Celtic Sister (30 page)

“Sammy. This is your uncle Sam.”

Samantha stood spellbound for a moment before bursting into laughter. She looked at Amy.

“And let me guess. You’re Yankee Doodle.”

Emma cleared her throat. “No, Sammy. He’s your uncle.”

“My uncle Sam from America?”

“Yes.”

“Was this part of the secret family history you planned on telling me one day?”

Emma laughed and cried at the same time. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t know when it would be appropriate.”

“Why is he a secret?” Samantha asked, speaking about Sam as if he were a piece of furniture. “Is he a CIA hit man or something?”

Emma hesitated.

“Ma?”

“Why don’t I fix us some lunch?” Emma said, changing the subject.

Samantha rolled her eyes.

“I’ll help you,” Amy offered.

Amy and Emma exchanged introductions and shook hands enthusiastically. Then Amy carried plates and leftovers as provided by Emma. They set the table and laid out cold fried chicken, salads, and fruit. Samantha grabbed a bag of crisps and set them near her placemat.

Everyone sat down and loaded up their plates.

“You didn’t become a doctor, did you, Sam?” Emma asked.

“Uh. No.”

“You’re a cop,” she said enthusiastically, as if she were a contestant in a game show.

“No.” Sam looked around. “Why does everyone ask me that?”

“When I met you,” Amy said, “you were reading a CSI book.”

“Oh.” Samantha joined the conversation. “Are you a crime scene investigator?”

“No.” He turned to Amy. “Raksha also thought I was a cop.”

Amy shrugged.

Emma took a sip of water. “You have a protect-and-serve thing going on.”

Sam slapped a hand on the table. “That’s what Raksha said.”

“Who’s Raksha?”

“Who’s anyone, Emma? We have a lot to catch up on.”

“So I have an uncle,” Samantha interrupted. “Does this mean I have grandparents too?”

“Yes.” Emma smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. It’s complicated.”

“Can I meet them?”

Emma looked at Sam. Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. “Is it safe?” she whispered.

“What’s wrong with them?” Samantha persisted.

“Nothing’s wrong with them.”

Sam leaned forward. “We’re not going to run from those people anymore, Em.”

Emma focused her eyes on her brother while subtly tipping her head toward Samantha.

“They’re not going to take her,” Sam said.

Samantha sighed loudly and slammed her fork on the table. “So what’s wrong with my grandparents? Are they kidnappers?”

“No,” Emma shouted. Tears spilled over into her voice and softened the impact of her exclamation. “Not them.”

“Who are you afraid of? My father?”

“What?” Emma said, mortified.

“I’m fourteen, Ma. You think I don’t know that somewhere on the planet there’s a mystery man who’s my biological father? You’re hiding from him.”

All three adults turned in unison as if Samantha were a child prodigy.

“Seriously, people. You think I didn’t figure that out years ago? Why else would an American woman with no ties to the land be making a life in the far corners of Ireland? I’m not an idiot.”

Emma breathed a sigh of relief. “No, Sammy. No you’re not.”

“So if my uncle is a good guy and my grandparents are good people, why didn’t anyone come to see us all these years?”

Emma looked at her hands. “Because I’ve been hiding from them too.”

“Why?”

Silence filled the room. Amy felt a wave of courage.

“Samantha,” she said. “I know this man. Your… biological father.” She glanced at Emma, seeking approval to continue. Emma nodded. “His family is very powerful. Your mother, she… she was worried that if they knew about you, they’d try to take you away from her.”

Samantha picked up a potato chip and examined it closely. Then she caught her mother’s eye. “That true?”

Emma nodded.

Sam reached across the table and touched Emma’s hand. “It
was
true, but you don’t need to hide from those people anymore—”

“Sam,” Emma interrupted.

“Seriously, Emma. They don’t want their name associated with the disappearance of Emma Foster.”

“Foster?” Samantha said, incredulous. “I thought we were related to the Murphys.”

“No,” Emma whispered.

“Where did the Murphys come from then?”

Emma smiled. “From heaven.”

“You literally came here randomly?”

“I guess so.”

“Where are we from then?”

“Denver.”

“No Murphys in Denver?”

