Page 45 of Little Stolen Memories

“Sure.”

“As I was leaving the park tonight, I told Owen I loved him. I said I’d always loved him. I also said I was sorry he was taken before we had the chance to start our love story together.”

“What you said … it’s beautiful.”

We sat for a time, enjoying the wine, and unwinding from the heaviness of the day. Given the knowledge the killer had reached out to her in a personal way, I was impressed with how she was handling it. The nervousness she’d had the day before was gone. For now, at least.

“I have another question for you,” I said. “What happened to the screen on your window?”

“The cops wondered the same thing. This morning, a bird smacked right into the window with such force, it dented some of the metal around the screen. I removed the screen and put it in the trunk of my car. I was going to drive to the hardware store and get it replaced, but the day got away from me.”

“Is the bird okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I went out to check on the little guy. He was sitting on the grass. I thought he’d hurt himself, but I think he was just stunned. After a couple of minutes, he flapped his wings and flew away like nothing had ever happened.”

“I’m a big fan of birds,” I said. “It makes me a nerd, I suppose, but I don’t care. Something about watching them brings me peace.”

“Have you always been into birds?”

I smiled and said, “Ever since my father died. I haven’t told many people this, but sometimes when I think of him, a bird appears and just hovers around, not close enough for me to touch, but close enough.”

“Is it the same kind of bird every time or …?”

“Different birds, but the behavior is the same.”

Cora reached for the bottle of wine and turned toward me. “Want a refill?”

“I’m all right. I should head out soon. But you go right ahead.”

She shrugged, poured a second glass for herself, and then sat there, staring at it. Something was bothering her.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“There’s so much going through my mind right now.”

“Care to share? I’m a good listener.”

“When I found out about the message left at the cabin and on my car window, I wanted to believe it was a joke, you know? I wanted to believe he’s not around here, that he doesn’t care about what happened to me anymore. I wanted to believe someone else wrote it—not him. Do you think it’s possible?”

It was a question I’d been debating myself.

“My gut says yes, he wrote it,” I said.

Cora bit down on her lip, going quiet for a time.

“I’m a lot stronger of a person now than I was in the past,” she said. “I also know my way around a gun. There’s strength in that.”

“Is the writing on the wall and in the note the only thing that’s bothering you, or is there something else?”

“I … I want to talk to you about someone. I’ll be right back.”

Cora left the room, returning with the yearbook in hand.

She set it down in front of me on the kitchen counter and flipped it open, thumbing through pages until she got to the one she wanted. “It’s amazing the things I’ve remembered as I’ve looked through some of this book.”

“What stood out to you the most?”

She pressed a finger against a black-and-white photo and said, “Him.”

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