Felicia invited me to sit down in a living room that matched her outfit and offered me a hot peppermint tea. She talked while she fixed it, her monologue distinctly devoid of substance. She told me the weather was unseasonably cold, as if I hadn’t lived three-quarters of my life right around the corner, and explained about the Christmas light contest, to be judged by the Swanton Chamber of Commerce. Felicia had never entered before, but she’d always wanted to. This was going to be her year. By the time the tea had steeped and we were settled on the couch, she’d covered every topic imaginable, aside from her husband’s death.

I sipped from a black-and-yellow-striped mug that read Don’t worry, bee happy and said, “I’d like to talk to you about Brett.”

Felicia warmed her hands on a mug of her own and sighed. “The man’s never been so popular.”

I gave her my condolences. Added, “This can’t be easy.”

“I still thought about him sometimes. Wondered where he ended up.” Her laugh, a sharp ha, gave me a start.

The pastel room, the sinus-clearing tea, my smiling aunt—all of it made me feel ill, but I soldiered on. “As you know, the police are conducting a criminal investigation to determine exactly what happened. I’m not a part of that, but—”

“But you want to help.” That last word—help—was delivered with a slightly disparaging look. I got the sense she didn’t believe my presence in her house was totally selfless.

“Your mother called,” she explained. “She told me you were in town. I worked the rest out myself.”

So Crissy wasn’t alone in thinking of me as a sicko obsessed with crime. Felicia’s mint tea wasn’t doing much to calm my nerves. “I know the police have already stopped by, so I’m sorry if these questions feel redundant. We’re all just trying to track Brett’s movements around the time of his departure, so we can figure out how and when he ended up back in Swanton.”

“The departure part’s easy,” she said. “He quit his job on June 19th of 1998.”

The same day we went to Brett’s factory. That was when Abe and I stumbled upon his plan to clear out. The receptionist at the manufacturing plant took pity on Abe and divulged more than she should have. Aw, honey, didn’t your daddy tell you? He’s moving to Philly. This was his last day. Abe was shattered. From the moment Brett left Felicia, packing up his Levi’s and his bottle cap collection—he used to let Abe organize them by color, challenge him to see how many he could stack—Abe imagined he’d eventually come home to his kids. He didn’t.

If the day Brett quit was June 19th, then June 19th had been a Friday. I was sure about that because we had pizza for dinner that night. Friday was always pizza night at my house, my favorite. Abe’s too. But Abe didn’t join us for that particular meal. He was home, feeling betrayed and humiliated by both of his parents.