Emma was still processing all the new information next morning. She was feeling okay, but she realized just how much she had forgotten. Also, she was getting a little restless staying at home, particularly with Maud away at work. Still, she was sure it was a good plan for her to stay away from her usual old haunts in town until Abner Gumbrel had announced her return. Hopefully, that would be in the next edition of the paper.
She completed a first draft of "Andi, Part One," and thought it was pretty good. She set it aside, and began to make notes for the second installment, which would include her meeting Mary and starting on their adventure together. It was still early. On a whim, she called the only place in town that she felt was "safe." Dwayne himself answered the phone.
"Aren't you even a big enough business to have a secretary?"
There was a little pause on the line. "No, I have one. It's just that we've rigged up the phone lines so that any calls from you come direct to me."
She giggled. "That's very considerate - and must be complicated, too. Thank you for taking such trouble."
"It's the kind of trouble I'd gladly take for you, but - alas - it's not actually true. You remember Becky, who was our secretary for years? She quit shortly after Abel retired. Her husband got a job in Pittsburgh, and they moved. I just haven't had time to fill in behind her, yet.
"Were you looking for a job? How are your typing and bookkeeping skills?"
She laughed. "No, not today, but thanks for thinking of me. Actually, I'm in hiding at Maud's, got bored, and called the only person in town - besides her and Sam - who knows I'm back."
"I'm happy that you thought of me, but then again, it's a little less complimentary when you tell me I'm the only one you know."
"I think I might have called you first, even if there were others."
He didn't respond to that. "So, what's this about 'hiding?' Are you on the run - in trouble with the law, or something?"
She told him about the planned newspaper articles, and about her meeting with Abner Gumbrel. "If I go to Shirl's, for example, today, everybody's going to have a hundred questions, and they're all going to be pretty similar. If I can direct them to the upcoming stories in the paper, I can point out that those will give them the facts in an orderly way. Then, if they still have questions, we can talk about them. Hopefully, that will delay their interrogation of me, and get them back to their usual gossiping about themselves."
"That sounds like good strategy. I also like the idea of you telling 'Andi's' story - unidentified, of course - rather than your own - if that makes any sense! I think it may free you to really open up about how things felt - and I think that may be the real story here - what it's like to have amnesia."
"Thanks, Dwayne. I'm glad I called you. Now you can crawl back under whatever truck you're working on. Oh, and Dwayne, hire a secretary!"
"Yes, miss. I'll get right on it."
***
When the phone rang later that day, it was Dwayne, calling to ask if she would go to dinner with him. She wanted to, but she didn't want to announce her presence in public, yet.
"I thought of that. It wouldn't be a problem if we drove over to Hebrides to eat, would it? Your fame hasn't spread that far, has it?"
She giggled. "I don't think so, but you never know. I think I'd be willing to risk it."
Neither Maud nor Sam had arrived home when Dwayne picked her up. She left a note, and they drove to Hebrides, and found a very pleasant little Italian restaurant. Later, Emma couldn't quite remember how they had ended up parked in his old pickup truck, dark waters of the lake stretching out before them, and dark skies filled with a couple billion stars overhead. It wasn't a return of her amnesia, just a convenient forgetfulness of very recent events, in order to concentrate on what might be ahead.
Neither had said anything for quite a while. Dwayne was first to break the silence. "I was thinking about the year we met."
That surprised her. "You mean when I was twelve years old? What were you thinking about it?"
"I was thinking that one moment I had been leading a relatively quiet life - suitable for an older gentleman - and suddenly you had taken over and immersed me in a very real, continuing crime drama. In just one year - actually, just a few months, because you were still going to Pittsburgh for the winter in those days - you had me involved in one murder by drowning, another by miscellaneous mayhem, one by shooting, and one related to a fake kidnapping that was supposed to be another murder - and eventually was, but in a far different way than originally intended. I think it's Agatha Christie that they call 'the queen of crime,' but it could have been you."
"You make it sound like there were bodies lying everywhere. Actually, some of those you mentioned happened 40 years ago."
"But you were involved with all of them. Didn't you call your newspaper stories 'City of Death,' or some such thing? That sounds like Chicago!"
"It was 'Tragedy Town,' not 'City of Death!' And, by the way, you left a certain event out of your list that was fairly important to some of us. You remember the one about the girl trapped in the row boat while a deranged woman shot at her, until the deranged woman was shot by someone else protecting the girl in the row boat? That poor girl - in case you've forgotten - was 'yours truly' - me, Emma Graham."
"Oh, I didn't forget. I just didn't think that one was up to the importance of the others."
"Duh-wayne!" She said it like she might have when she was twelve years old. "Actually, it was too much for me, Dwayne. I mean, no twelve year old should see two real dead bodies in the same summer! You may remember I asked you if you thought I was going insane. You said no, but I should have asked if you thought I might have a nervous breakdown, because I think I almost did, that winter."
"Really, in Pittsburgh?"
"Yes. When my mom and I left here, I was still really upset with the sheriff, and he was upset with me. None of the cases was turning out right, as far as I was concerned. As you know, my mother loved me, but she wasn't brimming over with motherly concern about a daughter's nervous breakdown. It was a hard winter for me. When I got back here, the Sheriff and I worked things out, but you weren't here for me. You were gone - completely gone!"
"Yeah, I know. I felt I had to get away for a while. 'Girl trouble'."
"Girl trouble? Not like babies-type girl trouble!."
Dwayne laughed. "I wasn't sure you know where babies come from. But no, definitely not that kind of trouble. It was tougher than that, in some ways - more philosophical. What was I going to do about my relationship with a certain female? I thought I needed to get clear away, and do something else. I went to California, and spent all summer backpacking and mountain climbing in the High Sierra. It was a great trip - I loved it! - but I came back to the same problem."
"Wow. I don't remember you with any particular girlfriend at that time."
"No, it was a little bit secret, and it was one of those things... I don't know exactly how to describe it. You know when they talk about somebody being from 'the wrong side of the tracks?' Well, it wasn't exactly like that, but it was a question of differences that seemed hard to overcome. For one thing, I was quite a bit older than her."
"How old? I don't even know how old you are, you've lied to me so much about it. I remember you telling me you were in your 'forties' - which you definitely weren't - then later telling me you were in your 'thirties.' By the way, age doesn't work in that direction. People always get older, not younger. Anyway, I don't think you're in your 'thirties' even now, or maybe just barely. So, how much older can you really be than this girl?"
