Her eyes shifted from left to right. I decided to bluff.
“I checked the marital records,” I said. “You two were never divorced.”
Sylvia Avery let out a small groan. There was no way Beehive could have heard it, but her ears still perked up like a dog’s hearing a sound no one else could. I gave Beehive the same “all’s fine” smile.
“How did your husband remarry if you two were never divorced?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“What happened, Miss Avery?”
She shook her head. “Let it be.”
“He didn’t run away with a coed, did he?”
“Yes, he did,” she said. Now it was her turn to try to sound firm. But it wasn’t there. It was too defensive, too practiced. “Yes, Aaron ran off and left me.”
“Lanford College is a small campus, you know that, right?”
“Of course I know it. I lived there for seven years. So what?”
“A female student quitting to run off with a professor would have made news. Her parents would have called. There would have been staff meetings. Something. I checked the records. No one dropped out when your husband vanished. No female student dropped her classes. No female student was unaccounted for.”
This again was a bluff but a good one. Campuses as small as Lanford do not keep secrets well. If a student ran off with a professor, everyone, especially Mrs. Dinsmore, would know her name.
“Maybe she was at Strickland. That state college down the street. I think she went there.”
“That’s not what happened,” I said.
“Please,” Miss Avery said. “What are you trying to do?”
“Your husband vanished. And now, twenty-five years later, so has your daughter.”
That got her attention. “What?” She shook her head too firmly, reminding me of a stubborn child. “I told you. Natalie lives overseas.”
“No, Miss Avery. She doesn’t. She never married Todd. That was a ruse. Todd was already married. Someone murdered him a little more than a week ago.”
It was one bombshell too many. Sylvia Avery’s head lolled first to the side and then down as though her neck had turned to rubber. Behind her, I saw Beehive pick up the phone. She kept her eye on me and started talking to someone. The wooden smile was gone.
“Natalie was such a happy girl.” Her head was still down, her chin on her chest. “You can’t imagine. Or maybe you can. You loved her. You got to see the real her, but that was much later. After so much changed back.”
“Changed back from what?”
“See, when Natalie was little, my God, that girl lived for her father. He’d come through the door after class, and she’d run to him screaming with joy.” Sylvia Avery finally lifted her head. There was a distant smile on her face, her eyes seeing the long-ago memory. “Aaron would pick her up and twirl her and she’d laugh so hard . . .”
She shook her head. “We were all so damn happy.”
“What happened, Miss Avery?”
“He ran off.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does.”
“Poor Natalie. She couldn’t let it go and now . . .”
“Now what?”
“You don’t understand. You can never understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
“Why? Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the man who loves her,” I said. “I’m the man she loves.”
She didn’t know how to react to that. Her eyes were still on the floor, almost as though she didn’t have the strength to lift even her gaze. “When her father ran off, Natalie changed. She grew so sullen. I lost that little girl. It was like Aaron took her happiness with him. She couldn’t accept it. Why would her father abandon her? What did she do wrong? Why didn’t he love her anymore?”
I pictured this, my Natalie as a child, feeling lost and abandoned by her own father. I could feel the pain in my chest.
“She had trust issues for so long. You have no idea. She pushed everyone away and yet she never gave up hope.” She looked up at me. “Do you know anything about hope, Jake?”
“I think I do,” I said.
“It’s the cruelest thing in the world. Death is better. When you’re dead, the pain stops. But hope keeps raising you way up high, only to drop you to the hard ground. Hope cradles your heart in its hand and then it crushes it with a fist. Over and over. It never stops. That’s what hope does.”
She put her hands on her lap and looked at me hard. “So, you see, I tried to take that hope away.”
I nodded. “You tried to make Natalie forget about her father,” I said.
“Yes.”
“By saying he ran off and abandoned all of you?”
Her eyes began to well up. “I thought that was best. Do you see? I thought that would make Natalie forget him.”
“You told Natalie that her father got remarried,” I said. “You told her that he had other children. But all that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
Sylvia Avery wouldn’t answer. The expression on her face hardened.
“Miss Avery?”
She looked up at me. “Leave me alone.”
“I need to know—”
“I don’t care what you need to know. I want you to leave me alone.”
She started to wheel back. I grabbed hold of her chair. The chair came to a sudden halt. The blanket on her lap fell toward the floor. When I looked down, my hand released the chair without any command from her. Half of her right leg had been amputated. She pulled the blanket up, slower than she had to. She wanted me to see.
“Diabetes,” she said to me. “I lost it three years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Believe me, it was nothing.” I reached out again, but she knocked my hand away. “Good-bye, Jake. Leave my family alone.” She started to wheel back. No choice now. I had to go nuclear.
“Do you remember a student named Archer Minor?”
Her chair stopped. Her mouth went slack.
“Archer Minor was enrolled in your husband’s class at Lanford,” I said. “Do you remember him?”
“How . . . ?” Her lips moved but no words came out for a few moments. Then: “Please.” If her voice had sounded merely frightened before, she was downright terrified now. “Please leave this alone.”
“Archer Minor is dead, you know. He was murdered.”
“Good riddance,” she said, and then she shut her mouth tightly, as though she regretted the words the moment they came out.
“Please tell me what happened.”
“Let it go.”
“I can’t.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with you. It isn’t your business.” She shook her head. “It makes sense.”
“What does?”
“That Natalie would fall for you.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re a dreamer, like her father. He couldn’t let things go either. Some people can’t. I’m an old woman. Listen to me. The world is messy, Jake. Some people want it to be black-and-white. Those people always pay a
