Emma's Secret: A Novel

sat down on the bed behind Megan and reached for Emma’s free hand.
    “I’m here, Em. I’m here. Just go to sleep, okay, baby?” Peter’s voice broke.
    Megan leaned back into him and relaxed. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t know what she’d do if Peter had actually left, before they found Emma.
    “Can we go see him, please? Tomorrow? Please, Daddy?” Emma’s voice grew stronger as she continued to beg Peter for something they both knew couldn’t happen.
    “Shhh, just go to sleep, Em. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” Peter released her hand and was about to stand up, but Emma reached out and grabbed his arm.
    “Promise, Daddy. Promise we’ll go on our date with Papa tomorrow. Promise.” Megan sat back, alarmed at her daughter’s persistence. Peter glanced at Megan before looking around the room. He started to pace across the floor, his nervousness apparent, as if he were unsure how to respond.
    Megan waited for Peter to correct Emma, but he didn’t. The tension in the room became unbearable.
    “As long as you’re feeling better, honey, of course you can go on your date with Daddy.”
    The smile on Emma’s face grew and her body relaxed at Megan’s words. Megan didn’t miss the quiet gasp from Peter, however, before he left the room.
    “Peter,” she called out. He halted at the top of the stairs, just outside of Emma’s room, his back rigid as one hand rested on the railing. “Peter,” she called again, wanting him to turn and look at her. Except he didn’t. He disappeared from view.
    Megan’s lap grew damp as the dropped wet cloth soaked into her shorts. She picked it up and leaned across Emma’s body. As she gently stroked her daughter’s forehead with the cloth, she waited to see whether Emma would open her eyes again. She wanted to ask her about the dates she’d gone on with Peter. Neither one had ever given any details about those times, and she’d never thought to ask how they went. Maybe she should have.
    But Emma’s eyes remained closed and her breathing evened out. She was finally asleep. As if the promise Megan had made were all Emma needed.
    She should be thankful Emma was sleeping. So why was her stomach in knots? Why did she suddenly get the feeling that something was going on behind her back, something that was about to change her life in a way she wouldn’t like?

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
    T he creak of the porch swing joined the chorus of sounds cascading around Jack as he applied a little bit of pressure to the pad of his foot to keep the momentum of the swing going.
    Nothing better than relaxing on his front porch during a warm summer day. All he needed was a sweating glass of iced tea at his side and life would be perfect. Well, almost perfect. Jack avoided glancing down at the box beside him.
    He’d spent the last few hours tending his front yard, anything to keep him busy. The grass was all cut, the bushes trimmed, and his flower beds were looking better than ever. Dottie’s little tree in the middle of the yard was flourishing despite the heat. All was right with his world. Finally.
    With his head leaned back and his eyes closed, Jack reached for the handkerchief he’d laid on the cushion beside him and wiped the sweat from his forehead. A low buzz off to his right had him peeking his eyes open, and he caught sight of the fattest bumblebee he’d ever seen hovering over the box he’d brought outside but tried to forget.
    “Shoo, now. There’s nothing there for you.” Jack waved his hand at the bee.
    He eyed that box with misgiving. Pandora’s box, thanks to Dottie herself. If he opened it, his world was about to be altered in a way he wasn’t sure he was ready for. He had half a mind to bury the box back in Dottie’s closet and worry about it another day. Except he wouldn’t do that. He’d never run from a battle in his life, and he wasn’t about to now.
    “Oh, Dottie-mine, what have you done?”
    Jack shifted in the seat until he was upright before lifting the box onto his lap. He noticed that his hands shook as he lifted the lid, and he swore. There was nothing in here he couldn’t face. Nothing in here that would kill him. Maim him, yes, but kill him? No. Not now.
    He pulled out the blanket that haunted his nightmares. He avoided the note, folding the blanket into quarters until the note was hidden. It was possible Dottie had made this blanket for a future grandchild she prayed Mary would have. Possible. Not likely, though. He knew Dottie