Emma's Secret: A Novel

him. He’d been hesitant to get rid of anything, especially when it reminded him of Dottie. Memories attached to everything in their room. The sagging bed they’d shared for so many years sat in the middle of the room between the two windows. On either side were small tables he’d built years ago. The worn paint and dents were marks of love, Dottie always said. Then they both had their own dressers on opposite walls, and one main closet. Dottie’s dresser was full of rarely used perfume bottles, a candle, a comb, and a pen, while his held only a shaving kit and a couple of receipts. Dottie loved her walk-in closet, even though only one person could stand in there at a time. Beside the closet was a small bookshelf, another project he’d labored over in his shed one year as a birthday gift for his sweetheart. Dottie’s favorite books and most of her journals were all lined up there.
    Little by little, he’d start to pack up Dottie’s things. He knew she’d want him to donate her clothes, but some things he couldn’t bear to part with. Her journals were one of those. Her clothes were another.
    Like the soft cream-colored cardigan he’d bought her one year for Christmas. He picked it up from where it lay across Dottie’s pillow and caressed it with his fingers. Some nights he just needed to not feel so alone.
    Standing in their closet, Jack looked over the items Dottie had stacked on the floor. Bags full of wool, shoe boxes, and her fancy shoes she liked to wear to church. The top shelf was jam-packed with purses. Jack’s eyes widened as he counted how many there were.
    He caught sight of a soft pink color in among the mixture of black and brown purses. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember Dottie ever having a pink purse. He grabbed a handful of the pursesby their handles and dropped them on the floor by his feet. Just one more mess he’d need to clean up.
    With enough cleared away, Jack could see that it wasn’t a pink purse hidden away, but instead something like a blanket sticking out of a shoe box with a lid only half closed.
    He reached up, his arm swiping another couple of purses off the shelf, and grabbed hold of the material. Why that woman shoved it so far back he had no idea. With the edge of the blanket between his fingertips, Jack tugged, expecting it to come easily, and was a bit surprised to meet with resistance. He pulled harder until the box edged forward enough that he could grab it with both hands.
    “What did this woman think she was doing? Filling a box with—” Jack stopped when he pulled off the lid and saw a note pinned to the blanket.
    He rubbed his eyes, sure that he’d read the note wrong.
    Dear Mary,
    This blanket is for my granddaughter. One day I hope you’ll let me see her.
    Love,
    Mom

    Megan arched her back and groaned as she wiped a cool cloth over Emma’s head once again. Peter rested his hand against her shoulder blades and pressed hard. He’d just returned with a clean bowl for Emma’s vomiting. For the past hour, she had been throwing up, and they were now at the point where even the little bit of water Megan managed to get her to sip wouldn’t stay down.
    Her poor little girl probably had heat exhaustion, and it bothered Megan that there was nothing she could do. She’d given Emma a cool bath, had her drinking fluids, and knew she just needed to sleep. But if the vomiting kept up, they’d have to go into the emergency room.
    “She’s going to be okay,” Peter whispered beside her.
    Megan reached her hand up and laid it over his. “I know. I just…feel helpless.”
    Emma whimpered, and Megan’s first response was to reach for the bowl at her feet.
    “I want Papa,” Emma groaned as she grew restless beneath the covers. Megan pulled the cover down and freed Emma’s hands.
    “Shhh, it’s going to be okay, honey. Just try to go to sleep, okay?” Megan whispered as she stroked Emma’s hair.
    Since coming home, this was the first real time Emma had been sick. While it broke her heart knowing that if she’d only paid a little bit more attention, Emma would be okay, there was no place Megan would rather be than right here, stroking her daughter’s hair.
    “I want Papa, please?” Emma’s weakened voice begged.
    That hurt, knowing her daughter wanted someone else at a time when all she should want was her mommy. Anger burned in her heart once again toward the one man who’d stolen so much from her.
    “Daddy?” Emma opened her eyes.
    Peter