Emma's Secret Read online

  Maybe Jack will know.

  The creak of the old wood rocker broke the silence. Jack knew he should turn on the radio for company, but there was something in the air tonight; a restlessness he couldn’t quite understand.

  It was a night for memories.

  He sank his head back on the worn chair and closed his eyes. Fairies danced before him, their lights flickering as they twirled in the air, or so Emmie used to say. The fairy lights were just Christmas lights Dottie had unearthed from who knew where—lights that he had spent hours tacking onto the wall—but it made their little girl happy to have those lights in her room. He could almost feel the weight of her body snuggled in his lap, ready for a bedtime story. She’d curl up nice and close, her legs either tight underneath her or hanging loose over his knees as she rested in the crook of his arm. She’d help him turn the pages in the story, but first they had to close their eyes and wait for the fairies to dance—a silly game, but he indulged her all the same.

  Jack still went upstairs every night to read Emmie a bedtime story. He didn’t dare tell Doug or Kenny, men he considered almost brothers. He knew of course that she wasn’t here anymore, but one moment he’d be down in the kitchen and the next he’d be opening her bedroom door to check on her. Seeing the empty bed covered with the stuffed animals she left behind nearly broke his heart every time.

  He snuggled the floppy-eared bunny Emmie had given him on the day they’d packed her suitcase and sighed. He missed all three of his girls so much that it sometimes hurt physically. He never thought he could lose so much in such little time. He had just started to grieve for his Mary when Dottie had collapsed and was taken to the hospital. Then he’d had to give up Emmie, only to have Dottie pass away in her sleep, oblivious to his pain and the turmoil her actions had caused.

  Or maybe she did know. Deep down, Jack suspected Dottie could no longer live with the guilt. That was why she never woke up from her coma. That was why, just moments before she breathed her last breath, she squeezed his hand three times in succession. The doctors said it was involuntary—a reflex. But Jack knew it had been her private good-bye, her final “I love you.”

  He just wished he’d had the chance to say good-bye back. To tell her he loved her and that he understood why she did what she did. Not that it was right, but that he understood.

  With a groan, Jack pushed himself up from the chair, his old bones creaking from the exertion. He went to Emmie’s bed and laid the bunny on the pillow, smoothing its fur. He knew it was silly, but he’d promised his little girl that he would take care of her bunny. He’d never broken a promise to Emmie, and he wasn’t about to start.

  He thought about the letter on the kitchen table, half-written. Did she know that he had planted a rosebush in his front garden just for her and that he’d cut the first bloom the other day? Did she even receive his letters?

  Probably not. He knew if he was in her parents’ shoes, the last thing he would do was allow his daughter to remain in contact with the people who took her away. The media labeled him and Dottie kidnappers, but if only they knew. Jack’s hand trembled at the thought. It killed him to admit that kidnapping was exactly what Dottie had done, despite all her good intentions and her unstable state of mind. He and Dottie had been vilified in the media and had their life scrutinized, but no one really understood. How could they?

  He thought back to that day in the hospital, shortly after Dottie’s death, when he’d seen Emmie. He’d been there to bring flowers to one of the nurses, his way of saying thank-you. One moment his heart had been heavy, and the next a tiny pair of arms had wrapped around his waist. He knew then that it was his little girl. He didn’t know how, but he thanked God anyway. He wished she had held on a little tighter, a little longer, just so he could savor the memory a little bit more. He wished he could take back the words he said, telling her that her grandma was gone. It wasn’t fair of him to share his grief with his little girl. Not like that.

  Jack went downstairs to make a cup of tea before bed. It was a heavy burden to carry, knowing that he’d been instrumental in tearing a family apart. He’d never forgive himself for that. He should have known when Emmie first came home with Dottie that something was wrong.

  “Oh, Dottie-mine, you sure made a mess of things.”

