Forgotten Lullaby. Rita Herron

Grant shrugged. “We planned to buy a new bedroom suite, but, well…”

      Bedroom furniture? Emma paused, gripping the door handle, her pulse accelerating.

      Grant rambled on as if he recognized the awkward moment and wanted to smooth it over. Instead, he made it worse. “I mean there’s plenty of room, but the furniture’s not new.”

      “It’s okay, Grant.” Emma took pity on him. Sensing his anxiety, she relaxed, realizing there would be lots of uncomfortable moments ahead of them. She should have asked about the sleeping arrangements before she agreed to move home with him. Surely he didn’t expect her to sleep with him.

      “We’ll redo it sometime,” Grant said. “Maybe I’ll start a couple of projects right away.”

      Emma pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t need everything perfect, Grant.” Just my memory back would do.

      And a separate bedroom for now.

      Grant’s silent gaze almost unnerved her.

      “What is it?” she whispered.

      “You told me that the day we moved in, too.” A smile crinkled his face, and the cleft in his chin became more pronounced as his mouth widened. He had beautiful teeth, white and straight.

      She returned his smile, searching deep inside for courage. “Well, let me go take a look.” Her strained muscles protested, and she winced as she tried to open the car door. The smallest movement hurt her sore ribs, and getting out with her injured leg seemed impossible. The reminders of her accident made her touch her face in a self-conscious gesture. She felt like a battered old woman; she must look horrible.

      Grant’s smile disappeared, and an emotion akin to guilt darkened his eyes. “Wait, Emma. Take it easy and I’ll help you.”

      Emma swallowed. Grant jerked his gaze away from her and opened the door, then stood silently by the car for a moment, his posture rigid as if bracing himself for her return home. Was he glad to have her here? Or did he feel as awkward as she did?

      He rounded the car, opened her car door and in one fluid but gentle motion swept her up into his strong arms. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

      “Yes,” Emma said softly. Her heart fluttered as she awkwardly wrapped her arm around Grant’s neck. His breath brushed her cheek. His hard chest pressed against her breast. His mouth was so close to hers she could feel the whisper of his breath. He had full lips, and for a second she wondered what it would be like if he kissed her.

      “I feel the way I did when I carried you over the threshold,” Grant said, moving toward the front door.

      Emma strained for the memory to return, but nothing surfaced. Instead, her head pounded in response.

      “Relax,” Grant said as if he’d read her mind. “Don’t try to force it—doctor’s orders.”

      Emma feigned a smile and tried to prepare herself mentally to see her home. And to meet her baby. Her stomach fluttered again when the door swung open.

      Her sister, Kate, stood there smiling, concern shadowing her face. “Hi, sis.” She motioned toward the couch. “I tried to clear the laundry off the sofa, but Carly can really go through the clothes. The bed’s ready, if you need to rest.”

      The thought of bed immediately sent Emma’s stomach into another spasm. But when she gazed into the homey room, she relaxed somewhat, imagining herself choosing the comfortable furnishings. Why had Grant sounded apologetic? The furniture might not be new, but it felt cozy. She immediately noticed a framed photo on the mantel—a picture of Grant, their baby and herself. Her throat closed when she saw the simple wicker bassinet sitting beside the couch. A thick pink baby comforter decorated with little white hearts lay draped over the edge, and a teddy bear sat in the middle, its big button eyes pulling at her heartstrings.

      “What do you want to do, Emma?” Grant asked, stopping inside the wide-planked foyer. “I can take you upstairs—”

      “No.”

      “You want to peek at Carly? She’s taking a nap. Or you could see the rest of the house,” Kate suggested, wringing her hands. Emma tried to ignore the way her sister rattled on like a nervous Nellie, adding to the already tense and awkward homecoming. Emma didn’t need spectators to give her pitying looks or watch her reactions to the house. She wanted to explore it alone.

      “I’d like to sit in here for a minute.” Emma let her gaze sweep the room, hoping memories would flood her mind. Again nothing happened.

      “How about the sofa?” Grant asked.

      “Great. I’ve been in bed too long.” Grant eased her down and helped her get comfortable. Kate rushed to get a pillow and propped her foot on top of the stool.

      “Are you all right?” Grant asked. “Can I get you anything?”

      “I made some tea,” Kate said. “That spicy kind you like. Or how about coffee? Or I could make hot chocolate.”

      Irritation filled Emma. “Look, I’m not going to break, so you don’t have to hover,” she said, picking up a small stuffed lamb and hugging it to her chest as if the child’s toy could dissipate her worries.

      Grant simply stared at her, his expression more troubled than ever.

      Kate shifted uneasily and tugged at the hem of her oversize gray sweatshirt. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”

      “I know. I’m sorry.” Emma heaved a sigh. “Just give me a minute.” She searched the room for something familiar. A comfortable-looking armchair that needed recovering sat in one corner. A pine table held a television and CD player. The rose-colored carpet looked fairly new, and an antique white wicker rocker faced the outside window. Solid rose-colored balloon shades allowed the sunlight to filter in while offering privacy.

      “You made those,” Kate said.

      Emma’s eyes widened. “When did I learn how to sew?”

      Kate laughed. “I couldn’t believe it myself. You failed home ec in high school. But when you bought the house, you suddenly turned domestic.”

      “You signed up for classes at the Decorating Center in town,” Grant added.

      “I wonder what else I can do,” Emma mumbled, her palms sweating as she strained to remember.

      Grant gave her an encouraging look. “Don’t press it, Emma. We have lots of time to talk about the past.”

      Kate folded several receiving blankets. “Well, one thing you never learned to enjoy doing was laundry. But with Carly around, there isn’t much choice.”

      Emma laughed and Grant smiled at her, easing the tension. Then he said, “Do you want me to wake Carly and bring her to you?”

      “No. Let her sleep. I hate to disturb her.” Emma twisted her hands together, wondering if that was a memory surfacing or simply a coping mechanism.

      Disappointment momentarily crossed Grant’s face as he gestured around the room. “Well?”

      Tension crackled between them. Emma met his gaze, unable to avoid the pained hope in his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember…anything.” As her last word broke, a baby began to cry and the sound tugged at something deep within her.

      “It’s Carly, our daughter,” Grant said, his jaw tight.

      Emma bit down on her bottom lip.

      “She’s not very patient when she first wakes up. Especially if she’s hungry.”

      “I’ll go get her,” Kate said, hurrying from the room.

      Grant leaned against the brick fireplace, studying his polished shoes. He looked handsome in his pleated khaki trousers and navy polo shirt. Emma suddenly wished he’d brought her something to wear home besides this colorless sweat suit.