Emma's Secret: A Novel

better than that. There was nothing extra special about this wool. In fact, he’d boxed up more than a dozen baby hats and socks his wife had knitted in the same color.
    There wasn’t much in the box after the blanket was taken out—an opened letter and a soft pink journal. Jack pulled both out and set them on his lap. He opened the journal first and tried to think whether he’d ever seen Dottie write in this one before. It wasn’t until he opened it and leafed through the empty pages that he realized he’d never seen it. There was writing on the first page and that was it.
    To my granddaughter,
    Yes, I know you’re not even born yet and that you may turn out to be a boy, but I don’t think that will happen. Daughters have alwaysbeen the firstborn in our family, and there’s no reason why your mother’s child would be any different.
    This journal is for you, from me. I’m older than I’d like to admit, and I know that I might not always be around to share stories or tidbits of wisdom with you. One day, maybe when you’re older, your mother will give you this journal and can explain to you why this is my keepsake for you. I hope your mother will read it first and realize just how much I love her.
    You’ll be born into a world that is very different from the one I was born into, but we women have to stick together.
    The moment your mother told me she was going to have a baby, I knew you were a gift from God. A second chance for this old woman to maybe do things a little bit differently. Maybe even this time to do it the right way.
    Always listen to your mother, little one. While you might not always understand or agree with her decisions, trust me: She loves you more than life itself. That is the one gift all mothers can pass along—love.
    Love forever,
    Your grandmother
    Jack’s eyes smarted as he laid the book back down in his lap. So there had been a grandchild. Dottie hadn’t been mistaken. A small seed of hope sprouted in Jack’s heart. Was it possible that Emmie was really his granddaughter after all?
    He picked up the letter, noticing the sender. Mary. Offhand, he could recall only three letters coming from his daughter after she ran away, and they were all addressed to him.
    He pulled the letter out and a vise squeezed around his heart. He missed his daughter more than he thought possible. In the past, there had always been a hope that she’d come home, that they could mend whatever broke them apart as a family. He’d thought thesilence for the past two years had been due to her stubbornness. Never once had he thought she’d been dead. Never once. Knowing for sure that she was dead, that he’d never see her again, never hear her voice…there was a finality about it that he couldn’t process. He should have been able to mourn her properly, with Dottie. Instead, he had to mourn both wife and daughter at the same time, and it wasn’t something he could handle. Not properly, anyway. It was no wonder his heart wasn’t doing very well. The grief, the sadness, they ate away at him day and night. The only bright spot in his day now was Emmie.
    His vision blurred as he read over the letter from Mary to Dottie. He wanted to stop, to not let the words sink in, but he couldn’t. How could Dottie not tell him this? How could Mary keep this a secret from him? How could he not have known? Surely, there would have been signs? Clues? He checked the date and struggled to remember whether he’d visited Mary around that time. But he couldn’t remember. How could he not remember?
    Dear Mom,
    I’m sorry. I know you see this blanket, and I can only imagine the thoughts going through your head.
    There’s only one way to say this. You were the one who taught me to “make it plain.” I gave birth to a beautiful little baby girl, but she came too early. Preterm is what they said. What they didn’t say was that it’s all my fault.
    Can you keep this blanket and put it away for me? One day I’ll need it, even if it’s just to remember her by.
    I named her Emily.
    Before you say it, I know this was my fault. I tried. I really tried. But I’m not strong, not like you are. I didn’t think the drugs would do this. Or maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t want her enough to stop usingthem. I don’t know. What I do know is that I gave in and she paid the price.
    She was tiny. The nurses let me hold her. She would have fit in Dad’s hand. She had all her fingers and toes and a tiny little nose. She was perfect.