“It’s been almost ten years.” Muriel sighs. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but there’s a chance we may never find their bodies.”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “We have to. Then everyone will know exactly what he did and how many people he hurt. Their families will finally have closure.”
No one speaks.
“If either of you want to stop, I would understand.”
Muriel shakes her head. “No.”
“Same,” says Hana. “But you getting a hobby is a good idea. Having something in your life other than death and taxes.”
“I vote for you knocking boots with your neighbor,” suggests Muriel.
Hana laughs.
It’s not a bad idea. Not the having-sex-with-Noah part. The bit about me getting a hobby. Bringing the missing women home is my mission, but maybe there’s room for more. Maybe. “What if he’s only being nice to me because he doesn’t know who I am?”
“He might know and not care,” says Hana.
“Or he might know and be waiting to form his own opinion.” Muriel’s gaze stays on the screen. “It makes sense to try and protect yourself after everything that’s happened. But you don’t want to overdo it.”
I am not convinced.
Which is when Muriel stabs at the screen with a finger while asking, “What does this button do?”
“You followed me on social media,” says Noah with a smile.
“And you followed me back.” There’s no way I’m telling him Muriel was responsible. How embarrassing. “On your way to work?”
It’s midmorning Wednesday and we’re standing in my driveway. He’s dressed in a plain white tee, black pants, andmatching Birkenstock leather clogs. Which I guess is what chefs wear. I am wearing my old blue jeans, a boxy tee, and a baseball cap. I used to like sundresses and crop tops and such. But now it’s all about boring, safe, nondescript clothing to blend with the masses. Not standing too tall in case someone sees me as a threat. Things like that. People still often recognize me. They associate me with the fear and horror they felt back then when more women than normal were disappearing. So long as I avoid eye contact and keep moving everything is usually fine.
“Yeah.” He nods to the bags in the back of the small Subaru SUV. “Can I help with those?”
My first instinct is to say no. A good indicator it’s the wrong thing to do. I don’t want to hide when it comes to him. Maybe Hana and Muriel are right about it being time for my world to get a bit bigger. “Sure.”
He steps forward and inspects my grocery purchases. There’s no other word for it. But me and my things being perceived by this particular man isn’t so bad. His interest doesn’t seem prurient like some. Then he gathers up the bulk of the bags in an impressive feat of strength and organization. What a useful person to have around.
“Just at the front door would be great. Thanks.”
He nods.
A cop car cruises down the street, but I don’t recognize the person behind the wheel. Which is a good thing. “I know you’re dying to say something about all of the microwave meals.”
“There’s nothing wrong with convenience,” he says. “I’m more of a frozen pizza guy myself. I actually need to stock up. Where do you recommend getting groceries that’s local?”
“I like the co-op.”
“Duly noted. Haven’t seen you in your bedroom window lately.” He stops and blinks. “That sounded sort of perverted and stalkerish, didn’t it?”
“Just a little.”
“Shit.” He deposits the bags by the door. One side of his mouth rises higher than the other and it’s charming as fuck. “Sorry ’bout that.”
Music is blasting from the student share house. And the old couple across the road are out working in their garden again. I refuse to worry about whether they’re watching or what they’re thinking. We’re not doing anything wrong. Marigold, daisies, dahlia, and zinnia are in bloom in their yard, making for a riot of color. End of summer is a good time for gardening. My grandmother used to love growing things. She had a theory that gardens should be half pretty and half purposeful. For every tomato plant or cucumber vine there had to be a flower. She was big on balance. Which is not something my life has seen much of lately.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
