Emma's Secret: A Novel

kitchen, so when Megan had spotted the copy of
Kids Can Bake Too
while she had been out shopping, she didn’tthink twice about buying it, even though she had a cupboard full of cookbooks.
    Megan glanced at the clock and groaned. She’d slept in and probably already missed Laurie for their morning run.
    “It’s a little early to be baking, isn’t it?”
    Emma shook her head and tendrils of hair escaped the braid Megan had plaited the night before. Her daughter’s brows furrowed, and Megan caught the way her fingers tightened around the book.
    “Let me shower and have some coffee first, okay?”
    A sparkle shone in Emma’s eyes, and a glimmer of the girl from Megan’s dream peeked through. Maybe it wasn’t too late to have that girl back.
    To see the smile on Emma’s face was all it took for Megan to give in. It was a rare treat. The counselor said it would take time for Emma to readjust to her new life, but Megan hadn’t thought it would take this long. Emma needed time, the counselor kept saying. Time to grieve, time to accept the change in her life, and time to accept her new family.
    That last bit was what hurt the most. They weren’t her
new
family. They were her
only
family. If Megan could, she would erase the last two years when Emma lived in that country farmhouse with an old couple who could barely take care of themselves. But if time was what Emma needed, then time was what she would get.
    “Why don’t you pick out a recipe and wait for me downstairs?”
    Emma turned on her heels and skipped toward the door. She paused before tilting her head and then gave Megan a questioning look.
    “Promise, Mommy?”
    Megan smiled. She couldn’t help it. Even though it had only been a month since Emma’s return, she still cherished every time her baby called her Mommy.
    “Of course. I’ll be right down.”
    She picked up the towel Peter had left on the floor of their bathroom. A month ago, her goal had been to find her daughter and heal the rift in her marriage. Now it was to help her daughter heal while continuing to look for a way to stop her marriage from crumbling.

    Setting his cup of tea on the coffee table, Jack sat down in Dottie’s old chair and reached for the multitude of bags she kept to the side of it. Last week, he’d found a box full of knitted scarves, mittens, and hats tucked away at the back of the guest-room closet. He’d taken them into town and dropped them off at the Catholic church. The priest promised that they would find use in wintertime. It was hard getting rid of Dottie’s things, but he felt like he didn’t have much time left, and the last thing he wanted was someone else going through her things when he wasn’t around anymore.
    The first bag he grabbed held balls of yarn. Pink, white, and yellow. Jack dug his fingers into the yarn and knew right away that these had been meant for Emmie. Dottie was forever knitting that girl homemade dresses and doll clothes. He considered tossing it all in the donation box, but something stopped him. He wondered whether Emmie’s mom knitted? Maybe she would appreciate the yarn. He could mail it to her and explain…what? That Dottie bought it to make Emmie things? That would not go over well.
    He set the bag off to the side. The next bag he grabbed was heavier. Jack lifted it over the arm of the chair and dropped it into his lap. He pulled out a long brown-and-blue scarf, its soft wool caressing his calloused hands. He remembered the day Dottie bought this yarn. She’d come home excited to have found the perfect color for him. He’d shaken his head at her enthusiasm while she held theball of wool up to his face. Complemented his eyes, she said. He wasn’t sure that he needed a scarf that matched his eyes. Yet here it was, ready for him to wear. Jack wound it around his neck, disregarding the warm summer air. Dottie had spent hours knitting this for him, and he was going to wear it.
    Jack pulled out the remaining item. It was a book with a creased, untitled black leather cover. Even without opening it, he knew it was Dottie’s journal. It had been a long time since he’d seen this particular one.
    She had called this journal a record of her “darkest time.” When she’d first said that, Jack didn’t understand. It was around the same time Emmie came to live with them, a time Jack thought of as the best years of his recent past. But now he knew what she’d meant. Now he understood why it was her darkest time.
    In their