Chapter 50: Fifty

A biting flurry of frigid breeze digging into her skin sent Emma hurtling out of her living nightmare. As terror teared through her, she gripped Zain's arms tightly, her breaths falling out erratically.

For a bout, the terror clouded her senses so much she could barely make out what was happening around her except for some vague observations; Zain shaking her gently and asking if she was okay, George at her side, shouting at Zain to let her go when the other man seemed reluctant.

Despite her efforts to stifle the panic that zapped through her veins, the unsolicited emotion prevailed. George had found out the truth.

He was going to leave her, he was going to leave her, he was goi...

It was George's arms around her that made her breaths return to normal, and his soothing voice that assured her that all this had been her imagination. Breathing heavily, relief crashed into her so suddenly her knees buckled. But George's body was there, serving as her anchor, and she soaked up the comfort, assurance. The assurance that he was still with her, the assurance that he didn't hate her.

Yet.

George nudged her back a little after a while. “Are you okay.”

Em could only nod, unable to meet his eyes. She let her eyes lead her to Zain, standing a short distance away from them, eyes ablaze with concern and guilt.

“What happened, sugar?” George's voice drew her gaze to him. “What did you tell her, Zain?”

Em quickly put her hands on his chest, wanting to alleviate his worry as much as she could, as well as the suspicion. “George I'm fine, and Zain didn't tell me anything.”

George nodded slowly. “Do you want to continue with the night or do you want us to return to our room?”

“I want us to return.” She replied. She didn't want Zain anywhere near her or George, not after what'd just happened.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, George led her from them. He didn't ask her anything until they were in the privacy of their room. Leading her to the couch, he made her sit down and sat in front of her, holding her hand.

“Tell me, Emma. What is wrong? Are you not feeling well? Should I call a doctor?” He asked gently.

Squeezing his hand, she managed a smile. “It was nothing George. I just felt a little cold and my breaths... But I'm fine. There's no need to worry.”

“Sugar, are you sure?” He pulled her into a hug that made her burn in the guilt of her never ending lies. “You got me so worried. And I thought it was because of something Zain told you.”

The reminder sent a jolt through her heart. Zain had been on the brink of revealing everything to George, he'd been so decided, so determined, so resolved, that she was sure but for her panic attack, he would've gone to George and told him everything. The realization was such that even the relief provided by the fact that he actually hadn't done it did nothing to alleviate the effect of the cold fear as it blanketed her.

“George,” She looked at him, and before she lost the nerve, she said, “let's leave.”

George froze for a bit, then smiled uncertainly. “Let's leave as in?”

“Let's cut this vacation and go back to New York. I don't know. Tomorrow or something.” Heart beating wildly, she gazed at him, trying to gauge a response.

“But sweetheart,” He begun, confusion shimmering in his eyes. “You know everything has already been scheduled for two weeks. You suggested this trip after all. I don't understand why you suddenly want to leave.”

She knew the vacation would never be the same—not when she was going to roll through the rest of it with hairs at the back of her neck standing. Watching over her shoulders, glancing around with her heart thumping, waiting for Zain to approach in his zeal of love, and tell everything to George.

Tonight's experience had made her realize that she needed to sort out her emotions as soon as possible and come to a decision, and she couldn't do that without first telling George everything. And that is why she wanted to leave; she wanted George to find out the truth because she told him, not because someone else, especially Zain had exposed her.

Looking at George, she realized he was still waiting. Desperate for him to accept her decision without questioning it too much, she said, “I feel a bit sea sick, and I'm not excited about the vacation anymore. I just want to return to work.”

Did he believe her? She couldn't be sure. She had lost her ability to dissemble during her therapy where she'd been counseled to share her feelings especially with the people who cared.

George stared keenly at her for a while in a way that made her tensed, then sighed. “Fine. But could you at least wait three days more? Amy is really excited about this vacation and I don't want us leaving to come suddenly for her.”

She nodded. He didn't say anything more about her strange behavior that night.

***~***

It was happening all over again, like a rerun of one of the most horrendous horror movies he'd ever watched; Emma's withdrawal that George so detested.

His wife went about the remaining three days of the holidays like an automaton, forced to feel. She would be there but really not there, even when they made love. So distracted, so immersed in her thoughts that she barely payed any attention to how it affected their daughter and him.

Whenever he asked her if she was sure nothing was wrong, she smiled and assured him with her words, but the gesture was always so strained his heart ached to think that she was hiding something.

When the days finally rolled by and they headed back for New York, she seemed much too pleased for the end of something she'd been so enthused about before. And yet, their arrival in New York did nothing to make things any better.

It was so much like the last one not more than two weeks ago where her drive had been the doubts her father's appearance had instigated. Except today, George burned with a certainty that it had something to do with whatever the hell had happened at the beach on that night.

That it had something to do with Zain.

