Forgotten Lullaby (4 page)

“What do you want to do, Emma?” Grant asked, stopping inside the wide-planked foyer. “I can take you upstairs—”

“No.”

“You want to peek at Carly? She's taking a nap. Or you could see the rest of the house,” Kate suggested, wringing her hands. Emma tried to ignore the way her sister rattled on like a nervous Nellie, adding to the already tense and awkward homecoming. Emma didn't need spectators to give her pitying looks or watch her reactions to the house. She wanted to explore it alone.

“I'd like to sit in here for a minute.” Emma let her gaze sweep the room, hoping memories would flood her mind. Again nothing happened.

“How about the sofa?” Grant asked.

“Great. I've been in bed too long.” Grant eased her down and helped her get comfortable. Kate rushed to get a pillow and propped her foot on top of the stool.

“Are you all right?” Grant asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“I made some tea,” Kate said. “That spicy kind you like. Or how about coffee? Or I could make hot chocolate.”

Irritation filled Emma. “Look, I'm not going to break, so you don't have to hover,” she said, picking up a small stuffed lamb and hugging it to her chest as if the child's toy could dissipate her worries.

Grant simply stared at her, his expression more troubled than ever.

Kate shifted uneasily and tugged at the hem of her oversize gray sweatshirt. “I'm sorry. I was only trying to help.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Emma heaved a sigh. “Just give me a minute.” She searched the room for something familiar. A comfortable-looking armchair that needed recovering sat in one corner. A pine table held a television and CD player. The rose-colored carpet looked fairly new, and an antique white wicker rocker faced the outside window. Solid rose-colored balloon shades allowed the sunlight to filter in while offering privacy.

“You made those,” Kate said.

Emma's eyes widened. “When did I learn how to sew?”

Kate laughed. “I couldn't believe it myself. You failed home ec in high school. But when you bought the house, you suddenly turned domestic.”

“You signed up for classes at the Decorating Center in town,” Grant added.

“I wonder what else I can do,” Emma mumbled, her palms sweating as she strained to remember.

Grant gave her an encouraging look. “Don't press it, Emma. We have lots of time to talk about the past.”

Kate folded several receiving blankets. “Well, one thing you never learned to enjoy doing was laundry. But with Carly around, there isn't much choice.”

Emma laughed and Grant smiled at her, easing the tension. Then he said, “Do you want me to wake Carly and bring her to you?”

“No. Let her sleep. I hate to disturb her.” Emma twisted her hands together, wondering if that was a memory surfacing or simply a coping mechanism.

Disappointment momentarily crossed Grant's face as he gestured around the room. “Well?”

Tension crackled between them. Emma met his gaze, unable to avoid the pained hope in his eyes. “No, I'm
sorry. I don't remember…anything.” As her last word broke, a baby began to cry and the sound tugged at something deep within her.

“It's Carly, our daughter,” Grant said, his jaw tight.

Emma bit down on her bottom lip.

“She's not very patient when she first wakes up. Especially if she's hungry.”

“I'll go get her,” Kate said, hurrying from the room.

Grant leaned against the brick fireplace, studying his polished shoes. He looked handsome in his pleated khaki trousers and navy polo shirt. Emma suddenly wished he'd brought her something to wear home besides this colorless sweat suit. Surely she had some nicer outfits. Or did she usually wear such frumpy attire?

The baby had stopped crying, and she could hear Kate talking to her softly. Emma glanced at Grant for some clue as to his thoughts. Worry lines creased his face and anguish glittered in his eyes. The enormity of the situation suddenly caved in around her, and all the emotions she'd been trying so hard to suppress welled up, collecting in her chest. Salty tears filled her eyes as she listened to Carly's gurgles. “Was…was I a good mother?” She almost choked on the last word, and she buried her face in her hands, unable to look at Grant.

He knelt in front of her, pulling her fingers away from her face, taking her cheeks in his hands, stroking her tenderly. “Emma, you were…
are
a wonderful mother. The best. You may not remember everything, but don't ever doubt that.”

