Emma's Secret (23 page)

“I’m so sorry, Hannah, that I let you live with the guilt of losing Emma. It was never your fault.” Tears misted in Megan’s eyes as she watched her daughter take in her words. Did she believe her? Was it too late?

“I need to be with her, Mom.” Hannah’s voice quavered as she gazed down at Emma.

“I know.” Megan said. She rubbed Hannah’s arm for a few moments before she let go.

Hannah stepped back, but not before she bent down and laid a kiss on the top of Emma’s head. It broke Megan’s heart to see her daughters like this, knowing that it was partially her fault. No, if she were honest, she’d admit it was all her fault. Hannah wasn’t old enough to take on the role of mothering a five-year-old, and yet that was exactly what was happening.

Megan bent down and gathered Emma in her arms. She wanted to cry when Emma rested her head against her shoulder but kept her eyes closed. She should have kept a better eye on her youngest daughter.

“You just don’t trust me,” Hannah whispered before she walked away.

Megan heard her, but instead of turning and calling out to her eldest daughter like she should have, she pretended she didn’t hear. It was hard, but she needed to concentrate on Emma at the moment. When she tucked Hannah in tonight, she’d talk to her about the whole trust issue.

Hannah wasn’t the one she didn’t trust. It was herself.

Jack looked at his house, at the white porch and dirty windows. He needed it to become his home again. Jack stood and straightened his back. With Emmie back in his life, he had a whole new reason for living.

He wasn’t going to give her up again. Not this time.

The old house creaked around Jack as he puttered around, picking up piles of things he’d long forgotten about. He’d let the housework lapse, and if he had to look deep, he knew he was reacting to all the changes in his life instead of acting.

The loneliness was starting to get to him. Talking with Dottie today reminded him of that. And if he didn’t smarten up, he’d soon regret it. He had a lot to live for, even if his old heart didn’t want to accept that. He didn’t care what the doctor said at his last appointment. He’d live to be one hundred if he had his way. What did his doctors know? Nothing. Not the important stuff, anyway.

He tapped his heart twice with the palm of his hand. “You’re living for Emmie now, you hear?”

That was all that mattered anymore. Just his little girl.

He stood at the base of the stairs from the kitchen and looked up. Maybe he could pack up some of her favorite books she’d left behind, or maybe one of the stuffed animals, and make sure he had them with him the next time he saw her. She might like that. Jack heaved his body up the stairs, his grip on the handrail firm.

There were a few old suitcases high on a shelf in his closet. He could always use one of those to put Emmie’s things in. He should probably also use a few of them for Dottie’s things. He was running out of boxes, and he didn’t need the extra luggage anymore.

When he stepped into his room, the amount of clutter hit him. He’d been hesitant to get rid of anything, especially when it reminded him of Dottie. Memories attached to everything in their room. The sagging bed they’d shared for so many years sat in the middle of the room between the two windows. On either side were small tables he’d built years ago. The worn paint and dents were marks of love, Dottie always said. Then they both had their own dressers on opposite walls, and one main closet. Dottie’s dresser was full of rarely used perfume bottles, a candle, a comb, and a pen, while his held only a shaving kit and a couple of receipts. Dottie loved her walk-in closet, even though only one person could stand in there at a time. Beside the closet was a small bookshelf, another project he’d labored over in his shed one year as a birthday gift for his sweetheart. Dottie’s favorite books and most of her journals were all lined up there.

Little by little, he’d start to pack up Dottie’s things. He knew she’d want him to donate her clothes, but some things he couldn’t bear to part with. Her journals were one of those. Her clothes were another.

Like the soft cream-colored cardigan he’d bought her one year for Christmas. He picked it up from where it lay across Dottie’s pillow and caressed it with his fingers. Some nights he just needed to not feel so alone.

Standing in their closet, Jack looked over the items Dottie had stacked on the floor. Bags full of wool, shoe boxes, and her fancy shoes she liked to wear to church. The top shelf was jam-packed with purses. Jack’s eyes widened as he counted how many there were.

He caught sight of a soft pink color in among the mixture of black and brown purses. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember Dottie ever having a pink purse. He grabbed a handful of the purses
by their handles and dropped them on the floor by his feet. Just one more mess he’d need to clean up.

With enough cleared away, Jack could see that it wasn’t a pink purse hidden away, but instead something like a blanket sticking out of a shoe box with a lid only half closed.

He reached up, his arm swiping another couple of purses off the shelf, and grabbed hold of the material. Why that woman shoved it so far back he had no idea. With the edge of the blanket between his fingertips, Jack tugged, expecting it to come easily, and was a bit surprised to meet with resistance. He pulled harder until the box edged forward enough that he could grab it with both hands.

“What did this woman think she was doing? Filling a box with—” Jack stopped when he pulled off the lid and saw a note pinned to the blanket.

He rubbed his eyes, sure that he’d read the note wrong.

Dear Mary,

This blanket is for my granddaughter. One day I hope you’ll let me see her.

Love,

Mom

Megan arched her back and groaned as she wiped a cool cloth over Emma’s head once again. Peter rested his hand against her shoulder blades and pressed hard. He’d just returned with a clean bowl for Emma’s vomiting. For the past hour, she had been throwing up, and they were now at the point where even the little bit of water Megan managed to get her to sip wouldn’t stay down.