  Jack didn’t like to be alone. Lately, the silence bothered him. He’d confessed to his doctor that he had been talking to Dottie as if she were there with him, and he’d been ready for the doctor to say it was time for a nursing home. But the doctor only nodded and said it was normal—as though people talking to the dead was something he was used to hearing about. Jack shook his head at the thought. Back in the day, if his daddy had started to talk to his momma after she’d passed away, everyone would have said he’d lost it. But nowadays, it was “normal.”

  He pushed aside the dishes in the sink to make room for the kettle and filled it with water. If Dottie were here, she would have smacked his hand for leaving dirty dishes lying around. But then, if Dottie were here, there would be no dirty dishes.

  As he waited for the kettle to boil, Jack tackled the dishes. Afterward, he made sure to wring the cloth dry, a lesson Dottie had taught him after finding too many smelly dishcloths in her sink. He cut a slice of store-bought apple pie, topping it with a piece of cheese and knew, even before he took a bite, that it wouldn’t taste anything close to what Dottie used to make.

  He missed her more than he thought possible. This house was never meant to be so empty, so void of laughter, of childish giggles, or even of companionable silence. He often thought that he would die with Dottie, together in their bed, when they were both much older. But not yet. Not now. He had never envisioned what life would be like alone.

  God sure had a way of playing jokes on him. He’d promised Dottie the day he returned from the war that he’d never leave her alone again.

  He guessed he had kept his promise.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Megan shut off the vacuum. She popped her head up and scanned the family room. When she’d started cleaning, Emma was sitting in the big corner chair playing with her dolls. Now only Megan was in the room. She listened for Daisy’s bark or the other girls playing, but heard nothing.

  “Girls?” Her voice slightly squeaked. When there was no answer, she dropped the vacuum handle.

  She checked to make sure the front door was locked and the alarm still set; then she ran into the kitchen and looked out the patio doors. Hannah and Alexis sat on the deck, their legs stretched out, soaking in the sun.

  Megan scanned the yard. Where was Emma? Why couldn’t she see her? Megan wrenched open the sliding doors.

  “What’s up?” Alexis sat up and raised her sunglasses.

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “Right here.” Alexis nudged Hannah’s shoulder.

  Hannah frowned. “Not me, you moron. Emma.” She turned back. “I thought she was with you?” Hannah pushed herself up from her elbows, a panicked look on her face.

  “She was, until I started vacuuming.” Megan’s heart raced, yet she struggled to keep her voice calm.

  “She might be up in her room with the dog,” Alexis volunteered before lying back down. “And don’t call me a moron.”

  Hannah stood up, but not before giving her sister a disgusted look. “I’ll take a look.”

  Megan shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got it. Sit back and don’t fight. I’ll make you guys some lemonade in a few minutes.” She closed the sliding door and pivoted on her heel.

  “Emma?” she called out, unable to keep the frantic tone out of her voice. Where was she?

  Megan ran to the stairs and flew up several steps when a rhythmic thumping against the carpet stopped her.

  Emma must be in her room with Daisy.

  She climbed the remaining stairs quietly and heard her daughter hum a familiar song. It worried her that Emma’s first place to run to was her room, alone and away from her sisters. She should be blooming, like the roses in the
ir backyard, instead of wilting now that she was back with her family.

  Megan clenched her fists as she thought about the damage they had inflicted upon her daughter. She should be a loud, vibrant child full of energy and sass, not a quiet child who rarely spoke and found solace with her dog instead of her family.

  Emma’s door was slightly ajar, and she sat on the floor, her back against her bed and her feet propped up against the far wall. Daisy’s tail was in view, thumping wildly on the floor. She couldn’t completely see what they were doing, but Megan had a feeling Daisy’s head lay on Emma’s lap while she stroked her fur.

  Nothing in Emma’s room was out of place. Her bed was made, her stuffed bears lined up in a row against her pillows, the floor clear of any toys, and the lid of her laundry basket down. Peter had put together a little bookcase where she kept her toys, baskets, and books. Even those were organized.

