Public Secrets

again, she decided to go upstairs and unpack.
The sound of a car swishing through the rain outside had panic streaking up her spine again. She stood frozen at the base of the stairs, staring out the wide, dark window. It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment how exposed she was, with all the lights burning. She could hear a brake set, a door slam.
She was on tie way to the phone when she heard the footsteps in front of the door. Without hesitating, she ran to the fireplace and grabbed the brass poker. The knock had her grip tightening.
She was alone. He knew she was alone, Emma thought frantically, because she’d been foolish enough to wander through the house with the lights burning and the shades drawn up. She inched her way toward the phone. She would call for help. If it didn’t get there in time, she would help herself.
Her heart tattooed against her chest as she lifted the receiver.
“Emma! I’m drowning out here.”

“Michael?” The phone slipped out of her fingers and fell to the floor. She let the poker drop as well as she rushed to the door. Her fingers weren’t steady as she fumbled with locks. She could hear him swearing. By the time she pulled open the door and threw her arms around him, she was laughing.
“Sorry, I don’t get the joke.”
“No, I’m sorry. It was just that I—” But when she drew back, she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Despair. “Here, let me help you. You’re soaked through.” She helped him peel off his jacket. “I’ve got some tea. I wish I’d thought of brandy, but there’s probably a bottle of whiskey somewhere.” She nudged him over by the fire, then went into the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with a cup. He hadn’t moved, she noted. He just stood there, looking down at the flames.
“It’s a nice Irish tea, heavy on the Irish.” She handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He sipped, grimaced, then downed it.
“You should get out of those wet clothes.”
“In a minute.”
She started to speak again, then changed her mind and went quietly upstairs. When she came back, she simply took his hand. “Come on. I’m running you a bath.”
He couldn’t find the energy to argue. “Do I get bubbles?”
“All you want. Go ahead.” She gestured toward the door. “Relax. I’ll get you some more tea.”
He pulled off his shirt and let it fall with a wet splat to the floor. “Make it straight Irish this time. Two fingers, no ice.”
She hesitated while he unsnapped his pants. She had to stop looking for ghosts in bottles, as well. Not everyone who wanted a drink wanted to get drunk. “All right.”
When she came back, the water had stopped running. She paused at the door, then feeling foolish, set the glass on the table by the bed. Though they were lovers, she couldn’t see herself waltzing in while he was bathing. Whether it was a matter of intimacy or privacy, she couldn’t cross the line. She sat on the window seat, watched the rain and waited.
With a towel slung low on his hips, he stepped out. The light was behind him and she could clearly see the tension and withdrawal in his face.
“I started dinner.”

He nodded, but only picked up the glass. He thought he could hold the whiskey down. Food was another matter. “Why don’t you go ahead?”
“I can wait.” She wanted to go to him, take his hand, smooth the lines away from his brow. But he was brooding into the glass as if she weren’t even there. Rising, she walked into the bath to tidy the wet clothes and towels.
“You don’t have to pick up after me.” He was standing in the doorway now. An anger, deep and raw, came through in both his voice and his eyes. “I don’t need a mother.” I just—
“Latimer wanted to be waited on, Emma. It’s not my style.”
“Fine.” Her own temper rose up to meet his. She let his shirt fall to the floor again. “Pick it up yourself then, not everyone likes to live in a sty.”
He snatched up the shirt and hurled it into the tub. Emma retreated two steps before she could stop herself. “Don’t look at me like that.” He whirled on her, furious with her, himself, with everything. “Don’t ever look at me like that. I can get pissed off at you without throwing a punch.”
She started to check the venom that burned her tongue, but it poured out. “I’m not afraid you’ll hit me. No one will ever hit me again and walk away. I’m through being victimized by anyone. That includes you. If you want to sulk, then go ahead and