"Well, substantially, let's say. I was getting to the point, however, that I thought when she turned sixteen that I would tell her how I felt, and then see what happened."
"So, what happened?"
"She went away - disappeared - was gone for two whole years, so I never got to tell her."
"Oh, no! Dwayne, I'm really sorry..." She paused for almost a full minute. "Dwayne, are we talking about me? You and me?"
He didn't answer, and it was too dark in the truck to see his expression. "You went to California because of me? Dwayne, how old are you, really and truly?"
He did answer, then. "I'm 28, going on 29."
She figured. "So, about ten years difference. Dwayne, there must be a lot of couples who are that much older or younger than one another."
"Not when one of them is 12, going on 13. I'm not Jerry Lee Lewis."
"Jerry Lee Lewis? Who's... You mean, Jerry Lee Lewis, the rock and roll guy? What does he have to do with anything?"
"He was 22 when he married his 13-year old cousin. I wasn't thinking of you like that - of marrying you, of romance, of sex..."
"I would hope not. I didn't even know what sex was when I was twelve - I'm not sure I do, even now."
"If it comes to that, we'll work on it, together." He quickly moved on. "But that's another issue. What I'm trying to say is that I certainly liked to look at you - everybody said you were prettier than any 12-year old had a right to be, and I agreed - but I just really liked to be with you. I couldn't say why, but I was aware that of all the people I knew, you were the one I liked to be with.
"It was really confusing. There I was - young, handsome, well-mannered, with a steady job and money in the bank - women of more my own age should have been flocking around me..."
"As I recall, they were."
"Sure, but not in the numbers that a young man in my status should expect. I was always off on some intrigue with you."
"Okay, but getting back to two years ago. You were going to tell me then, how you felt about me?"
"You had a pretty full plate, already, with your mom dying, and the hotel selling. But yes, I was going to confess my feelings. I didn't, but you may have noticed that, in a round-about way, I just have."
"Yes, I did notice that."
They both fell silent for some time, and Emma was beginning to wonder if Dwayne had fallen asleep. She decided to change the conversation.
"Not to ignore or make light of your confessions, but can we talk for a minute about Sam and me?"
"Sam and you? Now, that's a slap in the face to someone who's waited about a hundred years to tell you how he feels about you."
"No, it isn't. I'm just setting it aside for a moment, and jumping back to the conversation we started out with."
Dwayne said a few things about her ingratitude and lack of sensitivity, but she was pretty sure he wasn't really hurt or angry. "What were we talking about, before? I seem to have lost track."
"I was telling you about how upset Sam and I were with each other, after the year of 'Tragedy Town.' I went off to Pittsburgh that fall without even saying goodbye to him, and I wasn't sure he'd still be my friend when I got back the next spring."
"Remind me again what the trouble was about."
"He was really angry with me for 'interfering with police work,' as he called it, and I was upset because his only answer to every crime ever committed was 'Ben Queen.' Ben Queen confessed to killing Rose, his wife, but everybody in Cold Flat Junction knew he didn't do it. Years later, it only took me - a twelve year old kid! - an hour of my time, and the cost of a taxi ride to Hebrides, to show that he had an unbreakable alibi."
"But he did confess."
"He did, but anybody who's ever watched 'Perry Mason' or 'Murder, She Wrote' knows that innocent people confess for all kinds of reasons, and good police work requires you to check out each alibi thoroughly. Ben confessed to protect Fern, their daughter, from being convicted of murdering her mother. That was probably an obvious thing to do, but I think he was really wrong. Nobody would ever tell a twelve-year old kid the details of Rose's murder, but clearly it was really bloody, not just a simple mistake or overreaction. By taking the blame, he left a potential maniac loose to kill again. By not checking his alibi, so did the police.
"Then, Ben is barely out of jail for the crime he didn't commit, and his daughter Fern is murdered. Sam barely even considered another suspect before he homed in on Ben. Why in the world would a man who spent years in prison to protect his daughter, get out and immediately kill her? Without even considering alibis, it was just stupid!"
"But, Em, as I recall, you knew where Ben was, and didn't tell Sam. Maybe if Sam and Ben had talked then, it would have all been cleared up, and Sam would have looked for the real killer."
"Maybe, but his track record wasn't good on that score. He never looked for anybody else. Later, I even gave him the real killer - well, somebody confessed, but I'm not sure she really did it - and all he said was that what I thought I knew was just 'hearsay evidence.' Then, when Ben actually did kill someone - clearly, to save Morris Slade from being killed by Morris' son - Morris took the blame. But Ben - even knowing he wouldn't be treated fairly by the law - turned himself in, so an innocent man wouldn't be prosecuted. What does Ben get? Prison, for voluntary manslaughter! The sentence wasn't long, but he got jail time because of his previous conviction! His previous wrongful conviction!
"Ben gets out, leaves town with no wife, no daughter, no solution to Fern's murder, and with no good name left. Now, how is any of that fair, or good police work?" She paused for a moment, thinking about what she had just said. "Wow! How do I know all that? My memories from back then have been pretty slow coming back."
"That was a pretty important, traumatic time for you," Dwayne replied. "It's not surprising those memories should be so vivid for you. As for your question about fairness or the quality of police work, it wasn't fair and it wasn't good police work. We know that real-life justice isn't always served up as well as it is on 'Perry Mason,' but one certainly expects better than Ben got. I can't defend Sam, or any of the others involved.
"But you're not twelve, anymore. You're an adult, and I assume you've come to some settlement with Sam, that reflects the adult viewpoint that adults do make mistakes. Am I right?"
"I guess, mostly, but I still have some uneasy feelings after our talk the other night."
"I think that's natural, but you're obviously on 'good terms,' again. I mean, he has been actively looking for you for two years."
"Oh, I know you're right. It's just..."
"There's another side of this that I don't know if you - or Sam - have really given the consideration it deserves. Where you're concerned, Sam has four roles to play, whereas the rest of us old guys are just your friends and your playmates - you being the pied piper who has somehow enchanted us into to following you around wherever you lead us. Sam is in both those groups, but he also has to look at you through the eyes of law enforcement. He knows that police work is dangerous, that people can get killed - as you almost were - and that there is a lot of 'stranger danger' potential for young girls visiting the houses of men she doesn't know anything about. He's trying to keep you alive and out of trouble, while us other old guys are often aiding and abetting you in your potentially dangerous pursuits."
