Emma's Secret: A Novel

happy to have those lights in her room. He could almost feel the weight of her body snuggled in his lap, ready for a bedtime story. She’d curl up nice and close, her legs either tight underneath her orhanging loose over his knees as she rested in the crook of his arm. She’d help him turn the pages in the story, but first they had to close their eyes and wait for the fairies to dance—a silly game, but he indulged her all the same.
    Jack still went upstairs every night to read Emmie a bedtime story. He didn’t dare tell Doug or Kenny, men he considered almost brothers. He knew of course that she wasn’t here anymore, but one moment he’d be down in the kitchen and the next he’d be opening her bedroom door to check on her. Seeing the empty bed covered with the stuffed animals she left behind nearly broke his heart every time.
    He snuggled the floppy-eared bunny Emmie had given him on the day they’d packed her suitcase and sighed. He missed all three of his girls so much that it sometimes hurt physically. He never thought he could lose so much in such little time. He had just started to grieve for his Mary when Dottie had collapsed and was taken to the hospital. Then he’d had to give up Emmie, only to have Dottie pass away in her sleep, oblivious to his pain and the turmoil her actions had caused.
    Or maybe she did know. Deep down, Jack suspected Dottie could no longer live with the guilt. That was why she never woke up from her coma. That was why, just moments before she breathed her last breath, she squeezed his hand three times in succession. The doctors said it was involuntary—a reflex. But Jack knew it had been her private good-bye, her final “I love you.”
    He just wished he’d had the chance to say good-bye back. To tell her he loved her and that he understood why she did what she did. Not that it was right, but that he understood.
    With a groan, Jack pushed himself up from the chair, his old bones creaking from the exertion. He went to Emmie’s bed and laid the bunny on the pillow, smoothing its fur. He knew it was silly, buthe’d promised his little girl that he would take care of her bunny. He’d never broken a promise to Emmie, and he wasn’t about to start.
    He thought about the letter on the kitchen table, half-written. Did she know that he had planted a rosebush in his front garden just for her and that he’d cut the first bloom the other day? Did she even receive his letters?
    Probably not. He knew if he was in her parents’ shoes, the last thing he would do was allow his daughter to remain in contact with the people who took her away. The media labeled him and Dottie kidnappers, but if only they knew. Jack’s hand trembled at the thought. It killed him to admit that kidnapping was exactly what Dottie had done, despite all her good intentions and her unstable state of mind. He and Dottie had been vilified in the media and had their life scrutinized, but no one really understood. How could they?
    He thought back to that day in the hospital, shortly after Dottie’s death, when he’d seen Emmie. He’d been there to bring flowers to one of the nurses, his way of saying thank-you. One moment his heart had been heavy, and the next a tiny pair of arms had wrapped around his waist. He knew then that it was his little girl. He didn’t know how, but he thanked God anyway. He wished she had held on a little tighter, a little longer, just so he could savor the memory a little bit more. He wished he could take back the words he said, telling her that her grandma was gone. It wasn’t fair of him to share his grief with his little girl. Not like that.
    Jack went downstairs to make a cup of tea before bed. It was a heavy burden to carry, knowing that he’d been instrumental in tearing a family apart. He’d never forgive himself for that. He should have known when Emmie first came home with Dottie that something was wrong.
    “Oh, Dottie-mine, you sure made a mess of things.”
    Jack didn’t like to be alone. Lately, the silence bothered him. He’d confessed to his doctor that he had been talking to Dottie as if she were there with him, and he’d been ready for the doctor to say it was time for a nursing home. But the doctor only nodded and said it was normal—as though people talking to the dead was something he was used to hearing about. Jack shook his head at the thought. Back in the day, if his daddy had started to talk to his momma after she’d passed away, everyone would have