. An idea struck her. What if Ellen and the kids came to Toronto with her for a mini-holiday? The concert was on a Friday; they could drive up right after school and make a weekend of it. She could see the band play on Friday, and they could hit the Science Centre or the CN Tower Saturday before driving back.

In an instant, she was right back to where she had been all those weeks ago. She wanted to put the brakes on, to turn back the clock and leave the phone unanswered, but it was too late. She heard the words coming out of her mouth before she could check her enthusiasm.

“That sounds like fun!” she said, and was surprised to realize that her reaction was genuine.

“Okay, then. I’ll leave tickets at the door with your name on them. I’ll have stuff all afternoon, but maybe I could see you afterwards?” he asked, with the slightest apprehension audible in his voice.

“Sounds good,” she said, her stomach in her throat, and needing to muster up more enthusiasm for the prospect than she wanted to let herself feel. If they were ever going to establish a friendship (and only a friendship, Emily reminded herself), it had to be founded on honesty. It was time to tell him about her family, so he could understand why they couldn’t be together. He deserved to know. This could be her opportunity. A neutral place, a crowd.

“I’ll leave two tickets at the gate for you. Or would you like more than two?” he asked quickly.

Who would she take? Emily wondered. Ellen and the kids? No, not appropriate for seven-year olds, and Ellen would insist on babysitting. Sarah? An option; she’d call her later.

“No, thanks, Trent, I think two would be fine. I’ll call a girlfriend.”

“Okay, then. I’ll see you after the show. I’ll find you backstage. Just let security know who you are and they’ll let you in.”

Sounded pretty simple. “Okay, I’ll see you then,” she said.

“Good. See you then.” He rang off.

Ellen walked into the kitchen at that second and found her staring, unseeing into the fridge. Emily sobered instantly and her stomach flipped. Oh, shit, she thought. Here we go.

“What’s up?” Ellen asked, getting a coffee mug from the cupboard and pouring herself a cup.

How to approach this? Emily wondered. She would need Ellen’s buy-in for the weekend in Toronto, but Emily found herself extremely uncomfortable with having to admit that it was an invitation from a man, even if he was just a friend. Another man was how Ellen might think of it. Although Ellen had never been anything other than a kind, supportive friend, and even though Emily was planning to tell Trent that they could never be more than friends, she worried. What if Ellen was upset or offended that Emily had been seeing someone else? After all, it was Ellen’s son who had left Emily a widow, and it was her grandchildren that Emily was hoping Ellen would baby-sit, while she went off to a rock concert.

Honesty seemed the best policy; Ellen would undoubtedly be offended if she discovered Emily had been deceiving her; besides, it had been three years since Thomas died. Although it had never been openly discussed, Emily sensed that Ellen wouldn’t expect Emily to remain alone for the rest of her life. The topic had simply never arisen.

“Is it the man you’ve been mooning around about for the last few weeks?” Ellen asked, saving Emily from her mental agony, and sitting down at the table across from Emily. She sipped her coffee, blinking at Emily innocently.

Emily’s jaw dropped. “What? How…” The idea of denying it crossed her mind, but she discarded the option immediately. What a relief, to have Ellen broach the subject in such a non-judgmental tone. She hadn’t realized how worried she’d been about that very thing. “Yes,” she finally admitted, chastened. “But it’s not like that. I mean it was, but it’s not now. We’re just friends.” She knew she was babbling and stopped to take a sip of her coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” Emily asked, looking sheepishly up at Ellen through her bangs.

Ellen looked Emily in the eye, and pointedly ignored her question.

“What’s going on?” Ellen asked. Implicit in her tone was genuine curiosity, and Emily could detect no note of irritation or disapproval.

“Well, he’s a musician,” she replied, not expecting Ellen to know who Uptown were. “And he’s playing in Toronto next week. He’s invited me to see the show.”

She took a deep breath, still feeling like a foolish teenaged girl, not a professional, a mother in her mid thirties. She felt like she was asking her mom for permission to extend her curfew. She blew the breath out and looked up at Ellen over her glasses, fully ready to be chastised for raising such a frivolous idea.

“I was thinking we could all go, you and me and the kids and we could stay overnight at a hotel with a water slide or a pool, and then on Saturday, we could do the Science Centre or something?” Her voice rose like a question at the end and she blew out a breath.

“Actually,” Ellen said, leaning back and obviously delighted. “I was just coming to talk to you about next weekend. I signed up for a one-day workshop in Toronto on Saturday afternoon, and wanted to make sure you weren’t working before I confirmed it. This should work out perfectly. I’ll watch the kids Friday night, and settle them down while you’re out, and then you and the kids can do your own thing on Saturday while I’m at my workshop. It’ll save me a lonely trip.” Ellen did not like driving alone on the freeways.

How could it possibly work out better? Emily wondered. Ellen’s implicit approval of the situation shored Emily’s confidence considerably. “Oh, El, that sounds perfect! I was worried you…” she trailed off, realizing that she probably wasn’t giving Ellen enough credit, judging by her reaction, and not wanting to hurt her feelings.

