A nervous, pitiful laugh escapes me. I’m being dramatic. Leo never presented any evidence of psychopathy. Not even the faintest hint of menace. He was cordial, even tender. He’d often text Amelia and me snapshots of him with Mom, proud, almost boyish. He’d volunteer to drive them to Seattle to meet us for dinner. We liked him—werootedfor him. When they split, it was a loss to our family unit, in a way.
The wise part of my brain reminds me: People are deceiving. The brightest smiles can hide the darkest truths.
I press the doorbell. The faint, humming chime rings from the other side.
No turning back now.
I stare at the door, beckoning it to move; almost hoping a nice lady opens it instead, telling me I have the wrong house. But the door sweeps inward, and there he is.
Leo.
He looks almost unchanged: tall, broad-shouldered, with thenatural strength of a man accustomed to hard work. His charcoal hair, cut close, dips into a slight widow’s peak. His brows are thick but orderly—eyes startlingly blue. They meet mine with the same confidence, the same winsome smile I remember.
“Hello,” he says, clearly befuddled by my unannounced visit. A pause hangs between us, a thick dubiety in the air. He’s either unsure why I’m here or silently bracing himself for the questions he already suspects.
“Hi, Leo.”
He stammers. “S-sorry… I’m surprised to see you.” Leo shakes his head, steps closer. “How are you?” He envelops me in a tight hug—one I lose myself in when I imagine him again as the father figure I once had.
“I’m getting through,” I say into his shoulder. Stepping back, I add, “I’m wondering if you could help answer a few questions about my mom.”
He exhales, cheeks puffing slightly as he considers my request. “Of course. Come on in.” He scratches the back of his head and opens the door wider so I can slip through.
I cross the threshold, admiring the sleek décor of a fifty-seven-year-old bachelor. A woodsy candle flickers on the coffee table, and everything appears clean, systematic—curated without being pretentious. I move toward the living room—boasting an unobscured view of the walkway I just traversed.
“I didn’t realize you were back here,” he says.
“Only for a few days,” I say, settling into a plush chair.
Leo sits across from me, elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward in a position that shows he’s an open book. Jeans and a knit pullover make him look casual, almost vulnerable, on this quiet Sunday morning.
“It was awful… finding her that day,” he says, forlorn. “I’ve been torn up about it. Can’t get it out of my head…”
I nod in clear agreement.
“I never stopped caring for Alice.”
I try to find a response, feeling the weight of his words. When I don’t fill the silence quickly enough, he does. “I’m glad to see you back in Blair, though. Is Amelia home, too?”
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting in my chair. “We’re just sorting through the house. It’s been a lot.” I pause again, figuring out the best approach. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you—to see if you’d seen my mom recently? I’m trying to connect some dots.” I mean business, but I don’t let my voice show it. Coming in accusatorially could make him defensive—or make him wonder if I’m onto something. If there’s even anything to be onto.
He leans back in thought, interlocking his fingers. When he lifts a hand to his stubble, stroking the fine hairs along his jaw, he says slowly, “I saw her at her work the week before—though it was quick. And the last time I saw her before that was at the End of Summer lake event. So, about a month ago. Two or so weeks before she died. We chatted for a bit, nothing groundbreaking.” With a quick inhale, he adds, “You know your mom and I were still friendly after we split up. Not an ounce of bad blood.”
A flicker of unease passes through me.Odd thing to mention,I think, brows furrowing.
“Whydidyou break up?” I ask. “I don’t remember the story.” They had been friends for so long. If anyone could have made it work, my bet was on them.
“Why does anyone?” Leo says, scrunching his lips. “Alice was alone for so many years and I think she was used to her life being justso. I felt like… I was in the way sometimes. Alice was good at being alone. It just took me two years to realize it.”
As his words settle, a scurrying noise escapes from somewhere in the house. I whip my head toward the stairwell, expecting someone to come trudging down them. But I’m met with silence.
“Is someone else home?” I ask, knowing he doesn’t have children, yet unaware if he’s dating anyone new.
“No. Just me. I haven’t seen anyone serious since your mom and I split.”
Leo had been married for about fifteen years before he met my mom. His wife couldn’t bear children, and either that—or something else—ended the marriage. She moved away; he stayed in the same house—still here a decade later, childless anyway, surrounded by memories likely both comforting and haunting.
Another sound drifts through the room, this time past the kitchen.
