Page 40 of Little Hidden Fears

“Right after his release.”

“Why would she do that?”

“At first, her plan was to tell him to stay away from Noelle. She meant to threaten him.”

“What do you mean,at first?”

“When I spoke to Zoey this morning, she told me Gabe wasn’t anything like she expected him to be. He’d found religion while he served time. When they talked, he kept quoting scriptures.”

“How peculiar.”

“I agree. It was enough for Zoey to forego her words of warning and to believe Gabe is now a changed man. You knew him. Do you think a man like Gabe is capable of such change?”

She tapped a finger to the cushion of the chair, thinking.

“If I wasn’t a therapist, and I was just speaking to you as Noelle’s mother, it would be a firm no,” she said. “There have been times, not many times, mind you, when someone I’ve counseled—who I believed couldn’t possibly come back from the brink—surprised me.”

“I have a hard time believing it myself.”

“It wouldn’t be possible for me to give you a definitive answer unless the man was standing before me today, though I confess, I have no desire to ever see him again.”

She hoped to never see Gabe again, and I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait to see him. To witness for myself what had become of him.

“Gabe wrote us a letter,” she said.

“When?”

“While he was in prison. He apologized for what he’d done, and he asked for our forgiveness.”

“Did you write back?”

“I did not. I thought him undeserving of a response.” She stood. “There’s something I’d like to show you. Wait here a moment, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

A couple of minutes later, she sank back down in the chair, her arms wrapped around a shoebox. She pulled the lid off, riffling through it, as she pulled out a few photos.

“After Noelle died, I was going through a few boxes she kept in our garage,” she said. “I found several mementos from her high school days. I wasn’t aware she’d left them here until my husband told me. We thought it might be nice to open them, go through them together, try to remember the happy times. In doing so, we came across this box, and ... well, what was in it.”

She handed me several photos.

“Is this Noelle and Gabe?” I asked.

“In happier times, yes.”

I scanned them, picking up on a few things.

In each of the photos, Noelle was just as people described her, vibrant and full of life, while Gabe looked solemn, his slight smile looking forced and weighted. And then there were his eyes, menacingly haunting, like he was hiding something.

“Can I keep these?” I asked.

“Sure, I was going to cut him out of them and toss his half in the trash.”

“I can bring them back if you’d like.”

“Oh, it’s all right. We have a lifetime of photos of her.”

I stood, thanking her for talking with me, and she accompanied me to the front door. I turned, asking one final question.

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