Emma thought about that. "Okay, you're right. I have been known to barge into potential trouble, without thinking ahead."
Dwayne laughed at that.
"Okay, smart aleck, I admit it. Be nice. Now, you said Sam had four roles."
"I did, and the fourth one may be most important, in the long run. He has to be your dad."
It was too dark in the truck for him to see, but she stared, wide-eyed, at him. "My dad? Sam is not my dad!"
"Isn't he? He knows - as you and I know - that your mother was a nice woman, but her parental interests and skills were both near zero. Your biological father died when you were what - eight or nine? You had nobody really looking out for you - nobody to worry about what trouble you might get into. I doubt that Sam planned to take on the job, but he loves you and there was nobody else around. In general, I think he's done a pretty good job, but unfortunately your sleuthing sometimes put him in an awkward position, and he undoubtedly came across less loving than he felt."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that he's probably seen more murders than he cares to remember, but it hasn't been his daughter who could have been the corpse. He's known about more kidnappings, rapes, and such than any human should have to know about. Sadly, you probably get used to it, but not when it's your own daughter who could be the one who visits the wrong man. It's gotta be tough being a dad under any circumstances, but worse when you know what's out there for the unsuspecting.
"You were so smart - so indefatigable - that it was easy to forget you were only twelve years old. Sam didn't forget, plus..."
"Wait. Go back to indefatigable. What does that mean?"
"That's the definition of you - tireless when you get onto something, unable to accept defeat. Those are great qualities, but they can be a little hard on the parents.
"What I started to say is if you need more proof of Sam's place in your life, how many men - other than a father, or maybe a husband - would spend two years of their life, looking for someone who might not even be alive, anymore? Sam just did that - for you, Emma."
"He did, didn't he?"
They were reduced to silence, again. It lasted quite a while, as they both pursued their own thoughts. It was Dwayne who finally spoke.
"I was thinking about our first kiss," he suddenly said.
"Really? I'm still trying to process the information you've already provided, tonight."
"That's okay. We can talk about kissing some other time."
"No, no, let's talk about it, now. What were you thinking about it?"
"I was thinking that it was okay for a first endeavor, but I was thinking how wrong it was for you to be experiencing your first kiss at age eighteen."
"I was thinking maybe it was a little disappointing."
That got his attention. "Disappointing? In what way was it disappointing?"
"Well, maybe that's not the right word. It was my first, so I expected my part to be only so-so. But I'm sure it wasn't your first, so I expected a little more excitement, or something. I don't know. If we ever kiss again..."
"Wow. I didn't realize I had disappointed you. You may recall that I was pretty apologetic about asking you, at all, realizing you hardly recognized me. And I wasn't sure if I was kissing Emma, or Andi. I was trying to be a gentleman about it."
"Okay, that sounds reasonable. But what if you had been sure of the ground rules, what would have been the normal procedure."
"Well, not to make the discussion too technical, I'd just point out that boys and girls begin to realize that boys and girls are different in their early teens - sometimes, in their pre-teens. Kissing is one of the first manifestations of these differences. Boys mature a little slower than girls, but at about age 15 they may begin to try their skills on girls aged 14, or so. This is not romantic, although there is some talk about 'going steady,' and such. Those who begin to think in those terms too early are doing themselves a disservice, as the period from 14 to 16 is meant just for general exploration. I am very surprised that you missed this exploratory period, as you were clearly a ready candidate."
"How do you mean, 'ready candidate'?"
"Well, as I've already pointed out, at age 12, you were already prettier than any other 12-year old girl in the area - maybe in the whole world!. By age 14, older men were already looking at you with an appreciation that they probably shouldn't be showing for 14-year old girls."
"When you say 'older men,' you are talking about...?"
"I am speaking in generalities, at the moment. Now, by age 15, boys and young men of all ages should have been gathering around you in droves, hoping to experience some early kissing with you. And by 16 - my god, Emma! I only saw you for a little bit before you disappeared, but the lines should have been going around the block by then."
"Where would you have been?"
"Hopefully, near the head of the line, but we're still talking in generalities, now. Where were all those young men for you between 14 and 16?"
"I didn't notice any. Anyway, I was busy with other stuff."
"Like what?"
"Well, studying and investigating and researching."
"But not studying, investigating, or researching young men?"
"Perhaps I had my eye on an older man."
That slowed him for a minute, but he regained his train of thought. "Well, you neglected a very important part of your education."
"Okay, say you're right. What is all this talk leading up to? Are you suggesting you could help me with some make-up work? Get me up to my proper age group?"
"I hadn't thought of it in exactly those terms, but that's certainly one way to look at it. I could certainly give you some background on the philosophy of kissing, and then maybe some general pointers."
"Is there a 'philosophy' of kissing?"
"Definitely. Would you like to explore it with me?"
"Well, we are just sitting here in the dark by the lake in your rattle-trap pickup truck - kind of a travesty for a master mechanic to own and drive - so I don't see any reason not to devote the time to educational pursuits."
"Okay, let's pursue that line of education. Now, the first thing that should be made clear is that there is no 'technique' to learn about kissing. There are different kinds of kisses - we'll get to that in a minute - but for kisses in general, each one is unique. Whether you kiss ten times in your life, or 100, or a thousand, each kiss is unique, tailored for the exact moment when it occurs. If you decide that you're going to do a kiss a certain way, you've violated one of the basic principles of kissing. Each kiss should just begin, and then go in whatever direction it wants to go.
"Now, the second principle is that there is no time limit - no obligated duration - to any kiss. A kiss should go on just as long as both parties are satisfied with its progression."
"You're saying there's no limit on the length of a kiss?"
"Well, I've never heard of an individual kiss lasting an hour, for instance. Usually, there is a break, and another kiss may or may not begin. But if there's no break in the action, and if both parties are still on board, then I assume - at least, theoretically - that a good kiss could last hours."
"Days?"
He chuckled. "Well, I think you'd have to come up for air at some point, and then if you returned to action, it would probably be considered a new kiss. But, I don't know - I guess theoretically, you could go days with the same kiss.
"Now, that's all just theoretical. Let's get back to reality. Probably the only real principle of kissing that needs to be observed, is that you don't go all the way to your partner, and he doesn't come all the way to you. All kisses meet somewhere in the middle - not a predetermined spot, but just wherever your lips happen to meet. The action can shift one direction or the other later, but the initiation should always be at a mutually-agreeable middle spot.
