Finding Emma (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

As a child, Megan loved to walk through cemeteries.

She would spend hours as she meandered through the rows of graves. She loved to read the tombstones. To her, she was a way to honor those who had gone before her. The other children who died too soon, the mothers who lost too early, the grandparents who knew what it meant to survive. Her mother called her fascination with cemeteries morbid.

Today, she'd have to agree.

Somehow, from the time she’d left Peter's office and now, she managed to drive from one end of the town to the other. But her trip was all a fog. Her mind was empty, void of anything but disbelief. Stumped that her husband was willing to give up everything they had built together so easily. Hurt that he could cast her aside without a fight.

She opened her car door. The stillness found only in a cemetery greeted her. A lone bird chirped in the distance. Though they were close to the lake, the rush of the waves as they beat against the rocks were muffled. She took in her surroundings. The rows of white, grey and black marble tombstones stood sentry. Being here, in this place, soothed her somehow. She drank in the quiet, the peace she'd always found here.

She wasn't surprised that she drove here. Often during her runs, if she were emotional or needed to really think, she would take the long route, through the cemetery, down to the lake and then back up to her house. It was a long route, but worth it.

She left her vehicle parked off to the side and walked through the rows. Her gaze would caress each tombstone, read the few words chiseled onto the stone that someone thought embodied their loved one. She took note of the years.

Her heart broke at all the children who lay under her feet. Thank God Emma wasn't here.

She reached a large tree that stood alone on top of a hill and sagged against it. Weariness covered her body. At the bottom of the slight hill stood a group of people dressed in black. A funeral car with its back door open waited on the other side of the crowd.

A casket made its way out of the car and into the hands of four men who stood waiting for it. The moment the casket appeared, a woman in the crowd let out an anguished cry and would have crumpled to the ground if it wasn't for the man who stood beside her. He caught her in time.

Megan's gaze reverted back to the casket. To the small child sized casket.

This is what Peter wanted. For her to accept Emma's death and move on in life.

Her body slithered down the tree as a sob tore through her throat. Her fisted hand covered her mouth as she tried to remain silent. She imagined Emma in that box. She watched the woman down at the gravesite. Her face was turned as it made its way past her. When it rested on the lowering devise above the empty hole, the woman broke away from the man's hold and draped herself over the casket. Her cries thundered through the cemetery.

Megan turned her gaze. It was as if her heart had been ripped out of her, thrown to the ground and trampled on. Tears flowed freely down her face. Her silent cries echoed the woman's sobs.

It was time to admit Emma was gone.

*****

Megan fled to the nearest building where she could hide until she had calmed down after the scene at the cemetery.

Unfortunately, it happened to be in front of their old church.

It had been two years since she'd last crossed through the front doors. She couldn't handle the looks of sympathy she would receive, the tiny pats on the hand along with the whispered words sorry for your loss. In their minds, Emma was already dead.

The worst was when the pastor had dropped by their house one night and told them that God didn't give more than we could handle. If Peter hadn't escorted him out of the house, Megan would have killed him. Literally.

The reserved parking spots for the pastors and administration staff were full, but other than that, the church that should be open to all people was empty. Megan had no doubt that the doors would be locked, even if she had wanted to enter the church and spend some time on her knees. Which she didn't.

Megan drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She never quite understood the concept of a locked church. Why do people have to make an appointment to pour out their hearts to a man, when the altar should be open and available for anyone who needed to feel the hand of God upon their shoulders?

At the end of the street, Megan watched the funeral procession pull out of the cemetery grounds. It was a small group, a total of six cars followed the large black limo as it snaked its way down the street.

A sharp pain shot through her chest, and she planted her hand where the pain originated and struggled to breathe. What was going on? This used to happen to her at the beginning, when her nightmare first started, about a month after Emma was kidnapped and they'd received no word about her whereabouts.

Panic attacks, the counselor told her. Worry pains, her mother insisted. Just give it to God and you'll be fine. If Megan had a dollar for all the times her mother told her to just give it to God, she'd be a rich woman.

The funeral procession passed and faded into the distance as Megan focused on breathing through the pain. At the count of twenty, she was able to breathe without issue again. She massaged the back of her neck where a bubble of pressure had formed. She should head home before a full-blown migraine hit.