Her poor little girl probably had heat exhaustion, and it bothered Megan that there was nothing she could do. She’d given Emma a cool bath, had her drinking fluids, and knew she just needed to sleep. But if the vomiting kept up, they’d have to go into the emergency room.

“She’s going to be okay,” Peter whispered beside her.

Megan reached her hand up and laid it over his. “I know. I just…feel helpless.”

Emma whimpered, and Megan’s first response was to reach for the bowl at her feet.

“I want Papa,” Emma groaned as she grew restless beneath the covers. Megan pulled the cover down and freed Emma’s hands.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay, honey. Just try to go to sleep, okay?” Megan whispered as she stroked Emma’s hair.

Since coming home, this was the first real time Emma had been sick. While it broke her heart knowing that if she’d only paid a little bit more attention, Emma would be okay, there was no place Megan would rather be than right here, stroking her daughter’s hair.

“I want Papa, please?” Emma’s weakened voice begged.

That hurt, knowing her daughter wanted someone else at a time when all she should want was her mommy. Anger burned in her heart once again toward the one man who’d stolen so much from her.

“Daddy?” Emma opened her eyes.

Peter sat down on the bed behind Megan and reached for Emma’s free hand.

“I’m here, Em. I’m here. Just go to sleep, okay, baby?” Peter’s voice broke.

Megan leaned back into him and relaxed. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t know what she’d do if Peter had actually left, before they found Emma.

“Can we go see him, please? Tomorrow? Please, Daddy?” Emma’s voice grew stronger as she continued to beg Peter for something they both knew couldn’t happen.

“Shhh, just go to sleep, Em. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” Peter released her hand and was about to stand up, but Emma reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Promise, Daddy. Promise we’ll go on our date with Papa tomorrow. Promise.” Megan sat back, alarmed at her daughter’s persistence. Peter glanced at Megan before looking around the room. He started to pace across the floor, his nervousness apparent, as if he were unsure how to respond.

Megan waited for Peter to correct Emma, but he didn’t. The tension in the room became unbearable.

“As long as you’re feeling better, honey, of course you can go on your date with Daddy.”

The smile on Emma’s face grew and her body relaxed at Megan’s words. Megan didn’t miss the quiet gasp from Peter, however, before he left the room.

“Peter,” she called out. He halted at the top of the stairs, just outside of Emma’s room, his back rigid as one hand rested on the railing. “Peter,” she called again, wanting him to turn and look at her. Except he didn’t. He disappeared from view.

Megan’s lap grew damp as the dropped wet cloth soaked into her shorts. She picked it up and leaned across Emma’s body. As she gently stroked her daughter’s forehead with the cloth, she waited to see whether Emma would open her eyes again. She wanted to ask her about the dates she’d gone on with Peter. Neither one had ever given any details about those times, and she’d never thought to ask how they went. Maybe she should have.

But Emma’s eyes remained closed and her breathing evened out. She was finally asleep. As if the promise Megan had made were all Emma needed.

She should be thankful Emma was sleeping. So why was her stomach in knots? Why did she suddenly get the feeling that something was going on behind her back, something that was about to change her life in a way she wouldn’t like?

T
he creak of the porch swing joined the chorus of sounds cascading around Jack as he applied a little bit of pressure to the pad of his foot to keep the momentum of the swing going.

Nothing better than relaxing on his front porch during a warm summer day. All he needed was a sweating glass of iced tea at his side and life would be perfect. Well, almost perfect. Jack avoided glancing down at the box beside him.

He’d spent the last few hours tending his front yard, anything to keep him busy. The grass was all cut, the bushes trimmed, and his flower beds were looking better than ever. Dottie’s little tree in the middle of the yard was flourishing despite the heat. All was right with his world. Finally.

With his head leaned back and his eyes closed, Jack reached for the handkerchief he’d laid on the cushion beside him and wiped the sweat from his forehead. A low buzz off to his right had him peeking his eyes open, and he caught sight of the fattest bumblebee he’d ever seen hovering over the box he’d brought outside but tried to forget.

“Shoo, now. There’s nothing there for you.” Jack waved his hand at the bee.

He eyed that box with misgiving. Pandora’s box, thanks to Dottie herself. If he opened it, his world was about to be altered in a way he wasn’t sure he was ready for. He had half a mind to bury the box back in Dottie’s closet and worry about it another day. Except he wouldn’t do that. He’d never run from a battle in his life, and he wasn’t about to now.

“Oh, Dottie-mine, what have you done?”

Jack shifted in the seat until he was upright before lifting the box onto his lap. He noticed that his hands shook as he lifted the lid, and he swore. There was nothing in here he couldn’t face. Nothing in here that would kill him. Maim him, yes, but kill him? No. Not now.

He pulled out the blanket that haunted his nightmares. He avoided the note, folding the blanket into quarters until the note was hidden. It was possible Dottie had made this blanket for a future grandchild she prayed Mary would have. Possible. Not likely, though. He knew Dottie better than that. There was nothing extra special about this wool. In fact, he’d boxed up more than a dozen baby hats and socks his wife had knitted in the same color.

There wasn’t much in the box after the blanket was taken out—an opened letter and a soft pink journal. Jack pulled both out and set them on his lap. He opened the journal first and tried to think whether he’d ever seen Dottie write in this one before. It wasn’t until he opened it and leafed through the empty pages that he realized he’d never seen it. There was writing on the first page and that was it.