The Woman Who Wasn't There

At least in the very beginning, he added silently. That was before Uncle Mike had allowed his jealousy of his brothers to drive them apart. He and his family still turned up at some of the functions, but there was a difference, a sadness that emanated from Patience and Patrick that even he could feel. None of the younger Cavanaughs had realized just how deeply the wounds ran until Uncle Mike had been killed in the line of duty. After that, certain facts slowly made their way to the surface.

His late uncle never felt he measured up to either his younger or especially his older brother. It turned him bitter. While he was still a decent cop, he wasn’t as good as Andrew or Brian. He took his feelings of inadequacy out on his family. And looked elsewhere for gratification. When he turned to Uncle Andrew’s wife, Rose, it resulted in near tragedy.

Not knowing what to think, what to believe, Uncle Andrew had argued with Aunt Rose. She left the house in a huff and disappeared for fifteen years. Everyone thought she was dead until Uncle Andrew, who had never given up hope, had finally managed to locate her. Aunt Rose had been in a car accident the morning she left. The head injury she’d suffered, along with the emotional strain she was under, caused her to forget who she was. It had taken love and patience, not to mention an incredible amount of luck, something he’d always believed in, to bring Aunt Rose back to herself.

But that was a story he figured he could tell Delene once he found out hers.

If he found out hers, he amended.

“You were lucky.” The words were uttered so softly, had the radio been on, he wouldn’t have heard them.

But he had. And he’d also heard her tone, pregnant with unspoken angst. “And you weren’t.”

Delene sighed, shifting in her seat. He was cornering her. She hated feeling cornered. Russell would always corner her. Physically and emotionally. Chipping away at her until she caved.

But that was then, this was now. And she didn’t cave anymore. Or answer questions she didn’t want to answer.

“You really don’t stop, do you?” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. They’d been driving for fifteen minutes. The fluffy reporter should have been all talked out by now. “I think it’s safe for you to take me back now, Detective Cavanaugh.”

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