Megan reached into her purse to pull out a tissue and instead her fingers found the little candle Johnny had given her at the ice cream parlor. She pulled it out and rolled it in her hand. Such an innocent little thing. As a child you believe that making a wish is all it takes for all your dreams to come true. As an adult, you know wishes go unheard.

But she made a promise. What could it hurt?

She reached across to the glove box and clicked the little lock. She should have some matches in there, somewhere. After pushing aside her insurance and the pamphlets for the Jeep, she found them.

Her fingers trembled as she broke off a match and struck it against the black edge. A flame leapt to life and blazed brilliantly. She dipped the flame to the candlewick and watched as it burned bright. She shook the match and watched as a plume of smoke drifted towards her open window. She flicked the match out the window and stared at the lit candle in her hand.

She ignored the taunting in her head that teased her, called her weak and faint hearted. Who but a child would believe in wishes from a candle?

Hot drops of wax burned her fingers as the flame continued to burn.

There were no wishes left to whisper. It was time to face reality.

With a soft burst of air, she blew out the candle.

She dropped the candle into her cup holder and flicked the small ball of wax off of her finger before driving past the parked cars in the church lot and heading home. In her rear view mirror, the sight of the church steeple, the white cross diminished the further away she drove.

“Where were you God, when my daughter was taken away from me? Where were you when we waited for word of her return? Why did you let her die alone?”

A gentle breeze caressed her cheek through the open window.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Butterflies and fireflies danced together
amongst the garden beds in Megan's backyard. As she rinsed the dinner dishes in the kitchen sink, the scene at the cemetery filled her mind. The little casket with the mother draped across.

Peter's footsteps alerted Megan to his presence. She wished he would go away. The girls were in the family room playing a game on the entertainment unit, and despite their fervent pleadings, Megan begged off from the game. Peter took her place instead.

“Done so soon?”

Peter's arms encircled her body. She stiffened her back and stilled her hands in the hot sudsy water. The last thing she wanted right now was to be touched. By him.

“Yeah, the girls are getting pretty good at the game. They whipped my butt in a manner of minutes.” His arms withdrew from around her body and she breathed a sigh of relief. A small one.

She rinsed another dish and placed it in the dish rack to dry. Hand washing dishes soothed her. She could have used the dishwasher, but they had take-out tonight, so there wasn't much to wash.

“Listen, about today --” Peter headed over to the island and leaned against it.

Megan clutched the dishcloth in her hand. “It’s okay.”

“No, I--”

She bit her lip before turning. “I said it was okay. I heard you, Peter. And you were right.” Tears dripped down her face as she stared at her husband.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s time to say goodbye.” The air shattered into a million pieces.

Peter shook his head. “No, no. That’s not what I was going to say.” He dropped his gaze and hunched his shoulders. “I spoke with Riley.”

Megan's hand shook. A jolt of energy fluttered through her stomach. She drained the sink and wiped down the counter.

“Does he think it's her?”

She didn't want to look at Peter, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Afraid to hope again.

When he didn't answer her, she turned. That was answer enough.

“Meg--”

He’d crossed the slight distance between them and reached out.

“We need to be prepared that it’s not her.”

Megan fisted her hand against her mouth, silencing the sob that welled deep within from escaping. Tears welled up in her eyes and it was all she could do not to let them spill. Everything ached inside of her. Her heart. Her mind. Her soul.

“Dad?” A small voice broke the silence that had formed in the kitchen. Both Peter and Megan turned to face their daughter who stood in the doorway.

Alexis' eyes darted back and forth between Megan and Peter. “Um, it's your turn, Dad,” she said. The uncertainty in her voice spoke volumes. More than a single word would have.

“He'll be there shortly, okay, hun?” Megan tried to keep her voice calm. She gave a tentative smile, which apparently reassured her daughter since she nodded her head and left.

“Peter--”

Peter shook his head and reached for her hands. Again. This time, she didn't pull away.

“Riley doesn't know if it's her or not. It's not a real clear picture. He'll follow up though and let us know.” His fingers caressed her hand. “I know you want it to be her. I want it to be her. But it’s not. We have to accept that.” Peter's eyes shone with unshed tears. “I can't keep doing this, I'm sorry. I know you think I'm a monster. That I'm uncaring and selfish. That I've given up on our daughter. But that's so far from the truth. I just wish you could see that. Waiting for Emma, it's hurting our family. Don't you see that? It's killing us, Megan. We need to say goodbye. To the little girl who was ripped from our arms. We need closure. I need closure.” His eyes searched hers. She could see the need there, the need for her to believe him.