“Worried I wouldn’t approve?” Ellen asked, intuitively. She smiled and leaned in to pat Emily’s hand. “Of course I approve. You are a beautiful woman, Emily, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone else made you feel that way. You have made it clear that I am still a part of this family, even if my son is not here to provide the tie.”

Emily started to protest, to tell her it wasn’t like that, that they were just friends, but Ellen held up a hand. “It’s true, hon. I know you will always make a place in Ava and Aidan’s lives for me, and I appreciate that more than you could know. But I have expected for a long time that Thomas will not be your only love, just as his father was not mine.” Emily raised her eyebrows at this last comment, but Ellen continued without elaborating.

“We’ve served a mutual purpose for each other for the last few years, you and I, and I know that neither of us is ready or able to move to a different arrangement yet. I am happy to go with you to Toronto on the weekend, and I am happy you are going to see someone who obviously means something to you. I care about you and your happiness as much as I care about the twins. It just so happens that this time, you can help me out too, but even if not, I welcome the opportunity to be with those kids every chance I get.

“And I’m glad that you may have another chance at happiness, Em. I’ve been wishing it for you. As much as I miss him, we both know Thomas isn’t coming back, and you deserve to be happy. Your kids deserve a happy mom, too. Go and have fun. We’ll be fine.”

Unconditional acceptance was not what Emily had expected. She found herself unable to speak and tears of gratitude filled her eyes. She got up from the table and walked around to Ellen. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the older woman’s trim waist. Ellen held her fast, and together, they let their tears fall.

Thirty

Court reconvened the following morning, and Emily’s eyelids felt like they were lined with sandpaper. She waited until the last possible moment before the judge came in before entering the room, and chose a seat in the back corner of the room, physically as far from Trent as she could be. She remembered all too well the magnetic pull of his hand to hers, and was not sure she could trust herself not to recant last night’s conversation in a spectacularly public and probably futile way. She wore dark glasses, and remained inconspicuous in the crowd until he had passed her and walked to the front of the courtroom. She saw him looking around for her.

The judge began with little preamble.

“Firstly, let me say to you, Ms. Alexander that I am very sorry for the circumstances under which we meet. You have suffered a terrible accident and will no doubt live with its sequelae for the rest of your life.

“However,” he continued. “There has been no evidence presented here which gives me reason to believe it was anything other than a tragic accident. There is no proof of any negligent behaviour on the part of Mr. Buchanan, nor any of his employees or associates. Never having been a teenaged girl myself, I cannot comprehend what drove you, Ms. Alexander, to behave the way you did that evening. It seems a miracle that you are here today, walking and talking. Of course, I would encourage the exercise of extreme caution when driving a motor vehicle through a crowd of people, regardless of any other circumstances, an admonition which I suspect is unnecessary in this case, as the driver has shown suitable remorse.

“My question for you and your legal advisors, Ms. Alexander, is how this suit actually made it to a courtroom. There has been nothing sworn here today which indicates that Mr. Buchanan acted in any way inappropriately. For this reason, I must find for the defendant. I would have expected, perhaps, that the driver might be named; the fact that only Mr. Buchanan was named in this suit indicates to me that this was merely an attempt to capitalize on Mr. Buchanan’s fame. Worse, it was a cash grab. For this reason, I am ordering the plaintiff to pay court costs. This matter is adjourned.”

The judge banged his gavel and rose from the table. The room erupted into animated conversation, and Emily ducked quickly out the back door, into the anonymity of the crowd.

Twenty Nine

In the end, the trial was oddly anticlimactic. There was no dramatic closing argument, no tearful plea for justice. As planned, Trent was not called. Jackie was, and described the accident emotionally, but with no answers that provided anything particularly damning to Trent’s defense. Sarah was called and provided the same information that Emily had. The driver of the bus testified that they had all been tired and anxious to get to the hotel, but no one asked, and he did not offer, if Trent had encouraged him to drive recklessly. After two days of witnesses, Emily dared to hope that the judge had heard the story of a tragic accident, which happened to involve a popular rock band. It all seemed fairly cut and dried. Emily, who was the first to admit she was not the least bit impartial, had to consider it a waste of time and emotional energy. Even Jackie, she thought, looked anxious and depressed. When the defense rested its case, the judge leaned back in his chair and regarded the gallery.

“All right, folks. Thank you. I’ll have my decision ready tomorrow morning at nine.” The judge banged his gavel and walked briskly from the courtroom.

Silence hung over the room for a moment, and then shuffling papers and murmuring voices took over. Emily looked toward Trent, who was being hurried from the room by his lawyer, towards the crowds of excitable young fans, most of whom looked too much like Jackie. The cacophonous babble of their high-pitched voices swelled as the door to the corridor opened. She saw Trent look in her direction, but she failed to catch his eye as the door closed behind him, the murmur if the courtroom a comparative silence.

“Well,” Sarah said, breaking into Emily’s reverie. “I guess it’s back to work.”