Emma leaned against Grant, absorbing the strength in his powerful body as he curved his arm around her trembling shoulders. “This is so hard,” she whispered. “What kind of mother can I be now, when I don't re
member my own baby? I've forgotten if she even has a favorite lullaby.”

“I know this is tough,” he said in a rough voice. “But you are a wonderful mother, and when you hold Carly, all those feelings will come back.” He gently kissed her temple.

Kate brought the baby in, wrapped in a fluffy yellow blanket. Emma saw two tiny fists waving in the air. She felt a painful tug on her heart. “She's so tiny.”

“You cried the first time you saw her, too,” Grant said quietly, brushing her damp cheeks with his fingers.

Emma swallowed, desperately trying to control her raging emotions.

Grant took Carly from Kate, cradling her in his arms. “How's our little doll?” Carly waved her hand and smacked Grant's lower lip with her chubby fist.

Emma's clammy hands tightened around the bear. This was her baby. Her little girl. She couldn't let Carly suffer because of her memory loss.

“You want to see Mommy?” Grant asked. Carly cooed. “Yes, I know you've missed her. But she's home now.”

“I'll heat dinner,” Kate said, rushing from the room.

Grant turned to Emma and scooted back against the couch, awkwardly situating Carly in his arms. Finally he angled the baby so Emma could see her face.

Carly's little feet pedaled in the air. Emma's heart swelled. Carly had a small round face with big brown eyes, incredibly long lashes and dimples that appeared as she smiled. Her fair coloring and golden hair resembled Emma's own, but the rest of Carly's face reminded her of Grant. She was adorable.

“Hi there, Carly,” Emma said, instinctively reaching for her.

“Are you sure you're up to holding her?” Grant asked. “The doctor said you shouldn't lift anything for a few more days.”

“I'm still sore, but maybe if you helped me…” She met Grant's gaze. “She's so precious. I really
want
to hold her.”

For a brief second she thought moisture glistened in Grant's eyes, but he swallowed, then nodded and lowered Carly into her arms, keeping his hand underneath Carly's body to support her weight.

“She looks like you.” Emma pulled the blanket away and studied Carly's fingers. “Did you dress her?”

“I did this morning. But Kate must have changed her into this sleeper. She goes through a million clothes a day.”

Emma chuckled and ran her finger over the soft pink terry-cloth fabric, smiling at the little white bunnies on the front.

“She has your button nose.” Grant pressed his finger on the top of Carly's nose. “And your long fingers. Maybe she'll play the piano like you.”

Emma stroked Carly's hand and smiled, feeling the painful tug on her heart again when Carly wrapped her fingers around her own. “Does she like it when I play?”

“She loves it. Especially ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.' I swear she gurgles the minute you start playing.” He stroked her hand tenderly. “And her favorite lullaby is ‘Hush Little Baby.'”

Emma smiled, her vision blurring as she hummed the song. Grant tucked his hand over hers and she stared at their fingers, splayed over Carly's small ones. Grant gently brushed his other hand along Emma's cheek, his eyes filled with emotion. Emma tensed, unsure about
the intimacy of their connected hands and the hunger in his dark gaze.

“Do you want dinner in here?” Kate asked, interrupting the moment.

“Sure.” Suddenly nervous about being alone with Grant, Emma hoped Kate would stay in the room. “Thanks, sis.”

Grant threaded his fingers through his hair again and shot Kate an agitated look. “I'm not very hungry. I'll wait till later.”

“Okay, Emma and I can eat together and talk,” Kate said. “Just like old times.”

Her college days flashed into Emma's head. She smiled at Kate again, thinking of the fun they'd had. “Are you going to tell me about all your old dates?”

Kate laughed. “You wish.”

The doorbell rang and Grant got up to answer it. Seconds later, he returned, a tall blond man by his side. “You remember Detective Warner from the hospital, Emma?”

“Yes.” Emma's fingers tightened around Carly as she stared at his uniform.

“Sorry to interrupt your homecoming, ma'am.” Emma shrugged, and the young detective shifted on one booted foot, refusing a seat when Grant motioned to the chair. Carly whimpered, prompting Kate to ease her from Emma and thrust a bottle into her mouth.

