Page 35 of Kill Your Darlings

She resembled my Realtor, Betty, but as she reached me, I realized it was Judy Jennings.In my memory she was still a woman in her thirties.

“I thought it was you.”Her smile was self-conscious, maybe uncomfortable.“You probably don’t remember me.Jim and I live next door.”She nodded back toward the green and white two-story on the other side of the new privacy wall.

“Judy,” I said.“I remember.”

“We saw you at the funeral, but you didn’t stay.”

No, I hadn’t stayed longer than it took to make sure he was well and truly going into the ground.

“I had a flight to catch.”Which was true, although the flight had been booked for that evening.

“Of course.You’re living in New York now.”

It wasn’t a secret, but I did wonder how she knew that.

“We—Jared and I—just wanted to tell you…we were sorry.”She swallowed, surprising us both.She said, a little randomly, “He was a good neighbor.”

I nodded.That was true.He was definitely the guy to call in an emergency—unless he was the emergency.

“But…” Judy stopped, her expression troubled.“When you didn’t come back, after the funeral, Jared and I started talking.About the old days.”

“The good old days,” I murmured.I wasn’t mocking her.Maybe myself.

She bit her lip, said quietly, “We should have done something.We knew things…weren’t right.But he was the sheriff.”

It took me a second or two.I couldn’t quite say it was okay.It had not been okay.But I did understand.He had not been a man to cross.

Judy was still talking, still trying to explain.“After he lost his job, we thought about going to Sheriff Rankin, but they were friends.And…you were older and making plans to go to college.We kept waiting—what if we made it worse?And then you were gone.We watched you drive away that morning.”She rested her hand on her heart.“It was such a relief.”

I honestly didn’t know what to say to her.I finally came up with, “It was a long time ago.”

“Yes.But you’re all right now?You look so-so…” She gestured helplessly.“Polished.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean… Well, you’re all grown up.”

“Yes.”No denying that.

“You’re in New York and you’re a-a writer?”She looked so hopeful.

“An editor,” I said.“Yes.I’m all right.Everything worked out in the end.”

“Thank God.”It sounded sincere.“I used to pray that wherever you were, you were okay.You were happy.”

It’s silly, but I was genuinely touched by the idea that now and then Judy Jennings had prayed for me.

“That was nice of you.”

She winced, although I meant it sincerely.She started to say something, hesitated.Finally, she asked, “Did you ever get in contact with your mother?”

I stared at her, not understanding, but then remembered that the Jennings had lived next door for as long as I could remember.They might even have known my mother.So yes, they’d have heard the original story: that my mother had run away.Even after my father started saying she’d died, most people believed he was just saving face.

“No,” I said.“That would have been up to my mother.”

She bit her lip, looked toward the back of the house.“I don’t know…”

She stopped.

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