Emma's Secret Read online

  Megan squared her shoulders and reached for the cup she’d placed on the counter. She needed something in her hands to keep her occupied. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Martha placed her hand over her heart and sighed. “We’re so glad to hear that. We pray for you daily; we want you to know that. You must be feeling so relieved to finally have your daughter back home where she belongs, despite the horrible nightmare she must have experienced. I hope you’ve taken her in to see Dr. Brown. You never know what this type of trauma could do to such a young child.” She sighed dramatically while shaking her head.

  Megan didn’t miss how Evelyn’s lips quirked during Martha’s speech.

  Jan frowned at the two ladies. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Martha. Don’t you read the paper? Our angel is fine; no need to be so dramatic.”

  Megan turned her head and smiled at Jan before looking at the two women again. “She’s right. Emma is fine and adjusting well. I appreciate your concern.”

  Evelyn placed her hand on Megan’s shoulder. “Of course she’s not fine. You don’t have to pretend to us. To be ripped out of her mother’s arms and forced to live secluded…”

  “She wasn’t ripped out of my arms.”

  “And who knows what could have happened to her during the last two years.”

  “Nothing happened to her.”

  “Of course she’s not okay. But don’t you worry. We’re all here to support you.” Evelyn squeezed Megan’s shoulder with her thin hands, her grip stronger than expected.

  “I assume that program you forced parents to participate in will cease now?” Martha tsked.

  “Excuse me?” Megan didn’t believe she’d heard the woman correctly.

  “Well, we all assumed you only started that program out of guilt.”

  “There’s nothing for Megan to feel guilty for.” Laurie stood up beside Megan and placed her arm around her. “You should be the one to feel ashamed for even suggesting that. And no, the program continues. Parents aren’t forced to do anything, Martha Greer. Maybe if you and Evelyn had offered to help out, since you live on the routes, you would know that.”

  Martha’s carefully sculpted brows rose straight to her hairline. “Why would we do such a thing? Back in our day, we took care of our own children’s safety and didn’t rely on others, not like the mothers of today’s society.” She harrumphed in disgust.

  That was it. Megan had had enough. She stood, causing the women to take two steps back.

  “Since you ladies are both prime examples of how to raise children, I would love for you both to help me in my program. I do need volunteer walkers, and since I know you enjoy your daily walks around the neighborhood, this would be perfect for you. I’ll add you to my list.” She tightened her hold on her purse, grabbed the boxed pie Jan held in her hands, and then glanced over her shoulder at Laurie.

  Without any further words, Megan pushed past the two women, their exclamations of surprise and outrage ignored as she blew a kiss to Jan and waited for Laurie to join her at the front door. Inside she fumed, her entire body tense as she struggled to remain calm. She couldn’t believe the nerve of those two women.

  “Are the claws back in yet?” Laurie threaded her arm through Megan’s as they walked toward the car.

  Megan snorted. “Not yet.” She needed to calm down, breathe deep, and just forget about the two busybodies inside.

  “You know not to listen to them, right?”

  They’d stopped beside Laurie’s car. Megan gave her a reassuring smile before opening her door. “I know.”

  The ride back to Megan’s house was quiet. Their words echoed in Megan’s head until a headache formed. A tiny seed of guilt had always lingered deep inside of her. And always would.

  As Megan opened her front door, she waved at Laurie, who backed out of the driveway. She thought about the tense atmosphere in the car and shook her head. She’d tried to lighten the mood by asking about Laurie’s mysterious man, but Laurie clammed up and refused to say anything more on the topic. Laurie also begged off their morning run, claiming her parents were coming over for the day, so she needed to clean.

  Megan heard the lie in Laurie’s voice but kept quiet. Laurie’s house was spotless.

  Laurie rarely dated, but when she did, she was like a kid in a candy shop, so for her to clam up and not tell Megan who the man on the shooting range was seemed odd.

  Unless she thought Megan wouldn’t approve?

