Keep Her Safe(56)

“That’s the thing . . . Betsy tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Bullshit.” How could my nan—my sweet grandma who made me pancakes on weekends and smothered me with hugs—ignore that?

“Gracie, you have to remember, I grew up in that trailer, too. And I had never come to her so much as suggesting something like that was happening to me. In her mind, it didn’t make sense. And Betsy was a wild kid. She was getting into all kinds of trouble—shoplifting, neighborhood mischief, that sort of thing. She and Brian were butting heads all the time, so your nan assumed Betsy was lying, that she was being an uncontrollable teenager.

“It wasn’t until Betsy ran that she confronted Brian. And he admitted to it. Nan kicked him out, but it was too late. Betsy was gone. Nan never forgave herself. When I phoned her to ask if we could move in, she packed up everything to do with Betsy.”

“And you both went on like she never existed.” I can’t help the accusation in my tone.

My mom’s fingers fumble with the charm dangling from her necklace. “Believe me, neither of us ever forgot about Betsy. But Nan couldn’t handle you asking her questions. She’d have to lie because she couldn’t handle telling you the truth.” After one last look, she passes the picture back to Noah, who hands it to me.

I study Betsy’s—my aunt’s—face. “I thought this was you.”

Mom smiles sadly. “We’re both spitting images of your nan when she was young. People called us twins, ten years apart.”

“And the necklace she’s wearing . . .”

“I sent Betsy that half for her tenth birthday. Told her I’d always wear the other half. It wasn’t anything fancy, just this cheap metal. Thank God, or I would have traded it for a high, I’m sure.”

Noah, who has sat and listened quietly through this, asks with a thoughtful look, “Did Abe ever say anything to you about seeing Betsy in Austin?”

“In Austin?” She frowns. “No. Why?”

He tells her about the night Jackie killed herself, and how Jackie mentioned Betsy. Mom’s left with an equally perplexed look.

“The morning after Abe died, I found that picture of Betsy in the top drawer of the desk. I thought it was strange that it was there. It’s the picture Nan gave to Abe, to show around Tucson, right after she’d run. I had put it away, in a box of photos in the closet.”

“And he never said anything to you about seeing her again? Maybe while working? Are you sure?” I can’t help the doubt in my voice. Would she even remember at this point?

“Your father never talked about work with me. He didn’t want to bring that into our house or our marriage. But he would have told me about seeing Betsy in Austin. Wouldn’t he?” Even as she says that, I can almost see her mind clawing at her memories, first with a shadow of doubt, and then with a touch of realization.

“What is it, Dina?” Noah asks, seeing the same.

“He started working a lot of overtime in those last couple weeks. Or at least that’s what he told me. APD said he wasn’t clocking in extra hours for them. That it was a cover he’d been using to lie to me, to be out at all hours with prostitutes and drug dealers. I could never make sense of that. I figured the department was covering up something, because I knew he was not selling drugs, no matter what they accused him of, but I couldn’t figure out why he’d lie to me, and why he’d be at that seedy motel. For a while I started to wonder if maybe he was cheating on me. But that wasn’t Abe. If you knew him, you’d know he just didn’t have that in him.”

“But what if he had reason to believe Betsy was in Austin? What if he was looking for her?” Noah finishes.

My mother gasps, as if everything suddenly makes sense.

“But why wouldn’t my dad tell her that he’d seen Betsy?” I ask.

“If he was going around looking for her for weeks, then that means he couldn’t find her. Maybe he didn’t want to get your hopes up?” Noah offers, looking toward my mother.

“It would make sense. That whole year . . . it was hard on me.” My mom’s voice cracks.

Despite my anger, my chest pangs with sympathy for her. While I giggled and rode my father’s back and demanded attention like any normal child, I was oblivious to my mother’s silent pain.

“And if Abe was looking for Betsy, that could explain why he was at that motel,” Noah says.

I hold up the picture. “Then why didn’t he take this with him?”

Noah stares at Betsy’s face, considering my question. Finally, he says, “Maybe he thought he didn’t need it.”

“Because he was convinced she was there?”

“He got a call that night,” my mom recalls. “We were sitting on the couch, watching TV. It was late. He answered, and then told me he had to go out for a bit. Something for work. I wasn’t happy, but I knew that it must be important if Abe was leaving me at that hour. He seemed in a rush.”

“And then?”

“That was the last time I saw him alive.”

“Did you tell the police this?”

She nods, her mouth twisting with bitterness. “They said the call came from the phone found on that dead drug dealer who was in the room with Abe. That he called Abe to meet up for a drug exchange. It just . . . it never made sense. Nothing about that night ever made sense to me. When Abe left, he took his Colt .45 with him. I know because I watched him take it out of his safe and check the bullets, and then slide it into the holster I gave him for his birthday, the one with his initials on it. But the police said Abe had been found with a stolen gun on him. I told the police about the Colt .45. They said they’d make note of it.”