The Seventh Mother

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  The waitress appeared with water and menus.

  “Iced tea, please,” I said. “And a glass of milk for you, Jenny.”

  “I’ll have coffee,” MommaJean said.

  We sat a moment in silence. Then MommaJean cleared her throat.

  “You don’t know what hospital Hailey died in, do you?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m sorry. The only things I know about Hailey are what Brannon told me. And he’s lied so much, I don’t know what’s true and what’s not.”

  “They were living in Cincinnati then,” MommaJean said. “I suppose I could just start calling hospitals. Somebody has to have a record of her, don’t they? I would dearly love to know where she’s buried.”

  She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin.

  “It’s an awful thing to lose a child,” she said. “But what’s even worse is the not knowing.”

  I nodded.

  “Emma lost a baby once,” Jenny said.

  “I’m sorry, dear.” MommaJean patted my hand.

  “Thank you.”

  “When are you due with this one?” she asked.

  “September.”

  “Well, I hope it’s a healthy, happy baby.”

  I tried to smile, but I felt like crying. I was bringing a baby into the world without a father. How would I support my daughter? And Jenny . . . how could I support a baby and Jenny?

  “It’s all right, dear.” As if she could read my mind, MommaJean took my hand. “You’re not alone. You’re part of our family now. I told you, you’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.”

  53

  Jenny

  We went to MommaJean’s after lunch. She and I sat on the couch looking at pictures of my mother.

  “That’s when she was in high school. She was a pom-pom girl.” She pointed to a picture of a young girl in a short dress and cowboy boots with tassels. “She did that for two years, but then her senior year she quit. I was sorry she quit. She was so good at it. But she met a boy the summer before she was a senior, and he hung out with a different crowd.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t like him from the start. But Hailey was just crazy about him, and the more I told her he wasn’t good enough for her, the more she hung onto him.”

  She sighed heavily.

  “She moved in with him in December and quit school.”

  “Was that my dad?” I asked.

  “No, she didn’t meet him until later, after she and Darren broke up. I wanted her to move back home, but she had a job out in Greenfield and was sharing an apartment with another girl. She didn’t want to move back in with her mama. Then she met Brannon.”

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a tissue.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, leaning against her.

  “Done’s done,” she said. “I couldn’t stop her from making mistakes. I tried, but she was headstrong. Still, she made you, and you’re a beautiful granddaughter.”

  She kissed my cheek.

  “MommaJean,” Emma said. “Do you have a computer?”

  “There’s one upstairs in the guest room,” she said. “One of these days I’m going to move it down here so I can use the danged thing.”

  “Do you think it would be okay if I checked my e-mail?”

  “Surely, darlin’. That would be fine.”

  Emma walked upstairs and MommaJean started talking about my mother’s painting.

  “She was just so good, so talented. I wanted her to go to art school. But she wouldn’t even apply.”

  “How did she learn?” I asked.

  “Lord only knows,” she said. “She just had a gift. No one taught her; she just knew how to do it.”

  “I wish I had known her.”

  She hugged me close. “Me too, Jenny. I wish that, too.”

  Emma’s footsteps pounded on the stairs.

  “Is everything all right?” MommaJean rose.

  “I have to make a phone call.”

  Emma dug her phone from her purse and turned it on. She walked into the kitchen, punching numbers.

  “Resa? It’s me.”

  I ran to the kitchen and stood, watching her as she paced in front of the sink.

  “When?”

  Pause.

  “Yes, that’s where we are.”

  Pause.

  “Oh, hell!”

  MommaJean stood behind me, her arms around me.

  “Thanks, Resa. . . . No, really, thank you for letting me know. . . . We’ll be okay. He doesn’t know where in Indy we’re staying.... All right. You too. ’Bye.”

  She turned the phone off.

  “Brannon is coming to Indianapolis,” she said. “He told one of the guys at work he knew we were here, that I’d gone through his personal papers and stolen some of them, and had probably come up here to try to dig up dirt on him. The guy told Michael about it.”

