Million Dollar Road by Amy Connor Page B

another long sleepless night, she’d wandered into the bathroom to wash her tear-swollen face, looked in the mirror, and seen nothing—nothing—no reflection whatsoever. Too breathless even to scream, Emma had hit the limits of what she could take: she checked herself into the hospital that morning. Thus began the nine months of Emma’s pregnancy of loss, a term of heavy therapy, the search for the right pills, and the fight for her tenuous sanity. Nine months, and at the end of it, she’d given birth to solitude.
    You’ll have to reinvent yourself . It was more of Margot’s advice.
    So although she was crippled inside, in dogged determination Emma took back her maiden name—Favreaux—and got her own bank account. She changed her address at the post office, signed reams of legal papers, and did all the usual divorce things her lawyer told her to do.
    The house went on the market.
    She began looking for country property.
    It was a halting start to a journey she’d have given the earth not to take, but later Emma learned Con would be working for Hannigan at the alligator farm, only a few miles away from her new property. So close she could feel him, could almost hear his ringing laugh.
    But with no other choice, not if she wanted to go on living life as a semi-sane woman, Emma doubled down on the therapy and began the work of renovating the old farmhouse. With a heroic, blind effort, somehow she learned to forget for hours at a time how near he was.
    And yet, Emma never forgot for long that she only had to walk out her door, go across the countryside through the fields, and she would see him again.
    Just . . . see him. Sometimes it was the only thing on earth she wanted.
    Other times, it was the last.
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    And today, as he occasionally did, Con had called, burning through Emma’s carefully constructed and vigilantly maintained defenses like a prairie grassfire. As always, there’d been an episode at the mere sight of his number on her cell phone. This panic attack was no worse than the others, but even after all this time, it wasn’t getting any easier either.
    Ah God, this had to stop, Emma thought in despair. It had been years of days since that day.
    But she’d listen to his message; she was going to do that now. It was just a voice mail, just a collection of words, and panic attack or not, she wasn’t really going to die if she heard it, would she? Her forehead in her hand, her shoulders tensed, Emma pushed the voice mail button and held the phone to her ear.
    â€œHey, it’s me,” Con’s voice said. “Call when you get a minute, will you, honey?”
    Emma gripped the phone in her hand, staring at its blank screen for minutes. Relieved to discover that her heart remained more or less steady and her breath stayed even, she wondered if she dared return the call. Talking to Con didn’t seem to be getting any less painful, but . . . he might need to tell her something important, right? Then, too, her alimony check had been due days ago. So . . . she shouldn’t put it off, should she?
    It would be pointless to try. With a sense of helplessness, Emma knew from experience she was going to do it because she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself.
    Be here now .
    Yes. Okay. Her finger trembling, Emma dialed her ex-husband’s number from memory.
    Con answered on the second ring, his familiar voice warm. “Emma!” He seemed delighted it was her.
    Oh, she’d done this to herself again . Immediately, Emma imagined her emotional walls, high stone walls keeping her safe.
    â€œHello, Con.” The walls were up. “What can I do for you?”
    Con chuckled. “Nice to talk to you, too, honey. What, I don’t even rate small talk with one of my favorite people?” he said.
    Against her will, Emma’s generous, full-lipped mouth turned up in a half-smile. He was doing that Obi-Wan thing of his. Since seeing Star