Finding Emma (6 page)

CHAPTER NINE

The house was awash in silence,
the only sound was the slap of a card as it hit the kitchen table. A soft glow from the dimmed lighting covered the table, light enough for Jack to see the hand he was playing with, but dark enough that when the sun peaked over the hill in front of his kitchen window, he'd be able to watch.

He was on his third game of Solitaire and his second cup of honey-sweetened tea when the pitter-patter of tiny feet sounded on the stairs. He glanced at the watch he'd laid on the table. She was early. He continued his game, another card slapped against the table before Emmie climbed onto a chair beside him.

“Mornin, Papa,” Emmie said before a yawn escaped her mouth. She rubbed her eyes and laid her head down on her crossed arms, her sleepy eyes barely able to stay open. Tendrils of hair had escaped from her braid; the fuzzy pieces covered her head like a blanket.

“Morning, sweet pea,” Jack noticed the toes that peeked out from under Emmie's pink housecoat. They wiggled as if to say hi.

“Where's your slippers? You know it's too cold for your feet in the morning.”

Another yawn escaped from Emmie's mouth.

“They still sleepin, Papa.”

Jack reached over and ruffled her hair. “Just like you should be Princess. It's too early to wake up yet. See,” he gestured towards the darkened window, “the sun is still sleeping.”

Jack raised his mug of tea to his lips and grimaced when the cold liquid met his lips. With a groan, he worked his way out of his chair. His knees cracked as he leaned on the table for support.

As he poured more water into his cup, Emmie's sleepy voice piped up behind him.

“Can I have tea, Papa?”

He dunked his tea bag into the hot water a few times before he poured water into the other cup, already waiting on the counter. It was the same routine every morning. He carried both cups over to the table, dipped his spoon into the honey and swirled it around in his cup. Emmie then did the same. She swirled the spoon first clockwise, then counter clockwise, just as Jack did every morning. He ducked his head to hide his smile.

Jack picked up his deck of cards and was about to pull out the top card without looking at the row of cards on the table, when a tiny snicker sounded. He lowered the card in his hand, squinted his eyes at his granddaughter before he glanced down at the table. He scanned each row a few times before he noticed the trick she'd pulled. She had mixed his cards around.

The little stinker.

“Shhh,” Jack said, “you don't want to wake Grandma up.”

Emmie covered her mouth with her hands and quieted down. Her eyes still held their twinkle. Jack rearranged his cards.

“I did have a secret to tell you, but I think I'll wait now.” With his head down, he peeked out the corner of his eye to see Emmie's reaction.

Her tiny lips pursed tight. Jack grinned. Such a good little girl. Her fingers tapped the table as she waited. Just like Mary.

His heart ached as he thought of his daughter. He missed her. The last time he spoke to her was over two years ago. He'd begged her to come home, to leave the streets and the life she lived. But she refused. Even though it was killing her, she wouldn't come home. He often wondered where he went wrong. What did he do for her to run away and never come home? Was he that bad of a father? Did he not pay enough attention to his little girl?

When Dottie brought home Emmie, he swore he wouldn't make the same mistakes. This time he'd do it right. He owed Mary that much.

“Papa,” Emmie's voice broke through his revelry. She reached her hand over and touched his. He looked up and saw her smile. No one could smile like Emmie. So bright, full of life. His own little sunshine.

“I can keep a secret. Promise. I can,” Emmie said. She held up her two fingers and crossed them. He laughed and reached across to uncross her fingers.

“You can, can you?” he said. She bobbed her head.

“Well ... I have a special surprise, but you have to wait a few more days. It's a secret.” Jack set another card down.

“Papa, please?” Emmie tipped her head to the side, her dimples appeared as she pleaded.

Jack shook his head. “You'll just have to be a good little girl.” He placed another card down on the table. Silence fell in the kitchen, broken only by the slurping noise Emmie made as she sipped her honey sweetened water.

“Look, Papa.”

Jack looked up. The sun was rising. A myriad of colors shone over the dew covered grass. The sky, crystal blue with white fluffy clouds, embraced the rising sun. Jack gathered up his cards and wrapped an elastic band around them.

“So, I hear someone wants their very own swing, huh?” Jack said. Emmie's head turned.

“Well, I think I might just have your mom's old tree swing somewhere in the garden shed. Think you want to help me look for it later?”

Emmie jumped up so she sat on her calves. “Can I?”

Before Jack could respond, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Emmie sat down in her chair and Jack gathered the two cups and walked to the counter.

“Can she what Jack? What can Mary do?” Dottie said as she entered the kitchen.

Jack stopped and looked at her. Dark circles stood out from under her eyes and her hair looked like a rat's nest. She hugged her tattered housecoat tight against her body.

“Dottie?” Jack said. He walked towards her and placed his arms around her. She leaned into him. “Did you have a good sleep, sweetheart?”

A tired haze filled Dottie’s eyes and she shrugged.

“Papa?” Emmie's voice whispered through the kitchen. He turned his head to look at her. Emmie sat in her chair, dwarfed by the table. She looked so small. Her eyes were large, round saucers as she stared at Dottie.