  “When?” I felt myself start to shiver.

  “He left there a couple hours ago.”

  I stared at her.

  “What if he finds us?”

  “He’s not going to find you,” MommaJean said, squeezing me tight. “He doesn’t know where I live.”

  “He knows your name,” Emma said. “All he has to do is look in the phone book.”

  “Let him come!” The old woman raised her cane. “Just let him come. I’ll kill him for what he did to my girl.”

  “MommaJean,” Emma said. “We can’t put you in that kind of danger. Brannon is . . . he’s dangerous.”

  “Maybe we should go to Lorelei’s,” I said. “He won’t know about her.”

  Emma nodded. “That’s what we’ll do. But first, we have to meet your aunt.”

  She looked at her watch. “In fact, we should go now.”

  “Maybe you should skip that, Emma.” MommaJean’s eyes looked worried. “I can go to the coffee shop and tell her what’s happened.”

  “No,” Emma said firmly. “I need to meet this woman. I need to find out what happened to Brannon. I need some answers.”

  “Well, if you’re going, I’m going with you.” She banged her cane against the floor. “I just got my grandbaby in my life, and I sure as hell am not going to lose her now.”

  We left our car parked behind MommaJean’s house and walked the block to the coffee shop. Several people sat outside. It was a beautiful, warm day.

  “We’ll sit inside,” Emma said, her eyes darting from place to place.

  We walked in and blinked, letting our eyes adjust to the darkened room.

  “Are you . . . Emma?”

  A young woman rose from a couch, a woman with dark hair and dark eyes. I stared at her. She looked so much like Daddy it almost hurt to look at her.

  “Jennifer?” Emma extended her hand. “I’m Emma, and this is Jenny.”

  The woman stared at me, then dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around me.

  “You must be Brannon’s daughter,” she said. “You look just like me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I whispered. “You look just like Daddy.”

  “Well, Jenny, this is your cousin Henry.” She pulled a little boy forward. He had the same dark hair and eyes.

  “Henry, say hello to your cousin Jenny.”

  “Hello,” he said softly, staring at me.

  “I didn’t know Brannon had a daughter,” Jennifer said. “And you’re named Jenny, too.”

  “Jennifer Adele,” I said.

  “He named you after me,” she said, her voice soft. She hugged me again.

  “Jennifer, I’m so glad you could meet us,” Emma said. “I have so many things I want to ask you.”

  “I’m thrilled to meet you,” she said. “I have so many questions for you.”

  “Do you mind if we sit in the other room?” MommaJean pointed to a back room. “It will be quieter there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “This is Imogene Wright. She’s Jenny’s grandmother.”

  Jennifer shook MommaJean’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 
“Yes.” MommaJean sounded impatient. “Let’s go to the back.”

  Jennifer cocked her head, confused, and then followed Emma to the back room.

  We sat down around a low table.

  “How is Brannon?” Jennifer asked. “The last time I saw him I was only three, but I have such a clear picture of him, standing in front of me, trying to keep some other kid from teasing me. He always took care of me.”

  Emma took a deep breath.

  “Brannon doesn’t know we’re here,” she began. “At least, I hope not. We left, Jenny and I left a couple days ago while he was at work.”

  Jennifer frowned.

  “Henry,” she said, “do you want to play with your Game Boy?”

  The little boy nodded and smiled.

  She pulled the console from her pocket, turned it on, and handed it to him.

  “Use the earphones,” she said.

  She waited until Henry was happily engaged in a game, then turned to stare at Emma.

  “He doesn’t know you came to find me?”

  Emma shook her head.

  “Brannon is . . . we think he’s dangerous. We think he might have killed some women.”

  Jennifer just stared.

  “Before I met him, Brannon had a whole string of women. How many, Jenny?”