“I guess so,” Emily agreed. They followed Fred out the same door through which Trent and his lawyer had disappeared, and ran the gauntlet of press and teenaged girls to the elevator. The second the elevator doors closed in front of them, sealing them off from the noise and chaos, Emily’s cell phone rang. Embarassed as the shrill squawk of the electronic ring cut the awkward silence, she grabbed it from her purse. Glancing at the screen, her heart leapt to her throat as she saw Trent’s number glowing there. Red-faced and feeling like a teenager sneaking around behind her parents’ back, she pressed the “ignore” button and sent the call to voice mail. She’d listen when she had a little more privacy.


There was no reason not to speak with Trent now, she’d done as much damage as she was going to do. Still, once she got home, Emily sat, staring at her phone, debating the merits of even listening to the message he had left. Would he be furious? Would he be friendly but aloof? Emily could imagine no positive outcome. Still, she was compelled. She was about to begin dialing the voice mail access number when the phone shrieked again. She jumped, and nearly dropped it. “Private Number”. It was how the hospital displayed; she answered it without thinking.

“Emily,” his familiar voice drawled.

Emily’s insides turned to liquid. It had not occurred to her that he might persist in his desire to talk to her, and with that one word, she was reminded of how much she missed his company.

“Hi,” she said after a moment.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m okay, I guess. How are you?”

“I’ll be better when this is all over,” he replied.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she agreed. “You must be pretty anxious.”

There was silence for a second, as she tried desperately to catch a tone in his voice, an inflection, anything to give her an idea of exactly how furious he was with her.

“Yeah, but it’s not like there’s anything I can do at this point,” he said. “It’s all in the judge’s hands now.”

Emily concurred and they made pleasant enough small talk for a few minutes. The trial, Emily’s testimony, hovered silently between them, studiously ignored by both. Emily thought she might scream, or burst into tears, or both. This is too hard! she thought. I just can’t do this!
Finally, they both spoke at once.

“So,” Emily said.

“Listen,” Trent said, at exactly the same moment.

They laughed uneasily, and Emily was reminded of an earlier time, when conversation was effortless.

“You go first,” Trent said, and Emily knew it was now or never.

“I’m so sorry about all this, Trent,” she said sincerely.

“Hey!” he said quietly, and with such kindness that Emily did start to cry. “There’s nothing to be sorry about!” She could tell by his voice that he was also speaking without equivocation.

“No, I am,” she continued. “I can’t tell you how much.”

He paused for a moment, and Emily was afraid he would hang up on her. “Listen, honey. You did what you had to do. You couldn’t very well refuse to testify, could you?”

At that moment, she realized that it was not just the testimony that she was sorry about. It was everything. It was letting herself get involved with someone that she obviously wasn’t ready to fall for, and would doubtlessly hurt because of that. Of that she was sure; if she could go months without telling him about her family, if she could go weeks without speaking to him at all, that must mean she was still too raw, to vulnerable, to fall in love. She knew, instinctively, that she would not be able to survive another loss like she had lived through when Thomas died. The taste she’d had of it when she told Trent, in the weeks before the trial, that she could no longer see him, proved it beyond any doubt she might have harboured. She could not withstand another broken heart. And she certainly would not put her children through it.

“I’m sorry, Trent. I’m sorry for how it’s ended between us. I really enjoyed our time together, but I just can’t do it anymore.” She heard the words come out of her mouth and silently, her tears started anew.

He was quiet, and when he spoke, Emily could hear restrained anger in his voice. “Can’t do what, Em? We never did anything. We never had time.”

She rested her forehead in her hand, warding off the headache that was tapping at her temples.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that!” he cried suddenly, startling her with vehemence that reminded her of the first night they'd met. He stopped for a heartbeat, and when he spoke again, his voice had calmed.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I knew the first time we talked that you had a past that you were not ready to share with me. I told you then that I could wait. Nothing, not this trial, not going without seeing you for the last three weeks, has convinced me that I was wrong about that. Nothing you could tell me would make a difference.”

Don’t say, it, she prayed silently. Do not say you are in love with me. To her relief, he stopped speaking and waited expectantly for her response.

“I can’t make you wait for me, Trent. I don’t know if I will ever be ready, and you have too much living to do to wait.” She spoke with regret and finality.

Her decisive tone must finally have registered. When Trent spoke again, it was also with resignation.

“Maybe you’re right, Em. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea right now.”

As she heard the words, her head agreed, but her heart broke all over again.

She tried to keep her voice steady. “I think so,” was all she could manage.

“Can I call you some time?” he asked.

No! her heart shouted. “Sure,” she said, knowing it sounded as hollow to him as it did to her.

“Okay. Bye, then,” he said.

“Bye,” she replied, and clicked her phone shut. Thankful that her children did not happen to need her attention at that moment, Emily curled up on her bed and cried herself to sleep, again.

Twenty Eight

Emily had no real idea what to expect. Her only previous experience with courtrooms had been as a witness, called in only for her testimony, and leaving immediately after it. This time, however, she found herself wanting, no, needing to be there for the whole trial. Fred wasn’t sure how long it would take, but he was confident it wouldn’t be more than a few days, and Emily had booked the time off work so she could be present for the whole thing.