For the three days that they'd spent after the incident, Emma seemed to tense every time she saw Zain in a way he hadn't been able to explain. He'd held himself back from confronting Zain because he didn't want anyone knowing he and Emma had problems, or that he didn't trust her. Besides he'd been sure that soon, with enough love and attention, Emma would finally open up.

And yet he waited, waited two days into their return to New York, and Emma still refused to share her worries. Withdrawing much more, holding herself back from him despite being so close.

“I love you.” When he said that, hr said it as a promise.

“I love you.” When she said it back, it was as if she wanted to convince herself.

***~***

Emma was drowning in a sea of emotions, frantically searching for the courage she needed to finally come clean with Geoege. Everyday she found it and managed to swim ashore, thinking she was ready to reveal everything to him, until she remembered her imagination at the beach four nights ago, the look in George's eyes as he regarded her, demanding to know whether Zain was telling the truth, and the courage slipped through her fingers, forcing her to plunge back into the sea.

Her aunt was upset to know she still hadn't told George, and so was Eva, even though her best friend got more infuriated when Emma told her of Zain's unexpected arrival.

“Daddy!” Amy squealed and run excitedly to meet her father who was just returning from work on a Sunday.

“Hey, princess.” George enthused back, picking Amy from the ground.

“Daddy, look what mum made for me.” Their daughter let out giddily, shoving her hands in front of her father's face, displaying the wrist artefact Emma had made using the paraphernalia she'd bought at the Congo market in New Orleans.

“Wow. It's very beautiful.” George exclaimed. Emma expected him to look at her and tell her she did well with it.

He didn't. Not bothering to issue the normal greeting kiss, he walked pass her a good distance away, wowing at the artefact on Amy.

Every fibre in Emma's body froze up as she tried to contemplate the sudden distance she could sense George putting between them. Recalling how strained his voice had sounded over the phone when he'd called to inform her he would be having dinner outside, the uneasy feeling in her stomach grew.

She couldn't help the ominous feeling that settled in her chest as she followed George while he asked their daughter what she wanted them to do, obviously to make up for not spending the day with her.

“Let's watch a horlor movie!” Amy replied as she rested her head on her father's shoulder and wiggled her brows at Emma, which made her shake her head. Her daughter was always so insistent on watching those movies, seemingly not scared of anything like children her age should be off. She seemed to enjoy screaming and clutching at her father or Emma when a scary part popped up.

George didn't spare a single glance at her throughout the time they spent watching the movie, and Emma could practically feel the tension and the uncertainty strangling her with the grip of dread.

Did he know? Had Zain told him?

She suppressed the shiver that menaced to steal through her. It would be typical of George to not want their daughter to witness him in an angry state. And so Emma held her breath as after Amy had fallen asleep, they went upstairs. She could only find out the truth in their room.

The atmosphere trembled with the awkwardness and her own dread as they placed Amy in her room and made for theirs, George still making it his business to avoid eye contact. As they entered the room, Emma let her breath out loudly, preparing herself for George's outburst as she closed her eyes.

It never came. Instead, she opened her eyes to catch him swiftly diverting his gaze from her to avoid eye contact, his demeanor conflicted, like he had something to confess.

Despite the relief that realizing he wasn't angry brought her, she couldn't help a knew surge of angst from getting a hold of her. Wanting to dissipate the tension and the distress he exuded, she walked to sit beside him on the bed. “Hey, so how was your day? You sure did a lot of work on a Sunday since you didn't return early.”

She pursed her lips, wondering if this was the best approach to get George to open up about what was bothering him. She couldn't ask him directly. Not when he'd asked her the same question over and over again and she'd denied being disconcerted each time.

Tensing even more, George looked anywhere but her face as he replied. “Um, it was great. And you know. . . it's just. . . well. . . there was a lot more things to catch up on.”

She caught a glimpse of the agony on his face before he stood up and back faced her, and the unusual stammering didn't go unnoticed.

Heavens, what was wrong with him?

“Okay.” She managed to say as she stood up as well, unable to decide whether to probe. “I guess I'll just prepare for bed then.”

Emma went into the walk-in closet to retrieve her nightdress. She heard George walk in just when she'd slipped of the dress she was wearing and making to slip into the silky material of her nightwear.

“Emma...” His voice hoarse, like he was forcing her name past his teeth. Emma could've sworn she felt his hand on her shoulder, but it was snatched back so quickly that she begun to wonder if she'd imagined it.

Turning to face him, she pulled the straps of the nightwear up her shoulders. “Yes?”

An emotion akin to fear clouded his expression before he looked away. “Um.. I,.. I'm sorry, I just...”

Surprised by the unexpected apology, she quirked a brow. “Sorry?”

“Uh. . . well, I'll just go and shower.” With that, he practically skedaddled.

What the hell was wrong with him? Uncannily, she realized he was acting more or less like how she'd been doing; guilty. Which was a stupid conclusion in itself.

After all, just what could a man like George feel guilty about?