“I’m sure there are Murphys in Denver, but they aren’t our Murphys.”

“Thank goodness I didn’t do a big family tree project. I was planning on putting that together when I turned sixteen. Figured you might give me more clues by then.”

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I didn’t know you were thinking about it—”

“Who wouldn’t be thinking about it? You should hear all the theories floating around at school.”

“I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand downward. “Don’t be. Kind of cool to be thought of as a former US president’s love child.”

“Is that what they say?”

“Yeah. Or that you’re in the witness protection program.”

Emma tipped her head and blushed. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

“Don’t be. I have a good life.” She got up and began to clear the table. “Just let me know when we’re going to visit my grandparents. I’ll need to get Liam to take care of Maeve.”

For a moment, Emma appeared both frightened and elated at the same time. She gazed at Sam and, gradually, a look of blissful surrender formed on her face. The frightened seventeen-year-old retreated as the grown woman realized
it’s over.

Samantha grabbed a couple of plates. “And I still want to meet him.”

“Who?”

“My father. Even if he’s a pure asshole, I’d like to meet him.”

“Samantha—”

“Relax. I’m a smart girl.”

“Of course you are,” Sam said, but Amy could tell neither Sam nor Emma was keen on the idea.

Samantha gathered up the remaining lunch items. “And I won’t go running off with my powerful other family. Unless they’re rich.” She punched her mom playfully on the shoulder. “But I do think my cool, new uncle and his girlfriend should take me to Disney World.”

“That can be arranged,” Sam said.

Samantha grinned at him and raised her eyebrows mischievously. Then she kissed her mom on the top of her head. “And one day you’ll tell me the whole story?”

Emma gazed at her daughter. “Absolutely.”

“But not today?”

She shook her head. “I need time to sort it out.”

“I understand.” She turned her attention to Sam. “I suppose you haven’t seen each other for at least fourteen years?”

“Fifteen,” Sam replied.

Samantha nodded. “That would be about right, wouldn’t it?” She crossed to the door. “I think I’ll take Liam his rucksack.”

“That would be nice,” Emma said.

“Yup.” She hesitated at the door before continuing on her way. “Bye.”

The room remained silent for nearly a minute after Samantha left. Amy gazed at her lap, but she stole glances at the newly reunited siblings.

“So,” Sam said.

Emma smiled. “So.”

Sam shrugged. “You need some time?”

Emma straightened her chair and rested her elbows on the table. She folded and unfolded her hands. “There’s a lot to tell.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Amy asked.

Emma shook her head. “No. Please. I’ve kept this buried inside for so very long.” She frowned. “You said you know him? Brent?”

“He’s my… ex… husband.” Amy liked the sound of it, even though it wasn’t legally true.

Emma’s eyes grew wide as saucers, almost as if such a tragedy was unimaginable. Then she seemed to instantly feel a kinship for Amy. She touched her on the hand. “Please stay then.”

Everyone was silent.

“April 17th.” Emma gazed off into the distance. “I suppose we’ll start there.”

Chapter Thirty-One

“What happened on April 17th?” Sam asked.

Emma was quiet for another twenty seconds. “Maybe I should go back to the beginning of second semester.”

“Okay.”

“I had a huge infatuation with Brent Richardson.”

“You never said anything.”

“Of course not.” She recoiled. “I didn’t even tell my friends. It was embarrassing. Rich football star. Who did I think I was kidding?”

“You’re a beautiful girl,” Sam protested.

Emma smiled at him. “The average seventeen-year-old never imagines herself a beautiful girl. All we see are pimples and split ends.”

Amy chuckled. “True enough.”

“So anyway. I thought I was doing a good job covering it up. Didn’t write
Mrs. Emma Richardson
on my notebook or anything.” She swirled her finger on the table as if writing. “But at the beginning of second semester, Mr. Rucker, my science teacher, changed the seating chart. Brent became my lab partner.”

Amy nodded. She’d had Mr. Rucker in eleventh grade. An image of his science classroom popped into her head, and she could almost see Emma and Brent sitting together over a Bunsen burner.

