Emma's Secret: A Novel

she thought. But there was a difference between forgiving and forgetting. Forgiving was something she could learn to do, but forgetting? That would never happen.
    She climbed into the corner armchair in her room and reached for the knitted throw. A cold chill permeated her bones, and once the blanket covered her, she nestled beneath its heavy weight despite the warm wind blowing through the window.
    Was it wrong of her to feel betrayed by Laurie? Of course it was; it had to be. But why didn’t Laurie tell her? Why didn’t she come clean that night at the bakery instead of keeping silent and pretending it was nothing?
    Megan’s shoulders dropped. Laurie didn’t tell her because she knew how Megan would react. Did she blame her? No. The look in Laurie’s eyes when she realized Megan was standing there haunted her.
    But Laurie should have come clean.
    That was what hurt the most. Not that she and Riley were involved, but that Laurie had hidden it from her. Perhaps if Laurie had told her ahead of time and given her time to process what it would mean to Megan and their friendship, then maybe seeing them in such a tender embrace wouldn’t have affected her as strongly as it had.
    Or maybe it would have. But it would have been nice to know. She wasn’t sure what to do now. Confronting Laurie didn’t make sense. She’d only be admitting something that wasn’t true: that she was jealous when she wasn’t. She had no right to be. And telling Peter would be awkward. He wouldn’t just hear the words; he’d be looking for a hidden meaning or emotion, wanting to see whether she still had feelings for Riley. Needless to say, bringing him up to Peter wouldn’t be smart.
    Megan breathed in deep and exhaled. She should be happy for her best friend. It had been too long since Laurie had been involved in a relationship. This was a step in the right direction.
    But as Megan folded the blanket over the back of the chair, she couldn’t help but wish that Laurie would wake up and see how awkward this would be if their relationship continued.
    She winced when she realized how that sounded.

CHAPTER TWENTY
    P eter squirmed in his seat—he was uncomfortable sitting at the corner table at the donut shop, where everyone and anyone coming through the drive-thru could see him.
    “Worried your wife’s going to drive by?”
    Peter almost dropped his coffee mug as he was raising it to his lips. Instead, the dark liquid spilled over the sides. He wiped it up, never glancing at Jack, who sat across from him, and struggled to respond without giving too much away.
    “Don’t bother trying to deny it. No man parks in the back corner of the lot if he doesn’t care about being noticed.” Jack chuckled before picking up a green crayon and filling in a tree outline in the new coloring book he’d bought Emma.
    Peter knew his face flushed.
    “You haven’t told her yet.”
    Peter glanced over in time to catch the small shake of Jack’s head. He shrugged. Jack didn’t know Megan; he didn’t understand the battle he’d be in if she found out about these little dates. He was actually surprised she hadn’t by now. He thought for sure she would have figured something was going on and would have called him on it.
    “Take it from one who knows: Keeping secrets from your wife always backfires. Somehow, she’ll figure it out. It might be a look on your face, or something Em here says, but trust me, when she does, there’ll be hell to pay.”
    “Papa!” Emma’s brows knotted together She shook her crayon at him, and it was all Peter could do not to smile. Apparently, it was the same for Jack.
    “Okay, princess. I’m sorry.” He rubbed the top of her head and winked at Peter before his face paled.
    “Are you okay?” Peter leaned forward. The look on Jack’s face was vaguely familiar. Peter’s own father had passed away from a heart attack, so he knew the signs. Tiny beads of sweat dotted the top of Jack’s head and forehead as his face grew white.
    Peter pushed back his chair, but Jack held up his hand. His nostrils flared before his color returned.
    “Daddy?” Emma sat back, her crayon clutched tight in her fist as her head rotated to look at Jack, and then Peter, and back to Jack.
    “It’s okay, sweetheart. No need to worry.” Jack’s hoarse voice seemed to calm Emma down. She rose up to sit on her knees and placed her hand over his chest.
    “Is it your heart again, Papa?” She frowned at him. “Grandma said you have to