« How do you know her name? »
Mark sank onto one of the moving boxes.
« My father told me. »
Nine years disappeared in an instant.
I wasn’t standing in my new neighbors’ garage anymore.
I was back in Maine, sitting on the floor of a rental cabin while somebody from the search team asked me for the third time what Julian had been wearing.
Gray sweater. Jeans. Hiking boots.
He had said he was getting firewood.
He had kissed the top of my head on his way out.
Then he was gone.
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