“What is Mary going to do, Jack?” Dottie grabbed hold of his shirt with her fists. She stared into his eyes. What was going through her head?

Jack rested his head against Dottie's head. He closed his eyes.

“Emmie. Not Mary, Emmie,” Jack's voice broke when he whispered Mary's name.

“Emmie?” Dottie's eyes closed as she said the name. “Where's Mary? Jack, where is Mary?” Dottie's voice pitched up an octave, her fingers white from the grip she held on his shirt. Jack pulled away. His heart broke as he did so. Seeing Dottie like this hurt. It wasn't fair. His bright, cheery wife was slowly becoming a shell in front of his eyes.

Jack ran his hands along Dottie's rough housecoat. He placed a smile on his face and hoped Dottie couldn't see past it.

“Honey, Mary isn't here. Her daughter is. Emmie. Emmie is here,” Jack said. He looked over at his granddaughter and smiled at her. “This is Mary's daughter. We were going to look for that swing later, remember?”

No one spoke. Dottie shrugged Jack's hands off her arms and took a step backwards. She glanced at Emmie only to turn her head away.

“I’m tired Jack. I want to go back to bed.”

Jack's shoulders sank. His hands fell to his side. He took a step backwards and bumped into the corner of the counter. Silence hung heavy over the kitchen. No one moved. Until Emmie's tiny voice shattered the stillness.

“Grandma,” she said, her eyes filled with tears. “I miss my Mommy.”

CHAPTER TEN

The incessant beeping from her oven timer
jerked Megan from her reverie as she lay on her deck lounger. The gorgeous weather had called to her, enticed her to bask in the sun as her chocolate almond scones baked in the oven. Her lethargic body betrayed her as it drank in the warm rays of the sun. She could have fallen asleep, would have, if it weren't for the scones.

She enjoyed the quiet of the day. It didn’t happen very often, but her calendar was empty. No meetings, no one she needed to call. An empty slate. It should have been a welcome reprieve, an enjoyable break, but it drove Megan nuts. Without having something to focus, memories resurfaced. Of Emma. Of the little girl at the donut shop. Of Peter’s phone call with Samantha.

So she baked.

As she pulled the scones out of the oven, the phone rang. Megan looked at the time. Two hours before school was out. She pulled the oven mitt off her one hand, grabbed the phone and hooked it in the crook of her shoulder.

“Hey darlin', just calling to check to see if I’m on for the walk today? I can’t remember.” Laurie’s cheery tone placed a smile on Megan's face.

“Did you not look at the schedule I emailed at the beginning of the month?” Megan sighed. Why did she even ask? Laurie wasn’t one for having the best of memory for things like this.

“Um, I think I deleted it without printing it off?”

“Why am I not surprised?” She transferred the scones onto the cooling racks and then headed over to the corkboard on the wall by the calendar.

“Yes, you are on. Today and then Friday, same route as normal.” Both Megan and Laurie took two shifts a week at the school. Most other parents only took one day every two weeks.

“Cool. I had a feeling I was on. So, what are you doing?”

“Baking.”

“Why, what's wrong?” Laurie knew her so well, too well sometimes.

“I can bake without there being something wrong you know,” Megan said.

Laurie snorted into the phone. “Yeah, just like I go running every morning with you 'cause I enjoy the torture. You only bake when something is wrong. So what gives?”

Megan took off the other oven mitt, placed both in the drawer and leaned against the cupboard. “Just one of those days.” She stared out the window.

“They’ll get better soon, they have to.”

Megan just shook her head. If only she knew. She didn't reply. Instead, she took out the cold coffee she’d made this morning, poured it into a glass, added some ice cubes and cream, and headed outside back to her lounger.

“Megan?” Laurie broke the silence.

Megan placed her glass down on the wood bench beside the lounger and sighed. Tears slid down her cheeks.

“What else happened, hun?”

“Oh Laurie,” Megan whispered into the phone. She couldn't believe she was crying. Again. She thought for sure she'd emptied herself out this morning.

“Okay, now you're scaring me. Did something happen to one of the girls? Is it about Emma?”

Megan chocked back a sob. She didn't want to do this.

“I thought I saw Emma the other day,” she said. Admitting that, saying it out loud, hurt. But if anyone could understand, it would be Laurie. The one friend who stuck with Megan through thick and thin.

Megan waited for Laurie to say something. Anything. Maybe something like 'it's okay', or 'oh sweetie, are you okay', but instead, she got silence. A long stretch of nothingness. Megan’s heart quickened. Does she think I'm going crazy too?

“Does Peter know?” Laurie’s voice was low and soft.

“No,” Megan said. She was afraid to tell him, although she wouldn't admit that to Laurie. She couldn't. That was between her and Peter.

“Did you call the counselor? You still have her private number to call in case of emergencies, don't you?”

Megan sighed. Calling the shrink was the last thing she wanted to do. She did not want to go on medication.

“Megan?” Laurie must have heard the sigh.

“No, I didn't call, but yes, I still have the number. You know what will happen if I tell her. I do not want to go on any crazy drugs Laurie.” Megan took a deep, calming breathe. In and out. In and out.

“They're not crazy drugs, Meg, just ones to help you calm down a bit.”

