He told himself she was out there somewhere, starting over, punishing him by disappearing. It was easier to believe in her vengeance than in her death. But even vengeance required communication, and she’d left him nothing—no note, trace, or clue. Just the echo of his own cruelty.
One gray morning, he drove back to the gas station, parking in the same spot. The attendant recognized him instantly. “You again?” the boy muttered. Richard forced a smile. “Did anyone ever come back asking about her?” The boy shook his head. “You’re kidding, right? The media were here every day, a week, after she was last seen.”