If she wanted her marriage to survive, the next words she spoke would determine the outcome.

“Okay.” She watched as Peter reeled back in shock.

“Okay?” She heard the doubt in his voice.

“Okay. But I can’t...” her voice broke, “I can’t be the one to plan the ceremony. You’ll need to. Or my mother. But I don’t want to be a part of it.”

Peter gathered her into his arms, held her close to his body. She stiffened before relaxing and drawing her arms up against his chest. She buried her face into the crock of his neck.

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“What if she comes home though? What then?”

“If,” he said as he rubbed his hand against her back. “No Megs, when. When she comes back, we'll welcome her with open arms. But she'll be a different girl than the one we knew. And we’ll be a different family. A stronger family. I'm not saying to give up Megan.” He pulled away and took a step back. “Just that this will help us move on.”

He leaned forward and placed a kiss upon her cold lips before heading back towards the living room to continue playing games with their daughters.

Something had changed between them. It began a long time ago. A little crack that widened on its own. She wasn’t sure if it could ever be fixed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Do I get to pick my very own donut, Papa?”

Jack glanced down at Emmie. She sat in the middle of the cab, the seat belt buckled across her waist, with her hands in her lap and a smile on her face. Her eyes danced with excitement.

“Whatever kind you want,” said Jack.

When Dottie had been about to bring out ice cream for their dessert, Jack stopped her and said they should go in town for a donut. Emmie, wide eyed, waited for Grandma to agree. Jack had a feeling she would. Today had been a good day. Going to the fair last night seemed to perk Dottie up.

Emmie twisted in the front seat to look out the back window of the old pick-up truck.

“What is taking Grandma so long?” She placed her chin in her hands as she stared at the back door.

Jack looked at the watch on his wrist. What was taking her so long? All she had to do was grab her purse, not like she had to get all dolled up or anything. They were only going to the donut shop.

“Will your friends be there, Papa?” Emmie tilted her head to look at him.

“Oh, I'm sure they will. They've wanted to meet you for a very long time.” Jack winked. Too long.

He looked out the window and saw that the grass on the side of the house needed to be cut. That side always grew faster than the rest of the yard. Dottie had wanted him to dig up a plot in the spring and let her plant some sunflowers there. Maybe he should have done it. Less grass to cut then.

The door to the back remained closed. What is Dottie doing in there? If she didn't hurry up, the sun would set and she'd be telling him Emmie needed to go to bed. He nudged Emmie in the shoulder and honked the horn. Her eyes widened to twice their size, her mouth shaped into a big O. Jack chuckled. Yep, Emmie knew Grandma didn't like to be rushed.

“Emmie, why don't you go over and play with Daisy for a couple of minutes while I see what is keeping Grandma?”

Jack opened the door and cringed as it squeaked on its hinges. He knew he forgot to do something today. Dottie mentioned the noise last night when they headed into the fair. He waited for Emmie to scoot across the seat and then he helped her to jump out of the cab.

“Daisy, Daisy,” Emmie called as she ran into the backyard.

Daisy poked her tiny head out of the large dog house Jack had built. He waited to ensure Emmie could open the gate he'd rigged to keep Daisy enclosed whenever they were out and about. Which wasn't often.

Jack headed over to the back door, cupped his hands over his eyes and peered inside. He couldn't see Dottie in the kitchen. He opened the screen and stuck his head inside.

“Dottie, hurry up woman. What's taking you so long?”

“I can't find it,” Dottie's yelled. Jack found Dottie in the front room tearing apart the closet.

“What can't you find, love?” Jack stood behind her and peered into the closet. She was pushing shoes and boots aside on the floor.

“My purse. I can't find my purse.” She leaned back and blew a strand piece of hair out of her face. Jack leaned down to grasp her hand and hauled her up so she was back on her feet.

“Where did you last see it?”

Dottie rubbed her face. “I don't know. I don't remember. I just can't find it.”

Jack glanced around the room. “Are you sure you looked everywhere?”