Megan bit back a retort. If one more person told her she needed to be on drugs, she'd scream. She was not overwhelmed. Call it a bad day. Tomorrow would be better. There was nothing to worry about.

“Okay, listen. You and Peter need some time alone tonight to talk about this. Let me take the girls. I'll pick them up from school and treat them to a trip to the mall--” Laurie said.

Megan interrupted her before she could finish.

“No, that's all right. We'll be fine.”

A frustrated sigh came across the phone.

“Would you let me finish?”

Megan closed her eyes. She wasn't sure what Laurie was going to say, but she couldn't imagine it'd be any worse that what she already said and what Megan already thought. Self-condemnation was the worst form of punishment.

“I'll take the girls so you and Peter can spend some time alone. You need to tell him, Megan. You promised you would if it ever happened again. Besides, you don't need the stress of the girls around when you tell him,” Laurie said.

Megan nodded, but cleared her throat when she realized Laurie couldn't see her.

“The girls will like that. Thanks.”

She placed the phone on her lap and raised her face to the sun. All she wanted was to feel warm again. Somehow, though, the chill in her body seemed permanent.

******

She held the phone in her hand. The numbers were already dialed, all that was left was to hit the connect button. So why did she hesitate? She stood on her deck and looked out over her yard. Skipping ropes lay discarded on the grass along with a blown up beach ball the girls received at a birthday party the weekend before and dandelions decorated the yard.

Megan smiled as she pictured Emma on her first birthday. She just started to walk but hated to wear any type of shoe or slipper on her feet. As soon as Megan had set her down on the grass, she began to cry. She didn't like the prickly sensation of the grass on her delicate feet. Peter scooped her up and called her a princess. She didn't stop crying until she saw the dandelions. Megan took a picture of Emma seated on the grass, her lap covered with dandelion heads she picked. Peter sat beside her and stuck one of the weeds behind Emma's ear. A princess indeed.

Megan took a deep breath and hit the connect button on the phone. Her stomach gave a queasy turn as she listened to the ringing. The skin on her arms tingled, as if tiny ants marched in file to her shoulder as she waited. A voice inside her head screamed at her to hang up. She almost gave in, about to hit the disconnect button when a voice came through the line.

“Detective Thompson speaking.”

Megan gulped. Peter made her promise not to call the detective overseeing Emma's case unless he knew about it. Too bad for Peter that her daughter came first.

“Hello? This is Detective Riley Thompson, how can I help you?”

Megan glanced at dandelions, pictured her daughter sitting there on the grass and answered.

“Riley, its Megan. Megan Taylor,” she said. She knew she didn't need to introduce herself, he probably recognized her voice, but it was habit. It kept their relationship on a professional level.

“Mrs. Taylor, it’s been awhile. How are you?”

The warm familiarity of his voice washed over her, the butterflies in her stomach stilled. Calling was the right thing to do.

“Have you heard anything? Have there been any sightings or phone calls about Emma?” If she kept their conversation focused on Emma and nothing else, Peter couldn't object. Right?

“Actually, Meg ... Mrs. Taylor, I was about to call you,” he said.

Megan's heart leapt to her throat. She caught the mistake the moment he started to say her name. She sat down on the deck steps, leaned forward and stroked the petals of the petunias she had planted in a pot.

“There is a forensic artist that works with our department. I know Emma's birthday is coming up, so I requested an updated sketch.”

“Yesterday,” Megan whispered into the phone.

“I'm sorry?”

“Yesterday,” Megan said again. “Emma's birthday was yesterday.” There was a pause on the phone. A slight ruffling of papers could be heard in the background.

“Right, yesterday. I'm sorry, I knew that. I wanted to let you know that I have new age-progressed sketches of Emma. I can drop them by if you like? Her picture has already been updated on the national website. The new circulation of her photo on the milk cartons will also start,” more paper shuffles sounded, “yesterday actually.”

Megan stood and walked down the stone pathway to the back of the yard. Years ago, she'd planted a flower garden along the fence. There were a few stragglers that persisted in flowering. Maybe she should think about buying some plants this year. A good summer project for Alexis.

“You mean sketches of how she would look now, right?” Megan asked. When Emma had first disappeared, they’d placed her photo on the milk jugs. They’d received a lot of phone calls, but nothing that could pinpoint where Emma was. Maybe this time would be different. At the very least, it was nice to know she wasn't the only one trying to find Emma.

“Right. Would you and Peter be available this evening? I could drop them off for you to look at.”

Megan's hand shook with a slight tremor. She started to count to three. One - breathe in. Two - breathe out. Three - open your eyes.

Tempted by the thought of seeing her daughter's face, of how she would look today pulled at her. Would she have made the same mistake at the donut shop if she'd already seen the pictures? That little girl's face, the expression in her eyes haunted Megan. She should have known better. She should have made sure, really sure, that it was Emma before she grabbed the little girl's hand.

But then she thought of what was in store for tonight. How she needed to be honest with Peter. Having the man she almost turned to for comfort come over when she had to break the news to Peter that she'd broken another promise, probably wasn't a smart move.

“No Riley, I'm afraid tonight's not a good night.”