"Now, is it all clear, so far?"
"I think so, although when you kissed me, you came to me."
"Well, that was a little different. That was really starting from scratch."
"Okay. What's next?"
"Well, I repeat that there should be no 'technique' to kissing, but there are types of kisses. We shared one previously, what I call the gentlemanly kiss. It can vary in duration or intensity, but is usually the kind of kiss that just says you had a nice evening, or maybe 'I think I like you quite a bit.' It's not necessarily formal, but it's usually meant as a friendly parting gesture. That's what I tried first, apparently not as successfully as I thought.
"Now, there is another brief kiss that can start out like a gentlemanly kiss, but that develops quite differently. Both begin the same, but in this second case, for some reason your lips don't quite connect. They just brush over one another. For a moment, you might not even be sure you kissed, but then you remember that the almost kiss-lip brushing was actually quite pleasant. Probably, you both decide to move your lips back to try it again. Well, I should warn you that this can develop into something quite far removed from a gentlemanly kiss. I don't recommend against it, but you just should be aware."
"It sounds interesting."
"Oh, it is. So, for the rest of the types of kisses. Their purpose can vary from 'good morning, honey, breakfast is ready,' to 'let's let passion cloud our reason for the next two hours.' Usually, if you remember the philosophy and fundamentals, the details of those various types of kisses just automatically work themselves out.
"Any questions?"
"Is this just a lecture, or is there going to be some lab work, too? I'd be interested in a demonstration or two."
"I think that would be in order. What were you interested in?"
"I was intrigued by the lip brushing kiss. Could we try that?"
"Sure." He turned a little toward her. "Sometimes, it's hard to get in a good position in a truck. At least these old ones don't have bucket seats."
"Yes, I can see that could be an issue."
"Okay, here we go. You turn a little toward me. Now, remember the principle. We meet in the middle. Yep, close like that. Now, we just move our lips softly across one another's." They did. "Pretty good," he said.
"I agree."
"Now, we move back the other direction. Yep, like that." There was a much longer pause. "I think we should remember that one, for the future.
"Okay, what else?"
"Well, it isn't breakfast time, and I think we're a little early in our relationship to talk about passion clouding reason. Is there one that just says that I'd like to kiss for a while, here by the lake under the stars?"
"Let's just apply the philosophy and the principles, and see what happens." They did, for some time.
***
It was late when they got back to Maud's. They parted company with an almost gentlemanly kiss, then Emma went indoors. Sam and Maud were still up. Emma plopped herself down on the sofa between them.
"You're out a little late, young lady," Sam grumbled.
Emma linked her arms with both Sam and Maud. "Is that comment coming from a friend, the sheriff, Maud's roommate, or my dad?"
Sam gave a little start. "Your dad? What are you talking about?"
"Well, Dwayne has this theory that you consider yourself my surrogate dad - a substitute father, because I haven't had a real one for a long time, and my mom wasn't the most supportive parent."
"That's nonsense. Your rabbit-poaching friend doesn't know what he's talking about."
"I don't think he hunts rabbits, anymore. Besides, he's pretty smart, and pretty observant. He says that's why some of our disagreements get pretty heated - because you're not seeing me as just any girl, but as your girl." She kissed him on the cheek. "I think he's right." She kissed him again. "And I like the idea."
"So do I," Maud muttered.
Sam didn't say anything for a few moments. "Let me tell you two a little story, one that includes what was one of the happiest, but also one of the saddest, times of my life Not too long ago, I was sitting in my truck, waiting for a young woman who was going to ride with me for a while. I liked her and was glad for her company, but I was also amazingly sad. The woman had only known me about 24 hours, so talked to me as a complete stranger would, just getting to know somebody that she found she liked. My problem was that I had known her, not for a day, but for most of her life. I felt like she was Maud's and my own daughter, but I couldn't tell her any of that - not for a little while longer. It was a happy, but heartbreaking day for me."
He stopped talking. "You knew Emma," Maud whispered, "But Andi didn't know you. Sam, my heart feels like it's breaking just imagining that!"
"But you thought of me as your and Maud's daughter?" Emma asked.
He leaned against her. "Your rabbit-poaching friend is pretty smart."
Emma got up off the couch, and motioned to Sam and Maud to sit closer together. "Well, Mom and Dad, I really feel like I'm home, now."
***
Later, in bed, Maud cuddled close to Sam. "What you said, about Emma being your - and my - daughter, was so lovely. Is that what you really feel?"
"It is. I'd been thinking in those terms for some time. I was almost afraid to say it, but it's true. She is our child, mine and yours. She adopted us, as the best alternative she had for a mother and father, and in our separate ways, we adopted her right back. You've been great in your role. You and Emma have always been able to talk to one another, to share ideas and to brainstorm. I've been better than nothing, but I know I've let my worry about her getting into trouble become more important than working with her, so she can do what she needs to do without getting into trouble. I'm going to have some work to do in that respect."
"I think you're doing fine, Sam. Now that Emma understands your relationship a little better, I think she will agree, wholeheartedly."
***
Emma's introduction appeared in the newspaper, pretty much as she and Maud had drafted it. She gave it a day for everybody to read it, then decided to go visiting. She walked to the Rainbow Cafe first. Shirl acknowledged her, but like Emma had just been in that morning, and there wasn't much of interest in her appearance. (Emma had an urge to stick out her tongue at her, but refrained.) Charlene came out from behind the counter to give her a hug, and Maud waved from where she was waiting on customers in one of the booths. Emma spoke to the two men at the counter, but kept her distance. She'd never liked Dodge Haines - he was pretty touchy-feely with any girl or woman within reach. She'd never liked Bubby DeBois on general principles, but especially because he was the one who had been sleeping with Sam's wife, Florence.
"I saw the announcement in the paper," said Charlene. "I remember those stories you wrote when you a little girl. They were good, so I bet these will be, too."
"I think you'll like them. There's kind of something for everyone, as I'll describe the places that I went, the people I saw, and the kinds of things going on around me. The first one will be next week.
She had Charlene put six donuts in a bag for her (all kinds that Sam would like), gave Maud a hug, and went off to the sheriff's office. Maureen's greeting was a little more animated than Shirl's.
"Emma, Sam said you were back. Wow, you look good. No, you look great!"
