Emma's Secret: A Novel

found Emmie and brought her into their lives. They’d both tried to understand, to reckon how Dottie’s mind must have been during that time.
    “Nothing.” Jack grunted. “It’s time to leave things in the past. That girl is where she should be, with her family. Living in the past, having these questions hang over my head, and needing answers does nobody any good.”
    He pushed himself up off the bed and reached for a box he’d set behind him. He slid the journal beneath balls of yarn and lifted the box into his arms before turning around.
    “I can hear Kenny whining. Let’s go.” He followed Doug out of the room and down the stairs. Kenny sat at the kitchen table, with the new oxygen tank at his side.
    “Sure you want to go? It’s only bingo.” The old man needed to be back in bed, not traipsing about, especially in his condition. But there was a fire in Kenny’s gaze and Jack knew bed was the last place he wanted to be. The nurse, after checking on Kenny earlier, had told Jack to let the man enjoy what little time he had left. So that’s what he was going to do.
    It was advice Jack meant to live by as well.

    The smell of roasted turkey wafted through the kitchen. Megan stood at her kitchen island, chopping sweet potatoes to make Peter’s favorite dish—candied yams. Every element on her stove was in use, as well as her slow cooker and oven. Chaos reigned in her house, and she was loving every minute of it.
    It was Thanksgiving, and she had so much to be thankful for this year. In the last few months, their family had grown closer; the rifts once so deeply entrenched now healing. Her relationship with Peter was stronger than it had ever been. They worked as a team in their marriage, in their home, and she was even working a few hours in the office during the day. It almost reminded her of the early years of their marriage.
    The past couple of years Thanksgiving dinner had been held at her parents’ house, but this year Megan wanted her home to be full of laughter, love, and family.
    Sheila stood at the sink washing dishes, while Laurie sat at the kitchen table putting together a photo album with Emma and Hannah. Daisy was outside barking up a storm as she chased a squirrel around the yard.
    “I can’t believe it hasn’t snowed yet,” her mom muttered as she stared out the kitchen sink window. She smiled over her shoulder at Megan, who smiled back. So far, fingers crossed, there’d been no arguments, no nitpicking about the dishes. Hopefully, it would continue that way.
    “Is there anything I can do?” Peter’s arms snaked around her waist, and his lips left a lingering kiss against the pulse in her neck. Megan leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder.
    “Just cutting the last veggies. We should be ready in an hour.” She slid the knife through the last half of the sweet potato and pushed down. These might be one of her favorite root vegetables, but she hated the effort it took to cut them.
    “Want me to do that?” Peter reached his hand out for the knife. Megan relinquished her hold and stepped away to check on the pots on the stove.
    “Megan, you look gorgeous here.” Laurie held up a picture. Megan blushed. Peter had taken that last month when they’d gone for a walk down the boardwalk. The girls surrounded her, their arms all around her, while the wind blew her hair every which way. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy from the nippy wind. She’d never been happier, and it showed.
    “You should frame that one,” Peter said as he peeked over her shoulder.
    “Mom, when can we eat?” Hannah barreled into the room, almost tripping over her feet before Peter stopped her with his arm.
    “Not yet, honey.” Peter twisted her around by holding on to her shoulders and pushed her back in the direction she came. “You’re supposed to be keeping Grandpa Dan company.” Peter leaned closer to her ear. “Remember, we need to keep him out of the kitchen.”
    Megan winked at Peter once Hannah left. Her father knew nothing about cooking, but he thought everyone wanted his opinion. It was Hannah’s job to keep him out, and so far she’d done a great job.
    “Which one’s your favorite, Alexis?” Megan stood behind her daughter and played with her hair. Alexis was hunched over the photos, shuffling them back and forth.
    “I like this one.” She pointed to a picture she’d taken herself of Emma playing in the backyard with Daisy. Daisy sat in her lap, a bone