The Cottage

Chapter 4:

(Thanks so much for the reviews and feedback on the first three chapters. Sorry for the delay with updates. Hope you enjoy this next installment.)

(Emma's POV)

I was grateful for the clean azure sky as I walked toward the outdoor market. It meant a break in the weather. I hate extreme heat and humidity and the past week had been oppressive. Most summers I didn't mind retreating into the solitude (Dr. Shane would call it isolation) of my air-conditioning, but I feel differently now. I kind of enjoy the idea of being outside in real air. I have to give Carl some credit for that. Last summer he was with me through my absolute refusal to ride in his convertible, to being mildly freaked out at speeds above 25 miles per hour, to almost appreciating the feeling of the wind in my hair. However it did require that I add fifteen minutes to my shower routine for special conditioning to ensure no tangles or split ends. Back then I suspected that my changing attitude about his car was an indication of other big steps I might be able to make with this handsome, generous man. I was wrong.

But today isn't about Carl. Nor is it about beating myself up over the hurt and humiliation I no doubt caused him. Today I'm being mindful. Mindful of the moment, as Dr. Shane … Julia … so often says. Experiencing the day as a participant, not as an anxious spectator.

In this newfound perceptive skin I walked towards the small café set up at the border of the square, directly opposite the main marketplace, to meet my friend … my date … my friend date. This internal battle of semantics was cut short when I saw him. I stayed on the perimeter and watched. He was at a vegetable stand, picking through a mountain of corn, pulling back husks, returning the rejects and dropping the keepers into a brown paper sack. He was unassuming … and gorgeous … his sunglasses pushed backed on his head. Will in sunglasses. Walking past my office as I counseled Quinn and Finn on how to be cool. Telling me about his drunken frat boy night that ended in the drunk dial to end all drunk dials. Sunglasses and Will Schuester … a combination I evidently still found overpowering.

As I moved closer I thought of calling out to him, but held back a bit longer as he continued his jovial exchange with the woman working at the stand. The simple act of pointing at peppers … crimson, brilliant gold, deep orange … asking a question of the proprietor, smiling at her response, paying for the corn, putting the change into his pocket … was a display of one of the things that had first attracted me to him, his warmth. And it was part of every move, every gesture, every expression. Watching him felt thrilling and soothing at the same time.

Later in the day I would think back to this moment with a keen realization that the messy cornsilk popping out of the bag, some strands still clinging to his pants, didn't bother me at all.

I decided to be bold as he turned away from the stand and headed in the direction of the café. Sneaking behind him I poked him in his ribs …"Hi there!"

He appeared to be delighted when he spun around to face me. "Emma!" … he laughed and pulled me into an impulsive hug, squeezing me along with the bag of corn. It happened so fast, followed by a moment of shy awkwardness for us both. He quickly filled the empty air.

"You …" he looked me up and down with a broad grin as if he hadn't seen me in months … "You look great!"

"Oh, thanks …" I glanced at his bag, "… so, you bought some corn?" No Emma, I bought a pair of sneakers, my mind began to attack me. He didn't seem to notice that I felt like an idiot.

"Yep … I love fresh corn in season … one of the benefits of living in Ohio. Duh … I guess that's pretty obvious." His nervousness made me feel a little better about my own. He motioned in the direction of the café. "Should we sit down, or do you want to walk around the market?"

"Oh, maybe later … right now I'd love to sit and have some iced tea."

I grabbed a table in the shade as Will went for the tea. It gave me the moment I needed to reach into my bag for a disinfectant wipe to clean the table, although Will was back with the drinks so quickly I felt a pang of guilt. It was as if being caught slipping into my OCD behavior was even more hideous than sitting at a sticky table.

He surprised me by saying, "Oh, good … I'm glad you wiped off the table. I walked by here earlier and the place with filled with moms and kids and exploding juice boxes!"

"Whew! Well thank goodness I haven't made such major strides that I travel without my Clorox wipes!"