“Brent figured it out. Wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, but it was hard to miss my constant blushing and stammering.” Emma shivered. “So he started flirting with me, subtly at first. He suggested he might need some tutoring. I knew he was flirting, but if he wanted to pretend to care about his science grade, who was I to argue? I was flabbergasted that he’d have anything to do with me.” She looked away. “So I suggested we meet at the library, you know? For tutoring. But he said it would be embarrassing for him to be seen in the library needing tutoring. It would hurt his image.” She scoffed. “So he wanted me to come to his house. Offered to pick me up at the gas station because, of course, leaving the parking lot with me in the car might harm his image.” Emma shook her head. “I was such an idiot.”

“Emma—”

“No, really, Sam—”

“You were seventeen.”

She nodded. “Anyway, fool that I was, I agreed. When we got to his house, no one was there. And he kissed me. We didn’t even open the textbooks. He went for me, and he wasn’t seductive about it.” She pulled her arms together and closed her eyes. “At first I was eager, but he got really aggressive so I pulled away.” She shook her head at the memory. “He was really pissed off. Said I was leading him on. ‘You know you want it.’ That sort of garbage.

“I told him
no,
that I was a saving-myself-for-marriage type of girl, and he just laughed in my face.” She stopped clutching herself and gazed at Sam, a wistful regret in her eyes. “Why didn’t I tell you?”

The color drained from Sam’s face. “Did he rape you?”

She nodded, slowly and methodically. All the emotion seemed to have bled away many years ago.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shook her head, just as methodically. “I have no idea.” They were quiet for a moment. “Ashamed, I guess. Why did I go to his house?”

“I would’ve never said it was your fault.”

“No, but I would have. I did.”

“Oh, Em.”

She waved her hand, swishing away his concern. “After that, science was unbearable. He was so cold to me.”

“You got a C.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“That should have been a clue. Why did everyone miss the clues?” The exasperation in his voice betrayed his true regret.
Why didn’t
I
see the clues?

“No matter. I didn’t know I was pregnant. Didn’t even think about the possibility until I missed my period. Almost didn’t even catch it then. I was so humiliated and embarrassed. Every once in a while he’d leer at my breasts. It was awful.”

“I’ll kill him,” Sam whispered.

“Oh, you’ll do no such thing. Then I’ll lose you all over again.”

“I’ll fantasize about killing him.”

“Please do.”

Amy leaned in. “So what happened when you found out you were pregnant?”

Emma sighed. “I told him we needed to talk. He seemed nervous about it. Might have seen it coming. It was only a few days before graduation. Everyone was psyched up about moving on to college.”

“How did you tell him?” Sam asked.

“We met behind the east portable. I whispered it super fast, mumbling, apologizing even—”

“Apologizing? I’ll kill him.”

“Stop it, Sam,” Amy said. “Let her speak.”

“It was weird. He was almost sweet about it.” She paused. “Sickly sweet. Something was up. He said it was
okay.
Everything would be okay.”

Something about the way Emma said this made Amy’s skin crawl. She’d seen Brent
sickly sweet
in the past. His father too. It was something they did when they needed to keep people in line.

“He suggested I get an abortion. Offered to pay for it. When I balked at that idea, he bristled a little. Took him a moment to compose himself. Then he suggested we meet after graduation to make plans. Of course plans could mean anything, but I started to daydream that I really would become Mrs. Brent Richardson.”

Amy cringed.

“Sorry, Amy.”

“No worries.”

“So I fell in love all over again. With the man who raped me. How crazy is that? Couple of days later, I signed hearts all over his yearbook. That pissed him off. He said I ruined his yearbook. Still, I thought he loved me. I couldn’t let go of the possibility that he loved me and that we were going to have this baby and be happy. I was certifiably crazy.”

“Emma, don’t do that to yourself,” Amy said. “He can be very manipulative. Very, very manipulative.”

Emma nodded. “We met after graduation as promised. I thought we were sneaking a moment before going to someone’s party. He walked me along that path by the huge silver maple. You know the one?”

Both Sam and Amy nodded.

“And the staircase that leads to the back of the gym?”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“He tried to push me down the stairs.”

When Amy heard this, she felt dizzy, and she braced herself against the table. Sam abruptly shifted his attention as if noticing Amy for the first time.

“Oh, Amy,” he said.

“What?” Emma asked.