  Emma was the only neat freak in the house—a trait she must have picked up from living with those other people. Her sisters’ rooms were a mess, and it was all Megan could do to get them to keep the floor clean. It wasn’t normal for a five-year-old to be so tidy.

  “I miss Papa, Daisy. Don’t you? I bet you miss running around in the backyard the most.”

  Megan gripped the doorframe. Emma’s soft voice walloped her heart into tiny pieces.

  “I miss the fairy lights too. They were so pretty.”

  Fairy lights? This was the first time Emma had mentioned anything like that.

  “Hey, Emma?” Megan whispered into the room.

  “I miss Grandma’s muffins and her bread and the way she smelled. I think it’s ’cause she baked so much. I hope she’s happy in heaven now and gets to bake bread all day long. Maybe Papa is going to go see her soon. Then I’ll be sad, ’cause I’ll be all alone.” Emma’s head disappeared from view.

  Megan’s heart hurt. How could she think she’d be alone?

  “Emma?” Megan whispered again. She tried to make her voice louder but couldn’t. Her daughter didn’t hear her anyway. She seemed lost in her own little world.

  Megan took a step into the room. She could have been a ghost, silent and unseen. Daisy didn’t even notice her presence. On top of Emma’s bed was a notebook, one of many Megan had bought for her to draw pictures in. It lay open, and there was an image of a small yellow dog and a girl sitting outside with round red circles floating above them.

  As hard as she tried, Megan couldn’t get Emma to admit she remembered much of the day when she was taken. But deep down, that memory had to be there. She just knew it. Otherwise, she wouldn’t remember the red balloons they watched floating in the sky that day. They’d planned to take the girls to their town fair to celebrate Emma’s birthday, and instead spent the day searching for their lost daughter.

  Megan took in a deep breath. She was going to do something she’d thought of for a while now. She wasn’t sure whether she was ready for the reaction, though.

  “Hey, Emmie?” Megan kept her voice at the same low level as the previous times she’d called for her daughter. This time, Emma’s head lifted in response.

  As much as it hurt, Megan placed a smile on her face as her daughter smiled back at her.

  “It’s beautiful outside. Do you want to help me make some lemonade?”

  Megan stepped into the room as Daisy lifted her head from Emma’s lap. When Emma smoothed out her dress and wiped at the tears in her eyes, Megan knew that she couldn’t pretend Emma’s responding to her other name didn’t happen. Even though she wanted to. So she sat down on Emma’s bed, pushed the book out of the way, and held out her arms. When Emma crawled up into her lap, Megan rested her cheek against the top of her daughter’s head and struggled to find words.

  “What are fairy lights?”

  Emma’s body stiffened for a moment before she relaxed. “Grandpa put pretty lights in my room. They went from one corner to the next”—Emma pointed upward—“so I wouldn’t feel lonely.”

  Megan wrapped a strand of Emma’s hair around her fingers. She was talking about Christmas lights. “That was nice of him.”

  Emma nodded her head and sniffed. Daisy lay down across Megan’s toes and whined for attention.

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  Emma nodded again.

  Megan lifted her daughter’s face so that she could look into her eyes. Teardrops hung from her long eyelashes.

  “Would you like some fairy lights in your room? I think we have some extra ones in the basement. Maybe you could help me hang them up?”

  Emma’s eyes widened before a smile stretched across her face. Megan cherished the moment Emma wrapped her arms around her. Every gesture, every smile, every hug would never be taken for granted. Never again.

  “It must be hard to have two names, isn’t it?” Megan kept the tone of her voice light.

  Emma’s lips tightened and her brows knotted together for a brief moment before she shook her head.

  “No? Are you sure?”

  A frantic look crept into her little girl’s face. Her eyes widened, her nose flared, and a tiny tremor swept through her body. “My name is Emma.”

  Daisy stood up and barked. Emma’s panic was palpable, and Megan hated herself for doing this to her little girl.

  “It’s okay, honey. Your name is Emma. But sometimes it can be Emmie too.” She paused for a few seconds. “Right?”

