Finding Emma (9 page)

She leaned her head against the couch, her eyes closed. This could be the end of their marriage. Even at the thought, no tears came. There was nothing left within her to grieve. Maybe it would hit her tomorrow when she woke up alone in their bed.

Minutes passed as she sat there, her mind numb. She should move, but her body betrayed her with its lethargic response. So she waited. Waited for the numbness to take over.

A slight pressure of a hand on her shoulder forced her to open her eyes. Peter came back. He stood before her, tears flowing down his face as he held a book in his hand. She glanced up at the book, puzzled.

“I do care,” Peter whispered as he laid the book in her lap. He bent down, placed a tender kiss on her forehead before he left her alone, again. Confused, Megan held the book in her hands, turned it over, unsure of what it meant.

The book itself was plain. No writing covered the front or spin of the book. She opened it and her hand shook. Peter's handwriting covered the front page.

To my darling Emma. Not a day goes past without you in my thoughts. My baby. My princess. My dream is to one day hand this journal to you and explain to you the words I have written inside. I love you, Emma Wynn Taylor. I always will.

With tender care, Megan turned the page. The thin paper as it rustled beneath her shaking hand didn't escape her notice. Nor did she miss the wet marks, which covered the first few pages of the journal. Peter's words. Peter's tears. She held each page between her fingers with gentleness. With one glance, this book became a precious treasure, one that deserved her utmost care. Each page was dated. The words rolled together until they formed a love letter, from a father to his missing daughter.

Tears rolled down Megan's face, as Peter's heart was laid out before her. Naked to the core. Peter managed to do what she had never thought to do. Could never do.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

If all mornings could be like this
, I'd die a happy man
. Jack whistled as he slapped another card down on the table. He'd woken up beside a woman who still had the ability to make his heart jump with one touch. He smiled. Happy man indeed.

Emmie sat beside him at the table. While he relaxed and played his game of Solitaire, she colored. She'd slept in today, a rare experience for Emmie. It took her a bit to settle down last night. Jack must have read close to six stories before she fell asleep. He laid down another card as he watched her. Clad in her pink puppy dog pajamas that Dottie had sewn, her hair a rat's nest of curls, she looked cute. Emmie leaned over the table as she concentrated on her picture, the tip of her tongue showed through her lips as she drew yellow flowers all over a green field.

“That's a pretty picture, Emmie.”

The kitchen felt a little stuffy. Gonna be a scorcher today. Jack walked to the kitchen door and opened it about halfway, enough to let in the early morning breeze, but not too far as to chill his granddaughter.

He rubbed her hair as he sat back in his chair. “Is that you?”

Emmie drew a picture of a little girl in a pink dress. He recognized it as the dress she wore yesterday. He waited to see if she drew a picture of Daisy, but she surprised him by drawing another girl. He smiled to himself. Little girls and their imagination.

Jack stared down at the row of cards in front of him. He'd lost another round. That was three rounds today. He normally won. He peeked at Emmie, surprised at her tenacity. His grandbaby was a flutter bug, going from one thing to another. Yet this morning she sat without making a peep, intent on creating her picture.

His stomach rumbled as Emmie tilted her head to look at him. He covered his mouth with his hand and acted surprised. She giggled at him. He loved that sound. It reminded him of his daughter.

Jack looked at the clock. Dottie would be up soon. Maybe he'd surprise her with breakfast. “Are you hungry yet, munchkin? How does French toast sound?”

A smile lit Emmie's face. Her favorite breakfast.

French toast it is.

Jack rummaged around in the cupboard for the cinnamon. About to ask Emmie if she wanted to help him, but when he turned, she wasn't at the table. He spun around and found her standing behind him, holding her picture.

“Can I tell you a secret, Papa?”

Her face held a grave look to it. The sparkle in her disappeared at the word. Jack knew she was serious, so he squatted until he was eye level with her and made sure the smile that fought to show itself stayed tucked away.

“Anything, you can tell me anything.”

Emmie cocked her head to the side, pursed her lips and stared straight into his eyes.

“You can't tell Grandma. Promise?”

Jack thought about it for a moment then shook his head. His knees started to ache, his back screamed at him to straighten, but this was important.

“Emmie,” said Jack as he took one of her hands in his, “you know I don't keep secrets from Grandma. But I will promise you this,” he held up two fingers, “if it's something I don't think Grandma needs to know, then we can keep it between us. Okay?”