We settled in to an easy, safe conversation about the summer ahead. My plans to visit my brother and his family in August. His anecdotes about helping his dad screen in the side porch on their house. He laughed, recounting the history of this running family joke … "My folks have been talking about that damn porch since before I was in the sixth grade. Our neighbors screened in their porch that summer and after that my parents couldn't stop talking about having a screened porch as if it was going to be a life-changing experience. For years it would come up, usually after my mom had a few glasses of wine … and every single time she'd announce it like it was a new idea. Finally I made the mistake of teasing my parents about it last weekend and the next thing I know I'm in Home Depot with my dad buying two-by-fours and volunteering to help him!"

"That's so sweet …" my face flushed from the spontaneity of my response. "Uh … you know what I mean. Father and son being handy. You know …" I continued to stumble … "doing handy things together … around the house."

"Yeah … it'll be great, shouldn't take too much time. To be honest, I thought about asking him if he wanted to do it last summer, but …" his voice faded along with his smile as he looked down at the table, then up at me … "I don't know. Last summer I just didn't have it in me."

I couldn't hold the connection with his eyes, instead diverting my gaze through the plastic lid that covered my tea. I studied the lemon wedge floating between two ice cubes. My stomach tightened with remorse knowing full well my part in Will's emotional condition at that time. I finally ended the difficult silence.

"Will?"

"Yes?"

"Just now … before I met you here … I was with Dr. Shane. I switched to Friday morning appointments for the summer."

"Oh. I knew you said you had something to do in town before we met."

"That was it."

"How's it going?" Catching himself immediately he added … "I'm sorry … that's really personal. I didn't mean to pry …"

"No, it's okay." I had the urge to reach across the table and touch his hand. I wanted to feel my skin on his, even in this most innocent way. Instead I reassured him with words, "You don't have to apologize. I'm the one who brought it up. It's nice that you're interested."

"Interested?" His half smile was warm, his forehead creased, his eyes fixed squarely on mine. "Emma … there is nothing about you that doesn't interest me."

The sincerity of his words, his whole manner, was almost more than I could take in. Like another in a long series of those fantasies I'd recounted to Dr. Shane where Will would say or do something loving and tender … at which point I'd usually hear something like Santana screaming an obscenity in the hallway outside of my office and be summarily jolted back to reality. But this time it was real and I let it happen. I didn't panic, not visibly anyway, and I didn't change the subject.

"Thank you, Will. You've been so great."

"Emma, I told you months ago that I'm here for you …"

"Yes, I know …" glancing into my lap, "… as a friend I can count on." My voice dipped at the word – friend. When he'd said those words to me the day I told him Carl was gone, I grabbed onto them like a lifesaver. Now they felt heavy and unsatisfying as they fell from my mouth.

Another endless moment of stillness ensued. Finally I dared to look at Will's face again. What I'd silently planned to be a glimpse turned into a staring contest. Not the kind my brother and I used to engage in on the front porch before my mom called us in for dinner. Those challenges determined who would wash and who would dry the dishes. This was very different. And it went on and on, wordless, until finally Will broke the silence, still without blinking.

"Emma, if I didn't know better I'd say you sound disappointed."

"Disappointed? About what?"

"I don't know … I just got the feeling with the 'friend you can count on' comment …"

The impulse to regain some kind of decorum left me flailing my hands, as if to help me explain myself. "Well, I figured that's what you were getting ready to say … you know … since that's what you said back in the spring … after telling me you're here for me …" I felt the sound of defensiveness stirring in my voice.

Will was calm. "I know. And what I'm saying now is that I'm still here for you. And I'm proud of you. Is that okay?"

I drew a deep breath and released it slowly, allowing a wide smile to emerge. Will smiled back, the smiles turned into giggles as the absurdity of this war of words became clear.

"Yes, yes … that's okay." I responded to his question.

