Page 23 of A Sister's Secret

"Mind if I join you?" Lisa asked an older man whose eyes held the depth of the ocean, his face carved from years at sea.

He glanced up, curiosity winning over reluctance. "Sure thing, miss. What brings you to our little corner of the world?"

Lisa explained, her voice threaded with resolve, how she was searching for answers about her sister-in-law, trying to piece together a life that had unraveled in silence and shadow. The man listened, nodding along, his gaze never leaving her face.

"Ah, yes, I remember her," he said finally. "She had a look about her—like she was waiting for something or running from it. Never could tell which."

"Did she meet anyone here? Friends, maybe?" Lisa pressed, her instincts on high alert.

"Friends?" he scoffed gently, shaking his head. "No, but there were people looking for her now and then. They came down by the docks and asked questions. I can't say they were friends, though."

"Looking for her?" Lisa echoed, her pulse quickening.

"Yep, some guy asking questions, same as you're doing. Didn't seem too friendly, if you catch my drift." His eyes held a cautionary glint.

“Was it this guy?” she asked, showing him the same printed-out photo she had shown Mrs. Hanson.

“Well, yes, that’s him. Didn’t like him much. Never told him about the girl or the child.”

“What do you mean the child?” she asked.

“She had a kid. Young one at the time; he’s about nine now.”

“Where is he?” she asked, startled.

“Lives with his dad, Jonas Hesston. They had a house a little out of town.”

“Do you know the address?” Lisa asked, her heart racing hard in her chest. Michelle had a son? Oliver had a nephew? This changed everything.

“Sure, I’ll write it on a napkin,” he said. “Hey, Edna, do you have a pen?”

Mrs. Hanson brought one to him, and he wrote an address on a white napkin. “Here you go. Nice fella. He should be friendly to you.”

"Thank you," Lisa said, offering a warm, appreciative smile that masked the cold dread creeping up her spine. "You've been very helpful."

As she left the bar, the puzzle pieces began to form a clearer image, one that promised answers yet hinted at danger lurking beneath the surface. Her determination solidified; she would not be deterred. For Oliver, for his sister, for justice, Lisa would chase down every lead, no matter where it took her. The thrill of the hunt surged within her, propelling her forward into the unknown.

The journey back to her own small town was a blur, the landscape a monochrome smear beyond the car window. Lisa gripped the wheel, her knuckles white, each mile bringing her closer to a confrontation she never imagined having with Oliver.

When she reached the outskirts of town, twilight had cast its indigo hue over the world, and the Thompson family café came into view like an oasis of warmth. She parked and sat for a moment, gathering the shattered pieces of her resolve.

"Oliver needs to know," she murmured to herself. "He deserves the truth."

She found him in the back amidst a graveyard of wood shavings and half-finished projects, his hands moving with a craftsman’s grace over a piece of cedar. He looked up, his smile fading at the sight of her solemn expression.

"Lisa? What's wrong?"

She approached, the distance between them charged with unspoken truths. Her hands shook as she told him everything she had learned today.

For a long moment, Oliver said nothing, the silence stretching taut between them. Then, his shoulders slumped, defeat and sorrow etching deep lines across his brow.

"Let's sit down," he whispered.

They moved to the small table they used for impromptu family dinners, the wood scarred with memories. There, under the dim light of a single bulb, Oliver nodded slowly, letting it all sink in.

“I have a nephew?”

Lisa swallowed and placed a hand on top of his. “Yes. He lives with his dad. According to the locals, Michelle left one day and never came back. The dad assumed she had taken off—leaving him and the kid. That’s how the story went. So, he’s been taking care of him for the past six months, probably not knowing what happened to her since no one knew where she had been or where she lived—or even that she had a family.”

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