Page 6

FIVE

PAWPAW VALLEY

He’d waited until Barbara left the house, then slipped inside again. He hadn’t found what he’d wanted the first time. He would find it now.

Her little house was neat and clean, nothing like the place where he’d grown up. A wall of photographs showcased the mountains and river. The place looked homey with throw pillows and blankets and the bookcase held children’s books and games. A framed photograph of Barb’s certificate for Teacher of the Year sat in the center of the top shelf.

His jaw tightened and he walked down the hall. A large dorm-like room held bunk beds, an easel, a kid’s table, art supplies and more games and toys. The wall was filled with framed children’s artwork, all arranged around a red heart in a frame as if to say her heart belonged to all the kids who’d filled her walls with their creations.

Old childhood pain surfaced and he began to hum, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”

Pulse hammering, he bolted into action and checked the drawers in the storage cabinet, tossing art supplies aside. What he was looking for was not there.

Fueled with anger, he hurried through the room, searching the boxes in the closet, the books of art she’d kept from the kids she must have taught at school. Enraged, he snatched the art off the wall, threw the frames onto the floor and stomped on them, shattering glass and destroying them.

Panting, he hurried to her room and searched her dresser. It had to be here somewhere.

Finally, he found a small wooden box, a heart etched on the cherry wood exterior. Sucking in a breath, he opened it. Several pictures were inside, each one of a woman holding a newborn. Locks of baby hair were also in individual small envelopes.

He ran his finger over a tiny gold heart-shaped necklace. Both the twins had been wearing one just like this.

They were sisters. Twins. Bonded in the womb. Bonded in life. Now bonded in death.