Emma's Secret (28 page)

She opened her eyes to see Peter beside her holding a bouquet of white roses. She smiled slightly as she took them from his hands and brought them up to her nose. They smelled divine.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. He stood and reached for her hands, pulling her up with him. He wrapped his arms around her and held tight.

“I know you are,” she said against his chest. She rested her head against him and listened to the steady beat of his heart. She pulled away and stood by the railing, watching Peter as he realized she hadn’t said she forgave him.

“You ask me to trust you, but then in the next breath you lie to me. I asked you point-blank if Emma had seen Jack, and you li—”

“I never lied.” Peter hung his head.

“You never told me the truth either. Lie by omission. Isn’t that the same thing?” It was a moot point, really. What’s done was done. There was no turning back time, no wishing for things to be different.

Peter lifted his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. She read the conflicting emotions in his gaze, the desire to defend himself, the apology, and the grief. She looked away.

“I’m not sure I can apologize for placing our daughter’s need first. Keeping it a secret from you, yes, I was wrong, and I’m so sorry for that. But I don’t regret taking Emma to see her grandfather.”

“He’s not her grandfather.” Megan wished she could take back those words the instant she said them. “I don’t want him to be her grandfather.” She blinked back the tears she hadn’t wanted to cry all day.

When Peter pulled her back into his embrace, her body stiffened. She didn’t want to give in. She didn’t want to accept this.

“She’s the only family he has left, Meg.” Peter rested his chin against her head and stroked her hair. The tears fell harder as she thought about what he’d just said. What if it were her own father? What if he were all alone?

She lifted her face. “That’s why this means so much to you, isn’t it? Because he’s a father who has been left alone.”

Peter’s gaze clouded over before he looked away.

“You see him as a father, don’t you?”

Her husband shrugged. But she noticed he didn’t deny it. Megan’s soul sighed. How could she fight against that? Losing his father had devastated Peter in a way she could never understand. She loved her dad, but he was more of a distant father, showing his love by providing for his family rather than being there emotionally for them.

“He’s dying, Megan. Emma’s lost so much in such a short time. She’s going to lose him, too, eventually.” His arms dropped, leaving her feeling chilled. “We took him away from her once. I don’t want to do it again.” His face turned to stone as he said those words, his gaze determined. “I need you to trust me.”

Even if Megan had wanted to fight him on this, she knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She dropped down to rest on her heels and pulled out a box from beneath her seat.

She’d thought long and hard about doing this. It would have been very easy for her to destroy the box she’d hidden high in her closet, to shred the letters between Jack and Emma and pretend she’d never attempted to keep them apart. Except, if she was going to put Emma’s needs first, then being honest with Peter about this was necessary. No more secrets.

“I was wrong to do that to her,” she said as she handed the box to Peter.

He took the box from her hands and slowly opened the lid, his eyes widening when he realized what was inside.

She stepped closer and placed the palm of her hand against his cheek. His five-o’clock shadow tickled her sensitive skin.

“I do trust you,” she whispered.

M
ay 5

Dear Jack,

I love you. I hope when you eventually read this journal, you will remember that above all else.

I’ve never remembered things with such clarity as today. It almost makes me wonder if this is my last good day. Will the rest go downhill from here? Will I forget who you are, Jack? Will I forget about Mary and our sweet precious Emmie?

I hope not.

But if I do, I want you to remember this: above all else, you are my heart.

I haven’t been the perfect wife, but I’ve been the best one I can be. I made mistakes raising Mary, but looking back, I made the best decisions I could at the time.

How Emmie came to be with us—I don’t think I can ever be forgiven for that. I don’t believe it’s a memory of something else that is confusing me or a nightmare I can’t wake up from. It has to be the truth. I don’t remember much about that day, but I do know that our Mary is dead, and I don’t think she had a daughter. I don’t know how I found our precious Emmie, but Jack…I need you to do the right thing. I can’t. I don’t trust myself anymore.

I will say this, to hear the laughter in your voice and to see the love in your eyes, I will cherish that forever. Our Emmie has been a miracle in our lives; she’s given our old bones a reason to live.

I love you, Jack. I always will. Hold that close when things go dark.

Jack sat up in his room, his heart heavy as he held Dottie’s journal in his hands.

Of everything he’d done since Dottie’s death, reading this journal was the toughest yet. Going through her clothes, making room for the boys to come and stay with him, even packing up her knickknacks hadn’t hurt as much as this one small book.

He tried to wrap his head around what he’d just read. How had he not seen just how far Dottie’s illness had taken her? So much heartache might have been averted if he’d only opened his eyes and seen what was happening to his girl.

She asked for love but not forgiveness. He would have given her both, no questions asked.

A heavy tread up the stairs alerted him that he’d soon have company.

“If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be late. Kenny’s all in a panic.” Doug edged Jack’s bedroom door open and stood there.

“Tell the old man to keep his pants on. I’m coming.”

Doug pointed to the journal in his lap. “You found another one?” His gaze strayed over to the bookshelf full of Dottie’s journals.

Jack considered how much to tell Doug. He caught the worry in his friend’s eyes and knew the time for secrets had passed.

