But I can remember sitting in a booth at a restaurant called the Nowhere Café, across the street from City Hall. You were in another booth with Tom, whose hair had gone prematurely silver, making him look even more handsome and distinguished, if that was possible. Yes, seeing him made me fall in love with him all over again, and I flatter myself that he still had feelings for me, too. He’d never married. His whole life, he told me, was you—and obviously, the feeling was mutual. I could see that in how the two of you looked at each other. You idolized him, Shelby. You would have done anything for him. That was as it should be.

Being free again, I had decisions to make. Tom said I should move to Mittel County and adopt a false name if necessary. He even hinted at the idea of our being together. I thought about it. Oh, yes, I thought about it. But there are some realities in life. I wouldn’t have been able to be so close to both of you day after day and still keep my secret. Sooner or later, it would have come out. I told myself that I was protecting the two of you, but I guess the truth is, I was also protecting myself.

I was scared, Shelby.

Scared of you. Scared of what you’d say to me, how you’d feel about me, if you knew who I was. I’ve said I would understand if you hated me, and I mean that. But I couldn’t bear to actually hear those words from your mouth. It was easier to keep you as a sweet little dream and not have to deal with the ugly reality of making amends for my past.

But I couldn’t move far away, either. I couldn’t simply leave you behind. So I moved to the little resort town of Martin’s Point on the far side of the county, and I got a job at an ice cream shop. My claim to fame was suggesting a flavor called Ursulina Poop—chocolate-hazelnut ice cream swirled with fudge and studded with nuts and malted milk balls—which became their biggest seller. It was part-time seasonal work, but I still had some money in the bank, enough to live a frugal life in a little apartment. I was an independent soul growing up, and I still am. I didn’t really need people, and after years behind bars, I found it hard to be around others for any length of time. I spent my days quietly. I had the library, and I had the national forest.

Yes, I still hiked whenever I could.

I still listened.

But in all these years, I’ve never heard it again. Hufffffff.