In some ways, it felt like her presence might show Trent that she supported him, that, despite their final conversation, he might believe that she did care for him. Even though she was absolutely certain that he would not want to speak to her again once her testimony was out in the open, she inexplicably found herself hoping that he might. Her ambivalence was becoming quite distressing to Emily: at once preparing herself to be hurt, again, completely sure it would happen; at the next turn wondering if there was hope, and wishing like a schoolgirl with a crush for some sign that there was cause for confidence in a future with Trent. It was exhausting.

The judge came into the courtroom and took a seat at the table on the dais at the front of the room. He sat facing the defendant, the plaintiff, a girl Emily only now noticed and recognized as the bruised and bloodied girl from the trauma room that night. Today, the girl was dressed conservatively, in a skirt and blouse. She looked much older than her nineteen years, and Emily noted the crutches propped against the table. Not surprising, she reflected. She had reviewed the chart the day before and recalled the injury in vivid detail. It was bad. Another thing she didn’t want to confirm before the judge.

The judge himself was a kindly looking man, dressed in the typical black robes. He had steel gray hair and looked like someone you’d see bouncing a new grandchild on his knee at a family Christmas party. Emily felt some measure of relief on seeing him; he looked fair. For Trent’s sake, that was all she could ask for. Well, that and for him to throw out the lawsuit.

Fred had told Emily that Trent’s defense team plan was planning not to call Trent to testify. They felt that this showed he was not a factor in the accident at all. She wondered, briefly, if Trent’s temper might have played a part in that decision. Emily was to be called by the plaintiff, and early on in the proceedings. First, however, a number of Jackie’s friends were called to testify to the events of that night. All were impossibly young, and spoke in the teenage vernacular with the lilting upward-tone at the end of each sentence that made it sound as if they were asking a series of rhetorical questions. One young woman stated that they had been waiting for hours after the show for autographs. They were unable to get past the security detail who had held them back from storming the bus, but did manage to get near the bus as it began pulling out. Jackie, her friend said, had grabbed onto the rearview mirror, then lost her grip and fell as the driver slammed on the brakes. She was struck by the front wheel of the bus as it screeched to a halt. The young woman was still obviously shaken, and broke down a number of times during her testimony.

Soon, it was Emily’s turn to be called. She jumped when they announced her name. Numbly, and acutely aware that every pair of eyes in the room was on her, she made her way to the table indicated by the bailiff. She faced the bailiff, swore woodenly on a bible, and sat. She willed herself to look at Trent, but found she couldn’t make her eyes seek his. She looked at her hands folded in her lap and waited expectantly. The girl’s lawyer rose.

“Dr. Peterson, you were the emergency room physician who treated my client, Ms. Alexander the night she was hit by the defendant’s bus, were you not?” he demanded. Emily felt her back go up and struggled to compose a response that wouldn’t sound defensive, although snapping rudely was her first instinct. She was saved by Trent’s lawyer.

“Objection, your Honour,” he said indignantly, half-rising from his chair.

The judge waved it off. “Sustained,” he said. “Let’s stick to the facts, Counsellor, shall we?”

“Apologies, your Honour,” he said to the judge. Then, turning back to Emily: “Dr. Peterson, you were working in the Forest Glen Hospital Emergency Room the night my client was brought in, were you not?”

“I was,” Emily agreed in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

“And you treated her injuries?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Could you describe them, please?” he requested, his tone polite.

Emily outlined the triage and initial treatment of Jackie’s injuries. She had thought over her words very carefully a million times a day since she first received the subpoena, so her delivery was smooth and professionally objective. It sounded much like any testimony she had ever given, to the casual observer, but inside, Emily’s mind was working furiously. Everything sounded damning.

“And did Mr. Buchanan attend the hospital that night?” the lawyer asked.

Simple truth is best, Fred had told her. “Yes,” she replied.

“Did you speak to him at all?”

“Yes.”

“Did he offer any explanation for how my client came to be injured?”

Emily paused, and still could not look at Trent. This was the moment she had been dreading for weeks. “Not really,” she said simply, and truthfully.

The lawyer adopted a look of mock surprise. “Oh?” he asked. “Could you elaborate, Doctor?”
Emily sat a little straighter, resisting the urge to tug nervously at her skirt. “He said that there were fans hanging around the arena waiting for autographs. He thought that the driver probably hadn’t seen her as he was driving out.”

She braced herself for the next question, the inevitable. The one where the lawyer asked if Trent had given the driver instructions to ‘step on it’, if he had admitted guilt. But it never came. The young lawyer’s tactical error had Emily’s heart thumping with the adrenaline rush of a near-miss.

“That’s all, Your Honour,” the lawyer said.

Emily focused all her attention on Trent’s lawyer as he stood up to address her. She could feel Trent’s green eyes boring into her, and concentrated on maintaining her posture and processing his lawyer’s question.

“Dr. Peterson, you became romantically involved with my client after the accident, did you not?” he asked gently.

