Finding Emma (14 page)

She knew she should head to bed. If Peter hadn't come home by now, he probably wouldn't. Yet, her lethargic body wouldn't move. Her legs were tucked under her, covered by the blanket, and the cushion behind her head was soft enough that she could pretend it was a pillow.

With her head leaned back, her eyes closed, Megan began to hum. It was a soft song, barely distinguishable. A lullaby she would sing to the girls when they were little. The distant sound of a car door as it closed reached her ears. Part of her hoped it was her husband, but it could have been their neighbor arriving home from the late shift.

It wasn't until the patio door opened that she knew her husband had come home.

Her eyes remained closed even as the swing shifted under his weight when he sat down. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

“There's a chocolate caramel sundae in the freezer for you.” Megan's mouth barely opened when she spoke.

“Thank you.”

“Thank the girls. They wanted to surprise you after their lessons, so we stopped by the office.”

She opened her eyes then. She wanted to see the expression on his face as he thought of an answer. He wouldn't look at her. His face was turned so she only saw the outline of his face. She shook her head.

“You weren’t there,” she said when he didn’t say anything.

“Sorry. I needed time to think.”

She lifted her head off the cushion. “I'm sorry. Did you say you needed time to think? About what, if I'm allowed to ask?” If he didn't grasp the sarcasm in her voice, she'd be shocked.

“Yesterday and today kind of threw me for a loop. I thought after last night ... I overreacted today and that’s not me.” He still wouldn't look at her.

Overreacted? You think? A torrent of accusations pooled on Megan’s tongue, but she kept her mouth shut. What else needed to be said that hadn’t been already?

“Where were you?” She whispered instead.

A picture of Peter and HER filled Megan’s mind. HER – with her long, legs and short skirts. HER – with her long hair and Angelina Jolie lips. HER – the woman she despised.

She suppressed the picture in her mind. A cold fury settled deep within her.

Peter bowed his head. “At the office.”

Megan snorted in disbelief. “Really?”

This time he looked at her. There were bags under his eyes and new frown lines around his lips.

“At the office. I swear.”

She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him. Every marriage had its ups and downs. Theirs was no different. But there was something in the back of her mind that wouldn’t let her believe him. Not yet.

“You don't need to lie to me, Peter. I already told you I stopped at the office with the ice cream. Where were you?” She gripped the blanket tighter around her body.

“I went for a drive. I must have just missed you. Honest.”

Megan pursed her lips. A drive. Uh huh.

“So that's where you've been. All night? You couldn't call or answer any of my texts?” Her fists gripped the blanket so tight, her knuckles turned white from the pressure.

Peter rubbed his face. “I don't want to fight anymore, Meg. I just went for a drive. I stopped somewhere and walked along the beach. I just needed to think.”

She wanted to believe him. If their marriage was going to work, she needed to believe him. But she also needed to know.

“Were you alone?”

Peter straightened and shot her a look of horror. “Yes, of course I was. You didn't think ...”

She refused to blink as he stared at her. He had the gall to accuse her this morning of having an affair. But what about him? Did he accuse her of something he himself was guilty of?

She wasn't going to let him off that easily. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She didn't squeeze back.

“I was alone, Meg. I swear. I was thinking, that's it.” He rubbed his face again. “I can't believe you would think that ... what have I done?”

Megan shrugged her shoulder. She had no answer for him. Not one he wanted to hear anyway.

“I miss her. Emma. I miss her. Seeing those pictures today, it opened my eyes. To us. You and I, we've held different roles. You've dedicated everything you have into finding her, while I,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I focused on our family. Trying to keep it together, be there for the girls.”

The swing rocked as he shifted his position and faced her. His thumb rubbed her hand.

“I realized today that we forgot to focus on us throughout all of this. And I think we lost each other. Not only have we lost Emma, but we lost each other. I was trying to figure out if there was anything left between us, if there was still hope in finding what we once had. That's why I went for that walk. Why I didn't call you.”

