Emma's Secret: A Novel

Jan was saying.
    “No one doubts how much you love your girls. But, honey, you need to learn to love yourself too.”
    Megan sighed deeply. “And how do you do that? My girls mean the world to me. They are my everything. How exactly do I put myself first without losing that?”
    The bell above the door jingled. Without glancing behind her, Jan stood up and laid her hand on Megan’s shoulder. “Honey, the only babies I ever raised were my pups, so I can’t tell you how to parent. But I can tell you that the first step to loving yourself is learning how to forgive yourself.”

    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 dollarson 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
    S eptember 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.