Page 9 of Healed Heart
But I know so little about him.
He’s been through such a devastating tragedy.
Back home after my classes are done for the day, I cuddle with Tillie on the couch and fire up my laptop.
Sure, I should be studying, but instead, I look for more information on Jason.
A few other sites have the obituaries for Lindsay and Julia, and there’s a memorial page on Facebook.Some of the posts are public, so I read through them.
Several are from Jason’s colleagues, sending condolences and offering support.But it’s the posts from Lindsay’s friends that catch my attention.One of them, a woman named Becca, wrote,
Still can’t believe you’re gone, Lin.Your laugh was infectious, your spirit was insurmountable.You’d always find a way to turn things right side up when they were upside down.I missed you so much after you left.I never thought, in a million years, that you’d be gone.Wherever you are, I hope you’re at peace.
I scroll through more posts, and one theme is clear throughout all of them—sadness and shock that a woman so full of vitality and joy was now gone.Several talk about how they lost touch after high school, never knew what happened to her.Posts from college friends and teaching colleagues mention her intelligence and dedication to her students.
I scroll through, skimming, until a post catches my eye.
You’ll always be my only love.- R
With a heart emoji.
R?
Lindsay was married to Jason.Not someone whose initial is R.
The profile has no photo, and the name is simply R.Lyon.
An odd coldness seeps into my veins as I click on the profile.It’s basically empty—no friends, no posts, nothing but that single tribute to Lindsay Lansing.But unlike the others on the memorial page, this one was posted two years after her death.
I sit back.Tillie scrambles into my lap, knocking my computer onto the ground.I give her a pet as I try to make sense of what I found.Could it be a fake profile?Someone playing a sick joke?
But why?Who would benefit from such a thing?
Could just be an internet troll.A bot trying to harvest clicks.
But something is creeping up the back of my neck, telling me there’s more to this.
I grab my laptop from the floor and click on the message icon.Maybe this R.Lyon has some answers.
Who are you?I type in and then impulsively hitSend.
The response is immediate, which is odd because since R and I aren’t friends, it wouldn’t go right through.Instead, it would go into theMessage Requestsfolder.
Which means R is not only online, but he’s monitoring Messenger.
Who wants to know?the message reads.
Damn.
This was a mistake.
My profile is Angela Simpson, making it pretty clear thatI’mthe one who wants to know.
Major fuck-up.
What was I thinking, messaging a stranger on Facebook?
I quickly shut my laptop and lean back on the couch.Tillie snuggles up to me.“Yeah, girl, I messed up,” I murmur as I run my fingers through her soft fur.