Emmie bent her head to her chest. She wouldn't look him in the eye. He'd give her a few minutes to think about what he said. He'd learned the hard way with Mary that promising to keep secrets from his wife did more damage than anything else.

She kept her head bent. Jack noticed she wouldn't look him in the eyes. This must be bad. He placed his finger underneath his chin and gently tilted her head up until she looked at him. Her lips trembled.

“I have a friend, Papa,” she said. Her eyes sparkled as she told him her secret. Jack bit back his smile.

“You do?”

He took his hand out of hers and placed it on the counter. With a groan, he used it as leverage to help him stand. Emmie stepped forward and offered her hand, which he took. He grunted as his back screamed in agony and his knees locked together.

“What's her name?”

“Friend.”

Her answer took him aback. Friend? What kind of name is that? Maybe Dottie found one of Mary's old porcelain dolls and gave it to her. But why would she want this to be a secret?

“She wore a yellow dress, Papa, just like the flowers on my dress. And she gave me a popsicle too. But Daisy ate it. Well, she licked it. But then she sat. Papa, she sat. And my friend, she likes Daisy. She says she's a good puppy.” Emmie's face beamed with happiness as the secret burst out of her.

Jack looked at her picture again. At the two little girls in a field of yellow flowers and Daisy sitting beside them. This must be the age of imaginary friends. Jack tried to remember if Mary ever went through this stage, but he didn't think she had.

Jack turned back to the ingredients on the counter. It had been awhile since he last surprised his girls with a homemade breakfast, but if memory served, French toast wasn't that hard.

“Can I play with her, Papa?” His shirt tugged at the back. He looked over his shoulder and saw Emmie's hand had a firm hold on his shirt.

“Of course you can. Any friend who likes Daisy is a good one.” No harm in that. He'd read an article in one of those parent magazines he bought Dottie for Christmas. A child's imagination is a powerful tool.

“Now?”

About to crack open an egg, Jack stopped. Now?

“Well, if you want to? But be quiet okay, Grandma's still sleeping.”

He expected to hear her footsteps scurry up the stairs, but instead it was the sound of the screen door as it slammed into its frame that shocked him. Dottie had been after him to fix the hinge on that door, but right at this moment, he was glad he hadn't.

Jack dropped a half-cracked egg into the bowl and hurried over to the door. Emmie, half way across the yard, was skipping up the hill to the fence that separated their property from the neighbors.

“Emmie!”

She stopped mid-skip and turned. He could see the confusion on her face. He blinked his eyes. So, not an imaginary friend? He motioned with his hand for her to come back and waited. She didn't skip back. She took tiny steps with her head bent as she held the picture in her hand, one trailed to the side. When she reached the porch, he held out his hand and waited for her to take it.

“Emmie, you still have your pajamas on. You can't go out to play in those.”

His granddaughter looked up at him, hope filled her eyes.

“After?”

He didn't know how to respond. He thought she was talking about an imaginary friend, not the kids from next door. But when she looked up at him with those big baby blue eyes, saying no wasn't an option. He ruffled her hair a bit.

“Tell you what, Princess, after breakfast we'll talk to Grandma and see what she has to say.”

The moment Emmie's eyes clouded over and her bottom lip stuck out in a royal pout, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. Seemed like Dottie had been a tad bit overprotective lately. He watched as Emmie stared at the picture she held in her hands. He might be an old man with a waning memory, but he could still put two and two together. His baby girl found a new friend, 'bout time too.

“You know, having friends is never a bad thing. I know Grandma agrees too. That there picture in your hand is pretty nice and you spent a lot of time making it for your friend, didn't you?”

Emmie nodded her head, her mishmash of curls bounced all over the place.

“Then there's no reason why you can't give it to your friend later. Okay? But first, it's time for ...”

“BREAKFAST!” Emmie shouted before her hands flew up to her mouth in shock. “Oops, sorry.”

Jack chuckled. It was time for Dottie to get up anyway, and he had breakfast to make apparently.

*****

Dottie waved the oven mitt in front of her face. The cool breeze from the action helped to cool her down. Why she decided to bake this afternoon was beyond her. It was too hot out.

She poured herself a glass of cold water and held it against her neck. Its coolness refreshed her.

The phone rang on the little desk by the kitchen table. Dottie sighed as she waddled across the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Dottie? It's Doug,” a voice croaked through the phone to her.

