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Carrie wanted to believe that moving back to Texas would be okay.

I’m doing it for Dad, for Luke, for Emily.

And for me.

This was what she told herself as she pulled away from Dr. Bernay’s building, a glass rectangle in downtown Los Angeles. Stopped at a light, Carrie thought of Luke. She’d texted him this morning. He’d said that he’d been called in early to help at a scene and everything was good.

Unlike last night.

He’d alarmed her, hitting something driving home from a bar in a storm. He’d assured her everything was fine.

But he sounded different. Like he was afraid. Maybe he experienced a flashback.

Carrie couldn’t sleep for much of the night. At one point she’d woken in a panic. She could never lose sight of the fact that Luke had his own reasons for leaving the LAPD and the city. She hadn’t raised this with Anna in today’s session, but now she wondered if his hitting something was an omen around their return to Texas.

She weighed her thoughts.

I’m just anxious. Moving back is my decision and it’s the right decision.

A horn sounded behind her. The light had changed.

Carrie continued onto the freeway. Half an hour later she was in Montecito Heights, a quiet hilly neighborhood with views. She parked next to her aunt’s Tesla in the driveway of their modest, cottage-sized bungalow, got out and sighed.

The For Sale sign was gone. Soon the movers would come. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but she and Luke had had a good life in California where Emily was born. Yes, a good life , she thought, memories stirring before she blinked them away.

Stepping inside, she put her keys on the entry table and went to the living room. Emily was on the floor playing with her plastic stacking rings. Her eyes brightened when Carrie swept her into her arms with a flutter of coos and kisses.

“How was she?” Carrie asked her aunt Pearl.

“A perfect little cherub.”

“Did she eat?”

“I gave her some cut-up fruit and toast.”

Carrie tickled Emily, making her giggle.

“What a good girl,” Carrie said, then smelled the baby’s bottom. “Oh, someone needs freshening up.”

Carrie got the change bag, spread the blanket on the floor, placed Emily on it and got busy while Pearl rose from the sofa to make tea.

“How did it go with your shrink?” Pearl said.

Carrie smiled. Aunt Pearl was a woman without pretense who hit you with absolute directness.

Long divorced, Pearl had never had kids or remarried. Not going to dance that dance again , she always said. Her failed marriage to a screenwriter happened after she’d arrived in California from Texas to pursue acting, mainly getting commercials and small parts in shows and movies.

Always working, she rarely visited Clear River County except for holidays, and for Carrie’s mother’s funeral. Carrie remembered how Pearl had consoled Carrie’s dad, Vernon, who was Pearl’s brother. He’d looked like everything inside him had shattered, and Pearl sat alone with him, talking softly. She consoled Carrie with a crushing hug, whispering: You’re strong, you’ll survive this .

Pearl’s words proved prophetic when a few years later, Carrie, then aged seventeen, emerged as the sole survivor of an attack that still traumatized her. Like her mother’s death, the incident had shaken her father.

In the time that followed, Carrie struggled through her senior year. Wanting to protect her, Carrie’s dad urged her to move to California and live with Pearl, who’d insisted. Becoming a second mother to Carrie, Pearl helped her enroll in college in LA to study graphic design.

After graduating and finding a position with an agency that produced promotions for TV and movies, Carrie got an apartment in Burbank on Glenoaks Boulevard.

She liked being on her own.

She had friends from school, work and her neighborhood. But at times, walking alone on the street, shopping or parking her car, she felt she was being watched. Sometimes, she even thought she was being followed by a man, an indistinct stranger, always distant, always turning away whenever she stared in his direction. Her suspicion never deepened enough to warrant calling police. Maybe it was fallout from Texas—the embodiment of her fears. Or maybe it was life in a big city.

Whenever Carrie had mentioned it to her father during his visits or calls, their conversation inevitably devolved into his questioning her about the attack in Texas.

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing. I can’t remember details.”

“What about Donnie Ray Hyde?”

Her father always brought up Donnie Ray Hyde, who was on death row in Texas for committing another murder. Investigators suspected Hyde, a drifter, had also been the perpetrator in Carrie’s case. But with no hard evidence, they couldn’t charge him.

“I don’t remember, Dad. I told you.”

“Not a single detail?”

“Dad, please. I don’t want to discuss it.”

“Nothing that could help the case?”

“I can only remember running, then the river. Don’t you think I’d tell you if I remembered more?”

“I’ll always be concerned.”

She knew he would. He was being a father and wanted her to take precautions. Still, she’d made it clear she was not getting a gun for safety—“I don’t ever want to touch one again, Dad.” Carrie had agreed to carry pepper spray to ease his concern.

