Emma's Secret: A Novel

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
    O ctober 1
    Sometimes it’s hard to understand why things happen the way they do.
    Why did Jack have 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