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Another step and he reached his other hand toward her shoulder. Panic overwhelmed her. He was going to hug her. She couldn’t allow that—
“Excuse me.”
Whirling about, she fled, racing for the door, bumping into Rachel Miller, the accountant housewife with three children.
“Pardon me,” she called as she dashed through the foyer and shoved against the glass pane of the outside door.
In the dark parking lot, Emma sprinted for her car, stumbling in her high heels. Even if she broke her leg, she was not going to stop until she was in that car.
Turning on the ignition, she jerked the gearshift into reverse and spun out of the parking lot. Looking back in her rearview mirror, she saw Mark standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pants’ pockets, staring after her.
Too close. Too close.
She had promised herself she wouldn’t become friendly with him. But she’d ended up telling him things she hadn’t confided to anyone, not even herself.
Her heart slammed against her chest. She almost ran a red light and the breaks squealed as she forced herself to slow down. She pulled over and stopped the car at the side of the road, trying to calm her nerves before she killed someone—probably herself.
“Oh-hh,” she groaned, and leaned her head against the steering wheel.
She brushed angrily at the tears falling down her cheeks. “I don’t believe in You, God. You’ve never been there for me. Why should I believe in You?”
Silence filled her heart. A dark, forbidding void that left her feeling vacant as she stared out her windshield.
Wiping her nose and eyes, she tried to calm her shaking hands and struggled to think of something else. She had two days before Mark came to pick her up to take her shopping. Two days to settle her nerves and gain control.
“I can do this.” She clenched her hand and pounded it against the dashboard. “I know I can do this. I won’t become emotionally involved with him and I won’t let him get close to me ever again.”
No matter what, she was not going to start to care for him or his sweet little daughter.
Chapter Five
Mark didn’t set the alarm on Friday nights. Saturday mornings he slept in, awakened by the sunshine filtering through the shutters in his bedroom. He stretched on the king-sized bed, enjoying some peace after a long, hectic week.
He had needed a good night’s sleep. So had Angie.
Today he was going shopping with Emma. The thought of seeing her again made him happy, an emotion he rarely felt these days.
After showering, he pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a blue T-shirt, then went downstairs and found Angie in the family room, watching cartoons.
“Hey, babe, how you doing today?” he asked as he clipped on his wristwatch.
Curled up on the couch with her dogs, she wore her pink fuzzy slippers and lacy jammies. “Fine.”
She sounded so grown-up. That was the worst part of this illness. It forced her to lose too much of her innocence.
“How about going to the Pancake House for breakfast?”
Pursing her lips together, she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
He sat beside her on the couch. Dusty nudged his arm and he petted the fluffy Maltese. “You know that’s the chemo talking, right? Remember, we talked about how you need to eat even when you don’t feel like it? You have to keep up your strength so your body can fight the tumor.”
She tugged at the tassels on the throw pillow. “I know, Dad. But when you just don’t feel like eating, it’s kind of hard to get any food down.”
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