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How Rose wished she’d kept in touch with her dear friend. How quickly they’d lost contact. She admired her daughter for her tenacity, holding her friends close. Maggie was so protective of Katrina and Annie. But she’d been like that since childhood. They were her quasi sisters.
After a sip of coffee, she forced herself to quit procrastinating and opened the journal. The first page had a date ten years earlier. It was the last year of Emily’s life. Rose wondered if there were more journals, maybe hidden in a shoe box. She’d search later.
Instead of writing about her feelings, Emily had detailed facts about her boys—Dave’s achievements in high school, Justin’s dean’s list letter, the calls they’d made to her. It was obvious she had loved her sons.
She had written of Vic’s successes, too. A proud wife who worshipped her husband and only saw the good in him, like a good wife would.
Flicking a tear away, Rose wished they could do it all over again. She wished she had offered to pick up Emily for pizza and game night. Remove the rape and the adoption from the scenario, and how different would life be?
The diary was full of stories of her adventures with Mojol and Dale, her horses. The descriptions of time spent on horseback were so full of joy. Superficially, here was a life of love and success and goals met, of days spent on horseback with picnic lunches packed by their cook.
Skimming the pages, she read about Dave’s high school graduation, his trip to California to see his brother the summer after Justin’s junior year of college, and how happy she was that her boys were good friends and had each other.
Rose stopped; Emily had died while Dave was away on that trip. There were only a few more pages to read, but she was no closer to understanding why Emily would do it.
The house is so quiet without Davie here. I can see him and Justy together. I imagine they’re going to the beach and out to clubs, and Dave probably loves every second. I’m so glad we had the two boys. I hope they will always be friends.
Well, Grandpa’s clock is chiming. I know that in ten seconds, the bird will cuckoo like it has every hour for the past twenty-four years. Vic is working across the way. It’s a source of pride that the clinic is doing so well. I’m so proud of him. There are at least ten pickup trucks and half as many horse trailers in the parking lot, so I know he’s busy. But I’m going for a ride soon, and I’ll stop in to let him know I’ll be out. I want to say goodbye.
Crying, Rose closed the book, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Emily had taken her secrets with her to the grave.