How to answer? Technically, the question required only a yes-or-no response. She did not need to elaborate. Even though she felt that they were no longer romantically involved, how could she deny, under oath, that there had been, was, something between them?

“Yes,” she finally said.

“Thank you, Doctor. That’s all,” he said.

Emily blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the judge. “You can step down now.”

That’s it? she thought. I’m done? Relief was instant and thorough, but tinged by the weight of what she had said. Silently, she stepped down from her seat and walked back, outwardly calm, toward the empty chair next to Sarah. Inside her head was spinning, and her chest pain was back. Again she felt every eye in the courtroom on her. As she passed Trent, she dared to look over at him. Again, their eyes met with a connection that felt physical, and again, his face was unreadable. When Emily practically collapsed into the seat next to Sarah, her friend took her hand again and squeezed. It took every ounce of self control not to bolt from the room, to vent the restless energy, the guilt, the anxiety that churned away in her gut. Emily looked at Sarah and her friend’s reassuring grin was the proof she needed to believe that her part in this nightmare was over, and that she had escaped, if not unscathed, at least maybe doing minimal damage. She hoped beyond hope.

Emily crossed her fingers as she breathed out a sigh of relief, relief that was mitigated by the unanswered question of what problems she may have exacerbated.

Twenty Seven

Sarah had also been called to testify in the lawsuit, so the two women made their way to the courthouse together on the day the trial was to start. On the advice of Fred, they pointedly avoided talking about the night of the accident, which suited Emily fine. Any mention, any thought of Trent had Emily’s stomach in knots. They had not spoken since their last phone call, and Emily was feeling like Judas, both because of her impending testimony, and because she missed him so much.

The courthouse was large and nondescript, an institutional-looking brick building situated on a downtown block in St. Rose. The courtroom itself, once Emily and Sarah were seated inside, was disappointingly sterile, excessively air-conditioned, lit by harsh fluorescent lights, and furnished with run-of-the-mill folding tables and stacking chairs. Hardly the aura of justice and fairness; it felt like a crowded elementary school classroom. And at the moment, it sounded like one, too. There was an informal buzz in the room that contrasted with the solemnity of the proceedings about to take place.

“Kind of uninspiring, isn’t it?” Sarah murmured into Emily’s ear, glancing around the room.

“They definitely need decorator in here,” Emily agreed. Sarah snickered.

They chattered nervously, and Emily’s eyes kept being drawn over her shoulder to the door to the courtroom. Any second, she knew, Trent would walk through it. It felt like a moment of truth. Would he acknowledge or ignore her? Why did the answer to that question matter so much? Emily’s chest was tight with nervous apprehension, so tight it hurt. Contrition had been eating a hole in her stomach for weeks; anticipatory guilt for her testimony, as well as sadness for the pain she knew she had caused him. She was glad she had decided not to eat breakfast; she was certain it would be all over her shoes at this point. She vaguely wondered if Sarah could tell how anxious she was at that moment. She felt faint with the effort of hiding it, but was fairly certain her best friend was seeing through her. Almost as if she was reading Emily’s mind, Sarah reached over and touched her hand. Emily looked up.

Trent and his lawyer were walking up the aisle to the defendant’s table at the front of the courtroom. Emily drew in an involuntary breath as he passed her. His eyes scanned left and right, obviously searching the crowd for someone; for me? she wondered. She dared not hope that he might still want to speak with her at this point, but was convinced beyond a doubt that whatever positive feeling Trent may have for her at this moment would come crashing down as she spoke under oath.

At the moment he passed her, Trent’s eyes locked on Emily’s. She was paralyzed with the electricity that sparked between the two of them with such force that she was sure it had been visible. He slowed his gait and turned his head to look at her. His face was impassable. His lawyer tugged lightly on his sleeve and whispered in his ear. Emily could not look away. Finally, he broke eye contact as the lawyer hustled him toward a chair at the defendant’s table. Emily felt shaken and realized only then that Sarah was still holding her hand, which was slick with sweat. She extracted it from Sarah’s and wiped it on her skirt. She tried to grin apologetically at Sarah, but her smile was more of a grimace, and Sarah leaned into her.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were having a heart attack, girlfriend,” she said. “You’re pale, diaphoretic, and breathing fast. Are you okay?”

For all Sarah’s excessive enthusiasm, Emily was grateful beyond words for the presence of her best friend at that moment. She nodded. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that I’m having chest pain, then,” she replied, attempting a joke. Unfortunately, it was a little too true to be funny.

A calm and experienced emergency room nurse, Sarah subtly took hold of Emily’s wrist and checked her pulse. Satisfied that it was normal, if a little too fast, she reached into her purse and pulled out a roll of antacid tablets. She shoved two at Emily.

“Here,” she said. “Some brilliant doctor once told me to try Tums before calling 911 in this sort of situation.”

Emily laughed, hearing her own words, and gratefully took the tablets. Chalky and reassuring, her stomach settled in minutes, as she stared at the back of Trent’s head, silently willing him to turn around, to look at her again. To give her some kind of signal.