"Thanks, Mo. You look pretty good, yourself. I brought some donuts to ruin your figure. Take two, any kind you want."
She did. "I saw the notice in the paper that you're going to be writing about your time away. I'm really looking forward to that."
"Good. I have the first article just about ready to go." She turned to Donny, who hadn't said a word but his thoughts were pretty clearly on what Maureen had said about somebody looking great. He decided that Emma was not a little girl, anymore.
"Donuts, Donny? Take two, and leave two for the boss man."
Sam had come out of his office, and was watching them. Emma brought the bag with the last two donuts over to him, kissed him on the cheek, and said 'Hi, Dad." He put his arm around her.
"What's all this about?" Donny enquired.
"What do you mean?" Sam replied. "Can't an old worn-out sheriff hug a pretty girl if she offers him the chance?"
Maureen gave a little hand clap. "I like it!" Then, she had to lick chocolate off her fingers. "I like this, too."
"You staying or going?" Sam asked Emma.
"I just stopped to deliver the goodies, and to say 'hi.' I need to make another couple of stops. See you all later."
Emma walked back down the street toward the Rainbow. The Orion Theater wouldn't be open until evening, so she couldn't say hello to Mr. McComas. However, just before the Orion were two of her favorite shops, Candlewick and the Oak Tree Gift Shoppe, run by Miss Flyte and Miss Flagler, respectively. Both women were probably in their '80s, Emma thought. The shops had doors that faced each other across a little alley, and the women were usually in one shop or the other, having tea. Emma loved to go in the stores, partly because they had really nice, unusual merchandise, but mostly because the women were amazing gossips, and didn't seem to realize - even when Emma was 12 - that the three of them were not the same age.
Emma went into Candlewick and spent a minute or two looking at Miss Flyte's wax creations before the woman appeared. She uttered a polite greeting before she realized who she was talking to. "My word, Emma Graham! What a lovely surprise." She went back to the alley door, and called across to the other shop. "Eustacia, put the tea kettle back on. We have a visitor." She took Emma's hand, and they walked into the Oak Tree. Miss Flagler looked up expectantly, didn't recognize the grown-up Emma, said "hello," that stopped where she was. "My heavens, Emma, you are a beautiful woman! Well, you always were a very pretty child, but... Words almost fail me!"
Emma gave them both hugs, before they sat down at Miss Flagler's little tea table. "We were talking about you just yesterday, Emma," began Miss Flyte. "We saw Abner's note in the paper that you were back in town, and going to write some stories. That should be lovely. We remembered the ones you wrote years ago about those Devereau women. My, that was a scary time for you - Isabel with her gun, and all."
"That was scary. The things I'm going to write about this time won't be so bloody, but I think you'll find them interesting. So, how have you to been?"
That prompted a variety of comments on life in La Porte. They asked where Emma was staying. "I'm staying at the lake with Maud Chadwick. We've decided that Maud and Sheriff Sam are kind of my honorary parents, now that I don't have my natural ones."
"Well, you couldn't ask for two nicer ones," Miss Flagler observed. "Tell us, Emma, what's happening with that rascally Florence, Sam's wife? We heard she had disappeared."
"I don't know much but, yes, she went off last year, and Sam hasn't heard anything from, or about, her since."
"It was awful, what she put Sam through, and she made sure that everybody knew it. Poor Sam, and good riddance!"
There didn't seem to be anything more to say on that subject. The ladies imparted some miscellaneous town gossip to Emma, then she went on her way. She stopped at Souder's Drug Store, and chatted for a few minutes with Mr. and Mrs. Souder. From there, she thought about walking down to Dwayne's garage, but decided maybe she shouldn't wear out her welcome there. (Although, she was pretty sure that would be impossible with Dwayne.) Instead, she walked back to the lake, and napped and wrote through the afternoon. She had the first three articles drafted by the time Maud arrived home from work.
Over the next several days, Emma made regular trips to touch bases with as many old friends as she could, and to spread the word about her upcoming newspaper stories. She thought she'd probably have to walk to Britten's Store, over near the hotel, to see the Wood brothers and Mr. Root - the bench in front of Britten's was one of their favorite hang-outs - but she found them at the Rainbow, eating roast beef sandwiches. Ulub and Ubub - not their real names, but nicknames based on their license plates - were old-timers in the area. They seemed to be fine both physically and mentally, but both had a curious speech problem, and most people found it difficult or impossible to understand them. Emma had gotten better over the years she had known them, but Mr. Root was the only one who could really follow what they were saying. In his '90s, frail-looking and suffering from severe rheumatism, he still managed to spend most of his time with the Woods brothers - snacking, eating, and bench-sitting.
Emma asked what they'd been doing, and Mr. Root "translated" (not much). He then started on a detailed description of his rheumatism. Emma let him talk for a few minutes, excused herself to greet everybody else in the cafe, then left to see some other people.
She decided on Dr. McComb for her next visit, so stopped at Axel's Taxi, and got Delbert to drive her out to his home. In what Emma considered typical Delbert fashion, he claimed not to remember where Dr. McComb lived, although he'd probably been driving taxis in town longer than Emma had been alive, and in fact had driven with her there several times. She prepared herself for a ride filled with inane comments and "none of your business" questions, and that's what she got. She said she'd call Axel's if she needed a ride back home.
Dr. McComb was certainly in his '90s, maybe a little older even than Mr. Root, but he was still active and spry. He had been the town doctor many years before, and had become an expert on butterflies, even having a published book on that subject. Emma's first visit to him was allegedly about her interest in butterflies - she had spent a whole half-hour in the library, looking at his book, so she knew the names of a couple of species. Her real interest had been in the town history, and what he knew and remembered about the Devereau sisters. He had instructed her on both subjects. She thought some of her later visits were mainly because Dr. McComb baked brownies every day, and they were delicious.
This visit was much like previous ones. Dr. McComb was out in his back yard, swinging his net at elusive butterflies. He greeted Emma briefly when he saw her standing there, then both went back in the house, where he removed a fresh batch of brownies from the oven. They sat at the table and ate a few of the delicious little squares before they began to talk. As usual with Dr. McComb, it was as if they were just picking up a conversation they had started recently, although it had probably been three years since Emma had seen him. He made no mention of her long absence, although Emma was sure it wasn't because of any forgetfulness on his part. He just seemed to consider life as a continuing process, barely interrupted by gaps in togetherness. Emma always found that comforting.
