“And this?”
The picture in her hand didn't look like Emma. The face in the picture was narrow, her cheekbones protruded out and her eyes were a dull blue. The stringy hair was past the child's shoulders, the curl non-existent.
Tears welled up in Megan's eyes as she stared at this picture. She prayed to God that Emma didn't look like this. Not like this.
“If Emma were being held captive somewhere and being mistreated, this is how we believe she would look.” He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “I'm sorry.”
Megan forced herself to keep hold of the picture. It was a reality she never wanted to comprehend. Not with Emma. She would rather her daughter be dead than to be held captive by a monster who hurt her. She memorized the picture, took in every detail as a deep anger bubbled up inside of her.
“This isn't Emma.” The harsh sound of her voice shocked her.
She placed the picture back on the table. Everything in her screamed to rip up the picture, to demand that it could never be real, that it wasn't Emma. But she knew better. Two years of silence, of imagining the worst and praying it would never come true.
She picked up the last imagine and gasped.
“Who is this?” Her voice choked on the words.
Detective Riley cleared his throat. He opened a file and sorted through the papers.
“Riley, who is this child?” Megan held the photo out in front of her.
“In some reported cases, a child's image is altered to avoid detection. If this happened in Emma's case, it's possible that she is being made to look like a boy. As in the photo, her hair would be cut short, she would wear boys clothing and be treated like a boy. A form of disassociation for the captors. If she can be made to look like a boy, to act like a boy, then no one would be looking for her with them. They would be looking for a girl, not a boy. I'm sorry to say that this happens quite a bit with kidnappings.”
Megan stared in horror. Her daughter would look like a boy?
She picked the photo up again. Megan drew curls with her finger along the cropped hair line, imagined the dimples in the cheeks and the sparkle in the eye. She grabbed the first photo she looked at and held it side by side. Her hands shook from welled rage as she compared them.
The front door opened. Heavy treads filled the entryway. Megan winced when the door slammed shut. Before she could say a word, Peter appeared. His eyes danced between Megan to Riley and back to Megan. She knew what he was thinking. She could read it in his eyes.
Megan closed her eyes. Peter. She could have kicked herself. After last night, she should have respected Peter more. She should have called him while she was upstairs getting dressed? Better yet, she should never have invited Riley in.
She turned her face and waited for him to enter the kitchen. Her breath caught in her throat when he did. His eyes, cold with fury, met hers. The tick in his cheek stood out against the red flush on his face. His lips pursed together before he dropped his briefcase on the floor.
“What's going on here?”
Megan didn't say a word. She couldn't. She stared at the photos in her hands instead.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Detective Riley stand. Fantastic. Her husband stood at one end of the table while Riley stood at the other. And she sat in the middle. As usual.
“Mr. Taylor, I'm glad you're here. I wanted to show you some aged-progressed sketches of Emma that were created by a leading forensic artist.”
Megan looked from Peter to the detective. Peter's gaze had dropped to the table. She followed his gaze and noticed he was looking at the picture of Emma, the one that illustrated what she would like if she was being mistreated. She looked back to his face. Anguish filled his eyes.
She held out the photo of Emma with a smile on her face.
“Peter, this one.”
Her voice was low, laden with the tears that continued to fall. She waited for him to look up. When he did, he reached across to where she sat and took hold of the paper, wrenching it from her grasp.
“Why are they so different?” Peter's eyes jumped from one picture to the other. Megan could almost read the thoughts tumbling through his mind. They would be the same as hers.
As Riley explained the sketches to Peter, Megan took a sip of her coffee. She wished she could block out the words and the pictures. She wished she could press rewind and start the day over.
Better yet, rewind back to the day Emma walked out the front door. She'd make sure that door was locked. She'd make the girls go around to the back of the house. Maybe she'd take them out for ice cream instead of having a picnic in the yard. She wished ... She wished wishes could come true, that the past could be erased. But wishes were only disillusions, places to wander in the mind when reality proved to be unfaithful.
“So why the pictures? Why did you need to bring them over? Why couldn't this have waited until tonight when we were both home?”
Megan winced at the sharpness of Peter's voice. Nice one. Nothing like airing the dirty laundry. She bit her lip to keep from saying anything.
“You're right. I should have.” Detective Riley held his hands out before him, palms towards Peter. “My mistake. I wanted to show you the pictures and explain them before you saw them personally. The missing children's website has been updated with Emma's new sketches, and she is slated to appear on the next batch of milk cartons.”
“Which picture will they use?” Megan glanced at the picture in Peter's hand before she looked back at the detective. When he nodded, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“So, why the need for the other pictures?” Peter cleared his throat as he pulled the chair out and sank down in it. His shoulders sank beneath the heavy weight they shouldered.
“Just in case,” Megan said as she reached across and took hold of Peter's hand. She squeezed and waited for Peter to look at her before she voiced the question that hung in the air.
“Is my daughter still alive?” Megan turned her head to look at Riley. He shook his head.
“There have been no sightings in over a year. We haven't given up hope, and we won't stop looking for her, but at this point, there's not much we can do. We'll continue to update her age-enhanced sketch and make sure her picture is out there. But until someone comes forward with information, our hands are tied.”
