Four Little Problems. Carrie Weaver
him seemed over the top, so she opted for a smile of gratitude.
“Let’s go.” He reached into the backseat to retrieve his backpack, which brought him entirely too close.
Emily opened the door and stepped out before he got the idea he needed to open the door for her. Or an even weirder idea, like kissing her.
And, yet, she was disappointed when she was no longer cocooned in the car with him. It was as if they’d been in an alternate reality, where they could talk like any other two people.
He cupped her elbow as they walked to the front door. “You mind doing the talking?”
“Since I’m the trustworthy one, I guess I’d better.”
He chuckled, the sound coming entirely too close for comfort in the dark. “See, you say what you’re thinking.”
“That’s not always a good thing.”
“Probably not. But at least a guy knows where he stands with you.”
Emily opened her mouth to respond, but closed it. Instead, she knocked on the Bigelows’ door.
A blond girl who looked to be about nine opened the door.
“Hi, honey, is your father home?” Emily asked.
The girl nodded and disappeared, leaving the door ajar.
At Emily’s house, one of her kids would have simply bellowed her name from the doorway. She wondered if this was how well-mannered children answered the door.
A man came to the door. Tall, blond and muscular, he looked just like Emily expected—high school home-coming court royalty, only aged fifteen years.
“May I help you?”
“I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Bigelow. I’m Emily Patterson and I’ve taken over as PTO president at Elmwood. And this is Patrick Stevens, PTO adviser.” It wasn’t a lie, really. He’d given her quite a bit of advice in the past couple days. “Please accept our condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you.”
When they didn’t move to leave, Mr. Bigelow frowned. “What can I do for you? I already gave Tiffany’s files to Mrs. Ross.”
“I know and I’m so sorry to intrude at a time like this. But I need to look at the PTO notes Tiffany kept on her PC. They’re probably more complete than the file I was given.”
“Now’s not a good time. My daughters and I were on our way out.”
Patrick stepped forward. “We can copy the files onto a disk. It’ll only take a moment.”
“Come to think of it, Tiffany might have it on disk already. Let me check.” He didn’t invite them in, simply shut the door with the promise of returning in a minute.
Emily looked at Patrick.
He shrugged.
They waited what seemed more like five hours, but was probably about five minutes.
“Yep, here it is.” Bigelow leaned out the door and handed Emily a floppy disk. “Marked PTO. You can have it. Hope it helps. Bye.”
“Thank you. And I’m very sorry—”
The door shut in her face before Emily could apologize again for disturbing him.
“Come on.” Patrick nodded toward the car.
When they’d walked several yards, Emily mused, “Did it seem as if he wanted to get rid of us?”
“He was in a hurry. We caught him on his way out the door.”
“Yes…but, still, he seemed a little odd.”
Patrick stopped walking. “Grief will do that to a person.” His voice was low.
Somehow, Emily got the impression he was speaking from experience. “Yes, it will.”
He started walking again.
She resisted the urge to ask him who he grieved for. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything interesting on the disk.”
He was silent for a moment, until they reached the SUV, where he again opened the passenger door for her. “How about if I let you know if there’s anything interesting on the disk?”
“Absolutely not. I didn’t pester that poor man only to get secondhand information from you.”
“I’m not letting that disk out of my sight. At least not until I make a copy. My place isn’t too far from here. We can stop, make a copy and I’ll drop you off at your car.”
Emily glanced at her watch and groaned. “It’s almost nine o’clock and Jason probably didn’t put the kids to bed on time. How about if I make a copy and drop it off at school tomorrow?”
“No way.”
“You’re the one who said I was trustworthy.” She raised her chin.
“I said you seemed trustworthy.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
He stepped closer. “Look, I’ve got a lot riding on this Sea World trip.”
His proximity flustered her. Emily would have agreed to nearly anything to get him to back off. “Fine. Why don’t you drop me off at my van, then follow me to my house. I’ll make you a copy of the disk.”
The dome light cast a weak yellow glow over her shoulder, revealing only his profile. But there was enough light for Emily to see him wince, as if he’d rather do anything than be in her home. Maybe it should have struck her as funny, but instead, it made her sad.
“Or the offer’s still open—I can drop off a copy at school first thing tomorrow morning. Those are your choices.”
Shaking his head, he went around to the driver’s side and got in. “I’ll follow you home.” His voice was resigned, as if he faced impending death.
“Patrick, I promise Jason will be on his very best behavior.”
He mumbled something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
EMILY PARKED and waited for Patrick to set the SUV alarm.
She prayed, silently, that the house would be somewhat presentable.
Patrick approached, eyeing the front of her home. “Nice. With all those planting beds, you must be quite a gardener.”
Shrugging, Emily said, “I should have tulips coming up soon if the weather holds. And I’ll add a few annuals, but nothing fancy, I’m afraid.” She fit the key in the lock, her mouth dry. She felt very, very vulnerable inviting Patrick Stevens into her home.
The sight that greeted her made her want to turn tail and run. To Patrick Stevens, it would seem like the inmates were running the asylum. And a chaotic asylum at that.
“Come in.” Her voice was weak.
Of course, it could have been because she was drowned out by the cacophony of blaring TV, a barking dog, yowling cats and screaming children.
Emily wished the ground would swallow her whole.
When it didn’t, she squared her shoulders and entered the fray. She caught Mark by the arm as he raced past her. “Whoa.” Then she snagged Ryan by the neck of his superhero pajamas. “What’s going on here. Where’s Jason?”
Both boys laughed uproariously, as if she’d entered the comedy hall of fame. Their red fruit-drink mustaches made them look like slightly insane clowns.
She gripped Mark’s arm a little tighter. “I said, where is Jason?” she asked between clenched teeth.
The boys apparently scented danger through their sugar-induced