Dr. McComb hadn't yet seen the newspaper with the announcement of Emma's return and her upcoming stories. When informed, he expressed real eagerness to read them. Emma knew he was sincere.
When she was ready to leave, rather than call for Delbert, she called Dwayne, and asked if he could pick her up. He could, and did. They shared a brief, gentlemanly kiss when she got into the truck, then she asked if they could drive out to Mirror Pond to visit with Mr. Butternut. He agreed. As he drove, she told him of her adventures the past few days, especially concentrating on Dr. McComb.
"I love to visit with him, because it's always as if we were the same age. Even when I was 12, and he was near 90, it was kind of hard to tell who was younger or older. He's certainly no respecter of persons."
"No respecter of persons," Dwayne repeated.
"Dwayne, I don't mean that he doesn't respect people. He respects everybody."
"No, I know what you mean. "Being 'no respecter of persons' just means that you treat everybody just the same - whether they're old or young, man or woman, rich or poor, the President or me... Everybody deserves the same attention and consideration. You don't kowtow to the Mayor, just because he is the Mayor."
"Cow tow?"
"No, not 'cow,' as in cattle. 'Kowtow' - with a 'k' - means to bow down to somebody - show them more respect than they necessarily deserve, just because of their job or their money."
"I know, Duh-wayne" - she gave the name her 12-year old whine - "I'm teasing you but, yes, that is what I mean about Dr. McComb. It's very restful to talk to him."
Emma had Dwayne stop briefly at a grocery store, then they continued on to Mirror Pond and Mr. Butternut's house. Apparently, there had once been a significant little community in the area, but the Butternut house - over 100 years old - was the only one still standing, and occupied. Mr. Butternut himself was over 90 years old. He had been involved with Emma and Dwayne on some of their early adventures, and he invited them up to his house. Before they got to the door, he seemed about to reconsider.
"You can come in and have some cocoa, but under no circumstances am I going to go with you to that death house."
The "death house" in question was a shack called Brokedown House, that sometime in the past had been a family residence, but now was just a decaying structure back in the woods. It was a "death house," because Ben Queen had shot and killed the son of Morris Slate there, just as the son was about to kill his father. Dwayne assured the old man that they weren't going in there - although he glanced at Emma to make sure he was telling the truth.
On previous visits, Emma had cocoa with Mr. Butternut, but he always was just about out of marshmallows, and the one or two he had always seemed to end up in his cup, not Emma's. As a surprise for the old man - and a guarantee that she would have marshmallows in her cocoa - when she had Dwayne stop at the market, she had bought a large bag of them. After taking some for herself, she presented the bag to Mr. Butternut. Dwayne had declined cocoa, but had taken several marshmallows from the bag. When Mr. Butternut turned away for a moment, he dropped them into Emma's already frothy, sugary mix. She was appreciative.
Mr. Butternut didn't subscribe to the "Conservative," but usually saw it, so Emma told him about her upcoming stories. He expressed surprise that she had been gone for two years, but said he would be sure to read her memoirs.
Back in the truck, Emma commented on what she considered the strangeness of most of her meetings since she'd been home. "It's like I never left. Everybody acts as if they saw me yesterday - or this morning! - and we're just picking up a recent unfinished conversation."
"Yeah, I'm wondering if maybe we're in a time warp, or whatever they call it in the sci-fi movies. I mean, right now I could be riding along in my truck with my precocious 12-year old friend."
Emma waited a bit before she replied. "There's maybe a little difference. I don't recall you ever hugging your 12-year old friend, and I'm pretty sure you never kissed her - not even a gentlemanly kiss."
Dwayne didn't turn to look at her, but she could see the grin spread across his face. "Yeah, I guess not everything got caught in the time warp."
Emma let him think about that for a while, before she had her next observation. "Have you noticed that almost all of my friends are over 80 - some of them over 90? I mean, Maud and Sam are old, but not that old."
He glanced over at her. "Did you perhaps forget one of your friends who is not over 80?"
"You mean you? Well, you had to lie about your age to get accepted into the group. You couldn't possibly make me believe 80, but you pushed it as high as you thought you could get away with."
He gave a short laugh. "As if I wanted to be in your group! I couldn't get away from you. I'd even try to hide under one of the cars I was working on, and then - suddenly - there you were, right under there with me."
It was her turn to smile. "I was, wasn't I? It must have been horrible for you, always having a 12-year old kid traipsing after you."
"It certainly seems like it must have been, but I don't exactly remember it that way. Maybe the fact that you carried my sack of rabbits made it seem more acceptable. Say, to change the subject, would you like to go out and eat, or something?"
"I didn't tell Maud I'd be late, tonight." He felt a considerable disappointment. "But a phone call could take care of that."
"I know where there's a phone." He drove them back into town, took a side street she wasn't very familiar to her, and stopped in front of a small house. It was old, but nicely kept, with a patch of lawn and a few roses. "There's a phone in there," he explained.
She looked at the house, and looked at him. "Who lives here?"
"A master mechanic friend of yours."
"You live here?" He nodded. "Is it yours?" He nodded. "For how long?"
"I'm not sure I understand the question. For as long as I want, I guess."
"You mean you actually own it? You own this and a garage?"
"Well, technically, the bank and I have joint ownership of the garage. This is mine, free and clear. It was my mom's, and it came to me when she died. Are you going to come in, and make that phone call?"
Emma hesitated. "Do you have a roommate, or a housekeeper, or somebody who lives with you?"
"No, just me. Come on." Still, she hesitated. "Emma, you've known me since you were twelve. I am completely harmless."
She went in the house with him, and he directed her to the phone. She called Maud. "Hi Maud, Dwayne took me out to Mirror Pond to visit with Mr. Butternut. I thought I better call to say why I was late. I'm at his house now. Did you know he has a house?"
"No, I did not. Where is it?"
" Not far from the garage. I don't have the full story, but he lived here with his mother. Say, Maud, I need a little advice." She glanced over at Dwayne, who smiled back at her. "I'm here all alone with Dwayne. He told me that he is harmless. I heard that you once said Sam was harmless. Is that good?"
"Well, there are several ways to look at that."
"So, do you have any advice for me?"
"I suggest keeping a table between you, and watching him like a hawk."
"Maud!"
"You asked."
Emma hung up the phone, and sat down across the table from Dwayne.