  “Six, I think,” I said. “Maybe seven. I might not remember them all.”

  “They lived with him and Jenny, and then just disappeared.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Maybe they just left.”

  “That’s what we thought,” Emma said. “But then Jenny found a box in the attic with these.”

  She laid the driver’s licenses out on the table, then set the lockets down next to them.

  Jennifer reached immediately for the tangle of lockets.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  She pulled a chain from beneath her blouse. A silver heart dangled from it.

  “Brannon gave me this when we were in foster care,” she said. “I don’t know how he got the money. He told me to always wear it, and that way he’d always be with me.”

  She looked up at Emma. “Did he give you one, too?”

  Emma nodded, and pushed the licenses toward her.

  “These are what really scared me.”

  Jennifer picked up one license after another.

  “I Googled them,” I said. “Two of them are dead and some others are missing.”

  Jennifer’s face was pale.

  “You think Brannon killed them?”

  Emma nodded. “I’ve tried every way I can to think of an explanation. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “My dad told me once a few years ago, when I was thinking of looking for Brannon, that they had almost adopted both of us. But Brannon kept getting into fights in the foster home. One time he almost killed another kid. My parents thought he was too . . . damaged. They were afraid to take him.”

  Jennifer closed her eyes and sat for a minute.

  “I guess I really hoped he’d come out okay,” she said.

  “He’s a good daddy,” I said, my voice shaking. “He’s never hurt me. Not even once.”

  “He is a good dad,” Emma said. “He loves Jenny beyond anything. It’s one of the things I fell in love with.”

  “He got in those fights because of me,” Jennifer said. “He was always trying to protect me.”

  “Well, Lord knows he didn’t have to protect Jenny from her own mother!” MommaJean’s voice was sharp. “My Hailey loved her baby. She would never have hurt her.”

  “Did he kill her, too?” Jennifer asked.

  “He told us she died of the flu when Jenny was three,” Emma said. “We just don’t know.”

  “What we do know is that he’s on his way to Indianapolis,” MommaJean said. “One of Emma’s friends called to tell her. And we’re afraid he’ll come to my house. He knows Emma came looking for me, and for you.”

  “Is your house close by?” Jennifer asked.

  “Just up the block.”

  Jennifer rose abruptly. “I need to go,” she said. “I can’t have Henry here if Brannon shows up. I’m sorry. I want to help you, but I can’t put my son in danger.”

  “I understand,” Emma said. “Jenny and I are staying with a friend. Brannon doesn’t know her. He’s never even heard of her. We could go to her house. He won’t look for us there.”

  Jennifer stood a moment, looking from Emma to Henry. Then she shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I can’t.”

  She pulled the Game Boy from Henry’s hands.

  “Come on, honey,” she said, picking him up. “It’s time for us to go home.”

  “Jennifer, wait, please.” Emma followed her through the coffee shop into the bright sunlight. I was right behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” Jennifer said again.

  “Emma!”

  Daddy stood across the street in front of the bookstore. In his hand was a gun.

  54

  Emma

  I froze for an instant, then grabbed Jennifer’s arm and pulled her back into the coffee shop, pushing Jenny ahead of us.

  “Call the police!” I yelled.

  The barista took one look at us and at the people scattering on the street in front of the shop, and bolted for the door, locking it.

  “Get into the back room!” she shouted.

  We ran to the back, and I heard Brannon banging on the door.

  “Damn it, Emma! Get out here!”

  “Oh my God,” Jennifer whispered. “Oh my God!”

  “Jenny, take Henry into the bathroom.” MommaJean’s voice was firm, steely even.

  Jenny paused for a split second, then reached her hand out to the little boy.

  Jennifer put her son down and pushed him toward the bathroom.

  “Go with your cousin, honey. Okay? And stay put! You stay in the bathroom until Mama tells you to come out.”

  The little boy looked at her, confused, tears welling in his eyes. But he took Jenny’s hand and followed her down the hall.

