Emma's Secret Page 6

  Jack and the boys were the only ones in the donut shop, the place nearly silent. Jack cleared his throat but wasn’t sure what to say.

  They were all tired. They’d stayed late at the races, spending a fortune at the slot machines. Doug won a measly hundred dollars on a horse no one expected to win and was convinced his luck had turned. And it had. He walked away winning another hundred at the penny slots. Jack just shook his head as he slapped his friend on the back and told him it was time to go home.

  He almost didn’t make it this morning. He’d considered staying home, sleeping in, and puttering around in his garden, but he showed up anyway, knowing that if he didn’t, the boys would come looking for him.

  They sat for at least twenty minutes in silence, watching the line of cars and drivers ordering their coffees at the drive-thru window.

  Jack thought about what he’d do when he went home. Dottie’s vegetable garden needed tending. Although, what he’d do with all the veggies, he had no idea. Maybe his neighbor Sherri could use some. Ever since the day he’d found Dottie on the floor, Sherri had been there for him. She became his spokeperson when the pesky media parked along the road waiting for him to venture out; she cooked him casseroles and cookies and invited him over for coffee more times than he could count. He knew she felt guilty for her part in Emmie’s…in Emmie going back to her parents. She shouldn’t. If anything, he was the guilty one.

  Maybe he’d just tell her to consider the garden hers. Lord knew he couldn’t do any pickling or jarring like Dottie would have. He also needed to do some cleaning. It had been a while since he cleaned the floors or the bathroom. How Dottie kept the house spotless was beyond him. Sometimes, he wondered whether the house was too large for one man.

  Jack pushed himself up from the chair and groaned. His body sure was stiff today. More so than yesterday.

  “Leaving already?” Kenny asked.

  Jack shook his head. “Just heading to the can.”

  Doug stood up as well. “I could go for another coffee and fritter. They sure taste good today.”

  Kenny snorted. “When don’t they?”

  Halfway to the restroom, Jack called over his shoulder, “Might as well grab me one too. And a refill.” He ignored Doug’s muttering. After all his winnings last night, Jack knew the old man could afford it. He’d eat his fritter and drink another cup of coffee and then head back to the farm. He had a hard time calling it home lately. Home was supposed to be where the heart was, but with Dottie gone and Emmie out of his life, there was no heart left in that house.

  Now it was only an old, empty farmhouse filled with memories of laughter and love.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  September 3

  I’m sitting at the kitchen table, alone. There is a single candle flickering beside me. Jack is a sensitive sleeper and would probably wake up if he noticed the kitchen light on.

  There’s a cup of tea in front of me, but I don’t remember pouring it. Just like I don’t remember putting Mary to bed or baking the Dutch apple pie sitting on the counter. I know Jack didn’t bake it. He can never get the recipe right.

  I also don’t remember what we did today. I don’t remember any of it. I think I remember being out in the garden, but it could have been yesterday or last year.

  I can’t rely on my memory anymore. I get glimpses of things that happen, but when I ask Jack, he just gives me a weird look and pats my hand, telling me not to worry so much. Of course I’m going to worry; I used to have a crystal-clear memory. I need to know what is happening to me. I need to remember.

  What if I do something that could hurt someone? What if I take the wrong medication, or forget to take it? What if I take Mary someplace and then leave her there, forgetting that I took her in the first place? No, not Mary. Emmie. Emmie. Why do I keep confusing the two?

  My father was like this. Alzheimer’s is a nightmare. It’s hell on earth—except the ones who live it are the family members. It was horrible to watch him lose the life he’d built for us, his family. It was hard to see him forget who we were.

  Please God, I don’t want that to happen to me. I don’t want to forget Mary. I don’t want to lose Jack. Not again. Losing him the first time almost killed me. If it weren’t for Doug and Mary…I can’t lose anyone else in my life.

  Peter glanced in the rearview mirror and knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep the smile off his face if he’d tried. Emma bounced in the backseat as he pulled into the local coffee shop’s driveway.

