Emma's Secret: A Novel

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 tomorrow 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 hershoulder, 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.
    Megan seethed inside. How could he discount so quickly what she’d just said?
    “She heard me when I called her Emmie.”
    The look on Peter’s face said it all: disbelief, anger, confusion. His gaze