  “Lock the door!” MommaJean yelled after them.

  “Goddamn it!” Brannon bellowed from the sidewalk. “Emma, let me in! Come on, babe. It’s me; it’s your husband. Just let me in so we can talk.”

  “This is Carrie Appleton—I’m at Lazy Daze Coffee House. Ten South Johnson in Irvington. There’s a man out front with a gun trying to get in!”

  The barista sat huddled against the back wall, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

  “Damn it, Emma! Let me in!”

  I crouched down on the floor, my arms over my belly.

  An explosion of sound shook the building. Glass flew toward us from the shattered door. Brannon reached inside, unlocked the door, and stepped in. He was panting heavily and looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “Oh my God!” the barista shouted into the phone. “He shot out the door! He’s in here!”

  “Emma?” Brannon’s voice was soft now, cajoling, pleading.

  “Emma, honey, it’s me. It’s Brannon, your husband. Come out here and talk to me, babe.”

  MommaJean gripped my arm as he walked toward us.

  “Bray?”

  Jennifer stepped in front of me, blocking Brannon’s path.

  He stopped short, his mouth open, eyes wide. Slowly, he lowered the gun to his side.

  “Jen?”

  “It’s me, Bray. It’s Jen; it’s your little sister.” Her voice shook, but she stood where she was, planted between Brannon and me.

  “Jen . . . my God! Jen, I tried and tried to find you.”

  “It’s me,” she repeated.

  “Look at you, you’re all grown up. Oh my God, Jen . . . I tried so hard to find you.”

  “I know.” She spoke gently. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’ve been trying to find you, too.”

  She took a step toward him.

  “I have a son now, Bray.” She stood directly between Brannon and me. “His name is Henry. He�
��s four years old. He’s hiding from you right now. He’s scared, Bray. He’s scared of you. I’m scared of you, Bray. Please put your gun down.”

  “Jen, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

  Brannon smiled that crooked grin, the one that nearly broke my heart.

  “I always took care of you, remember? When Mama came at you, I always got in her way. I took all of it for you, Jen. And when we were in that place—that awful place with those awful kids—I protected you. I always protected you. Don’t you remember, Jen?”

  “I remember some of it,” she said. “I was so little.”

  “So little and so pretty and so perfect,” he said. “And now . . . my God, you’re all grown up, Jen. Look at you, all grown up. And a mother, too.”

  “Did you kill those women, Brannon?”

  He froze, his eyes widening, and raised the gun again.

  “I had to, Jen. I had to protect Jenny.”

  “You didn’t need to protect her from her own mother, you bastard!”

  MommaJean stepped up beside Jennifer, her eyes blazing.

  “Hailey loved that baby with all her heart. She wouldn’t ever hurt her!”

  Brannon sneered at her for a long minute.

  “She slapped Jenny’s hand,” he snapped. “I saw it. She hurt my baby girl. She deserved to die.”

  He looked down at me then.

  “You bitch!” he shouted. “You took my daughter away from me. She’s my daughter, not yours! She belongs with me.”

  “This is your daughter, too.”

  I rose to my feet and put my hand on my belly. “Are you going to kill her, too?”

  Brannon took a step back, but he didn’t lower the gun.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Emma,” he said.

  And God help me, he sounded like Brannon again then, just like my own sweet husband, the one I’d fallen in love with.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated. “I just want my daughter back. Give Jenny back to me, and I’ll go.”

  He cocked his head and smiled at me. He actually smiled. My stomach churned.

  “She’s scared of you, Brannon,” I said as calmly as I could.

  “Only because of you, you stupid bitch!”

  He took a step toward me and aimed the gun at my head.

  “If you’d just done what I said, if you hadn’t gone snooping through my stuff, we’d be okay, all of us! We’d still be in the house, and Jenny would be in school. We’d be okay, damn it! But you had to go snooping through my things.”