Listed: Volume III (11 page)

"Like
you were what?"

"Broken."

Paul
made a rough sound in his throat and wrapped an arm around her to pull him
against her. "Emily, you're not broken. You're just sick. It's not going
to change how I treat you." He wanted to comfort her, but he wasn't
entirely sure if the words were true. The sicker she became, the more he would
want to protect her, shelter her, make her better.

It
wasn't right—it was just wrong—that there was virtually nothing he could do.

She
leaned against him. She wasn't crying. She just looked so, so tired. She didn't
say anything for a long time.

Then
she finally admitted in a small voice, "I don't want to die, Paul."

He
made another husky noise and wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly,
too tightly. "I know. I know."

There
wasn't anything else he could say. He was still hoping he could find a way to
save her, but she might be angry if she found out he was trying.

Part
of him wanted to give her a day to stay in bed and mope. She deserved it. She
had more reason than he'd ever had, and he'd done plenty of brooding in his
life. But it just didn't feel like Emily.

“What
about your list?” he suggested, “I know the trial has distracted us from it,
but you’ve only gotten halfway through. We need to start working on the rest of
it.”

“Oh.
I guess so. Yeah.”

“Maybe
we can get something on the list done today. That would be reason for you to
get up.”

“I
don’t know if there’s anything we could do today.”

“Let’s
check. Where is it?”

She
told him it was in the drawer of the nightstand in her room, so he went to get
it. He handed it to her when he returned and got onto the bed beside her again
as she unfolded it.

They
both stared down at the worn paper. Seven of the items were neatly crossed out.

Paul
smiled as he read a few of the remaining items on the list.

“Don’t
laugh,” Emily warned him. She’d perked up a little and was already looking more
like herself, with her eyes ironically amused. “I was twelve when I wrote
this.”

“It’s
a very good list,” he murmured, suppressing a smile with impressive composure.
“We can get up to Prince Edward Island sometime soon. Do we really have to go
camping, though?”

“That’s
what’s on the list,” Emily said with a quirk of her mouth. “I’d been reading a
lot of the Anne of Green Gables books and thought that Prince Edward Island must
be the most beautiful place in the world. Camping was the way I thought I could
commune with nature the most.”

“All
right," Paul relented, cringing inwardly as he thought about how cool it
might be there at night this time of year. "I'll work on the arrangements.
Maybe we can do that after your birthday.”

She
nodded as if she thought it was a good plan.

“What
about this?” Paul suggested, pointing to one of the other lines on her list.
“We could do the ice skating today.”

“Really?”
she asked. “I thought you’d have to work all day to catch up.”

“I’ve
already done most of what I needed to do while you were lazing about in bed. It
shouldn’t be hard to get that one today.”

“It
might be harder than you think. I’ve never ice skated before. I was going to
try to practice some, before…But I never had the chance.”

“I
can help you,” Paul said, pleased that she was cheering up. “You’ll pick it
quickly. But do we have to skate to that cheesy song?”

Emily
actually snickered. “I was twelve. I saw a scene with that song in a TV movie,
and I thought it was the most romantic thing ever.”

Paul
gave a resigned sigh. “Fine. Ice-skating hand-in-hand to that insufferable
power ballad it is.”

Emily
laughed out loud, her lovely, uninhibited laugh that he hadn't heard in several
days. Then she reached over and gave him a little hug. “You’re the best husband
in the world!”

He
wondered if she might really think that was true. “As long as you appreciate my
sacrifice.”

*
* *

Emily wasn’t a very
good ice skater. And she wasn’t a very fast learner.

Paul
didn’t really mind. He’d been ice-skating for years, since he’d played a lot of
ice hockey when he was a teenager, and it wasn’t particularly painful to teach
Emily.

But
she was getting more and more frustrated by her clumsiness.

After
about an hour, after she’d fallen yet again and Paul had hauled her up, she
groaned. “Oh, forget it. I’m never going to make it all the way around without
falling.”

“Sure
you will. You’re just getting too uptight about it. Try to relax.”

She
made a guttural sound in her throat and slanted him a malevolent glare.

He
chuckled. “What was that for?”

“Do
you have any idea how annoying it is to hear someone who can skate like a pro
telling me to just relax? Maybe
you
can just relax on cue, but I can’t.”

“Right,”
he said, trying to hide a smile at her indignant face. “Sorry about that. Shall
we try again?”

She
took a breath, squared her shoulders, and propelled herself into a slide. She
made it several feet before her ankle wobbled dangerously.

Paul
had been gliding next to her and was able to catch her with one arm around her
waist before she took another tumble.

“Damn
it!” Emily bit out. “Why can’t I do this? I’m usually good at things.” She
watched in outrage as a boy and girl of about ten skated by them with smooth
ease. Her cheeks were bright red, her hair was slipping out of her ponytail,
and her eyes looked very blue above the blue sweater that zipped up the front
in the light of the large indoor ice rink. Despite her grumpy expression, she
looked scrumptious enough to eat.

“You’re
doing fine. It’s not necessarily something you pick up in one day. Some people
take lessons for weeks before they feel competent.”

“I
don’t have weeks to take lessons,” she said, her expression relaxing into a
frown.

“I
know,” he said softly, feeling that pang in his chest that was distracting him
more and more. “We’re doing fine. We’ve got all afternoon.”

He
reached for her hand and gently pulled her into another glide.

It
took another hour, but eventually she was steady enough on the skates to do
what she wanted to do.