  Emma’s arms unwound themselves from around Megan’s body. Her shoulders tensed under Megan’s touch.

  “Only to Papa,” Emma whispered.

  Megan swallowed. Papa. Of course. He had a piece of Emma’s heart, and there was nothing Megan could do about it. No matter how hard she tried.

  “Did you know, when you were just a baby, I used to call you Emmie?”

  “You did?”

  Megan nodded. “Late at night, when I would hold you close to my heart and rock you to sleep, I would call you Emmie and kiss your forehead.” She held her breath as her daughter snuggled close to her again. “A special girl can have as many special names as she wants, just as long as she remembers one thing.”

  “What?” Emma whispered.

  “That you’ll always be mine.” She kissed the soft skin of Emma’s forehead, wishing for time to stand still.

  “Always,” Emma said.

  Megan tightened her hold. “Always.”

  Megan rinsed one last dish from dinner before placing it in the dishwasher. Peter sat at the kitchen table looking through the latest stack of grocery flyers, apparently oblivious to her at the moment.

  Nerves made Megan’s body feel like it was strung on a taut wire. Her chest was tight, and it hurt to take deep breaths. Since her talk with Emma, she’d been fighting against the doubts that kept creeping into her heart.

  “All right, spill.” Peter pushed his chair back, scraping the floor at the same time. Megan winced. She had meant to replace the little pads of fabric beneath the chair legs after washing them. They were probably still in the dryer from yesterday.

  “What do you mean?” She wiped her hands on the towel hanging from the oven handle.

  The look on Peter’s face told her he knew something was wrong.

  “You banged the dishwasher door shut, almost broke a glass earlier in the sink, and you’ve barely said two words since the kids went outside to play after dinner.”

  Megan turned her back, filled two mugs with coffee, and went to the table. She handed Peter his mug, reached for one of the grocery flyers, and prayed to God that Peter didn’t notice that her hand shook.

  “You’re wound up as tight as my old yo-yo. What’s going on?”

  “I didn’t think you’d be home so early tonight. Laurie had suggested going to the late show, but I told her you wouldn’t be home.” She wrapped her fingers around the mug.

  “Well, I’m home.”

  She caught the slight shrug of his shoulders and knew it really didn’t matter to him if she went out or not.

  “I told her we’d go out tomorro
w night instead. Will you be home?”

  Peter tossed a flyer to the side and opened another one.

  “Peter?” She glanced at what he was looking at. Golf clubs. Go figure.

  “If you need me to be home early, all you have to do is ask. You know that.” He laid down the paper and took a sip of his coffee. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re on edge tonight.”

  Megan sighed. She bit her lip before standing up and glancing out the sliding doors. She drank in the sight of them, all together. She knew she was overreacting, that if she just took the time to really work her way through everything, she’d realize she was making a mountain out of a molehill.

  “Have you ever noticed Emma not responding when you call her name?” She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at his reflection in the glass, afraid of what she’d see.

  “No.”

  Maybe it was the tone of his voice or the way he cleared his throat, but when Megan opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder, she’d almost wished she hadn’t. His brows were knit together and there was a look in his eyes she’d seen too many times before.

  “I have,” she whispered. When Peter sighed, something sparked inside Megan. She needed him to listen to her, to understand. “It happens to me a lot, Peter.” She turned her back to the glass and leaned on it.

  Peter shrugged. “Why?”

  Why? He had to ask that? It didn’t take a psychiatrist to understand that if a child didn’t respond to her name when called, there might be an issue. There had to be some reason she didn’t respond. Unless…this was Emma’s way of holding on to a life no longer hers? Would she do that on purpose though? At five years of age? Megan wasn’t too sure.

  “Do you think something’s wrong with her hearing?”

  Megan ground her teeth before she shook her head. “No, Peter. I think her hearing is fine. I think that she doesn’t want to be Emma. I think that—”

  “She probably didn’t hear you,” Peter interrupted. His eyes were turned back down toward the flyers.