The bedroom to the left of Clay’s was empty, the bed neatly made, nothing personal on the dresser or nightstand. Cecilia’s recently vacated room, Emily suspected. Closing that door behind her, she crossed the hall.
Wade’s room might have been large, and it might have been nicely furnished, but it was difficult to tell beneath the piles of sheets, clothes, more soda cans, tissues, more newspapers—compared to this room, the living room looked as though it had just had a good cleaning.
Wade lay facedown on the bed, groaning. “I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die.” She knelt beside the bed, and stroked a damp strand of hair away from his face, much as she had with his son.
“I don’t want you to get this.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve had a flu shot. That should help.” She kissed his forehead, gauging his temperature with her lips. “You’re burning up with fever.”
“I’m disintegrating. Inch by inch.”
“Wade...has anyone ever mentioned that you’re a big baby when you’re sick?”
“Maybe,” he answered a bit sullenly.
“Hmm. I’m going to get you some juice and some aspirin. And then you can take a nap while I take a shovel to your living room.”
“You haven’t seen the kitchen yet,” he muttered. “I haven’t really felt like straightening up.”
She winced, but stood up with renewed determination. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hurry. I don’t want to die alone.”
Emily was smiling ruefully as she left the room, pushing up the sleeves of her sweater in preparation for a long, busy afternoon.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, after cooking soup and cleaning the house, cooling fevers and smoothing pillows, Emily collapsed onto Wade’s sofa with a weary sigh. She was tired, but satisfied that both of the Davenport guys were on the road to recovery, though admittedly at different stages. Clay was much better. Wade most likely had a few miserable days of suffering still ahead of h
im.
She imagined that she looked a mess. She reached for her purse, thinking that she would at least comb her hair and touch up her lipstick. Not that it mattered how she looked to Wade at the moment, she thought ruefully. But vanity won out
Her purse, as always, was stuffed. She dug into it in search of a mirror and a lipstick. She pulled out a folded sheet of glossy paper and started to set it aside. And then something made her look at it more closely.
It was one of the travel brochures she’d been carrying around for so long. This one advertised an Alaskan cruise, and was decorated with photographs of glaciers and forests, sunsets over the ocean, sea creatures frolicking in the waves. She remembered gazing at this advertisement and imagining herself finding peace and contentment on the decks of a slow-moving cruise ship.
Now she knew that all she would find on that ship would be more of the loneliness and the longing for love that had haunted her in Honoria for most of her life.
Wade had told her that happiness wasn’t a place, but a state of mind. She finally understood exactly what he had meant.
Just as she finally understood exactly what it was that made her happy.
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS later, Wade stumbled into his living room. Then he stopped, blinking at the transformation that had taken place since the last time he’d been in there. Everything was neatly put away. Fresh flowers had been arranged in the vase on the coffee table.
And on the couch, Emily and Clay were snuggled together while Emily read a Dr. Seuss story.
Wade felt as though a fist had hit him hard in the chest.
How was he going to say goodbye to her again?
Emily finished the story, then glanced up at the doorway where Wade stood. “Oh, hello. You must be feeling better. You’re upright.”
Embarrassed by how weak he’d been when she’d discovered him the day before, he squared his shoulders and tried to look hearty—though he wasn’t sure how successful he was since he had to hold on to the doorjamb to keep himself from swaying. “Yeah, I’m better.”
“Me, too,” Clay piped up, his healthier coloring supporting his claim. “Miss Emily’s been taking good care of me, Daddy.”
Emily had been taking good care of both of them. First, she’d bullied Wade into staying in bed while she cleaned and cooked and served. Then she’d spent the night in Cecilia’s former bedroom, getting up several times to check on Clay and to pump liquids and medicine into Wade. She’d brought him breakfast on a tray and hovered over him until she was satisfied that he’d eaten some of it.