“Wow, you’ve really got it bad for him, don’t you?” Sarah asked, nodding toward Trent.

Emily smiled weakly. “I did,” she admitted. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Why not?” Sarah asked. “I mean, you say he’s a great guy. You have a good time together. What’s the problem?” She made it sound so simple.

Emily paused before replying. “Well, I’m about to wreck his reputation. He could lose this case on my testimony. And Fred told me I shouldn’t have any contact, so I haven’t even spoken to him since we got served.” Except for that one tiny call when I said I wouldn’t see him anymore, she added silently, and the pain in her chest reared again.

Sarah whistled quietly. “Wow. You’re right,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You are about to single-handedly destroy a man here.”

Sarah turned to face Emily and grasped her shoulders with both hands. “How many times have you told me that the right thing will work despite the circumstances?”

Emily looked up at her friend, but remained silent. Tears threatened. Sarah continued. “I have never, and I mean never seen you like this, Em. Just wait and see what happens. Don’t write him off just yet.”

Any reply of Emily’s was cut off when the bailiff strode in. “All rise!” he hollered. Court was in session.

Twenty Six

The court date approached slowly, and as he had promised, Trent did not contact Emily. His silence seemed ominous to Emily: at one time accusatory and captious; at another resigned. Sad. Guilt ate at her, and a thousand times, she punched his number into her phone, a thousand times, she hung up without completing the call, not knowing what she would say. Scared about what he would say. If he would say anything.

She even stopped listening to Uptown’s music; hearing his voice was more than she could bear. One day when she was in the grocery store, wandering, distracted and aimless down the aisles she found herself singing along to a half-audible song that was vaguely familiar, being played over the PA system. Suddenly, it hit her with a jolt that it was Uptown, a song she knew front to back.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and Emily was cruelly reminded, with a sensation that felt like a punch in the stomach, of a half-buried memory from the weeks after Thomas had died. She had been at work, and had called home for some reason. When no one answered, the answering machine had kicked in. It must have been the first time since his death that Emily had got the machine, and it was Thomas’s voice, warm, familiar, alive, that greeted her. For half an instant, she thought it was him, back home, where he should be, answering the phone. Then, with a visceral crash, she was on her knees in the bathroom, heaving up her lunch, as paralyzed with grief as she had been, weeks before, at his bedside on the day that he died.

Hearing the song in the grocery store, a song she’d heard a hundred times, brought back that gut-wrenching feeling all over again. She left her cart in the aisle and walked out the door. She sat in her car and willed her hands to stop shaking. It took twenty minutes to calm herself enough to feel safe driving.

Contrary to the common wisdom, Emily’s obsession did not get better with time. It got worse. She saw Trent everywhere she went. On concert posters plastering walls, in the walk of a man just up ahead in the mall, in the lazy drawl of a patient or colleague. It was hard enough to avoid hearing his voice; she took to leaving the radio off at home and in her car, which helped. Even certain smells reminded her of him. She considered seeking professional help, but never made the call, knowing with certainty that any counselor worth her salt would tell Emily she was suffering from a garden-variety broken heart, which only time would heal. She wasn’t so sure she could handle hearing it, although she knew on some level that it was true.

Twenty Five

Emily’s shift that night was an exercise in self-control. Luckily, it was a busy night and the time flew by, with little chance for Emily to dwell on her breaking heart. When Sarah asked her what was wrong, she told her friend about the subpoena, knowing that the lawsuit was already common knowledge in the department, and found out her friend had also been called to testify. She flippantly put her mood down to concern over the impending court date, hoping Sarah wouldn’t read too much into things. The knowing looks sent Emily’s way by her friend told her that Sarah suspected that there was more to the situation than an inconvenient court summons.

Emily, for her part, chose to ignore the broad hints dropped by Sarah that she should confide in her friend. It was all she could do to keep her mind on her work; baring her emotional soul in the emergency department staff room was simply unthinkable tonight. Sarah, obviously suspecting that things with Trent had gone sour, tactfully and silently supported Emily through the shift and walked her to the parking lot at its end.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Sarah asked for the thousandth time as they stopped by Emily’s car.

“Yes,” Emily replied, trying hard to keep the exasperation from her voice. Her friend was well-meaning, after all. But even if she could tell Sarah without breaking down, she wasn’t sure she could articulate her desperately conflicting feelings.

There was Thomas, ever at the back of her mind, in her thoughts every single time she looked at her children, they were both so much like him. Although she had to admit that she was just now coming to terms with his being gone for good, she found herself wrestling with considerable guilt, both about her undeniable feelings for Trent, but, now also with the desolate sadness of her self-imposed exile from him. I shouldn’t be this upset, Emily thought. He’s someone I would never have fallen for if Thomas was still here. It was simply too much, she thought, to be in love with two men, one dead, one living but untouchable.