  After keying her security code into the house alarm, Megan placed her keys in the dish on the side table. Peter’s office light was on, so she took the pie into the kitchen to cut two pieces. She ignored the cluttered countertop with a half-filled popcorn bowl and dirty water glasses. Her attention was drawn to the lit screen of Peter’s cell phone on the counter. She didn’t see much before it went dark, but she did see the name. It was her. Samantha Grayson.

  She should ignore it or possibly turn the phone off, but she couldn’t. It was late—really late—and there would be no reason for Samantha to be texting her husband this late at night unless it was an emergency, or…she didn’t even want to finish that last thought. She turned her gaze away from the screen and focused on opening the box of mouthwatering pie. Part of her wished Peter would walk into the kitchen and see his phone on the counter; another part of her wanted the screen to light up again so that she could see what the text said. They were struggling to rebuild their trust in each other, and searching through his messages was definitely not a sign of trust. No matter how tempted she was.

  After sliding the pieces of coconut cream pie onto their plates, Megan stood there, listening to the stillness in her house. From Peter’s study came the distant sound of paper rustling, but other than that there was blissful silence. She loved it. Loved knowing that her family was all under one roof. She felt whole, complete. She cherished the feeling for the few seconds it lasted—until the screen of Peter’s phone lit up again.

  This time she didn’t stop herself. She grabbed the phone and read the message.

  She needs to know.

  The phone fell out of her hand, hit the corner of the counter, and dropped to the floor. A sick tumult of emotions swirled inside of her as she repeated the words over in her mind. Her chest ached, and her heartbeat quickened until she felt like she was running a marathon. She shouldn’t have looked. Prying never turned out well. She knew that. Oh God, why did she look?

  A creak on the floorboards from the hallway shot through the house like a gunshot. Megan jumped and quickly bent to pick up the phone. Halfway down, she realized her hands shook. She grabbed the phone and slid it across the counter back to where the half-filled popcorn bowl sat and whirled around to greet Peter with a smile.

  “I was just about to bring you a piece of Jan’s pie.” She plastered a smile on her face and hid her trembling hands behind her back as she watched Peter approach.

  “I’ve been waiting for this all night. What took you so long?” He bent down and inhaled the coconut cream aroma before dipping his finger in the whipped cream on his piece and scooping up a large portion. “Want a taste?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion Megan didn’t understand, especially after the text message she’d read.

  Instead of responding, she reached across to grab his phone and handed it to him. “You have a text.” She busied herself by grabbing the dirty water glasses and placing them inside the dishwasher. She waited to see whether Peter would say anything to her, but he’d just set the phone back down on the counter and was eating his pie instead.

  “Who texted you?” The question rushed out before she had a chance to bite her lip. She reached for her pie and sank her fork into the creamy center.

  His brow furled as he looked up from his pie. “Just Sam. Why?”

  Megan shrugged. “Just wondering why she would text you so late at night.” She feigned indifference. Or at least she tried to. Peter must have caught a tone to her voice.

  “Did you read it?”

  Megan raised the fork t
o her mouth. “Do I need to?” What she should have said was yes. So why didn’t she? Why not just admit she read it and have him explain her fears away?

  Maybe because she wanted him to be truthful without forcing it out of him.

  Peter shook his head. “No. It’s just about a deal we’re working on. I was going over the numbers after the girls were in bed and had some questions for her.”

  Although the slight hesitation in his voice was barely discernible, she caught it. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Something he didn’t want her to know. A flash of uncertainty crossed his face, so she swallowed her words and took another bite of the pie that crumbled like dust in her mouth.

  She set her pie down. She’d leave it for the morning. “How was your night with the girls? Any problems getting Emma to bed?” Peter didn’t seem to notice the change in her voice, or that she’d discarded the pie, something she rarely ever did.

  Peter finished his pie and then leaned against the island. “Everything was good. They were up late, so hopefully they’ll sleep in.”

