Not Her Daughter by Rea Frey

Author:Rea Frey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

after

We got to the market just before closing.

It’s when we always went, the workers too tired to care who was there. It’s when the mothers were at home with their children, which was both good and bad. No parents would be in the aisles to pay attention to us, but the employees might. Emma wore a hat and had a LeapFrog in hand, so she was utterly and completely occupied.

I shopped in bulk—I didn’t want to make too many trips—and we had a regularly rotating menu. We wound our way through, the cart heavy, one wheel not rolling just right. My cash was dwindling, but we would make it. I weighed the reality of being turned in against the reality of Emma’s family. What would she be returning to? And how would I get her back without the whole world watching? Ethan’s moral compass led him to think he knew what I should do, but he hadn’t seen Amy and Emma together.

He didn’t know her the way I did. The thought of dropping her at a police station crossed my mind again, but I wouldn’t trust anyone—even officials—to get the story straight. How would I ever explain myself? How would I ever say goodbye? I was now faced with an impossible, even more urgent decision, and I hated Ethan for putting this expiration date on it.

I made pleasant conversation with the woman at the checkout as she scanned the groceries and tossed them into brown plastic bags.

“Sweetie, would you like a sticker?”

My heart fluttered as the woman talked to Emma, who was still engrossed in her game.

“Oh, she’s fine. Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure? Sweetheart—what’s her name?—are you sure you don’t want a sticker?”

As if in slow motion, Emma lifted her head, coming out of her electronic haze. She nodded and smiled, and the woman pulled out a long roll of stickers and offered her a choice of a dog, a butterfly, or a frog. Emma pointed to the butterfly.

“That’s a beauty. Good choice.”

“Can you say thank you?” My voice was high and tight. I needed to pull this woman’s eyes back to me and off Emma’s face.

“Thank you,” she said, a small, shy smile at her lips.

The cashier handed me my change and looked from me to her, her eyes lingering on Emma just a little too long for comfort. “She’s adorable. What beautiful gray eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like those before.”

“Thank you.”

“Such a great age too. How old? Five? Six?”

I nodded, afraid to speak, my entire body pulsing with nerves.

“I’m five,” Emma said, wagging each finger on her right hand. “And then next year I will be six!”

“When’s your birthday, sweetheart?”

Emma looked to me, and I thanked the woman, and began to roll the cart outside, casually glancing over my shoulder. The woman was looking at us, and her face had changed.

“Oh God.” I turned back around and struggled to keep the pace neutral as we rolled to the Tahoe. I looked behind me again—had she seen my car? my license plate?—before lifting Emma out of the cart and into the backseat.

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