The fact was, thought, that regardless of how the trial went, it was clear now to Emily that she wasn’t ready for a new relationship. Her reluctance to fully commit herself to Trent, to trust in him these past weeks and let him into her life seemed now to be proof that she was making the right decision in breaking contact. The anguish she was feeling at the moment simply consolidated her firm belief that love always results in pain. Right now, the pain wasn’t worth it. Although she’d survived this before, and knew she could again, that morning, driving home from work, exhausted after a long night and about three days without a proper meal or a good sleep, Emily wasn’t sure she wanted to survive it.

Twenty Four

It was suppertime when Emily awoke to the sounds of Ellen and the kids in the kitchen. She dragged herself from bed, feeling anything but rested. She had to admit, though, that the intervening hours had taken some of the edge off, and she no longer felt quite so hopeless about the situation. Still disheartened, but no longer completely devoid of perspective. She got out of bed, knowing she would call Trent tonight, and talk as had become her strange norm, and find out how he was feeling about it all. Fred’s legal advice notwithstanding, she knew that she owed it to Trent to at least tell him why she wasn’t speaking to him.

Emily passed a pleasant, if preoccupied evening with the twins, and, after tucking them into bed, she settled in to call Trent. The knot in her stomach tightened when she saw he had called several more times throughout the day.

"Hello,” he answered.

“Hi,” she said.

“Oh my God, Emily it’s good to hear your voice,” he replied, and the relief in his voice was almost palpable. “I’m so sorry about this.”

“It’s okay,” she said trying hard to keep her voice steady. “I’ve been called to testify before.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” he said.

Emily rolled over onto her side and tucked her arm under her head. “No, it’ll be fine. It’s not your fault. You weren’t even driving.”

There was a pause on the line. She heard Trent take a deep breath. “I’m really scared about this, Em. She could have died. I told the driver to step on it. It’s my fault as much as anyone’s.”

She heard the pain, the naked fear in his voice. She wanted to crawl through the phone and hold him, tell him it would be all right.

Suddenly, though, Emily realized that this was precisely why Fred had wanted her to stop contact with Trent. Anything he had ever said could be considered fair game for the lawyers; everything he said now was charged with implication. She could almost hear some pompous lawyer asking her, under oath, “Dr. Peterson, has the defendant ever admitted guilt in this matter?” She sighed and closed her eyes.

“Trent, my lawyer has told me I shouldn’t have any contact with you until after the hearing,” she said.

“Oh,” he said after a moment. His voice was quiet and he sounded as defeated as she felt. “And you think that’s a good idea.” It was a statement as much as a question.

No! she screamed silently. “I think it might be best for your chances if we cooled it until after,” she replied, silent tears belying her steady voice. Her head ached and her heart ached.

He was quiet for a long minute. “Do you really think that?” he asked.

No! she thought again, desperately. But what would be worse? To break it off now and maybe keep from hearing something she might have to swear to later, or to ignore Fred’s warning and possibly jeopardize Trent’s chance for vindication? There was no right answer.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you, Trent,” she said finally. “I just think that there might be more credibility in my testimony if we aren’t involved with each other.” It nearly killed her to say it out loud.

“But we are involved, Emily!” He sounded angry now, angry and hurt, as if he knew where she was heading. “There’s no way that they will consider that irrelevant, even if you’re not letting it happen anymore.” It was a flash of that old Trent, the one she had met that first night at the hospital. The one the lawyers definitely didn't need to know about, not that there would be any way to avoid it, if they really wanted to.

“Maybe not, but I can’t risk your future, Trent. I’m sorry, but I really think it’s what we should do. Once this is all over, maybe we can try again.” There’s a lot you don’t know about me, she added silently. Like that I’m poison. Take your opportunity and run far, far away while you still can.

But Trent was having none of it. “I am not going to let this go that easily, Emily,” he said sadly. “If you really want to put this on hold, I will respect your wishes. But you have to know it’s not my choice.”

A sob escaped involuntarily and Emily remained silent, trying to gather her thoughts before trying to speak. Trent beat her to it.

“I told you I’d wait, honey. I’ll wait as long as I have to,” he said. “I’m a patient guy when it’s worth it.”

“How do you know I’m worth it?” she cried, her voice cracking. “You know nothing about me.”

“Oh, you’re worth it,” he replied with a confidence she did not feel. “I know there’s lots to learn about you, but I also know you’ll let me in when you’re ready.”

She sensed he wanted to say more, and waited until he spoke again. “Don’t do this, Emily. I can’t let you go.”

His plaintive tone ripped through her almost physically, and she believed that the plea was coming from his heart. She felt her divided loyalties all aligning themselves around her: Thomas, Ellen and her children, Trent, the girl from the accident, Fred, Sarah. Every one of them offering opinions, pulling at her, pulling in their different directions, until she thought she might break into pieces. There was no way to satisfy everyone. Emily felt utterly destroyed.

“I’m sorry, Trent,” she said finally. “It’s best this way.”

She clicked her phone shut before she could hear his reply. Hopeless again, Emily buried her face in her hands, and cried, inconsolably, for the second time that day.