  When he’d asked Emma where she wanted to go on their date, her first choice would have been his last. He figured she’d want to go to the local fast-food place, or even Brewster’s Bakery to see Shelly Belle and Jan. But instead, she wanted to go to the local donut shop, where Megan would often visit the drive-thru for coffee.

  “I’ve never been inside, Daddy. Papa and I used to go through there”—she pointed to the drive-thru entrance—“and get tiny donuts.”

  Peter pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine. He twisted in his seat to look at her. “You used to come here?” She’d been so close, only blocks away, and they never knew it.

  Emma’s attention was focused on the store in front of them. She nodded. “Yep. I even saw Mommy a few times too.” Her brow furrowed. “But Papa always told me my eyes were playing tricks. I would wave at her from Papa’s truck window, but she would only shake her head. It made me sad.” Emma’s lips formed into a pout before she turned her head and stared out the side window.

  Peter’s body stilled. His whole world stopped for a brief second, but it felt like it was forever. “What do you mean, princess? When did you see Mommy?” It wasn’t possible. After all the false sightings when Megan thought she’d seen Emma, it couldn’t be true that one of those times was real. She’d been right, and he never believed her. What if he had? What if, just one time when she thought she’d seen their daughter, he’d believed her? Would they have found her sooner?

  Was it all his fault?

  The tiny pressure of Emma’s hand on his shoulder jolted him from his realization. “I wasn’t allowed to come a lot. Grandma didn’t like to leave the house very much, and she needed me to be her helper. But Papa would bring me with him when Grandma was sleeping.” Emma bit her lip. “Papa would always get in trouble when Grandma woke up. She didn’t like me going places without her. She said that all it would take was Papa seeing a new toy he’d want to buy, and the moment he let go of my hand, someone would take me.”

  Peter blinked a few times, attempting to wrap his mind around what he’d heard. “Who would take you?”

  Emma was concentrating on releasing the buckle from her car seat, so she didn’t look up. “Anyone. It would be easy. Grandma told Papa it would be too hard for people to resist such a sweet little girl. Papa told her she worried too much, but Grandma always said”—Emma’s face grew grave—“you can never trust strangers.”

  A load of bricks landed on Peter’s shoulders. In all the counseling sessions, Emma had never talked about what happened after she’d been taken. She’d withdraw into herself and color instead of talking about the past. Megan didn’t think anything of it; she’d tell him it was normal, that she would have been too young to remember. Even Kathy Graham, their counselor agreed. But they’d been wrong. All of them.

  Ignoring the cramp in his side from being twisted in his seat, Peter reached his hand out and laid it on Emma’s knee. “Honey, why haven’t you ever told me or Mommy this? Why didn’t you tell us that you saw Mommy before?”

  Emma shrugged. “I didn’t want to make her sad.”

  “How would you make her sad?” That didn’t make sense.

  “Grandma said Mommy was too sick to take care of me; that’s why I came to stay with her. She’d be sad if I told her the truth, and then she’d die. That’s why Grandma died, Papa said, ’cause she was so sad.” Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes. “I don’t want Mommy to die.”

  Peter was confused. None of this made sense to him. �
��When did Papa tell you that…his wife died?” He clearly remembered the day when Detective Riley stopped by the house to let them know about Dorothy. He would never forget the look on Emma’s face when Megan said, “Thank God,” to the news. How would she have heard it from Jack?

  “At the hospital, don’t you remember?”

  Emma was looking at him now in confusion. He didn’t remember this, though. When at the hospital? The only time she’d been there was at the beginning, when she was getting checked out. Shortly after…actually, it was right after Detective Riley’s visit. Those first few weeks were a blurry memory, so many appointments and meetings and interviews because of the kidnapping. He’d hated every one of them, too, and what everyone insinuated, that their daughter might have been abused. Thank God, Emma had been okay, treated like a granddaughter instead of…Peter clenched his fist at how his daughter could have been treated.