“It’s her last one.”

Doug took a step into the room and sat down in the wicker chair beside the door.

“Did you read it?”

Jack nodded. “She was a stronger woman than I gave her credit for.” He shuffled the book in his hands, not willing to part with the feel of it, for even a moment. It was the last thing she’d written, her last letter to him.

“Does she talk about Emmie?” Doug leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Jack shrugged.

“What are you going to do about it?” They’d had this discussion many times, about how Dottie found Emmie and brought her into their lives. They’d both tried to understand, to reckon how Dottie’s mind must have been during that time.

“Nothing.” Jack grunted. “It’s time to leave things in the past. That girl is where she should be, with her family. Living in the past, having these questions hang over my head, and needing answers does nobody any good.”

He pushed himself up off the bed and reached for a box he’d set behind him. He slid the journal beneath balls of yarn and lifted the box into his arms before turning around.

“I can hear Kenny whining. Let’s go.” He followed Doug out of the room and down the stairs. Kenny sat at the kitchen table, with the new oxygen tank at his side.

“Sure you want to go? It’s only bingo.” The old man needed to be back in bed, not traipsing about, especially in his condition. But there was a fire in Kenny’s gaze and Jack knew bed was the last place he wanted to be. The nurse, after checking on Kenny earlier, had told Jack to let the man enjoy what little time he had left. So that’s what he was going to do.

It was advice Jack meant to live by as well.

The smell of roasted turkey wafted through the kitchen. Megan stood at her kitchen island, chopping sweet potatoes to make Peter’s favorite dish—candied yams. Every element on her stove was in use, as well as her slow cooker and oven. Chaos reigned in her house, and she was loving every minute of it.

It was Thanksgiving, and she had so much to be thankful for this year. In the last few months, their family had grown closer; the rifts once so deeply entrenched now healing. Her relationship with Peter was stronger than it had ever been. They worked as a team in their marriage, in their home, and she was even working a few hours in the office during the day. It almost reminded her of the early years of their marriage.

The past couple of years Thanksgiving dinner had been held at her parents’ house, but this year Megan wanted her home to be full of laughter, love, and family.

Sheila stood at the sink washing dishes, while Laurie sat at the kitchen table putting together a photo album with Emma and Hannah. Daisy was outside barking up a storm as she chased a squirrel around the yard.

“I can’t believe it hasn’t snowed yet,” her mom muttered as she stared out the kitchen sink window. She smiled over her shoulder at Megan, who smiled back. So far, fingers crossed, there’d been no arguments, no nitpicking about the dishes. Hopefully, it would continue that way.

“Is there anything I can do?” Peter’s arms snaked around her waist, and his lips left a lingering kiss against the pulse in her neck. Megan leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Just cutting the last veggies. We should be ready in an hour.” She slid the knife through the last half of the sweet potato and pushed down. These might be one of her favorite root vegetables, but she hated the effort it took to cut them.

“Want me to do that?” Peter reached his hand out for the knife. Megan relinquished her hold and stepped away to check on the pots on the stove.

“Megan, you look gorgeous here.” Laurie held up a picture. Megan blushed. Peter had taken that last month when they’d gone for a walk down the boardwalk. The girls surrounded her, their arms all around her, while the wind blew her hair every which way. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy from the nippy wind. She’d never been happier, and it showed.

“You should frame that one,” Peter said as he peeked over her shoulder.

“Mom, when can we eat?” Hannah barreled into the room, almost tripping over her feet before Peter stopped her with his arm.

“Not yet, honey.” Peter twisted her around by holding on to her shoulders and pushed her back in the direction she came. “You’re supposed to be keeping Grandpa Dan company.” Peter leaned closer to her ear. “Remember, we need to keep him out of the kitchen.”

Megan winked at Peter once Hannah left. Her father knew nothing about cooking, but he thought everyone wanted his opinion. It was Hannah’s job to keep him out, and so far she’d done a great job.

“Which one’s your favorite, Alexis?” Megan stood behind her daughter and played with her hair. Alexis was hunched over the photos, shuffling them back and forth.

“I like this one.” She pointed to a picture she’d taken herself of Emma playing in the backyard with Daisy. Daisy sat in her lap, a bone between her paws, while Emma stared at something in the distance, not shown in the picture. There was a peaceful look on her daughter’s face. Megan could see why Alexis liked it so much.

“You take great pictures. Maybe you should add a camera to your Christmas list?” Megan thought about the new camera hidden
away in the upstairs closet. She couldn’t wait to give it to her and hear the excitement in her voice when she opened the gift.

“Thanks,” Alexis mumbled. She lowered her head and tried to hide her face behind her hair as it swung forward.

The atmosphere in the kitchen was full of energy. Daniel and Hannah were shouting at the television in the other room, while Sheila was humming to herself at the counter. Emma kept checking the clock on the microwave while Laurie tried to distract her.

Megan poured herself a small glass of white wine and refilled both Laurie’s and her mother’s glasses as well. “Why don’t you sit down for a few minutes, Mom?”

Sheila wiped her hands on her apron and reached for the glass. The doorbell rang at the same time.