“And then?”
“It was the Fourth of July picnic at his house. Your father was grilling. Your grandfather was playing host. Half the church was there. Fireworks in the pasture after dark.” Her voice grew distant, like she was walking back through smoke. “Ellie took you inside because you fell asleep on the couch. I was washing bowls. When I came looking for her later, she was gone.”
Gabe’s chest tightened so hard he could barely breathe.
“What did he say?”
“That she took off. Said he’d seen her storm down the road with a bag. Said he found a note in her room.” Diane laughed again, bitter this time. “A note that sounded nothing like my daughter.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
She looked at him then, and Gabe understood he had asked the question of a woman who had been trapped long before he was born.