Dottie paused. It had been a long time since she'd heard Doug's voice. A long time indeed. She could hear his age when he said his name. But then, they had both grown old, hadn't they?

“I know who it is. Supposin' you want to talk to Jack,” Dottie said. She swore she'd never forgive him. A good Christian woman always kept her word.

“How are you?” The hesitation in his voice came through loud and clear. He wanted to talk to her. She sighed. It had been too long. Time didn't always heal old wounds.

“I'm fine, Doug. But then you know that, don't you? You spend enough time with my husband.”

“He forgave me a long time ago. I was hopin' you'd do the same,” Doug's voice was low.

“And what exactly would I be forgiving you for? For trying to take my husband's place in this house? For telling me he was dead? For taking on the role of father to my daughter? For trying to steal my heart?” Dottie swallowed the ache in her heart. No sense crying over spilled milk now. Took her and Jack too many years to try to patch up what Doug had wanted to break.

“That was a long time ago. Everything I did was with pure intentions. You know that. Don't be making it out to be more than it was. I don't recall you pushing me away either.”

Dottie pulled the desk chair out and sat down. He was right. She didn't pull away. Doug was there for her when she was more alone than she'd thought possible when Jack had joined the army. She didn't like to think about that time. Alone, with a small child while her husband needed to do his duty as a man and shoot men he didn't know. She'd been weak. Alone and weak.

“You were his best friend,” Dottie's voice cracked.

“I thought I was yours too.”

Dottie shook her head, only to realize he couldn't see her.

“No, Doug. You were my husband's best friend. That was it. That's all you will ever be to me.”

That section of her heart that she'd locked away all those years ago crumpled into fine dust at the words. Too many years had passed.

She hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

*****

The creak of the old wood porch swing filled the air as Jack held a glass of iced tea in his hand. Sweat beads formed under his hat trickled their way down his forehead, cheeks and the back of his neck. He surveyed his world below and let out a sigh of contentment.

He took a swig of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Nothing better than sitting in the shade on a hot day. The breeze cooled him down, somewhat. It had to be cooler out here than it was inside the house. Why, on such a hot day, would Dottie insist on baking a loaf of bread and muffins he would never know. He offered to go into town and pick up some already baked but she balked at the idea. She was in a funny mood today.

Emmie's screams filled the front yard. Daisy must have splashed her again with water. He'd pulled the pool out of the garden shed after breakfast, gave it a good rinse and set it under the maple tree in the front yard. At least that girl had one friend, even if it was a dog. Little girls need to laugh, giggle and scream with delight every now and then. Maybe he'd pick her up a few more water toys next time he ran into town. Some of those bubble containers too. He liked to watch her twirl around on his grass with those wands.

The front screen door screeched on its hinge as Dottie pushed it open with her back. She carried the pitcher of iced tea in one hand and balanced glasses in the other.

“Here, let me take that.” He set the iced tea down on the little table he'd made a few years back. The paint chipped in spots and peeled in others. Time for a fresh coat. Another project to add to the list. One that grew no matter how hard he worked to shorten it. He'd like to meet the person who thought up the term 'retirement'. There was nothing retiring about it.

“Did I hear the phone ring?” he asked.

Dottie stood at the porch steps with her back to him. Jack wasn't sure if she heard him or not.

“Girl sure does like that dog,” she said. A faraway look had settled in her eyes when she turned.

Jack patted the cushion beside him. He waited until she was settled before he placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. She leaned in with a sigh before she placed her head on his shoulder.

“Baking all done?” Jack pushed his feet against the floorboards and started a rocking motion with the swing.

“On the counter to cool.”

Jack drew lazy circles on Dottie's arm with his fingers. He enjoyed the comfort, the security of this moment. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and smiled.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Dottie said.

He heard the laughter in her voice. There was a reason why he didn't make breakfast that often. Emmie's yell might not have woken her up, but the smoke alarm sure did. She'd thrown on her housecoat and was in the midst of tightening the sash around her waist when she made it down the stairs. Emmie stood on a chair and waved a kitchen towel in the air, while Jack coughed up a lung as he stood over the stove trying to find a flipper to rescue the poor piece of French toast burning in the pan. Dottie poured a glass of water, handed it to Jack and pushed him out of the way while she rescued the breakfast he screwed up. Emmie obviously found it hilarious, if her squeals of laughter were any proof.