Emma's Secret: A Novel

Laurie said for her. “That’s what you meant to say, wasn’t it?”
    Megan sagged against the kitchen counter, her body weighed down by guilt. Life was slowly getting back to normal, so why couldn’t she? Tears slid down her face, and when Laurie came to stand in front of her, she tried to smile, but when her friend’s hands wrapped around her shoulders, she leaned in.
    “What’s wrong with me?” Her throat hurt from trying to hold back the emotion. The last thing she needed was for the girls to walk in and see her like this again.
    Laurie rubbed Megan’s back, a soothing circular motion that reminded Megan of how she’d calm her own girls when they were upset. Megan pulled away, wiping her cheeks before hugging herself.
    “All I seem to do lately is cry. It’s probably why Peter is hardly home anymore. He leaves early and comes home late. He’s been putting in long hours, using the excuse that Samantha is overwhelmed with new deals. But he probably doesn’t want to come home to an emotionally disturbed wife.”
    Laurie snorted as she reached into a drawer and pulled out a container they both knew held Megan’s stash of emergency chocolate. “Emotional, yes. Who wouldn’t be? But disturbed? Far from it. Give yourself and Peter a break, would you? Since the day Emma disappeared, your life has been a virtual roller-coaster ride.”
    Megan reached for the chocolate Laurie handed to her and put it down on the counter. As much as she wanted it, she wasn’t about to waste the sweet morsel. It would taste like sawdust in her mouth.
    She shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”
    Laurie checked her watch before reaching over to hug Megan. “Tonight is cheap night at the theater. I want to see that new chick flick that’s out. Come with me.”
    Megan shook her head. “Peter’s working late again. Some deal he’s trying to close or something.”
    Laurie bit her lip. “I don’t understand. Why isn’t Sam helping more? She’s the one who should be working late nights, not the husband with three children and a wife who rarely sees him.” She crossed her arms and frowned.
    Megan agreed. It made perfect sense to her. Unless Sam was the reason Peter was staying so late. “Not much I can do,” she said.
    Laurie shrugged her shoulder. “Then what about tomorrow night? Tell him you need him home, and don’t give him a choice. We can even go to the late showing if that will help.” She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “I won’t take no for an answer, so don’t even bother trying.” She waved before walking out of the kitchen.
    Megan shook her head as Laurie left. The door shut, but the alarm didn’t go off. That bothered her. It meant Peter hadn’t set it when he left or locked the door. It would also explain why she hadn’t heard Laurie come in. With a quick check into the backyard to make sure all the girls were there, Megan headed to the door, locked it, and then entered the code into the panel. How could Peter not set the alarm? He knew how she felt about that. Especially with Emma back home.
    A stack of mail on the table by the door caught her attention. Laurie must have grabbed it from the mailbox and set it down. She picked her way through the bills but stopped when she found an envelope addressed to Emma from Jack Henry.
    There was no way in hell she was giving Emma this letter. How dare he write Emma again? Didn’t he understand what his letters did to her daughter? After the first one, Emma would wait for the mailman to come to the door; if there wasn’t a letter for her, she’d run up to her room. Megan found her once hiding in her closet, her face burrowed in her knees as her shoulders shook from the sobs she tried to keep quiet. It was easier after that to keep the letters from her. Kinder to Emma, Megan told herself.
    She clenched the envelope in her hand and went upstairs to her bedroom. What if Emma had found the letter first? She laid the magazines and bills down on her bed but kept the offending piece of mail. Her fingertips were white from their tight hold. She opened the door to her walk-in closet and reached up for a box on the high shelf. She opened the lid and dropped the letter on top of the others.
    When was he going to stop? What would it take? Last week, during one of her late-night grocery runs, she’d driven to his farmhouse and dropped a note in his mailbox. Megan had sat in her parked car and stared at the dark house. She hadn’t really looked