"Good. Maybe, for now, we could just relax …"

"I'd like that." I cheerfully responded, knowing full well how foreign it was for me, relaxing. Especially at the thought of spending time around Will.

(Will's POV)

Being with Emma today was illuminating. There had been so much progress I hadn't yet seen in the time I'd spent preparing for Nationals, struggling with the New York move, finishing the school year. She was getting better in ways I'd had no clue about. "I need to practice, that's what Dr. Shane says!" she announced almost proudly as we decided what to eat for lunch.

She actually split a Cobb Salad with me, minus the bleu cheese and bacon, of course. One bowl, two forks, two more iced teas … it was great. And while I was somewhat surprised by the turn the conversation had taken, I have to admit that I was encouraged by it. Encouraged that the notion of just being friends seemed to be disappointing to her. But this was no time to push too hard. Tread lightly. Let things unfold. That was to be my mantra where Emma was concerned, at least for now.

The end of her marriage, the fairly abrupt dead end of my short-lived relationship with Holly and my consideration of a theater career in New York had all happened in a bubble of time. Not fast, nor prolonged, just intense. And the fact remained that there were still so many things we hadn't discussed. Nevertheless, today was the first time in … well, what felt like forever … that we'd spoken about ourselves in relation to each other. That felt like progress.

As we left the café to explore the market together my mind was set on two things. First, extending my time with Emma for as long as possible and secondly, having some sense of when we might see each other again. So much for treading lightly. I pondered my options as I squinted at bushels of berries … strawberries, blueberries, boysenberries, blackberries, raspberries … the colors fusing into a blur of deep magenta.

The sight of Emma a few steps ahead brought me back to the moment. She had stopped to examine baskets of freshly-baked artisan breads. My mind immediately went into overdrive at the panic she must be experiencing, the notion of unwrapped bread that could have been touched by god knows how many unwashed hands from the greater Lima population. I watched silently as she pondered the presentation of rye, pumpernickel and sourdough. Her expression was more concentration and wonderment than anything else. Tentatively, she picked up the tongs next to the display. Then in a move I can only describe as determined, she snapped open a tightly folded brown paper bag with her free hand and plucked up a small loaf of country white. She neatly folded the top of the bag and paid the young man tending the baked goods. Turning to look for me, she was surprised by my proximity.

"Oh, Will … I, um … I thought you were buying berries." Shy Emma had reappeared.

"Nah … just looking at them. That's another weakness besides corn. I come to this place in the summer … buy a bunch of fresh berries, then go home and forget they're in my fridge until they go bad."

"But they're good for you … assuming you wash them properly, that is." Teasing Emma replaced shy Emma. A good sign.

"Yes Miss Pillsbury, you've taught me all about the virtues of clean fruit. So … you bought some bread?"

"I did indeed Mr. Schuester. You and I are going to walk over to the park and feed the ducks at the duck pond."

My knees nearly gave out. Not only did Emma come up with an idea to make our time together last longer, she was feeding dirty ducks at a scummy pond! This woman is a goddess. I have no idea how goofy my grin must have been, but her face lit up at my response.

"I haven't fed the ducks in ages!"

"Well, honestly … neither have I. And I have a feeling when I say it's been 'ages' it's a lot longer than your last time."

"Tell me" … I wanted to really know Emma. I wanted to know about more in her past than a horrifying dairy farm story. "When did you last feed ducks?"

We strolled together towards the edge of the square, making our way to the park.

"I was six. My aunt and uncle had a little pond on their property. There were ducks. My mom and I would take day old hamburger buns with us whenever we visited. For some reason I thought that was the only kind of bread they would eat."

"I'll bet they would have loved a loaf of fresh country white bread …"

"Well, I hope these Lima ducks appreciate it!" When she giggled she looked so natural and so relaxed. I wanted nothing except to be with her.

We reached the pond and I was relieved to find that the cooler temperatures and breeze had carried away all signs of stagnation on the surface. A family of ducklings trailed several grown-ups waddling up the bank on the other side.