It was obvious she'd already looked for her purse in the living room. It had been torn to shreds. Pillows that would sit in the corner of the couch were now on the floor. Her wool had been dumped out of her knitting bag and some of the balls had rolled off the chair. Streams of yarn now crisscrossed on the floor.

“What about the kitchen?” He pulled Dottie along behind him.

“I've already looked. I just don't know where it is!”

Dottie's hand fisted while Jack held it. Not good. He made Dottie sit at the kitchen table and with gentle pressure he massaged her neck. Her head dropped as he worked his magic. Maybe if she just relaxed for a few minutes she would remember.

“Things were busy last night when we came home. Emmie was pretty hyped up from the fair and Daisy made a mess in the kitchen. I'm sure you just set it down somewhere. You've just forgotten, that's all,” Jack said.

Dottie's head shot up and she pulled her body forward, out of Jack's hands.

“I don't just forget, Jack,” she said. Her mouth had set in a straight line as she twisted her head to look at him. He backed away while holding his hands up.

“Yes, Dottie. You do. Lately, you've been forgetting more and more. Remember this morning, when you asked me if we were going to the fair today? We did that yesterday,” Jack said.

Dottie shook her head. “No we didn't. We're going now. That's why I need my purse. You gave me the tickets to hold on to, and they are in my purse.”

“No, love, that was yesterday.” Jack said.

Maybe it was time to go back to the doctor.

Dottie's shoulders slumped. Jack took a quick peek out the kitchen window. Emmie sat on the grass with Daisy in her lap. He started to open the kitchen cupboards. Maybe Emmie hid the purse as a joke. When he looked back at the kitchen table, Dottie's head hung low and her shoulder's shook. He walked over, sat in the chair beside her and took her hands.

“I miss her, Jack. So much so that it hurts. I'm empty without her.” Tears ran down Dottie's face. Jack leaned forward and wiped them away.

“I miss her too.” Jack knew she was talking about their daughter.

Dottie lifted her tear stained face. The sorrow written in her eyes broke Jack's heart.

“I never told you. I always meant to tell you,” she reached up and stroked his face. “I'm so sorry.”

Jack covered that hand with his. These little trips into the past were happening more frequently. It worried Jack. She was becoming more meshed in the life they once had then the life they now live.

“I know you miss her, it’s okay.” He was at a loss anymore on how to help his wife and it really bothered him.

Dottie shook her head. “No, Jack. You don't understand.”

“Understand what? What don't I understand?”

Dottie pulled her hand away and fiddled with the basket of Emmie's stuff on the table. She looked everywhere but at him.

“I know we promised to never keep secrets from each other. I didn't mean to. I just ... my mind gets all muddled ...” Dottie's body trembled.

Jack's heart broke. He knew the secret Dottie carried. He knew, but he never confessed it to her. Some secrets are better left unsaid.

“It's okay, love. It is okay. You don't have to say anymore,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I already know.”

“How do you know? How?” A glazed look filled Dottie's eyes, her brows furrowed. Jack knew she didn't understand what he was saying.

“Why don't you tell me, love. Tell me your secret.”

Dottie's voice could barely be heard as she confessed. With each word she whispered, the crack in Jack's heart widened until the pain became so intense he thought it would shatter.

“She's dead Jack. Our Mary is dead.”

A small cry filled the room. Jack's head whipped up. Emmie stood at the screen door.

With speed he didn't know possible in his old age, Jack rushed to the door. He gathered Emmie in his arms, crushed her to his chest as the tears ran down his cheeks. She didn't need to hear this. Not here, not now. Emmie's arms tightened around Jack's neck.

“It’s okay, Papa. I know my Mommy’s in heaven,” Emmie whispered in his ear.

Jack's eyes closed as he held on tight. Dottie's quiet sobs filled the kitchen, but all Jack saw in his mind’s eye was his daughter at Emmie's age, as she danced in their front yard. Emmie reminded him of his daughter in so many ways. As he held her close, he whispered a silent prayer that if he couldn't have his daughter, at least he could have his granddaughter.

“Why don't you go run up to your room, okay? Let me talk with grandma for a few minutes and then I'll be up and we can talk.”

Jack kissed the top of her head and set her back down on the floor. He watched her give Dottie a hug and then climb the steps to her room. It wasn't until he heard her bedroom door close that he sat back down at the table.

“I already knew, Dottie. I called the half-way house and they told me.”

