Tenemos que hablar.
I erased it.
Typed again.
I can’t keep doing this.
Deleted that too.
Finally I wrote exactly what I felt.
We need to talk. I can’t spend my life waiting for another man who doesn’t come home.
I pressed send.
Then I waited.
One hour.
Nothing.
Two hours.
Still nothing.
I told myself he was sleeping.
Driving.
Working.
Anything except avoiding me.
Then, just after ten in the morning…
Someone knocked on my front door.
Officer Hayes stood outside holding the clear plastic evidence bag.
Within minutes my world had turned upside down.
After he left, Ellie stood beside me as I continued staring at Clinton’s photograph.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Finally she whispered,
“Mom…”
I looked at her.
“You should call the number.”
I turned the picture over once more.
If anything happens to me, find Laura. She deserves the truth.
Every time I read those words, they seemed heavier.
As though Clinton had somehow reached across seven years just to place them back into my hands.
I picked up my phone.
My thumb hovered over the numbers.
“What if whoever answers doesn’t know anything?”
Ellie shook her head.
“They know something.”
“What makes you so sure?”
She looked at Bill’s wallet.
“Because someone carried Dad’s picture around for seven years.”
She was right.
I slowly entered the phone number.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Just as I thought no one would answer…
A woman picked up.
“…Hello?”
“My name is Laura.”
Silence.
“I found your number on the back of a photograph.”
The silence grew even longer.
Finally I whispered the words that seemed impossible to say aloud.
“My husband was Clinton.”
On the other end of the line…
Someone inhaled sharply.
