Emma's Secret (10 page)

“Well,” he continued, “Tiger whispered your name to me and all I heard was, ‘I’m me.’”

Emmie shook her head. “That’s not what Tiger said.” She giggled as she sipped on the container of chocolate milk in front of her.

Jack’s brow rose. “It’s not?”

“Daddy, I wouldn’t say ‘I’m me,’ would I?” Emmie rested her elbow on the table and leaned her chin into the palm of her hand.

Jack caught the way Peter cleared his throat. “Well, now, I’m not sure. Maybe Tiger heard you wrong?”

Emmie glanced back at Jack. “Is that really what Tiger said?”

Jack kept the smile off his face and nodded. “Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers. “That’s where we got the name Emmie. Sure is close to Emma, though, isn’t it? Must be my bad hearing.” Jack winked.

“That’s okay. Right, Daddy?”

There was a hint of hesitation in her voice, and Jack winced. She was too young to be worried about things like that. And it wasn’t fair of him to put her in that position. Her real name was Emma. Not Emmie. He caught the look on Peter’s face, as if he were trying to figure out how to respond without hurting her feelings. It wasn’t right to put Peter in that position either.

“Emma is a beautiful name. I think it’s the perfect name for a princess.” Jack reached for Emma’s hand and brought it to his lips. He laid a gentle kiss upon her palm, and she giggled.

No matter what, she would always be his princess.

Time stood still, and Peter had no idea what to say or how to react. A first for him. An image flashed in his mind of the first time he’d seen Jack.

Peter had stood beside Megan, his arms encircling her waist in an attempt to keep her by his side. The screen door edged open, and Jack stepped through it. He was old and worn. Tears streaked down his face, and Peter could see the anguish in his eyes. He stared at them as if trying to tell them something, but whatever Jack had to say disappeared the moment Emma stepped out of the house.

As soon as he saw her, he knew he’d recognize her anywhere. Her blonde hair, held in pigtails, framed a face that looked so much like Megan’s. His heart lurched. He didn’t expect this. He’d convinced himself that that day would be about accepting that Emma was really gone. After the way Detective Riley spoke to him on the phone, he’d been persuaded that this was the end to the small dream he’d held alive in his heart.

When Detective Riley stopped them from running to Emma, it took everything inside Peter to stand still and allow the older man to say his good-byes. Peter would never forget his voice, the gruffness and loss the man struggled to mask. It hurt his heart to have the other man’s arms around his daughter, to see him place a kiss upon her forehead. He wanted to lash out, to protect his daughter the way he should have two years ago. But the look in Emma’s eyes stopped him. She loved the older man.

Peter turned his gaze to Emma and Jack. He knew if Megan was here she’d have picked Emma up and taken her out of the store and back home within a heartbeat. And that had been his first reaction when Emma screamed.

But it was the way she locked onto the older man and the smile on her face that had stopped him from reacting and set him instead to observing. She had actually laughed. It was a sound he wasn’t about to forget. For the first time since they’d brought her home, his daughter was happy, content. At peace.

Maybe Jack wasn’t the monster they had made him out to be. Emma certainly didn’t think so, and he trusted her judgment, even if she was only five years old. He knew all about Stockholm syndrome, had read books on it late at night while the kids were in bed, but he didn’t think this was the case with Emma. They had never harmed or tortured her. And as far as he knew, Jack honestly had
thought this was his granddaughter. The monster was Dorothy, his wife—but then, she was also a victim.

It was hard to stay angry with someone who loved your child almost as much as you did. His gut wrenched. He never thought of Jack and Dottie in that way. It was easier to paint them into evil villains who stole his child. He didn’t want to think of them as real people who were important to his daughter.

But the way Emma glowed told Peter he needed to start.

“What if you had a special nickname?”

Peter wasn’t sure where that came from or why he even suggested it, but it seemed like a good compromise. Emma cocked her head and smiled. Her fingers tapped against her lips for a moment or two. He could see the wheels turn in her mind. She wanted to please both of them but knew, even at her young age, that it was a precarious position.

She leaned over, cupped her hands over her mouth, and whispered into his ear, “Can it be Em?”

Peter stared into Emma’s eyes and thought about it. Em would be acceptable and easy to remember. Em was even what Kathy, Emma’s counselor, had suggested when they discussed Emma’s trying to combine both of her lives into one. Em would be a sign that she didn’t have to choose after all.

Peter winked and gave her the thumbs-up. She giggled and then leaned over to Jack and whispered into his ear.

“Well, now”—Jack cleared his throat—“I think that is a good nickname. And easy for my old brain to remember.” He patted her hand as he visibly struggled to swallow.

This wasn’t easy on him. Peter tried to put himself in Jack’s shoes, to understand the man a little more. He’d lost his wife and the child he thought was his granddaughter all at the same time, while also having to deal with the consequences of his wife’s actions.
The publicity surrounding Emma’s return and Dorothy’s death had to have taken a toll on the man.

Peter glanced at the table where the other two men sat hunched over their coffees, neither one saying a word. The man who spoke to Emma earlier watched them.

“Those men…” Peter nodded toward the table.

Jack grunted. “Don’t mind them. They’re harmless. Doug is the one watching us, and then there’s Kenny.”

“Are those your boys?” Emma piped up. She waved at the men before taking another bite of her donut. “Grandma says Papa only comes to town to be with his boys, and when he’s with them, all he thinks about is—”

“Hush now, child,” Jack quickly interrupted. “Your grandma’s words don’t bear repeating.”

Peter had to smile when Jack’s lips quirked, and he shrugged his shoulders. He took another sip of his coffee and realized it was gone. He knew what he was about to do was going to be difficult, but he needed to head into work, and Megan would be waiting for them by now. They’d stayed longer than he’d thought they would.

