Read Online [Finding Emma 02.5] Dottie's Memories by Steena Holmes - Free Book Online

 
     
    October 17
     
    Jack was packing up a box today when I came downstairs. Inside were a bunch of Halloween decorations he'd picked up in town. Miniature skeletons that dangled from a stick, face paint, spray cans of multi colors that work in hair...all the things Mary used to ask for when it came time for Halloween.
    He wanted to pack it up before Emmie woke up, he told me. He didn't want her frightened of the skeleton and vampire dolls he bought. Emmie is a very sensitive little girl, she doesn't even like to watch the Halloween cartoon of Berenstein Bears, says it scares her. I believe it since I was the one who sat with her while she cried herself to sleep from watching it. I should have known better. Mary used to be the same way when she was smaller. It wasn't until she was a teenager that her fascination with the holiday grew.
    I didn't mind at first, but it was when the black lipstick and nail polish kept coming out after Christmas that it worried me. Jack used to laugh at my fears; he thought Mary needed to grow up expressing herself however she wanted.
    Sometimes Jack isn't always right.
    I boxed up some cookies Emmie and I made yesterday and had Jack put them in the box as well. I even wrote her a note telling Mary that Emmie helped make them. I hope that will make her smile, knowing her daughter hadn't forgotten about her.
    One day, maybe she'll send a note back. I do miss my little girl.
     
     
     
    November 2
     
     
    I'm worried about Jack. It's that time again. He came home with a new bottle of Jack Daniels and placed it in the cupboard above the stove. He hasn't been talking much, just hiding in his little tool shed, building god knows what out there. I made the mistake in suggesting he start to build things for the local churches Christmas drive. The only person he wants to build for right now is his baby girl. I understand. But his baby girl is getting spoiled and that's not right.
    How long is he going to mourn like this? It's been too many years to count. At first, he would pull away from me for more than a month. Thankfully it's only for a week or so now. I'm too old to deal with this.
    When my folks passed away, I had a good cry and then carried on. I had to. There was no other choice. And when I thought Jack was dead, it was only at night, when Mary was in bed, that I'd let the grief wash over me.
    Jack, please, when I die — don't grieve. If you read this, please live your life. I'll be waiting for you. I will always love you. But for Emmie's sake, I need you to let me go.
     

 
     
    February 7
     
    Jack handed me a box today and asked me to mail it while in town getting groceries. It was only a small box, not heavy, and I could hold it with one hand. When I asked him what was in it, his shoulders slumped and he said it was for Valentine's Day.
    What he didn't say was that it was for Mary.
    Most days I'm able to forget, to pretend that she is still out there, somewhere. Most days I live in a fog where not much is clear.
    I'm not sure anymore what is memory and what is make believe. It's hard to discern between real and dreams. Between what I want and what I have. I don't think I know the difference anymore.
    I parked on a deserted back road today and sat there in my car. I know this sounds crazy, but it was as if I saw things happen right in front of my eyes. As if there were a movie playing out on the road. I had to pull over. I don't want to go crazy. Not like this! Please let it be a nightmare. Please let it be something my mind wants me to believe that isn't real.
    I saw an article in the paper of a possible kidnapping again in Kinrich. Not the first, the article said. It highlighted a family still looking for their toddler. A beautiful little girl named Emma. She looked so much like our Emmie, but younger. I tore out the section and burned it in the fire before Jack could read it. I'm not sure why — it was an unexpected reaction. Maybe she reminded me too much of Mary, of what I went