"Now what do we do?" I was afraid our feeding plans were being cut short by disinterested ducks.

"What do you mean, silly? We're the ones with the bread!" Emma pulled the loaf from the bag and tore it apart to share with me.

I watched her walk to the edge of the pond, tentatively stepping over the uneven ground.

"Excuse me!" she called across the pond. "Snack time!"

Tossing a big piece of bread into the water, the plop attracted the attention of one, then two, then the whole family. In short order the two of us lobbed hunks of bread into the pond until it was gone … and becoming so popular with the birds that we could barely contain our laughter as they threatened to chase us.

I don't remember the last time I'd seen Emma laugh that way. In fact, I'm pretty sure I never had. I took her hand to pull her toward a bench, the ducks having finally gotten the message that feeding time was over. She glanced down at the seat and withdrew her hand suddenly. The bench was, even by my standards, pretty disgusting. Her expression was sad and apologetic as our eyes met.

"Hey Em … honestly … you couldn't pay me to sit here …" I exaggerated.

"Oh Will, I somehow doubt that."

"No, seriously … gum … bird poop … c'mon! No way! However, if you will stand here for two minutes max, I just thought of something."

"What?"

"Just hang on, watch my corn … I'll be right back!"

With that I sprinted to my car to retrieve a couple of lawn chairs that I'd had in the hatchback since Shannon and I went to a McKinley girls' varsity softball game back in the spring.

I raced back to where Emma was waiting patiently, a relieved smile spreading across her face as I unfolded the barely used chairs, trying not to gasp too hard for air.

"Thank you, Will! You didn't have to do that."

We settled into our seats, my breathing just beginning to even out.

"No problem! I'm glad I remembered these chairs were in my car. I didn't want this afternoon to end just because we couldn't find a place to sit …" That was definitely more than I meant to say.

Emma's smile softened. "Me neither."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Emma?"

"Yep?"

"Thanks for meeting me today."

"Thanks for inviting me."

"I … I'm really enjoying this … you know, just hanging out together."

"Me too. I guess I don't hang out much. You know what I realized?"

"What?"

"We've never even seen each other in the summer … in all the time I've known you."

Of course I knew this. It was all I could think of when I was trying to get the nerve to call her two days ago.

"Gee, that's right." Even I didn't buy my attempt at nonchalance.

An awkward pause, then I continued, "Em? Would it be okay if we do this every now and then … you know, get together?"

"Yes. Definitely."

She shifted in her seat, diverting her eyes, looking for words it seemed. Then she leveled her gaze at me once more and inhaled as if needing fortification. She blurted out the words with a force that was unexpected. The way she does when she wants to share a real conviction or belief.

"I really like it when you call me Em."

I exhaled in relief. "I'm glad. It feels right."

"Yes. Yes it does," maintaining her air of plainspoken certainty.

After a moment I decided to test the waters even further.

"Em … I know there's a lot we haven't really talked about."

I could sense that she was unsure, perhaps uncomfortable about where the conversation might be headed.

I quickly added, "I guess I … I don't know … I just wanted to acknowledge it … that's all."

"I understand … I think."

"There is something special I wanted to tell you about though." I could feel a nervous energy grow in my belly. The way it does when you share something important with someone and you're hoping they love it as much as you do.

"What? Are you going back to New York?" She seemed suddenly panicky, but I quickly jumped in.

"No … oh God, no! Nothing like that. I want to tell you about this amazing place I found. It's a cottage."

Emma's face relaxed. She sat listening, asking nothing … really hearing me, as I set about telling her the events of my first visit with George Riley last summer … and what had transpired this morning.

(Really sorry that I'm so lousy at timely updates! Hope you won't give up ... would love honest R&R! Many, many thanks to all who have asked when this story is continuing! I take that as a good sign. And special appreciation to EpicWemma for being a patient, thorough and very helpful advisor!)