The officers said that when they arrived, the vehicle was empty.
I put up flyers. I drove out every time someone called with a possible sighting. I sat across from detectives who grew progressively less hopeful every time I came back.
After three years, the official assessment was that Lucy was most likely still missing. Friends and family told me it was time to start accepting that and try to move on.
I never did. Not because I was stubborn.
The note said, “Forgive me.” You don’t ask forgiveness if you don’t plan to be there to hear it.
Friends and family told me it was time to start accepting that and try to move on.
I never dated anyone else. Not once in 20 years. I still loved Lucy, and not a single day passed without me wondering what those haunting words in her note truly meant.
***
Back in the grocery store, I faced the young woman wearing the same silver medallion and tried to keep my voice level.
“Could I ask… what’s your mom’s name?”
She hesitated while her hand stayed on the locket. “Why are you asking?”
I still loved Lucy.
“I know this is strange,” I said. “I know how this sounds. But I gave a locket exactly like that one to someone many years ago. It had the same stone and chain. Even the same small scratch near the setting. I just need to understand how you came to have it.”
She looked at me for a long moment, weighing something.
“Her name was Lucy.”
I gripped the cart handle.
“LUCY?”
“I gave a locket exactly like that one to someone many years ago.”
“I have to go,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
She was at the door before I’d processed what had happened, and then she was outside, walking fast.
I left my cart exactly where it was and followed her.
I want to be clear that I’ve never done anything like this in my life. I’m a 53-year-old man who teaches high school history and goes to bed before 11 p.m.
Following strangers is not something I do.
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