  Surely, he would remember seeing Jack. He’d remember if his daughter saw the man who took her from him. He knew he would.

  Peter shook his head. “No, honey, I don’t. When did you see him?”

  Emma leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. “Daddy, you do remember. Papa was crying, and I gave him a hug.”

  Peter closed his eyes. He vaguely remembered the last time they had been at the hospital. A kids’ section had been set up in a sitting area off to the side. Alexis had sat at a table and was doodling on some paper while Emma curled up on a couch, Hannah by her side, and watched a cartoon on a wall-mounted television. He’d sat with Megan in the doctor’s office just across the hallway. The sitting area had been empty, though, and Megan positioned her chair so that she could watch the girls. From the very beginning, Megan refused to take her eyes off Emma.

  “Remember, Daddy? Mommy was in the restroom, and we were in the hallway?”

  At her words, the scene played out in his head. Megan went with Hannah to the restroom while he stayed with Emma and Alexis. They’d left the sitting area and were standing in the foyer of the hospital when his phone had rung. Samantha needed to clarify some contract points, and he’d briefly taken his eyes off the girls. One moment Emma had been there, and the next moment she was at the main doors standing beside an older man with a hunched back and a sluggish step. Peter remembered that walk. He also remembered the instant panic of losing Emma, and making a mental note not to let Megan know he’d lost sight of their daughter for a minute or two. But that older man couldn’t have been Jack. Peter would have known right away if it had been him.

  “Are you sure that was your Papa?”

  Emma nodded. “Uh-huh. Papa was crying. Grandma just died, he said. Because she was sad. I told Papa not to be sad, that I didn’t want him to die too.” She bit her lip and blinked.

  “And what did he say?”

  Something like a smile played over his daughter’s lips as she thought about the words. He could see the happiness build in her face, the way her eyes brightened and sparkled, the way she relaxed her fingers and kicked her legs.

  “That he loved me more than Grandma’s apple pie. And that is pretty tough to beat.” Peace settled upon his daughter, and she jumped out of the car seat. “Come on, Daddy. Let’s go.” She tugged on the door handle.

  The moment they stepped into the store, Emma stopped in her tracks. “Are all these for me?” Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open as she gazed at the racks of donuts behind the counter and the window display of cookies and pastries beneath it.

  Peter bent down and scooped Emma up in his arms. He’d forgotten she said she’d never been inside the store before. “No, silly. But you can choose one donut to eat now and six others that we can take home and share with your sisters.”

  Emma entwined her hands around his neck and squeezed tight. “I love you, Daddy,” she whispered into his ear.

  Peter tightened his hold on her. For two years, he’d ached to hear those words, words he never thought he’d hear again from his youngest daughter. It almost killed him to know Megan might have had their baby girl in her sights and that he had refused to believe it was possible. “I love you more,” he whispered back.

  They waited for an older man at the counter to grab his tray and slowly shuffle his way to the side, where he waited for his coffee. He glanced behind him and nodded his head in greeting to Emma. Emma only smiled and burrowed her head into the crook of Peter’s neck.

  “Good morning,” the woman at the front counter greeted them when it was their turn.

  Peter ordered his black coffee and asked Emma to choose a muffin for him. He normally preferred eggs in the morning and had thought they’d go to a restaurant where he could order a real breakfast, but since this was Emma’s date, he agreed. Emma glanced at the rows of muffins and donuts behind the counter, and Peter could see the anxiety well up inside of her as her body stiffened. The woman behind the counter must have noticed as well, as she began to rattle off the different varieties to Emma, who visibly relaxed. He should have given her some options to choose from instead of assuming she would know what he’d want.

  “Do you like apple cinnamon, Daddy? Or would you like blueberry bran?” Emma gazed up at him, her brows knit together as if it were the most important decision in the entire world.

  Peter smiled at her. “I think I’m in the mood for…”

  “Apples!” Emma finished his sentence with a nod. “Apple cinnamon, please,” she asked the woman behind the counter, who grinned as she chose the largest muffin and placed it on a plate.

