Not closely.
But there were holiday greetings.
Church picnics.
Occasional conversations outside grocery stores.
I remembered Douglas’s mother once standing in our kitchen beside my father.
I must have been eleven.
They were laughing about something.
When my mother entered the room, both of them stopped.
At the time I hadn’t thought anything of it.
Now the memory felt different.
Everything did.
“Did my mother know they had been engaged?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Small town,” Douglas said.
I laughed softly.
“Of course.”
Lucas picked up the photograph.
“Marianne told my mother that the night before the baby disappeared, your father came to the hospital.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Did she speak to him?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“She wouldn’t tell Margaret.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was afraid of him.”
I stared at Lucas.
“My father?”
“I know that’s difficult to hear.”
“No.”
I stood.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