The memory of that phone call hit Jack full force. When he found out that his daughter was dead, his heart just about broke. The only thing that kept him going was Emmie.

“They told you? Why did you call them?” Fear filled Dottie's eyes. There was something she didn't want him to know. What could be worse than keeping their daughter's death a secret?

Jack explained with painful patience why he called the half-way house. He confessed the ache in his heart for Mary and the thought that if he could just hear her voice, or even leave a note letting her know he cared, that the ache would diminish. The counselor at the home told him that Mary had been very sick. Whether from the drugs or disease, Jack didn't think to ask. She’d been dead for over two years now. At Mary's request, they didn't contact any family until after her cremation. They used money Jack had sent to cover the cost.

“You must hate me,” Dottie said once Jack fell silent.

“How could I hate you? We've been through too much Dottie-mine, for me to ever hate you. I wish you had told me, I wish that you could have confided in me. You shouldn't have had to deal with that all on your own,” Jack said. No, he didn't hate. He never could.

“Why didn't you tell me, Dottie? Why didn't you tell me when you brought Emmie home?” He tried to wrap his mind around that, but he couldn't. No matter the various scenarios he thought of, none of them made sense.

Dottie's head shot up. A horror stricken look covered her face.

“Because I couldn't remember. I couldn't remember Jack. I couldn't remember...” Dottie's fist hit her head, over and over as she said the words.

Jack grabbed at her fists and struggled with her. She pulled away from him.

How could she not remember? Her memory wasn't that bad back then. That's when it hit Jack. That was at the time Dottie's memory started to slip. They had gone to the doctor and they began to play around with the various medicines and dosages to help her. There was one point where things were really bad, when her memory wasn't there at all. The doctor readjusted the dosage until she was back to normal. That was right around the time Dottie brought Emmie home.

“Of course you do, Dottie. You remember the day you brought Emmie home, right? How happy you were when you walked in the door? I'll never forget that day. Emmie held onto your hand so tight, but your face, ah, your face was aglow. You remember that day, don't you?” Jack needed her to remember.

Dottie nodded her head. “I remember being so happy. When I found her, alone on the street, all it took was one look for me to know she was Mary's daughter. She looks so much like her, doesn't she?” A soft smile settled on Dottie’s face. She retreated, back into the past, to the day that Emmie came home. Jack couldn't let her. He couldn't lose her, not now. Now when she was so clear headed.

“On the street?” Jack prodded her. He needed her to focus, to stay with him in the present. Jack needed her to remember.

“Dottie, you said you found her on the street? Was that in front of the half-way house where Mary stayed?”

Dottie didn't answer. Tears shimmered in her eyes, her lips pursed as her fingers clenched together.

She twisted her hands together and closed her eyes. Jack gave her a minute. He needed her to remember.

“Then where did I get Mary?” Dottie asked, her eyes still closed.

“Emmie, you mean Emmie.”

Startled, Dottie gasped. “Of course I mean Emmie. Jack, what are you thinking?”

Jack stared out the window. His world crumbled all around him and he felt helpless to do anything about it. He wished the blinders were still on, that he didn’t see what was before him. His heart broke as he struggled with the truth that stared him directly in the eyes.

“I think...I think that you're struggling with your memory more and more each day and that we need to go back to the doctor. It's been a while. You missed your last few appointments. You promised you would reschedule, but you haven't. Do you still have any more pills or are you empty?”

Dottie's head twisted back and forth, as she denied what he was suggesting. He knew she would. She hated going to the doctor. She always had.

“I don't need a doctor. I'm fine.” She looked into his eyes, and he knew he'd lost her. She was gone.

“Come on, let's get Mary and go to the fair. You know how she loves the fair,” Dottie said as she pushed her chair back to stand. Jack grabbed onto her hand and wouldn't let go.

“Emmie, Dottie. Emmie. Our granddaughter. We took her to the fair yesterday. Right now, she's up in her room. She heard about Mary, Dottie. Emmie knows that her mom is dead.”

A wave of sadness flowed out of Jack as he said the words. His granddaughter. The weight of the world crashed down upon his shoulders. He was afraid. More afraid then he'd ever been in his life, even when he was in the army.

Dottie sank in her chair. Her body shook with force as a sob tore through her throat. If Jack had been anywhere but next to Dottie, he would have thought the feral sound to be something from a horror movie.