Page 69 of The Hanging Dolls
As she walked back to her car, the morning fog seemed to thicken, wrapping around her like a shroud. She was almost at the driver’s side door when she noticed a figure standing a few feet away, partially obscured by the mist.
Her heart skipped a beat as she reached for her phone, ready to call for backup if needed. As she closed the distance, she saw his face through the mist.
It was Keith.
“Hey, I didn’t see you there,” she said, slightly unnerved.
His face was grim, that steely resolve to not help her gone. “I thought you would look like her, but you don’t. I think it’s time we talked about your mother.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“My mother,” Zoe said. “That’s who I miss the most.”
“How do you deal with her not being around?” Aiden asked.
“She lives on through my sister and her kids.” Tears threatened to choke her, but she swallowed them. “It’s always the small things that are left behind. Like how she had a habit of pulling down the corners of the bed sheet before getting into bed. Both Gina and I do that all the time without even realizing it.”
She looked out the window at the snow carpeting the ground and the ice forming shapes against the window. Winter was Zoe’s favorite season because snow was festive and pure and happy.
“I know what you’re going through as I went through something similar myself,” Aiden said softly.
“Did you lose your mother when you were young too?”
He didn’t reply.
“Why?” Zoe blurted.
And then an inside voice chided her.Don’t scare him away.
“Because…” He cracked a forlorn smile. “Your mother saved my life a very long time ago. The least I can do is tell her daughter the truth.”
Her pulse fluttered in her throat as she waited for him to say the words she had been waiting for all these years. She was almost not ready to hear it. She had lived with that void inside her for too long, spent her life digging through old memories, latching on to words, turning them over in her head, refusing to let anything fade. Trying to salvage whatever pieces she had of her past to make sense. All to get to the truth.
That pesky thing that people took for granted. But it was the foundation for everything.
Her eyes glided over the ocean. The boats reminded her of herself—unmoored. But now everything was about to change.
Was she ready to hear it?
“Let’s walk?” she suggested in a small voice.
And so they did, side by side, along the docks in the misty morning. The chill cooled her scalp, but under the layer of jacket she was sweating.
“I met your mother in the summer of 1977.” He stared at his feet. “I had gotten a job as an executive assistant to this very rich VP at some insurance company who had a penchant for collecting art. Rachel was the receptionist there. She was… one of the most stunning women I’d ever met. There was this spark to her. She drew people in. And she drew me in too. Soon we became friends, even though there was always something more between us.”
Zoe could imagine it all play in her mind’s eye. Her heart refused to slow down. She was holding on to every word like it was treasure.
“Unfortunately, she was seeing someone at the time. So I didn’t do anything. And either way, I was there for anotherpurpose. That man, like I said, collected art. That’s what I was after. An expensive painting he stored in his locker.” His eyes met Zoe’s, gauging her reaction.
“You were a thief?” she said.
“You can’t arrest me now. The statute of limitations has passed,” he added lightly. “It was all part of my plan to eventually get to the safe, steal the painting, and disappear. But being around Rachel was too tempting.” He laughed. “And a three-month-long plan stretched to five months. Enough was enough. I decided to head to Rachel’s and say goodbye to her. The plan was to disappear once I’d taken the painting.”
“And then?”
“Her entire apartment was a mess.” His eyes tapered at the memory. “Tables and chairs turned over, curtains ripped down, a vase shattered. I found her in the bedroom, huddled in a corner. She was catatonic and bruised. I was about to call 911 but she stopped me.”
Zoe didn’t believe it. “My mother stopped you? Why?”