“So you think she's dead then. Is that what you're saying? You've given up?”
Detective Riley tidied up some papers in the folder in front of him.
“I'm sorry. My hands are tied.”
*****
The front door closed with a thud. Peter rose from the table, stomped to his study and slammed the door behind him. Megan sat stunned, not only by her outburst, but by Peter's reaction.
She grabbed her coffee and rose from the table. The sketches of her daughter lay on the table. She wanted to hide two of the sketches. Wanted to ignore them, pretend they didn't exist, but she couldn't do that. What she could do though, was put them away so the girls wouldn't find them.
She knocked on the study door and turned the knob. Peter stood at the window, staring out into the street. She crossed the room and opened a drawer in the filing cabinet that stood against the wall. She flipped through the files until she found the one she wanted. Pictures. She dropped the sketches of Emma in there. The drawer was full of folders, all regarding Emma's kidnapping. Articles in the paper, statistics about kidnapped children, letters from strangers who were praying. Until she found her daughter, she would keep these items.
Peter looked different to her. As if something was missing, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Maybe it was the grey in his hair, of the slant in his shoulders. Maybe it was the added lines on his face, or the frown that showed up more often than not. Whatever it was, she didn't like it.
She stood at the window, beside him and looked out onto their street. Their neighbor across the road was outside working in her garden. Her youngest, only three years old, chased after a butterfly. A soft smile settle
d on Peter's face as he watched the little boy toddle around his yard, his arms waving in the air. Megan touched the sleeve of Peter's shirt, tentative, but he jerked his arm out of her reach.
“You promised me.”
“I know.” Megan bowed her head and studied the carpet at her feet.
“So now what?”
Megan raised her head. There was a harsh tone to his voice she didn't expect.
“What do you mean, so now what?”
Peter turned his head and stared at her. The cold fury in his eyes made her stomach flip until it was in knots.
“Did anything happen before I interrupted you?”
“Are you kidding me?” Megan gasped. She turned and looked out the window. Her jaw clenched while she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand.
He grabbed her arm, his fingers dug into her skin. “You think I'm being unreasonable?” He spat into her face.
She wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Yes!”
“So explain this.” Peter swept his hand up and down Megan's body.
She looked down. The dress. The dang dress. She closed her eyes, counted to five in her head, with slow precision before she was calm enough to speak to him. She rubbed her arm where he grabbed her. When she looked back at him, he'd taken a step back and crossed his arms.
“You think I dressed up for him? Seriously, Peter! Give me more credit than that will you. This,” Megan grabbed the hem of her dress and held it out, “was for you, you stupid fool. I thought I'd surprise you at your office and see if you wanted to do lunch. Surprise!” Megan threw her hands in the air before she turned and paced across the room.
“I can’t believe you would think otherwise.” Megan shook her head, her body rigid with tension.
Peter shook his head and headed to his desk. He sat down in his chair with a loud sigh and leaned back.
“What else am I supposed to think, Meg? I come home to find that man in my house with you. Alone. In that dress I bought you. A dress you’ve never worn until today.” He crossed his arms and his head fell back. “Why didn't you call me, or tell him it wasn't a good time? How do you think I felt when I come home and see his car in my driveway?”
Megan grabbed hold to the back of the leather chair that sat in front of Peter's desk.
“Oh I don't know, trust your wife maybe? That might be a good idea.” Even when she knew he shouldn't.
Peter leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his desk. “I never said I didn't trust you.”
“Really? 'Cause it sure sounded like it.” Her knuckles tightened on the chair.
Peter shook his head. “You're not listening to me, Meg.”
Megan turned away from him. She'd listened to enough.
Once her hand gripped the door handle, she turned.
“No, I heard you. I broke another promise. One that you needed me to keep in order for your little world to remain on its axis. Sorry to burst your bubble, Peter, but life isn't fair. The sketches you saw of Emma today should prove that to you.” Megan yanked the door open.
“I don't know how much more I can take, Megan.”
Already in the hall, Megan half-turned back to the door. She heard the defeat in his voice. But there was nothing she could do about it. He expected more from her than she had to give.
“You don’t know how much you can take? Get real, Peter. I’m not the only one here who’s wrecked our marriage. It takes two, remember?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A bowl of fish crackers spilled all over her. Sherri sighed. She just finished vacuuming early this morning. Are you kidding me? David, the culprit with the angel smile on his face, swung his scrawny little legs over the edge of the couch as he stared at her.
“Are you going to clean that up?”
David shrugged his shoulders. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. Oh, no you don’t. Sherri tapped her foot and glared at him.
David a four year old angel, according to his mother, stuck his tongue out. At her.
She closed her eyes, counted to ten and crouched before him.
“You know, David. I had to have a talk with your Mommy about the fight between you and Travis, remember? Do you remember what we said would happen if you continue to ignore the house rules?”
He bit his lip. “Mommy won't take me to the baseball game.”
Sherri picked up a fish off the floor. “Are you going to let a couple of spilled crackers take that away from you?”
He shook his head.
“So how about you help me clean this up, okay?”