That concern eased further when she met Luke Conway, an LAPD officer, at a reception for a promo her agency had done for the city. He was in uniform and had a shy smile. They had a small-world moment when she discovered he was from a Texas town near Clear River. He swore he’d first seen Carrie years earlier, when she was a teen working at Whataburger. After meeting in California, they hit it off, dated, got married, bought a house and had Emily.

They were living their dream.

Until the incident with Luke. It didn’t matter that the investigation by the DA found he was justified. It had changed him.

It was around this time that Carrie’s father called to say he’d been diagnosed with colon cancer. Stunned, she dropped the phone, collapsing on the sofa. After picking up the phone, her fingers shaking, voice trembling, Carrie asked her father for more information. Reluctant at first, he sounded strong, telling her his condition had progressed and he was receiving treatment. Then, his voice calm, resolved, he said: “Doc tells me it’s advanced and I got about two or three years.”

Carrie flew to Texas with Emily, Luke and Pearl to see him. He was thinner but not in pain. Looking at her dad, Carrie once again confronted what she, her father and her husband, like everyone in the world, were facing: the fragility of life.

Seeing Emily on her father’s lap during that visit, Carrie realized she had to move back to Clear River, even if only temporarily, so he could spend the time he had left with his family near. Carrie and Luke took a long walk that ended with them making the decision to move. Carrie had a teleconference call with her manager, then one with the agency’s CEO.

“You have our full support for your situation, Carrie,” she said. “We’re prepared to facilitate you working for us remotely.”

When they told Carrie’s father the news, he hesitated, his eyes clouding.

“You really want to uproot your lives to come back here?”

“Yes,” Carrie said.

“You’re sure about this? I mean with all that—you know.”

“Yes, Dad. I thought you’d be happy.”

He swallowed. His eyes brightened, then he smiled at Emily and said, “All right. Well, now, how ’bout that.”

Aware of Luke’s wish to leave the LAPD, Carrie’s father said he was confident he could get him on with the county.

“Even with my history?” Luke asked.

“You were cleared, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

“The county will look beyond that. They need deputies. Now, you’d see a drop in pay from the LAPD.”

“Fine with me, Vern,” Luke said. “It would be a new start.”

When Carrie and Luke arrived back in Los Angeles, they got things rolling, starting with Luke’s application for deputy with Clear River County. He sailed through the process and got the job. The county provided a relocation bonus, health plan and other incentives because of his qualifications.

The sheriff’s office wanted Luke to start right away, so he moved to Texas first, staying briefly with his father-in-law, while Carrie tied up loose ends in California. And through video calls, she helped Luke find the rental house in Cedar Breeze.

Now, as Carrie finished changing Emily and the kettle’s whistle subsided, Pearl continued asking about today’s session.

“So, what did Dr. Bernay say?”

“We went over the move.”

Carrie related points while sitting on the sofa next to Pearl.

“I see,” Pearl said when she’d finished. They sipped tea as Emily played. “Want my two cents?”

“Sure.”

“Vern needs you back home.”

Carrie searched Pearl’s face, void of makeup. She looked at her aunt’s auburn hair, gray at the temples, into her hazel eyes, then hugged her.

“We’ll miss you,” Carrie said.

“I’ll miss you all like crazy.” Pearl’s voice weakened. “In fact, to deal with it all, I’m heading off on a six-month around-the-world cruise, right after you move.”

“Wow. Really?”

“It sounds cold, but I had a long talk with Vern. You know we never saw eye to eye on things. I offered to put off the cruise and move in with him for a spell—he didn’t want that. He’ll be happy to have you back in Texas. So he insisted I go.”

“Sounds like Dad.”

“You keep me posted. We should be able to keep in touch.”

“Six months, my gosh.”

“Residuals have been good. I’ve been saving.”

They soon finished their tea, and Pearl watched Emily while Carrie began collecting items.

She cast about the house, looking for the things she wanted to pack herself before the movers arrived. In a short time, she came to an unmarked cardboard box. Carrie knew what was in there. She’d wanted to burn the contents, but felt compelled—no, she felt a duty—to keep them. She traced her fingers over the folded flaps. The box held news stories, mostly from Texas papers, chronicling her tragic case. Even though Carrie couldn’t remember much, the news articles detailed what was known to have happened.

It had been thirteen years now.

Three teenage schoolgirls walked into the woods at the edge of Clear River, Texas. Two were murdered. The sole survivor, found unconscious on the riverbank, remembered little about the crime. That girl was Carrie Hamilton, daughter of Vernon Hamilton, Clear River County Sheriff.