"Well, Em, did Maud give me a good review?"
"Mixed, I would say."
Dwayne laughed. "Well, I guess I'll accept that. Now, do you want to go out to dinner? If not, I could make us something here. My repertoire is somewhat limited, but I'm very good at what I can do."
Emma gave that some thought. "I'm not really terribly hungry, and I don't especially want to go out, anywhere. Why don't you give it a shot?"
Dwayne busied himself around the refrigerator, stove, and frying pan, and concocted a Mexican style omelet out of eggs, Monterey jack cheese, and mild green peppers. "I'm a little short on ingredients. I'd usually include some onion, and maybe some avocado, but I think it will be edible."
Emma agreed that it was. They ate leisurely, and enjoyed each other's company, then Emma stood and suggested that Dwayne take her home.
He stood up by her "Do you have time for a quick lesson?" Not waiting for her answer, he put his arms around her, and held her so that their faces were less than a foot apart. He started to move his lips toward her, hers responded similarly, and - just like the rules said - the kiss began in the middle ground between them. Apparently, both were pleased with the result, and they enjoyed it for 30 seconds or so. Without leaving his embrace, Emma leaned away from him.
"Dwayne, what are we doing?"
"We are kissing." He leaned back into her, and let their lips touch momentarily.
"I was aware of that, but it isn't exactly what I meant. What are we doing in the longer run?"
He moved her over to the couch, and they sat down. "As I recall, this started because I was concerned about your lack of osculatory experience, and offered to help you attain the usual standards of an 18-year old. You accepted, and as tutor and tutee, we have had one brief lesson, and one considerably longer one. You have shown signs of being an excellent student, and I am willing to continue the course until we're sure you are completely ready to match your skills against any other 18-year old."
She gazed at him, seeming to want to read his thoughts. "Well, I am learning, and I am liking the lessons."
"That always makes a tutor feel good about the lessons."
"What I'm wondering about is if I should be liking them sort of generically - you know, for future reference - or should I be liking them because we are kissing one another? I ask this because - from the start - I felt your kisses were for me, not just some tutee - is that actually a word, by the way? Similarly, I feel that my kisses are already meant specifically for this tutor, not for some recipient currently distant in time. Is that how it's supposed to be working?"
Dwayne gave a little uneasy laugh. "Em, if I wanted to make you smile, I would tell you that kissing you makes me happier than anything in my life, even happier than shooting rabbits or working under some old car. That would actually be true, but that's because I have been viewing you with an adult mind for long enough to know that having you as my friend is priceless to me. I've also had enough 'adult' thoughts about you - and us - to be unable to kiss you without some anticipation of future developments.
"But, Emma, I keep remembering that old saying about not having a level playing field. Yours and mine is not level - not anywhere near level! I had kind of a standard childhood, as far as boy-girl matters go. I kissed some girls - not many, really. Later, I shared some romance and even a little sex - but not much! You, on the other hand, hadn't kissed anyone before your chances were kind of stolen away from you. You were too young for romance and sex - you're still too young for the latter - but it's during those mid-teen years that boys and girls usually start thinking of such things. You weren't, and really couldn't, under the circumstances. Similarly, I have had quite a few years to think about my relationship with you, as it changed from pesky but loveable little friend to candidate for love, and maybe eventually marriage and sex. With me, you went almost directly from carrying my illegal rabbits around in a sack to being kissed by a relative stranger. Actually, you're still partly a stranger to yourself, with the memories still trickling in.
"What I trying to say is that maybe this with us started a little fast. I shouldn't have asked to hold and kiss you that first time we saw each other. That wasn't fair to you, in your still confused state. And parking by the lake... Should we maybe slow things down a bit?"
Emma sat silently beside him long enough for him to be concerned. "Emma?"
"Just a minute, Dwayne. I was thinking about some 'dos' and 'don'ts' we might want to consider." She put her arms around his neck. "First, we should probably never kiss when we're sitting close together, like this." She proceeded to kiss him. He was too surprised to object. "Second, we should absolutely never kiss when we're completely alone together." With her arms still around him, the second kiss lingered a little longer than the first. He seemed unable to speak. "Third - and probably most important - we should never kiss when we're absolute alone in the home of a master mechanic." That kiss gave every indication of going on forever. Dwayne finally gulped for air, and leaned away from her.
"Em, I don't think you got my message."
She took her arms away from his neck, but stationed herself very closely beside him. "No, I understood you, and agreed with most of it. I do think we shouldn't put ourselves in situations where kissing is the probable and logical outcome. I think we should do a lot together, but do much of it in the company of others. But I will not stop kissing you.
"I don't think you made a mistake with that first hug and kiss. It was definitely surprising, but it was a good surprise. It got me thinking about you - how much I remembered about our past, together - and these later kisses have started me assessing you as a future husband or lover. That's not bad. We're not going to make those kind of decisions anytime soon - as you said, I'm too young - but it just seems proper to be prepared. Besides, at one time you said - well, I think it kind of slipped out - if sex ever came up as an issue, we'd work it out together. I don't know exactly what you meant by that, but I think I'm going to have real trouble finding anybody better than you to 'work it out' with."
Dwayne felt more than a little confused. "So, we're not going to stop kissing?"
"Well, I'm not, and I'm hoping that when I put my lips out in that neutral space, that yours will be there to meet mine. While you think about that, why don't you take me home?"
When Emma arrived home, Maud asked if she had followed the advice given. "Partly," Emma replied.
***
Emma had one other visit she wanted to make before her first story appeared. Next morning, she walked to the railway station, and caught the train to Cold Flat Junction. Cold Flat was 14 miles from La Porte, and the train trip took 18 minutes. She had made the trip a number of times by herself when she was only 12 years old. It seemed almost scary to think about now, but at twelve nothing had seemed scary enough to keep her from doing it.
She walked down the windy street to the Windy Run Diner. She stopped outside the door, and smiled as she thought to herself about what would happen when she opened it, and stepped inside. She did.
"Well, look what the wind just blowed in here!" exclaimed Evren, one of the Windy Run regulars. It was probably more than three years since she'd last been there, and Evren had said much the same thing that time. She knew from recent experience that not everything stayed the same, but a lot sure did.
Everybody in the diner had looked up when Evren made his pronouncement. "Hi, Emma," said Louise Snell, the proprietor, as if it had only been yesterday. "Want something to eat?"