Sherri fought hard to keep a grin off her face. He'd been talking about this baseball game non-stop all week.
David jumped off the couch and crawled around on the floor picking up the loose fish crackers. Sherri grabbed a few and pretended they were going to nibble on his arm. Amidst David's squeals, the doorbell rang.
Tonya and Sarah both rushed into the living room. Sarah's arms were flailing in the air at the noise while Tonya tried to grab hold of her. Tears streamed down Sarah's cheeks before she clamped her hands over both ears.
Sherri rushed over to the door and jerked it open. She’d forgotten to place the sign on the door to not ring the doorbell.
She expected to see the daycare procedure advisor on the other side of her screen. Not her elderly neighbors.
The screaming stopped. But a shouting melee occurred instead. Sherri wasn’t sure which deafening noise she preferred. She turned her head and her jaw dropped. Travis, the little stinker, had decided to crush the fish crackers David played with on the carpet. Tonya, bless her heart, had her arms wrapped around Sarah who shouted “My friend! My friend!”
Sherri knew her face beamed bright red. “I'm so sorry about this. Please, come in.”
Emmie tiptoed into the room, her eyes wide with wonder at the symphony of noise that filled the house. The grandparents were a bit more hesitant. Her grandfather placed his hand on his wife’s back and murmured something she couldn't hear.
Sherri almost apologized again for the noise, but stopped as Dorothy took a step towards her.
“Is now a good time?” The older woman scanned the room. Her lips pursed when she noticed the fight happening between Travis and David.
Great. Just great.
“Absolutely,” Sherri lied. “Don't worry about this,” she motioned to the kids, “I was about to send them outside.”
“Why don't we join you?”
Sherri twisted to look at Emma's grandfather. If there was ever a man who embodied the look of a grandpa, it was this man. She couldn't help but smile. A wide grin covered his wrinkled face, a pink glow reflected off of his bald head and his coveralls conveyed a relaxed attitude.
She reached out and grabbed his extended hand. She laughed as her hand disappeared inside of his and he shook it. Her arm rattled with the up/down motion.
“I'm Jack, Emmie's Grandpa, and you’ve of course met my wife, Dottie.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack. I'm Sherri. Welcome to my zoo.”
She breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed a tease of a smile on Dottie's face. She wanted this woman to like her.
“My friend!” Sarah struggled to escape the confines of her sisters’ arms.
Emmie ran over to her. Sarah grabbed Emmie in a bear hug and squeezed until they were both red in the face. The girls laughed together. Sherri loved how quickly Sarah was able to make friends. The girls, hand in hand, skipped out of the living room. Tonya followed after them.
Sherri's attention turned towards David and Travis. By now, they were locked in an arm wrestle match on the coffee table. Jack had moved from the doorway and stood in front of the boys. When the boys realized they were being watched, they both looked up in unison, their mouths gaped open as they took in the big bear of a man. Travis slowly rose and wiped the crumbs off his legs before he stuck his thumb in his mouth. Sherri shook her head. David stuck his hand out and waited for Jack to take it.
“Wanna have an arm wres
tle?”
Sherri bit her lip but couldn't keep the smile off her face. Only David, with his scrawny arms, would suggest an arm wrestle with a man three times his size.
“Real men don't wrestle in garbage, son.”
Sherri could have hugged him right then and there. Instead, she placed her hand on the side of Dottie's arm.
“It's a beautiful day. I made some fresh sun-kissed iced tea. Shall we take it outside?”
Dottie wouldn't budge. Her frozen face carried a lopsided smile while she would look only at her husband. Her arm moved under Sherri's until there was a hair width space between them.
“Well now, that sounds like an offer too good to refuse.” A jovial smile settled across Jack’s face as he took Dottie's hand in his.
Sherri led them out through the kitchen to the sliding doors that led to their patio. She made sure they were settled in the wicker chairs before she hurried back indoors to fetch the iced tea and glasses. She felt the glass container. It was cold. Thank you Jesus.
She poured them all a glass while an awkward silence settled between them. Dottie kept her gaze focused on Emmie, who pumped her legs with vigor beside Sarah whose legs dangled on the swings. Coordination never came easy to Sarah on the swing.
A little girl ran up to Sherri with a bouquet of weeds fisted in her one hand.
“Is that your daughter?” Dottie's attention finally left Emmie.
Sherri smiled as she took the flowers from her daughter's hand. Her long, golden straight hair hung down to her waist, while her baby blue eyes sparkled.
“Yes, it is.” She touched her daughter's jaw with one finger and tilted it up so she looked into her eyes.
“Marie, these are Emmie's grandparents. Can you say hi, please?”
Marie's tiny fingers moved in a quick motion before she grabbed hold of the bottom of her summer dress and curtsied. Her eyes twinkled with merriment before she skipped away to join the girls at the swings. First Sarah jumped off her swing, followed by Emmie. Sherri held her breath, but soon realized it was a silly thing to do. Both Emmie and Sarah grabbed onto Marie's outstretched hands. It wasn't until she watched the three girls skip together towards a hill covered in dandelions did she look at her guests.
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