by Stacy Finz
Harper didn’t know if she meant Emily and Clay or Emily and Drew. But she just smiled and went upstairs to Sam’s room where they took turns playing Call of Duty on Sam’s PlayStation. It was rated “M.” Maureen and Duke hadn’t allowed her to play violent games but maybe Sam’s brother and sister-in-law were less anal about stuff like that.
About twenty minutes later, someone called upstairs that it was time for dinner and they went down to the kitchen. Cody led the way. Harper had never seen a kid eat so much in her life. Even Justin, who was a lot bigger, couldn’t pack it in the way Cody did.
They were having salad, prime rib, mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, these really good rolls, and a bunch of stuff Harper didn’t think she would like. Some guy named Brady had made everything and all the adults were going nuts for it. She only put a little on her plate because she was a picky eater and wanted to save room for Emily’s pecan pie, which she had helped make.
From across the kitchen, Emily made a face at her and she took an extra helping of salad to make her happy. Why was everyone always trying to get her to eat more vegetables? Cody saved her a place at the “kids” table. And Justin finally showed up with Cynthia, whose dress was so short you could practically see her butt. Donna Thurston, the lady who owned the Bun Boy, tried to cover her with a jacket. Emily told Donna to leave Cynthia alone, which was nice because Harper could tell she was embarrassed.
Justin came over to Harper’s table and kissed her on the cheek, then said hi to the others. It was weird having big brothers but she kind of liked it, especially because everyone thought Justin and Cody were babes and girls got the giggles around them, like Katie Rodriguez.
After Justin and Cynthia left, a lot of adults came over to talk to her and tell her how happy they were that she was living in Nugget and how much Emily had missed her. Ordinarily, it would’ve made her uncomfortable but no one said anything bad about Maureen and Duke and they all seemed friendly and not phony. At midnight, they made a toast and everyone left. On the way home, she must’ve fallen asleep in the truck. The next morning, she had no memory of getting ready for bed or changing into her new cow pajamas. But here she was, safe and warm.
* * *
Emily hummed while making chocolate-banana pancake batter for breakfast. Paige had slept through most of the night after she and Clay had rung in the new year tangling up the sheets. He was such a good man and her resolution for the new year was to dote on him because he took such wonderful care of her and their family that he needed special attention.
Now if only Hope would come around. Then she’d have everything she ever wanted. Her daughter back, an amazing family, a town with great friends, and a house full of love.
“You’re up early,” she said when Hope wandered into the kitchen, dressed in another one of the outfits Emily had given her for Christmas.
“Early? I was supposed to feed the horses ten minutes ago. Is Clay mad?”
“Of course not, honey. We were out late last night. In fact, he and Ramon took care of the chores this morning so you, Justin and Cody could sleep in. You hungry?”
Hope sniffed the air. “Smells good. Did you used to make them for me when I was little?”
Emily felt a smile spread through her insides. “As a matter of fact, I did. Do you remember?”
“No. I just figured you did. I’m going outside to make sure the horses are okay.” She grabbed her silver jacket off the hook, put it on, and took off.
“She’s lying.” Clay came in, buttoning his shirt with his hair wet. “She remembered those pancakes. I saw it in her face.”
“That’s okay.” Emily shrugged but her smile was replaced with cold resentment for Maureen and Duke and deep disappointment. “The important thing is that we found her and she appears to be as normal as any thirteen-year-old.”
“Yup. She’s a good girl, she just doesn’t want you to know it.” He pulled Emily into his arms. “Stay tough.”
“I will. Any signs of life upstairs?”
“One of them is up, using the bathroom. I got a blast of cold water while I was in the shower.”
“I keep meaning to have Colin look at the plumbing to see if he can fix that.”
“Old pipes.” He glanced over at Paige’s carrier on the center island. “Looks like the princess is awake.”
“She is. I just fed and changed her so she’s a happy camper. Clay, do you think Hope will like it here?”
“I think she already does. Did you see her last night? She fit right in and seemed to enjoy herself with Cody and his crew. Kids are resilient, Em, and you’re her mother. Her real mother in every way. You not only gave birth to her, but you cared for and loved her until she was ripped from you. You never stopped feeling that love and you never gave up hope.”
“I just wish . . . oh never mind. I’ve got to focus on how grateful I am. For her, for you, for the boys and our beautiful daughter.” She rose up and kissed him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“You two making out again?” Justin stepped around them, stuck a finger in the pancake batter, and licked it. “Mmm, good.”
“As soon as your brother comes down, we’ll eat.” Emily got a package of bacon out of the fridge.
“Where’s Harper?”
“She went to the barn to check on the horses.”
“She did?” Both men said in unison and Clay’s lips curved up. “We’ll make a cowgirl of her yet.”
