Page 9 of Forever Full Circle
Daniel was the one who stopped walking now and waited, letting her finish the thought.
“I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every day I think, today is the day the hospital will call, or my mom will, and I’ll have to explain to the girls why their grandfather is gone. I mean, we have no idea how much time he has left. He won’t say.”
“He’s still here.”
She nodded. “It’s just—I know what it’s like to think you’re fine, and then you’re not.” She looked over at Daniel. “Last year, with the lump scare I had, I was sure I could tough it out. I almost didn’t even tell you.”
He drew in a breath, the old memory sharp between them. “But you did. And it was nothing. Remember?”
“Nothing that time. I want to drag him in for scans and bloodwork and get the details he’s holding back.”
Daniel smiled, then leaned in so his lips brushed the top of her head. “We can do that. If it’ll help. I have rope.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump it all on you.”
Daniel rolled his eyes and kissed her again, this time on her cheekbone, soft as moth wings. “That’s why I’m here, right? We worry together. We buy lighthouses together. We go bankrupt together.”
She laughed, but it caught in her throat. “You mean I spiral and you do damage control.”
He grinned, unoffended. “You’re not spiraling. Not tonight. You’re just tired. And maybe a little bit afraid. I can maybe ask Cassie if she’s noticed anything.”
“No,” she said, firmer than she intended. “I’ll call his doctor. I need to.”
Daniel frowned slightly. “Think that’ll get you anywhere? Privacy laws and all?”
Emily sighed. “I can try.”
As Emily and Daniel made their way back to the remaining guests, she heard Roy let out a weary sigh. His hand rested on Patricia's arm.
"I think I need to call it a night," he announced.
Patricia's worried gaze met Roy's tired eyes. "Let me drive you home," she offered. Emily didn’t miss the concern etched in the lines of her mother’s face.
"Yes, I'd appreciate that, dear."
Thedearmade Emily smile.
Emily hugged her mom and dad, and then watched as Patricia guided Roy toward her car. Daniel wrapped an arm around Emily's waist, offering silent support as they stood together, witnessing the quiet departure of her parents. Emily swallowed, trying to push down the worry about her dad.
CHAPTER FOUR
The inn’s back sunroom was Emily’s favorite room, and it had hosted everything from the fundraising teas of the Chamber of Commerce to Chantelle and her friend Laverne’s guitar lessons. Today, though, the morning after the party, the room hummed with Emily’s nervous energy as Sarah Chen, Chantelle’s guitar teacher, perched on the edge of the Queen Anne armchair. Her hair was clipped back in a no-nonsense sweep, and she wore a severe black dress that was at odds with her gentle personality.
Across from Emily, Daniel sat with his legs neatly crossed, one ankle resting on his knee, hands folded in his lap. He looked so much like a lawyer that Emily wanted to reach over and undo his top shirt button, just to break the illusion. He’d been as nervous as Emily since Emily had gotten the early-morning text from Sarah, a request to meet with them about Chantelle.
Emily’s mind raced. Chantelle was good. A good student. Well behaved. Sure, when she had first come to live with Daniel and Emily, having been with her addict mother for so long, there were bumps, but they’d grown strong as a family.
So, what could be so urgent that Sarah had needed to meet so quickly?
There had been coffee, croissants, and small talk. Emily was antsy to get to the meaning of the meeting. Just before she could gently prod, Sarah leaned forward and spread a glossy, trifold brochure on the coffee table in front of them all. On its cover, a boy with a mop of red hair and a wide smile cradled a cello, the Boston Youth Music Conservatory’s dome rising like a promise in the background.
“I’ll just come out and say it. I think Chantelle would flourish in this program. It’s a full-day schedule—seven weeks, withweekend intensives and guest faculty from all over.” She glanced at Emily, then Daniel, as if expecting protest.
Emily nodded, the motion automatic, but her eyes darted to the top-right corner of the brochure where a sticker announced, in foil-embossed font, “NOW ACCEPTING STUDENTS 9–18.” She ran a thumb along the edge, feeling the thickness of the paper. Heavy. Serious.
“That’s quite a commitment,” Daniel said, picking up the brochure and flipping through its pages. “Daily practice, master classes, concerts. Plus, the theory and composition classes. How did you hear about it?”
Sarah hesitated, just long enough for Emily to notice. “A fellow musician mentioned the program’s expanding, looking for prodigies outside the usual Boston pipeline. I thought immediately of Chantelle.”