  Megan chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? Emma is always up at the crack of dawn.” She yawned at the thought. Sleeping in would be nice, though.

  Peter stepped toward her and placed his hands on her waist. “Is Sleeping Beauty tired?”

  Megan let out the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding as his hands touched her. She forced herself to relax. She shrugged her shoulders and yawned again. “It’s a little past my bedtime,” she admitted.

  He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her lips. “Why don’t you go on up to bed, and I’ll put the pie away.”

  Megan glanced down at the pie and then back up into Peter’s eyes. Were there ulterior motives to his offer? Was he going to text Sam back?

  “Will you be long?”

  He must have caught her glancing down at his phone. He picked it up and held it out face-first so that she could see him hold the power button until it turned off. He then replaced the pie in the box and found a place inside their overstuffed fridge. Megan continued to stand there, just watching her husband. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, but knowing he kept a secret from her bothered her. More than it should. What if he was telling her the truth? What if she was reading into it more than there was?

  Peter reached for her hand and smiled. He gently tugged her into his arms and started to walk backward, out of the kitchen and up to the stairs. Megan couldn’t help but notice that he’d left the phone on the counter. This time, the smile that bloomed across her face was real.

  Peter’s fingers trailed up and down Megan’s arm as they lay snuggled close together.

  “Did you know Emma thinks she saw you?” His movements stilled for a brief second before continuing, but the gentle caress she had just been enjoying now tickled and annoyed. She lifted her arm to move his hand.

  “I don’t understand.” She turned to face him and saw the hesitation in his eyes.

  “When I took her out for breakfast, she told me she thought she’d seen you in the drive-thru.” Peter’s lips tightened.

  Megan shook her head. “When did she see me?”

  Peter twisted so that he was on his back and anchored his arms behind his head. Megan had to dodge his elbow before he hit her in the head. His Adam’s apple bobbed before he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Apparently, Jack would bring her into town and go through the drive-thru for donuts.”

  Megan’s breath caught. “She was here? Just down the road?” She shook her head. No, that wasn’t possible. She couldn’t have been. For two years, Megan had searched for her daughter. There was no way she had been just down the street.

  Peter’s chin jutted out. “She said you were behind her. Several times. She waved but said you didn’t see her.”

  Megan tried to recall ever seeing Emma in the drive-thru line.

  She couldn’t. She recalled the time at the playground when she thought Emma was skipping down the sidewalk, or when they were at the pool and Megan thought for sure she’d seen Emma disappear behind a curtain in the changing room. There was the time when the kids were in line at the local ice cream shop and Megan thought Emma was standing outside with another family. And then the little girl at the donut shop. But that girl had been inside the store, and Megan knew for sure it wasn’t her daughter.

  “How did I not see her? How could I not know it was her?” Her chest tightened. “I wasn’t crazy then. All those times you…it was real, not a figment of my imagination.” Resignation swept over her. She let out a large sigh, threw the covers back, and grabbed her bathrobe. “We could have found her sooner, Peter.” Her voice rose as she tied a knot around her waist. “Damn it, I could have found her sooner!”

  Peter propped himself up in bed. “Don’t you think I know that?” He rubbed his face with his hands.

  “You could have believed me.” Megan’s hands trembled as she opened the drawer to the bedside table and pulled out a green leather-bound book with a cord wrapped around it. “Read my journal, Peter. I wrote down every time I thought I saw her. Every time.” Her voice shook. “How many of those times do you think I actually saw her?” She tossed the journal onto the bed, regretting it the moment she did so. She’d poured her heart into that journal, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to see her that way.

  He picked up the book and held it in his hands before offering it back to her. “How many times did you think you saw her?”

  Megan breathed slowly through her nose, consciously letting the anger that welled up inside go, before taking the journal and placing it back in the drawer. “Too many times. I didn’t tell you half the time.” She sat back down on the bed and lowered her head to her chest.