Twenty Three

Emily was completely exhausted as she walked, immediately after finishing her shift at the hospital, through the doors of Fred’s downtown highrise office building. She had the lawyer’s letter and the subpoena tucked in her purse and sank into the large leather armchair in the waiting room. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and she startled when a pretty receptionist touched her shoulder to ask if she wanted coffee. She nodded gratefully, and was wrapping her hands around a steaming cup just as Fred came into the reception area looking for her.

“Emily, you look terrible!” he said, concern manifest in his voice, as he took her hand and pulled her up into a friendly hug.

She smiled ruefully as she planted a daughterly kiss on his grey-bearded cheek. “Thanks a lot, Fred,” she said. “I have an excuse. I just got off work. Oh, and I’m being sued.”

“Now you know that is not true, Em,” Fred held her at arm’s length and looked at her. “You are being asked to appear as a witness. Nothing more.”

Emily remained thoughtfully silent as they wove past the secretary’s desk and into Fred’s opulent corner office. She sat in the proffered chair as he shut the door, closing out the sounds of morning at a busy law firm.

“It’s more than that, Fred. I feel terrible.”

“What do you have to feel badly about? Were there complications?”

“No. No medical ones, anyway. But I seem to be falling for the man she is accusing of running her over. Who, by the way, wasn’t even driving.”

Fred contemplated her, neutrally, for a minute. “Well, it’s obvious you aren’t terribly impartial,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe you should tell me exactly what happened that night.”

Emily recounted the evening to him, feeling the dread in her stomach grow thicker with each sentence. She knew as she spoke that the little altercation she had with Trent that night would never reflect well on him, no matter how it was told. He came across as the arrogant, self-important jerk she had taken him for that night, no matter how carefully she chose her words.

As she finished the story, she looked up at Fred. His lips were pursed in thought, his fingertips tented before him.

“What has happened since?” he asked.

“Not much. We’ve been out together a few times, talked on the phone, that sort of thing.”

“Has anyone ever seen you together?” he asked.

“Well, yes. Every time we go anywhere, he’s constantly being asked for autographs, to pose for pictures, that sort of thing. We were even photographed in the Sun a few weeks ago.”

He spoke slowly, thinking aloud. “Well, we certainly won’t be able to try and keep it quiet, then. If it comes up, you will need to answer those questions truthfully.”

Emily’s stomach sank. It would probably not take much to wreck her credibility in the eyes of a judge if she had to admit her relationship with Trent on the stand. And what would that do to his credibility? She found herself more concerned than she thought she would be.

Fred interrupted her reverie. “Have you ever seen him act aggressively since the night of the accident?”

Emily shook her head. “No. I was pretty ticked about it when it happened, but he really seems to be different than that. I think that was his public persona, if you know what I mean. I really don’t think he’s like that.”

“Had he been drinking? Doing drugs?” Fred asked.

“No. I’m sure he wasn’t,” Emily replied firmly. “I really think he was completely shaken about the whole thing.”

“Well, that’s good, at least,” Fred nodded.

“What do you mean, at least?” Emily’s temper flared. “He wasn’t even driving! There were never any criminal charges filed!”

“True, but reading the file, his name was on the bus lease contract, and the bus driver was in Mr. Buchanan’s employ at the time. It looks like they are hoping to suggest that he had some influence over the driver which caused the driver to act recklessly.”

Emily sat back in the chair and rubbed her face with her hands. Her eyes burned with fatigue and suppressed frustration. There seemed no good way out of this. Failing to appear was not an option; appearing and testifying seemed doomed to lay waste to either Trent’s reputation, or her relationship with him. It was a lose-lose situation. She felt defeated.

“So what do I do?” she asked helplessly, leaning her elbows on her knees and looking across the desk at Fred.

“Well,” he said, sounding reluctant, as if he knew that his suggestion would be difficult for her to hear. “I think you should avoid any further contact with him for the time being. I think it would look bad if you were known to have an ongoing relationship with him, and we may be able to downplay it if it comes up, as long as we can honestly say you are no longer involved.”

Emily took a deep breath and felt as if she was about to cry. She nodded slowly, intellectually aware that Fred was giving practical advice. Inside, however, her thoughts were churning with unexpected despair.

“When it comes time to testify,” Fred continued. “I think you should answer truthfully. I can offer no different legal advice.” He saw the desperately sad look on Emily’s face.

“Don’t worry, Emily. I’ll be beside you every step of the way.”

She was suddenly overcome with gratitude at his professionalism and discretion. He had to be aware of Emily’s conflicting emotions; she was certain he shared some of them. Thomas had been a good friend, and she knew the older man missed him. It couldn’t be easy to see his widow moving on.

“Thanks, Fred. I think I need some time to digest this. I’ll call you soon.” She stood with finality and he came around the desk and gave her a hug. She leaned wearily into him for a moment, and then smiled wordlessly at him as she left, not trusting herself to speak.

The drive home was a blur. Emily collapsed into bed, but not before she checked her cell phone. Four new messages. Trent’s number had registered an even dozen times on the call display. She cleared it, but couldn’t bring herself to listen to the messages, knowing she would be better equipped to deal with them when she was rested. She squeezed her eyes shut as frustrated tears wet her pillow, and she fell into a fitful sleep.