Megan bowed her head. The pain that crept into Peter's eyes as he spoke hurt too much to watch. They were lost. They'd been lost for a while.

“I realized that most of all, Megan, I miss you. I miss the woman you were before this nightmare entered our lives. I miss my wife. And the girls, they miss their mother. We've all become a shell. No matter where Emma is,” Peter's voice caught, “she would never have wanted us to be like this.”

Megan wiped away the tears that poured down her cheeks. She raised her head and looked her husband in the eyes. She saw heartbreak, loneliness and fear. But most of all, she saw a small glimmer of hope there. She believed him. She didn't want to squash it, but she needed to tell him the truth.

“I don't know how to live life without Emma. It's like my life is on pause. If there were a rewind button, I'd push it. I'd wish it all away. But God's not that nice. He doesn't give us those options. Instead he toys with us, sees how much we can handle. Why else would He tear our child from her home? Why else would He destroy the life that we lived and loved? You ask too much of me, Peter. I'm sorry.” Her head shook as tremors flowed through her body until she couldn't determine where they stopped or began.

“Have you talked to the girls about Emma? I mean really talk to them? Did you know that Alexis keeps a journal like me? That she writes to her sister every day? We do this together, her and I. And did you know that Hannah writes stories for Emma? She draws pictures and everything, so that when she comes back, Hannah can read them to her.”

Megan shook her head. She had no idea. She was clueless to their daughters’ pain. What kind of mother doesn't know these things? She covered her mouth as a sob ripped through her throat.

“I had no idea. None. What have I done?”

Peter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Megan sobbed on his shoulder.

“I don't want to lose you, Meg. I don't want our children to lose their mother.” He stroked her hair as he spoke.

Megan wiped the tears from her eyes.

“You're asking me to give up on Emma though.”

“I'm asking you to not give up on us. Emma is included in that.” The gentle pressure of a kiss on the top of her head spread heat throughout her body. The swing rocked back and forth as they listened to the night sounds in their yard.

“I was thinking, that maybe, you should see someone. Someone to talk to. We could go together, if you want.”

Megan struggled to sit up. She pushed Peter's arms away.

“Like a counselor?”

She wasn't sure how to respond. Shortly after Emma's disappearance, they'd all gone to psychiatrist as a family. But that was well over a year ago.

“I was thinking more along the lines of the pastor at the church, or even the pastor’s wife? Maybe we could even try going back to church?”

Megan shook her head. No way. No way was she stepping back through the doors of their church. Nor would she talk to the pastor or his wife. No.

“Peter, where was God when Emma was taken? Why hasn't He answered any of our prayers for her return?” She shook her head again. No way.

“Maybe it's not God's fault--”

“NO. Don't you dare. I don't want to hear any platitudes from you or anyone else about how God doesn't take small little girls from their families. If you want to go see a marriage counselor, fine. Let's go. Let's see if we can salvage our marriage. A counselor. Not a pastor.”

She stood up from the swing and faced Peter as he sat there with a shocked look on his face.

“I'm going to bed. It's late and I'm exhausted. Don't forget the ice cream in the freezer.” She gathered the blanket around her and walked into the house.

The trail ends of the fabric caught in the door as it closed behind her. She tried to yank it out, but it wouldn't budge. She cried out in frustration. How dare he suggest they needed to bring God back into their life?

They weren’t the ones who abandoned God. He abandoned them first.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The light filtered through the white curtains
and showered Emmie's room with its golden presence. Her eyes fluttered open. With a yawn, she stretched out her arms and rolled over. She grabbed onto her pink tiger and cuddled it close. She loved her pink tiger. Grandma said that she came to their house with Pink, so she must be a special tiger. Maybe Mommy gave her Pink before she went away?

At the thought of Mommy, Emmie sat up in bed, threw the covers off and scrambled to the floor. Her toes flexed when they met the carpet. She slid her feet into her slippers and wiggled her toes, they didn't like being cold.