  The room was quiet. The gentle music of the wind chimes in their backyard sang out against the warm night breeze.

  “Oh my God, Peter. Why didn’t I trust myself enough?” Tears welled up as the realization that she’d actually seen her daughter hit her.

  “Because I didn’t trust you.” Peter’s voice lowered as he admitted something Megan had been waiting for a long time to hear.

  She ran her hands through her hair before shaking her head. “You should have.” Her throat hurt as she pushed down the urge to cry. All of this could have been avoided. They could have had their daughter back sooner if only…

  Peter bit his lip. “I should have.”

  Megan pinched the top of her nose. “She waved to me?” Her voice broke. She waved to her. Emma had been right in front of her, and she’d missed her. “How could I not have seen her? How? I was always looking for her.” She rubbed her eyes. “How did I not see her?” Anguish filled her voice as she looked to Peter for answers.

  He reached for her hand and pulled her back down. “Maybe she didn’t see you, Meg. Maybe she saw someone else.” He laid a kiss on her forehead and wrapped his arms around her.

  Megan tried to stop the tears. She curled her arms up across her chest and let herself believe him. Maybe it was true. Emma must have seen someone else. There was no way Megan would have not noticed her. No way. If there was one thing her counselor had mentioned, it was that Megan had been hypervigilant about catching a glimpse of Emma. She didn’t trust anyone else to know her daughter the way she did.

  “It had to have been someone else. I would have known it was her.” She breathed in the musky scent of her husband and was soothed by the gentle strokes on her back.

  “Of course you would have.” He tightened his grip, and Megan cuddled in closer. “You found her when no one else was looking.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  February 7

  Jack handed me a box today and asked me to mail it while in town getting groceries. It was only a small box, not heavy, and I could hold it in one hand. I knew before I asked what it was for; why didn’t I just keep quiet? Every year, every holiday, Jack sends boxes like this. A shadow passed over his eyes as he whispered that it was for Valentine’s Day.

&nbs
p; What he didn’t say was that it was for Mary.

  I hid myself away in our bedroom. Luckily, Jack understood. I used to do this when Mary was a young child. I needed time to myself. Quiet time, when I could get lost in my own thoughts and not worry about anything else. I’m too old to raise a child. We’re too old.

  Jack wants to reach out to Mary, to convince her to come home and raise Emmie. I think it’s a bad idea. I’m not sure why, but something inside me tells me it wouldn’t work. I told Jack I would try to contact her. But I won’t. I can’t.

  Her last words to me were, “I hate you.” I’ll never forget her tone. Children eventually say that to their parents, but they never believe it, deep down. But Mary did. I heard it in her voice. I don’t know what I did that was so evil, so horrific, to earn her hatred, but it’s there.

  Every day I remind myself that I can do it differently. That I can raise Emmie to be a loving young woman. But every day I’m also reminded of my age and how tired I am, and I get worried. What happens if I die too soon? What if Jack is the one who dies first? What if we die together, like we had talked about, knowing that without each other there is no reason to live? What would happen to Emmie then?

  Megan’s running shirt was soaked. Despite the early hour she’d left the house for her morning run, the humidity had made it a struggle to breathe. Peter had warned her to use the treadmill today, but she thought she’d be able to beat the weatherman at his prediction. She should have listened.

  Hannah opened the door as Megan stumbled up the walkway.

  “Thanks, kiddo,” Megan huffed. Throughout the last half hour, all she could think about was walking into her air-conditioned home. Not even jumping off the pier and into the lake had cooled her off.

  “Dad asked me to keep an eye out for you.” Hannah skipped ahead into the kitchen.

  “Thanks, hon,” Megan called out. She plopped herself down on the stairs and eased off her running shoes. Her entire body was drained. More than likely, she was dehydrated. Her head dropped down to her chest as she reclined against the steps, not caring how uncomfortable it was for her back. She wouldn’t have been able to move if she’d tried.