Emma sat on one of the stools at the counter. "I think maybe just a Coke for now, thanks." She glanced around, and nodded to various people. She thought she recognized everybody - Don Joe, Billy, Mervin (without his wife, today), and of course Evren. In her mind, she pictured them all just sitting where she left them so long ago. Maybe they had never gone home - had been sitting here the whole time, just waiting for her to return.
Don Joe started to comment on what a good-looking woman Emma had become. Louise told him to shut up, and mind his manners. "We were talking about you, Emma, cuz we'd seen the note in the paper about you being back home. I'm not sure we've seen you since before your mom died."
"No, you're right, it would have been before then."
"I didn't know your mom very well, since I was always working here and she was always at the hotel, but we all knew about her cooking, especially her desserts. One time - oh, that was years ago - me and a couple of the other Cold Flat women snuck over there for lunch. I still remember it was as delicious as people said it was."
"Thanks. She really was a super cook."
Mervin spoke up now. "The paper says you're going to be writing some stories. They going to be adventures, like those ones you did about the murders?"
"No murders, Mervin, but they're about a pretty interesting adventure, something that happened during the two years I was away from Garrett County. I think you'll like them."
"What's the adventure?" Billy asked quickly, because he knew Don Joe would cut him off, if he slowed down."
"I'd kind of like people to read the stories first, and then we could talk about them better. I will say that it's about a girl who had amnesia."
"Amnesia?" asked Louise. "You mean she didn't know who she was?"
"That's right, and her amnesia was really serious. I guess there can be all degrees of what you remember, but she went almost two years, wandering from place to place, not knowing one thing about herself - who she was, where she came from, how old she was... Well, you can just imagine how strange that would be."
"That does sound like quite a story, " Louise observed.
It would be a while before the return train, so Emma eventually ordered lunch (chili - almost as good as at the Rainbow), and heard all the latest Cold Flat gossip. During her trips here when she was twelve, she'd visited quite a few people living out in the hills around the Junction, and now asked about most of them. She was interested, but she also asked out of mischief. She knew if she posed any question to this bunch, it would start a round-robin of arguments, misinformation, and guesses that could go on for a long, long time. It did. She was actually a little surprised that, at no time, did Don Joe comment about how he knew Alaska was a state. (She had corrected him once, when he talked about "the 48 states," and she was pretty sure he'd brought it up every time she visited, after that.)
The Hotel Paradise came up in the conversation, and Emma commented on how Sam had surprised her by taking her there when they first came into Spirit Lake. "I thought it had been torn down, yet there it was, empty but looking just like it had when I left."
There were questions about why it was still standing. Emma explained what Sam had told her about the trouble selling off building lots. "It's such a nice old building, and so full of my early memories, I wish it didn't have to be destroyed."
"Is it a historic building?" Mervin asked.
"Well, it's pretty old. I don't know about historic."
"No, I was thinking about how the State decides that certain old places have some special story - could be just real old, but more likely somebody famous lived there, or something important happened there, or the design itself was different from other buildings. Our train station is an official historic site, and that bunch of hotels out by the old Chautauqua grounds is called a whole historic district."
"No, I don't think I ever heard anybody call the Paradise historic."
"Well, I was just thinking that, if the State decided it was historic, they shouldn't have been able to sell it."
Evren jumped right in. "That's not so, Mervin. They coulda sold it. They just couldn't of torn it down."
Mervin considered that. "I believe that's right. If it was a historic site, it could be sold, all right, but the new owner would have to keep doing whatever the old owners had been doing with it - keeping it repaired, or whatever."
"I'm sure it was never designated," said Emma, "But I don't know if that was ever considered. I should look into that."
"Well, what I was thinking," Mervin continued, "You might still find out that it was historic, and have the State put it on their official list. Then, maybe it couldn't be torn down, and maybe the new owners wouldn't want to do whatever the State required, and would end up wanting to sell the place, maybe for less than they paid, just to get it off their hands."
"That really is an interesting idea."
***
Emma was thinking about it later, as she sat at the train station, waiting for her transportation home. It would be nice to save the hotel, but she didn't know why anyone would want to buy it. The days of hotel business at Spirit Lake were long gone, she was sure, and any owner would be in the same fix that her family had been in. Well, it was worth looking into, anyway.
She remembered that Sam had talked about the train station and hotel historic area. They had built the big, fancy station because they thought the Chautauqua craze would go on forever, and there would be regular tourist trains. The parking meters in town were the result of the same belief that tourists would be crowding the streets of La Porte for years to come. Well, they had the station and the parking meters. They just didn't have the trains and the cars and the visitors that went with them.
Emma found herself thinking about The Girl. This was the first place Emma had seen her, on this very platform. She'd seen her several more times that year, twice at the Devereau house across Spirit Lake. The way to the old deserted Devereau place was so overgrown that nobody would be there unless they intended to go there. The Girl must have looked almost identical to how Rose Queen would have looked at that age, and Rose was a Devereau. Emma first saw The Girl about the time that Fern Queen, Ben's and Rose's daughter, was found murdered, and she couldn't help assuming a close family connection. Maybe The Girl was Fern's daughter. Maybe she was even Fern's killer!
When Emma had mentioned The Girl to Ben Queen, she thought that Ben had suggested she was imagining not only the family resemblance, but The Girl, herself. It dawned on her later that Ben was really saying that he didn't want The Girl involved in the present troubles, and that he'd like Emma to "forget" she'd seen her in the area. Ben pretty clearly knew who she was, but didn't want anybody else to know.
Unless she'd forgotten - Emma's memories for that time period were still sometimes pretty vague - the Fern Queen murder had never been positively solved. Isabel Devereau had told Emma - just before she attempted to kill her! - that she had killed Fern, avenging Rose's murder. Emma had believed it at first, because Isabel had said it without any prompting, but it really didn't make sense. The consensus among old-timers was that the Devereau sisters hadn't liked Rose. Besides, why wait all those years to avenge the death? Besides that, Isabel was clearly insane, so why should anybody believe her confession?
It was all pretty puzzling. Maybe all the mysteries were solved, and she just didn't remember. She guessed she'd wait a while and then, if she still didn't remember, she'd ask Sam. She preferred not to bring up the subject with him, as it had been the principal cause of their problems when she was twelve. Dwayne had reminded her that both she and Sam were now adults, and should be able to handle such disagreements as adults. She agreed - in concept - but…
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