He reached across and placed his hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Em, honey, it’s time to leave.”

Her whole body stilled before she lifted her tear-filled eyes to him. “Do we have to?” she whispered.

Those four words hurt him more than a jab to the heart would have. He didn’t miss the way Jack straightened in the chair across from him; nor did he miss the way Emma leaned into Jack until she rested against his arm.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Peter tried to smile, but he doubted it worked. “Your mom is probably waiting for us at home, and I need to get to the office.”

Her head dropped, and she fiddled with her hands, which had fallen into her lap. Peter glanced over at Jack’s friends and then back at the older man. He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing for him to do.

Having Emma return to them was a dream come true, an answer to a prayer—except the little girl who returned was more like Emmie than Emma, and it was something neither he nor Megan wanted to accept. In the beginning, he’d agreed with Megan that immersing Emma back into their family dynamic was the right decision and that removing Jack from her life was for the best.

But what if that time had changed? What if it really was in Emma’s best interest to have Jack back in her life? Who were they to tear apart their daughter’s heart like that? He knew Megan would disagree. But maybe it was time for them to put their daughter’s happiness first.

Emma sat quietly by Jack’s side. Peter knew this was breaking her heart, having to leave Jack again, just like he knew it was tearing Jack apart to let it happen.

“Do you come here for coffee often?” Peter struggled to keep his tone neutral.

When Jack managed to tear his gaze from Emma, Peter’s breath caught at the dimmed look in the older man’s eyes.

“Every day. It’s the only way I can keep an eye on the boys without them ransacking my house.” His voice strengthened as he stared at Peter. “Every morning at this time.”

Emma raised her head but kept her gaze downward. She reached up and grabbed hold of her drink container.

Peter cleared this throat. “I normally drop by for a cup a few days a week.”

The light in Jack’s eyes brightened. “Maybe I’ll see you then,” Jack said.

Peter gave a slight nod. It was the best he could do for now. He was going to have to figure out a way to bring Emma with him now and then without raising Megan’s suspicions or making Hannah or Alexis jealous. He also knew that a phone call to Detective Riley would be required to see if Emma seeing Jack was even something that could legally happen given the restrictions that had been put on the older man once Emma had been found.

“Papa?” Emma’s voice held a tentative note to it.

Jack leaned over and placed his arms around her. “Yes, princess?”

“I have pictures for you. Lots and lots. Daddy has one in his briefcase that we were going to mail.”

Peter had completely forgotten about that picture. He lifted his bag onto the table, opened it, pulled out the envelope, and handed it to his daughter.

“I didn’t want you to think I forgot about you, Papa, not like…not like your own little girl. I’ll always draw you pictures and write you letters, I promise.” Emma reached her little arms up and wrapped them around Jack’s neck.

Peter glanced away briefly; the feeling that he’d intruded upon a moment he wasn’t part of hit him hard. His youngest daughter, despite everything she’d gone through, had grown up a lot in the two years she’d been away from them. She accepted life more easily than he could have.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you’ll never forget. My Mary never did either. Sometimes life gets in the way and makes it hard to keep our promises. But I’ll always love you. Always. That’s one promise I’ll never break.” Jack kissed the top of her head before he unhooked Emma’s arms and pulled back. “Now, scoot. Your mama is waiting for you, and I need to head back to the farmhouse. I’ve got some rosebushes that need pruning.” Jack held the envelope in his hands. “I’ll open this tonight before bed, okay?”

Emma held up her hand, and then curled her fingers into her palm while keeping her pinkie up high. “Pinkie promise, Papa?”

Peter’s lips curled into a small grin as Jack struggled to keep the smile off his face. Emma had a way of wrapping people around her little finger.

“Pinkie promise.”

Peter stood up from the table and waited for both Jack and Emma to do the same. Before he had a chance to take Emma’s hand, she’d launched herself at Jack again and whispered into his ear. A small pang of jealousy took root in Peter’s heart at the carefree way Emma responded to Jack. He wanted that with her. One day he would have it. He reached across and held out his hand. Once the older man gripped it, Peter squeezed tight.

“Thank you.” His voice lowered. “I never said it that day. Thank you for loving Em and keeping her safe.” Peter swallowed past the golf ball lodged in his throat. He sniffed and blinked his eyes. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”

No other words were spoken, just a tight nod of the head as Jack released Emma into Peter’s arms.

Peter held his daughter close as he walked out of the donut shop. Emma’s arm waved relentlessly as they walked away. A huge smile filled her face. Once they were settled and Peter was driving out of the parking lot, Emma asked the question Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

“Can we go back tomorrow?”

J
ack stood at the top of his porch steps and looked out over his front yard. Weeds peeked from crevices along the stone path, flowers wilted in the hot afternoon sun, and the grass was in dire need of a cut.

He’d let things go. If Dottie were here, she’d have a thing or two to say.

Jack pulled the kerchief out from his back pocket and mopped the sweat off his forehead and neck. The cloudless sky showed no mercy of rain or shelter from the sun’s rays. Last year during days like this, he was out in back beneath the trees, playing with his sweet Emmie.

He missed those days. Guilt ate at him, tearing him up from the inside out. He wished time would reverse, even if just for a moment. He wanted to go back to that day when he sat with his girls, drinking ice-cold lemonade and drawing silly pictures with Emmie while listening to the clicking of Dottie’s knitting needles as she made another hat or booties for the church donation box. He wished to relive his ignorance and believe that Emmie was really his.

He’d known Dottie had been in a bad place, but he hadn’t realized just how bad. When did her memory first go? How could she honestly have thought that Emmie was theirs? Why hadn’t he seen
it sooner? He’d never forgive himself for not seeing what was in front of his eyes.