Page 9 of The Woman Left Behind

I shook my head trying really hard to keep the emotions blazing under the surface from erupting. “That Dietrich thing came up. Dern was being,”—I shook my head again—“it was a little scary.” Make that a lot scary. “And they, um…took off.”

“Have you heard from them since?”

I very much did not want my eyes to fill with tears.

But my eyes filled with tears.

“No,” I said so quietly, even I could barely hear it.

Something warm and kind hit his gaze, even as he asked, “So they left sixteen years ago, and you haven’t heard from them since?”

Left unsaid, And you didn’t tell anyone about it? Like law enforcement?

I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, and pulled myself together.

“Okay, I think I need to explain something,” I announced.

Sheriff Moran reached for his coffee cup, sat back in my sofa and encouraged, “Please do,” before he took another sip.

“Well…”

How did I even begin?

“First they were…” I couldn’t stop the small, sad smile that hit my mouth.

I was also descending into memories, the happy kind, so I didn’t notice Harry Moran’s attention dropping to it or the way his long frame stiffened when it did.

“They were really in love,” I said softly. “Like, I’ve never seen anyone that in love.” I looked at him, but I didn’t really see him as I shared, “They’d move the furniture in the living room just so they could dance. And they’d dance. It might be ballroom. Or disco. Or slow dancing. They’d go for it, whatever mood they were in. They’d sit out on the porch, just talking, but they’d be holding hands. I was, um…a little kid, then a teenager, and erm…we can just say the walls are thin in this house, and I couldn’t help but hear…certain things…and hear them…a lot.”

“Right,” he said hurriedly to get me past that.

“At the time, that being the time the Dietrich thing was happening, I just thought they’d gotten scared, and they’d run.”

“Scared?”

“Of Dern. Of being investigated for the robbery.”

“So they took off, leaving you behind?”

“I was nineteen, Sheriff Moran?—”

He interrupted me. “Harry.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling bashful (for goodness sake!). “Harry.”

Something flickered in his eyes when I spoke his name, but he just nodded to prompt me to go on.

“I was working at a gas station to save money to get my own apartment. Dad didn’t like that. Not the apartment part, working at the gas station. He didn’t think it was safe. I usually did nights, because it paid more, and he’d do nights too, driving by to check things out, coming in to hang with me. Eventually, he understood my need to do it. Mom really understood it. She’d sing The Chicks’ ‘Wide Open Spaces’ and say to Dad, ‘We know what that’s all about, don’t we, Sonny-mine?’”

I took in another breath at that treasured memory, because Lord, did I love to hear my mother sing…and call my dad “Sonny-mine.”

I let my breath out before I finished, “I was also taking online college courses to get my English degree. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a teacher or a librarian.”

Neither of those happened, because suddenly, I needed to figure out how to keep a house, pay utility bills and feed myself on a gas station attendant’s salary.

“So, in other words, they didn’t take you because they didn’t want to interrupt your life,” Harry boiled it down for me.

“Yes, I think so.” I hoped so. “They planned. They took care of me. Like, they deeded this house to me.” I drifted a hand in front of me. “They put my name on the car. They gave me power of attorney to get to their bank accounts. There wasn’t much in them, but it helped when they…” I hated to say it, but I said it, “disappeared.”

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