  “Now, what about you? Would you like a donut or a muffin?” If Emma was anything like her sisters, she would go for the donut. Didn’t most little kids?

  Emma’s forehead bunched up as she shook her head. “Muffins are healthy, right?”

  Peter shrugged. Really, there was little difference between muffins and donuts. Both were full of sugar. “Today’s a special date, so you can get whatever you like.”

  Emma tapped her lips with her finger as she thought about her choices.

  “I have some yogurt fruit cups if you’d like to try one of those too?” The woman at the counter pointed to the display case directly in front of them. There was a row of cups half-filled with yogurt and topped with fresh fruit. Emma’s eyes lit up. Peter remembered Megan complaining about the large amounts of yogurt she went through during the week, thanks to Emma. Peter nodded and held up two fingers, indicating he’d have one as well.

  “Do you want a chocolate-dipped donut or strawberry-filled?” Peter whispered in Emma’s ear.

  Emma glanced at the two choices and then whispered back, “You choose.”

  Peter smiled. “Close your eyes. It’ll be a surprise.”

  He waited for her not only to close her eyes but also to cover them as well with her hands. He then pointed to a chocolate-dipped donut with pink sprinkles on top. The woman set the donut on a plate and placed a container of chocolate milk next to it on a tray. Peter tapped Emma on the shoulder.

  “You can look now.”

  Her tiny squeal of delight was proof enough that he’d made the right choice.

  He set Emma down on the ground and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. Emma grabbed the plate holding her donut. “Why don’t you go choose a table for us?” he suggested. He quickly glanced around the nearly empty store. In the far corner sat two older men.

  He expected Emma to choose the farthest table from the men, and was surprised when she chose the table next to them. He instead placed the tray on a table a few feet away, to give both the men and themselves some privacy, and called Emma over.

  Except she stood there in the middle of the store and didn’t hear him. Her back was to him as she faced a man who’d just walked out of the washroom. An older man who looked oddly familiar.

  The plate Emma held in her hands dropped to the floor as she screamed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  October 1

  Sometimes it’s hard to understand why things happen the way they do.

  Why did Jack h
ave to disappear and leave me to raise Mary by myself? Why did Doug have to take his promise to the extreme and make me…why did Doug have to be Doug? Why did Mary have to grow up and decide I was the devil incarnate, when all I tried to do was love her the best way I knew how?

  There are images in my head that I don’t understand. A street lined with trees and the laughter of children, of balloons covering a clear blue sky, and a crying child. It’s a street I don’t recognize, and when would I have seen balloons in the air like that?

  I know the dementia is getting worse and that I’ll have more days when I don’t remember than days when I do. Right now, that is a blessing. For Emmie. For Jack. For myself. There is nothing I can do to stop my mind from working against itself. I know that. No matter the medication I take or the specialists I see, I’ll eventually forget who I am and who I love.

  I hope I die before that happens. God forgive me, but I hope I do. I’m sorry, Jack. I know we made a promise, but the thought of living a life lost within myself scares me.

  I hope Jack will read these journals one day when I’m completely lost to him and understand, even when I don’t.

  Jack pushed open the restroom door with his elbow and wiped his hands on his pants. He grimaced in disgust at the wet marks along the sides of his legs.

  “Papa!”

  Jack’s head shot up. Emmie’s voice filled the store as she shouted his name again.

  “Papa!”

  He had to be hallucinating. There was no way Emmie would be here. Maybe he was having a heart attack and this was his punishment in purgatory—hearing his girl call out to him.

  Except why would he feel her tiny arms wrapped around his leg, squeezing tighter than the fist in his heart?

  When he glanced down, he saw a little piece of heaven in her crystal-clear blue eyes. Her hair was longer and curled only at the ends, and she seemed a bit more grown-up than the last time he saw her. A little wiser around the eyes. But she was still his baby girl. His Emmie.