She headed to her bookshelf, grabbed some white paper and her basket of crayons and carried them to the table. Something was missing. Emmie glanced around her room and spotted Pink alone on her bed. She tiptoed across her floor, careful not to make any noise, and grabbed her tiger.

She had a dream last night that she wanted to draw. Papa said that she was good at drawing.

Emmie was hunched over her table when her door opened. It used to creak, but then Papa fixed it with some oil. This way she wouldn't wake up Grandma in the mornings when she went down to color with him. She peaked up and smiled. She knew it would be him. Papa looked happy this morning. She liked it when he was happy. Maybe he would have another surprise for her today.

“So there you are, sleepyhead.” He patted her hair and pulled out a chair. Emmie giggled. He always looked funny when he sat in her chairs. They were too small for him. But he never broke them, not like Goldilocks did to Baby Bear's chair.

Emmie reached into her basket for the pink crayon. “What does heaven look like?” She loved to draw fluffy clouds. Would they feel like the cotton balls Grandma let her use to make snowmen?

Papa leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table. He looked like a bear all bunched up. He was looking at her picture. Did he like it?

“Well now, Princess, I think ...” he rubbed his bald head, “well, why do you want to know?”

Emmie shrugged her shoulder. She finished her pink clouds and tapped the crayon against her cheek. What else is in heaven? She sat up, dragged the basket of crayons from the middle of the table to beside her and looked for the grey one. She held it up for Papa to see, then began to outline her castle. There's always a big castle in heaven. Just like at Disneyland.

“Cause,” Emmie said. She didn't look up. “Mommy must be in heaven.”

Once the castle was done, Emmie reached into her basket again for another crayon. Purple. She drew flowers all around her castle.

“Well now,” Papa cleared his throat, “why would you be thinkin' that? Heaven is a too heavy of a topic to clutter your pretty little brain so early in the morning.”

Emmie shook her head. She didn't want to tell Papa about her dream. It would make him sad. She saw Mommy in heaven. She held Pink in her hands and she called out to Emmie.

“Mommy has to be in heaven, Papa. She has to. She never calls me or comes to see me, and I know she loves me. So she must be in heaven.”

*****

Jack leaned back in his chair. He didn't know what to say.

Why would Emmie believe such a thing? He shook his head. No, he was glad she believed in heaven, but why did she believe that Mary was there? Neither Dottie, nor himself, had ever said anything for her to believe that.

He coughed and pushed his chair back so there was room to stand. He looked around her room and found the children's Bible Dottie bought her at Christmas sitting on the nightstand. Emmie's tongue was caught between her teeth as she concentrated on her drawing.

He grabbed the book and sat on her bed. He wished Dottie were here. She'd know how to deal with this ... girl stuff. He opened the book and flipped through the pages until he found the picture he needed.

“Emmie, come over here will ya?”

After she'd climbed onto the bed and settled herself, Jack showed her the picture. “Is this what you're drawing?”

“Yep, heaven.”

Jack took in a deep breath. He was out of his league here. Grandpa's were for building swing sets and picnic tables, for sneaking cookies behind Grandma's back and giving good whisker rubs. Not for all this foolish talk about heaven. Next she'd be asking about angels. He shook his head. He would not talk about angels.

“Emmie, heaven is for those who are ready to see God. For old people. Like me.”

Emmie looked up in horror. He could see the questions in her eyes.

“No, no ... I'm not going to heaven, well, not right now. But when I die.” He grunted. “It's not for little girls, okay? I'm not all that happy you're thinking about heaven Emmie girl. If I'm not ready to go there, I'm sure as ... well, I'm not ready for you either. Okay?”

“Okay, Papa.” Emmie shrank back. He'd been too gruff with her. He put his arm around her and pulled her over so he could give her a hug.

“Oh, Emmie. Heaven is a place you go when you die. But you've got a long time before you'll even need to think about going there, okay?” He smiled.

A tentative smile lit her face as she gazed up at him.

“I know, Papa. But maybe, when we go there, we can look for Mommy?”