"I didn't mean to upset her, Dr. Larson," Emma said between
sobs.
"Call me Libby. And I'm sure you didn't mean to upset her,"
she said, patting the sixteen-year old on the back. "What
happened had nothing to do with you." The girl looked so
pathetic, Libby thought, wanting to comfort her. She gave
her time to calm down. Emma forced her lips into a curl,
but the smile didn't reach her face or her eyes. "I wanted
to know about my mom. She died when I was little, and I
thought . . . " She shook her head. "My dad never talks
about her, and all I know is that she was beautiful, and
she died in some kind of accident . . . "
"Emma!"
Libby and Emma both looked up at the sound of Ross
McLaughlin's voice. The man Libby had met on the beach a
few nights ago.
"Are you okay?" he asked Emma.
"I'm fine."
"Your grandmother?" Ross looked in the direction of the
hall.
Libby stood up, smiled at him. "I gave your mother a mild
sedative. Your father's with her now."
Without as much as a word to Libby, he touched his daughter
on the shoulder. "I'll be right back," he said, then
disappeared around the corner.
Libby didn't know whether the man was rude or simply upset
about his mother. Deciding to give him the benefit of the
doubt, she concluded it was the latter.
He was much more dangerous looking in the daylight, she
thought, thinking back to the night she'd seen him standing
on the dock, the weight of the world sitting on his
shoulders.
Everything was dark on him. Hair, eyes and complexion. He
was tall and lean with broad shoulders. His voice was deep
and authoritative, and he was in need of a haircut, Libby
mused. Emma didn't look anything like her father. She was
fair haired--except for the red tipped spikes--blue eyed
and petite. What a contrast father and daughter made.
"I hope my dad isn't mad at me."
Libby stared at her. "How could he possibly be mad at you?
What happened was not your fault, Emma. Because you were
curious about your mother had nothing to do with what
happened. Your grandmother is ill."
"I know, but she was fine until I asked about my mother."
Ross came around the corner, a stern look on his
face. "What did you ask her, Emma?"
"Nothing," the girl said, pausing momentarily. "I just
asked if she would tell me about my mom. And she got all
upset, and--"
Ross came closer and touched his daughter's cheek. "We had
this discussion, remember? You promised me you wouldn't
mention your mother in front of your grandmother."
Emma looked on the verge of tears again. "I know, but--"
"Emma, promise me."
"Okay," she finally relented.
Ross held out a hand. "C'mon, let's go home."
Emma stood, but didn't take her father's hand. "I think I
left the garden hose on." She walked to the screen
door. "And I want to clean things up before we go." With
that, she flew out the back door.
Probably to hide her tears, Libby thought. The poor little
thing. Squaring her shoulders, Libby zoomed in on the
girl's father. "Don't you think you were a little hard on
her? It wasn't her fault, you know."
Ross looked her in the eye, but didn't answer. He wasn't
much of a talker, Libby surmised. Not now, nor the night
she'd seen him on the beach.
"The poor thing is just curious about her mother. She feels
badly enough already. You shouldn't make her feel worse,"
she continued to lecture. "What happened to Beverly had
nothing to do with Emma. Your mother's had these outbursts
before."
Gaping at her with his mouth wide open, he retorted, "Gee,
Doc, I didn't know you did family counseling as well as
being a general practitioner."
"I'm only trying to help." Libby pretended not to be
offended.
"I didn't ask for your help." Ross moved past her and
toward the back door. He spotted Emma crawling on the
ground. Suddenly, feeling guilty, he wanted nothing more
than to go to her. With his hand on the screen door handle,
he said, "Thanks for helping my mother, Doctor Larson. But
since she's resting now, I doubt there's any reason for you
to stick around. Excuse me."
Libby had been dismissed by Ross McLaughlin. She'd thought
him arrogant and bossy and rude. And those were just his
good points. Realizing she was no longer needed, or wanted,
she grabbed her medical bag and left by the front door. As
she sped off toward town, her mood darkened even more.
She'd heard the rumors about him. That he may have killed
his wife fourteen years ago. Apparently, he'd been arrested
for her murder, then after being questioned, was released
for lack of evidence. Which was how things worked in small
towns. Arrest first, ask questions later.
Some of the townsfolk said that he couldn't have done
something so horrible. He came from a good family. The
McLaughlins had a fine reputation. Libby knew all about
good families and fine reputations. She'd come from one,
also. And what went on behind closed doors sometimes never
surfaced.
Of course, she'd never paid much attention to the rumors
about Ross. And she wasn't the type of person to cast
judgment on people she didn't know. Emma said her mother
had died in an accident. Maybe it had been an accident,
after all. Or maybe, Meredith McLaughlin had jumped off
that cliff. Then again, no one really knew for sure. No one
except for Meredith and God. And the murderer, if there was
one.