The
rink had been playing popular music on the overhead speakers as an
accompaniment to the free skate hours. But, when Paul was satisfied that Emily
could make it around the rink without falling, he pulled out his cell phone and
made a quick call.

In
just a moment, the song that had been playing was cut off abruptly and the
opening piano strains of a familiar power ballad filled the rink.

Emily
had been resting and leaning against a rail, but she straightened up when she
heard the familiar music begin.

Paul
glided over so he was directly in front of her. Then he arched one eyebrow and
extended his hand to her, his lips tightening slightly with irony he couldn’t
suppress.

What
had happened to his life in the last two months that ice skating hand-in-hand
to a saccharine song was something he was willing to do?

Emily
was grinning as she took his hand, her eyes sparkling with a matching irony. Then
they started to skate.

The
rink wasn’t very crowded at this time in the afternoon, and the other skaters
didn’t get in their way.  Paul and Emily skated smoothly as the ballad grew in
volume and intensity, with Emily clinging to his hand very tightly.

Paul
would never admit it to anyone, but he actually enjoyed it. Just like that
night when he’d driven her to Lake Collins for skinny-dipping, her transparent
pleasure and excitement over something so simple was infectious. Although she
still had to concentrate on skating, she was smiling radiantly, glowing, as
they circled the rink.

This
meant something to her—this fulfillment of a silly, childhood dream. She was
brimming over with it, and she kept catching his eyes as if she wanted to share
it with him. Paul couldn’t help but respond.

They’d
made it twice around the rink when the song finally reached its climax. Emily
slowed down a little and looked up at him. “Here comes the best part,” she
murmured, speaking for the first time since the song began.

Then
she sang the line along with the music, holding his eyes and the extended note
as her voice faded out.

Paul
laughed as the song ended, still holding her hand, feeling warm and amused and
oddly touched.

Emily
threw herself against him in a fierce hug. “Thank you, Paul,” she said, her
voice muffled by his shirt. “It was wonderful!”

He
hugged her back tightly, although he had to do some foot work to balance both
himself and her on the ice.

There
was a tear on Emily’s cheek as she pulled away, but she was still glowing with
emotion. Unfortunately, she’d gotten distracted from keeping her balance and
her ankles buckled dramatically as he released her.

She
squealed as she started to fall, and Paul reached out instinctively to catch
her, almost going down himself in the process.

“I've
got you,” he said thickly, as he grabbed her waist and pulled her against him,
the only way he could manage to keep them both upright. “I’ve got you.”

Emily
had started to giggle as they scuffled into a stable position, and she was
still giggling as she gazed up at his face. But, as he spoke the final words,
her expression transformed from gleeful amusement to something even warmer,
even softer.

Paul’s
breath caught in his throat as he stared down at her, trapped by the sweetness,
the fondness, the absolute trust on her face.

He
couldn’t remember seeing anyone look at him that way before. Ever.

He
had no idea what happened next, but they were suddenly kissing.

After
the first light press of their lips, Paul felt a surge of hot feeling and
possessiveness rise up inside him. Emily’s mouth was eager and willing, and she
opened immediately to the advance of his tongue. He held onto her tightly, both
of his arms wrapped around her, and his mind glazed over with pleasure and need
as he felt her respond to his lips, his tongue, his deep hunger.

She
made a little moan in the back of her throat that caused his body to clench in
desire. She was clutching at his shirt, and Paul had never felt anyone so warm,
so vibrant, so passionate, so alive, as Emily felt in his arms.

The
sound of someone skating by them alerted him to the fact that they were in a
very public place. And he shouldn’t be kissing Emily anyway.

He
tore his mouth away and gasped as he stared down at her.

She
was panting too and flushed deeply red. Her eyes lowered. Her hands were still
fisted in his shirt.

Paul
had no idea what to say. He wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t sorry at all. He
wanted to kiss her again. Right now. And he was afraid if he spoke, he would
say something utterly stupid, prompted only by this surge of feeling—something
like declaring his undying adoration or begging her to have sex with him.

“We
should probably go,” he murmured thickly, since one of them had to say
something.

She
nodded, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Yeah. I’m going to fall down again
in about two more seconds.”

They
slid to the exit of the rink and then took their skates off and got ready to
go. They didn’t say much as they did so. Emily kept slanting him questioning
glances, as if she wanted to ask him what was going on. He would have been
happy to tell her, but he didn’t know himself.

Emily
had stopped in the bathroom before they left when a man came over to Paul. “Excuse
me," the man said. "I think your girlfriend might have dropped this.”
He extended a little pink glove to Paul. Paul recognized it as Emily's. It must
have fallen out of the pocket of her sweater when they’d gotten off the rink.

Paul
thanked him and accepted the glove. Then he heard him saying something else.
Something foolish. And irrelevant. And entirely unnecessary. And certainly not
anything a stranger needed to know.

But
he said it anyway. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my wife.”

***

Paul leaned back in the
desk chair in the library of his mother’s old house and stared as the light shine
through the windows onto the parquet floor.

Emily
had decided she didn’t want a big party for her birthday the following day, but
she reluctantly admitted that she did want to see some of her old friends. So
they’d driven out to the house that afternoon after Paul had gotten back from a
few meetings in the office, and Emily was having dinner with Chris and his
family right now.

Chris’s
mother had made a point of inviting Paul to dinner tonight too, but he hadn’t
accepted the invitation. He wasn’t too excited about seeing Laura, who might be
joining her family tonight, and he didn’t want Emily to feel awkward with her
old friend, since Paul knew Chris hadn’t wanted her to marry him.