“Did you find the car that hit Emma?” Grant asked.

“Not yet,” the detective replied in a thick New York accent. “That's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Grant angled his head toward the kitchen. “Maybe we'd better talk alone.”

Emma's heart pounded as the officer glanced back
and forth between her and Grant. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

Grant stared at the policeman, then cleared his throat and looked at Emma. “It's nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart.”

Emma's fingers curled into fists in her lap. “Look, Grant, Detective, I'm the one who had the wreck. If you've learned something about it, I want to know.”

“Emma, don't get upset.” Kate patted her shoulder. “The doctor said it's not good for you.”

“Stop it.” Emma frowned at Kate. “I was injured, but I have a right to know what's happening. This is my life we're talking about here.”

The silence in the room seemed deafening. “Grant, please be honest with me. What's going on?”

Grant exhaled, his eyes troubled. “There was a witness to the wreck. A young boy.” He paused, tunneling his hair with his fingers before he met her gaze. “He said somebody ran you off the road.”

Emma's heartbeat picked up.

“He said it looked intentional, Mrs. Wadsworth,” the detective added.

“But…why would someone intentionally hurt me?” Emma asked, the strain pounding at her temples.

Warner rolled onto the balls of his feet. “I was hoping you folks might be able to tell me that.”

“I don't understand,” Kate said. “I thought some nut hit her, then freaked and ran.”

Warner made a noncommittal sound. “The witness said he thought the person might have been drunk and lost control the first time, but then he backed off, sped up and rammed her car again and again until she went off the road.”

Emma realized by the look on Grant's pale face that
he'd known about the witness all along. Only, he hadn't shared the information with her. “Why didn't you tell me, Grant?”

“Because you've had enough to deal with lately, sweetheart. I didn't want to upset you any more,” Grant said, his voice apologetic.

Carly began to fuss. “I'll go change her diaper,” Kate offered, slipping from the room.

“And the incident at the hospital, it draws more suspicions,” Warner added.

“What are you talking about?” Emma asked.

Grant explained about the oxygen mask and IV.

“So I was right. Someone was in my room.”

“It's possible. With all the hospital staff around, we couldn't pinpoint any prints.” Warner paused. “Did anyone visit Mrs. Wadsworth at the hospital besides you, Mr. Wadsworth?”

“Kate, Emma's sister.” Grant frowned. “Her former boss and our housekeeper stopped by, but they didn't go into Emma's room. Only family members were allowed to visit.”

“See any strangers hanging around her room?”

“No,” Grant said. “Of course, other patients had visitors. You don't think one of them could have snuck into Emma's room, do you?”

“It's too early to tell.” Warner shrugged. “Have you remembered anything about that night, Mrs. Wadsworth?”

“No, nothing.” Emma pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“You and your wife need to make a list of any enemies you might have,” Warner said.

“Emma doesn't have any enemies,” Grant declared. “She's a housewife and mother, for God's sake.”

“It may seem like she doesn't have enemies,” the detective said, raising a brow, “But someone
did
try to hurt her. And I have to investigate.”

Emma felt the air whoosh from her lungs.

Warner's gaze swung to her. “That voice you said you heard in the hospital—was it a man or woman's?”

Emma massaged her temple, trying to think. “I…I don't know. I was so tired and disoriented. But I remember feeling as if I was being suffocated.”

“You didn't receive any threats or notice anyone following you before the accident?” the detective asked.

“I don't know,” Emma said quietly.

“She didn't mention anything to me,” Grant added with a worried frown.

“All right. But make that list for me,” Warner snapped his notepad shut. “And, ma'am, if you do remember anything about that night or the voice you heard, let me know. Even the smallest detail could help. Think about work, your friends, anyone you've angered in the past, any confrontations you've had, that sort of thing. Make a list of all your friends, co-workers, business acquaintances—”

“But how can I do that when I don't remember the last few years of my life?”

“Stay calm, Mrs. Wadsworth,” the detective said gently. “If you can tell me where you worked, I'll start there. Your husband can probably fill in the rest.”