We’ve found each other again, I thought. I can’t throw it away. Why am I so afraid?
On the way out the shelter door, I saw Hannah talking to a small group of residents. In front of the women, I explained that I was talking a short trip. I hoped that having them all hear me might tamp down the gossip a bit, in case anyone realized Max and I were both gone over the same weekend. “I’m visiting old friends in Salt Lake,” I said. “I haven’t seen them in such a long time. I can’t wait. I’ll be back Sunday.”
“That’s great. Have fun,” Hannah said, drawing me in for a hug. “Clara, you deserve the time off. You work so hard. What a wonderful thing you did solving the Johansson murders.”
I watched the faces of the women behind her. None of them smiled or echoed Hannah’s praise.
Another chilly morning, I raised the liftgate to load my suitcase in the Suburban. On the highway, I drove past the Johanssons’ bison grazing in a field and thought about Mother Naomi and Jacob, their wedding planned for that afternoon. I wondered if they had considered inviting me. Probably not. As an apostate, I wasn’t allowed to attend such ceremonies. I was, after all, no longer a member in good standing of Elijah’s People.
Telling myself it didn’t matter, I drove on, intending to head directly to the cabin. I thought about Max waiting for me there. What would we be like together? This would be the first time we’d truly be alone. I glanced at the clock. Nine a.m. I should arrive at the cabin by noon.
I picked up speed on the highway, and I thought about how I’d pass the road that went to the river, to the place where Myles and Laurel spent their final time together. Again, I had an overwhelming sense of matters not put to rest. That brought to mind the lingering doubts that bothered me about the case. The first point on the list: that we’d never found Laurel’s final letter. She’d written so faithfully, right up until a week before the murders. Then, that final Sunday: nothing.
Old unanswered questions filled my mind: How did they pass the letters to each other? I wondered. Did someone do it for them?
I didn’t think so. There’d been no evidence of that. How then? I wondered. I thought of the river, of the big rock where Laurel sat, and when the time came, instead of continuing on to the cabin, I called Max.
“You’re not coming,” he said, deep disappointment in his voice.
“I am,” I said. “But I’ll be a little late. I’m stopping at the river on the way.”
“Why?” he asked. “Old times’ sake?”
“Not because of us,” I said, although I might have added, I do think of you—of us—there. “I want to take one more look around, see if I can find Laurel’s last letter.”
“The letter?” Max said. “I’d forgotten about that. What makes you think she even wrote one? And if she did, why would it be there?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Except that so much happened at the river. That’s where they were together. That’s where we found Myles’s body.”
Silence for a moment, and then Max gently asked: “Clara, the case is closed. We solved it. What do you hope the letter will tell you?”
“The answers,” I said. “To all of the questions.”
Thirty-Eight
Despite it appearing that much of Alber knew of the secluded spot, I had never run into anyone else there. This time, too, I was alone. The water on the bank undulated in gentle waves, and the air smelled of the fall forest. The river was about seventy feet across—I could stand on one bank and stare through the trees at the other side. I wondered where Carl hid to take the photos of Laurel and Myles on that final Saturday. I focused on a rock outcropping nestled in the trees and speculated that he’d peered at them from behind the brush. I shuddered when I thought of Laurel and Myles arguing, unaware that Carl watched them from the shadows.
Looking out at the water, I sat where Scotty had seen Laurel, on the big rock on the shore. I thought of Max in that exact place the evening we found Myles’s body, and then I turned and looked at the spot where so many years ago, I brushed my hand against his dimpled chin and kissed him.