She cut open the bag and laid bacon strips in a fry pan and started the coffee. “I was thinking that after breakfast we could show her the tree and bench.” Three years ago, Clay had planted an oak for Hope next to the one his great-grandfather had put in the ground more than a hundred years earlier.
“This is Hope’s tree, Emily. No matter where she is, her spirit lives here. That’s her bench. No matter where she is, we’ll sit here and always think of her,” he’d told her before proposing. The words had filled her with tears and so much love that she’d brimmed over with it.
“Good idea,” Clay said.
“What is?” asked Cody, still wearing his pajamas and a bad case of bed head.
Justin told him just as Hope walked in the door. They all turned as she stood in the mudroom, rubbing her hands together to get warm.
“The horses okay?” Clay asked.
“You forgot to fill their second water trough.” She took off her jacket, hung it on the hook and pried off her boots before coming all the way inside the kitchen.
“I did?” Clay scrubbed his hand over his chin.
“I took care of it,” she said and Emily watched as a grin spread over Clay’s face.
“Go wash up,” she told Hope. “Breakfast will be on the table in five minutes.”
As she ran upstairs Clay said, “We’ve got a cowgirl for sure.”
Emily was glad that Hope was showing a penchant for ranch life. If only she showed similar enthusiasm for being Emily’s daughter.
After breakfast Emily went upstairs to get her down jacket for the walk to the oak tree. It had stopped snowing but it was at least thirty degrees outside. While putting it on, she felt something heavy in the pocket and slipped her hand inside to see what it was. All at once, she remembered the folded notes Maureen had handed her before she’d died. Amidst the chaos and confusion, Emily had forgotten to look at it. At the time, she’d figured it was a written confession. She sat on the bed, turned on the nightstand lamp, and unfolded the sheaf of papers.
The first page was a drawing of a house, a woman, a man, and a child. Emily recognized the home instantly. It was her and Drew’s in Palo Alto. She could tell because of the baker weathervane on the roof. Drew had had the unusual rooftop ornament specially made for her for their wedding anniversary. He’d gone up on the roof to install it while she and six-year-old Hope had watched from the sidewalk.
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding and with a shaking hand turned to the second page. A letter written in childlike scrawl.
&
nbsp; “Dear Mom and Dad, I miss you but know you are in heaven. Love, Hope.”
She read it over and over again and with every new pass something inside her blossomed like a flower garden filled with promise. And hope.
The third page was from Maureen. A shaky handed note from a dying woman that simply read, “She never forgot you or her name. Please forgive us.”
Emily let out a guttural cry as tears ran down her face. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, trying to keep from falling completely apart.
She never forgot you or her name.
“My sweet, sweet girl,” she said between sobs. “How I love you.”
“Hey, why are you crying?” Clay came in, shut the door, and sat next to her on the bed.
She handed him the drawing. “That’s Drew and my house in Palo Alto. Do you see the date?”
He examined the picture. “She was eight.”
“She didn’t forget us, Clay. At least not entirely. She thought we were in heaven.” She sniffled and Clay pulled her into his arms.
He rocked her gently. “It’s a lot for a child to absorb.”
“I know.” She grabbed a box of tissues from the side table and blew her nose. “But this makes me feel better . . . like I wasn’t forgotten. . . like I mean something to her.”
“You mean something to her, otherwise she wouldn’t be adjusting as well as she is.”
It was the truth. Little by little, the six-year-old girl Emily had lost and then found was reemerging. Sometimes their connection was so strong she could feel it in her chest. Other times, Hope seemed to delight in shutting her out. But they had a lifetime to rediscover each other. A lifetime of memories to build. And a lifetime of happiness ahead of them. All she had to do was believe and have hope.
“Come on,” Clay said. “Let’s show Hope her tree.”
Emily pushed off the bed. “Let’s do it.”
Arm and arm they went downstairs, gathered up their family and walked outside into the crisp, cold air.
“I’ll race you,” Cody said, and the rest watched as he and Hope sprinted across the dirt path that led to the oaks.
By the time they caught up to the two, Hope and Cody were bent over with their hands on their knees, breathing hard and grinning.
“This time Emily and me,” Hope said. “To the fence.”
They ran side by side, laughing as the sun peeked through the clouds, ushering in a bright new year, where the best was yet to come.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stacy Finz is an award-winning former newspaper reporter. After twenty-plus years covering notorious serial killers, naked-tractor-driving farmers, fanatical foodies, aging rock stars, and weird Western towns, she figured she had enough material to write fiction. Readers can visit her website at www.stacyfinz.com and sign up for her newsletter at https://www.stacyfinz.com/newsletter/
