The Between Years

haven't uncovered a body yet, Mrs. Fuller. Very little of the house is intact, particularly on the upper floor, but there's been no trace of your Mr. Fuller. Like he was never even there. Do you suppose there's any chance he could have escaped from the house before the explosion? Did you see anyone chase up the driveway or the yard?”

    I shook my head. “No. Just asked for some peace of mind, that's all.”

    And that's really all I was interested in. I suppose I could have told them that I would need to make funeral arrangements and that's why I needed to know, but clearly they knew the reason. And the knowledge Roberts had shared with me has kept me in good stead ever since.

    In any case, I've always considered a body to be a vessel. The body left behind never contains the person who lived in it. I believed that when Kenny died, and I still believe it now that Randy's gone. But he's not dead exactly. His body never ceased to operate that anyone can prove, but I know (and the cops know) that he moved on spiritually. That he didn't leave behind a body for me to bury or cremate didn't bother me in the least. In fact, it saved me from having to decide what the heck to do with him.

    And the police did need my cooperation again, but it was only a round of questioning that didn't implicate me in anything. Mostly, it was related to insurance from the house. Naturally, an explosion like that might have looked like the family had wanted him to destroy the place to collect insurance money. I wonder if Randy had really considered that?

    But it was routine and I wasn't offended by the question. Though Daniels and his men were staying silent on the truth, they wouldn't let the incident turn into something that it wasn't.

    Anyway, I think we all know how foolish that would have been given the valuable antiques that could have been sold but were destroyed instead. That and the Randy's family wouldn't have had a hard time selling the place. A number of suitors were heartbroken to see the place go. What Randy's family couldn't do was let go of the place. And as much as I would have liked to have let everything go, that night wasn't the end of it for me. I still had a ton of soul searching to do. And I needed to make sure my story was straight with myself before I could come clean with others.

    I've only offered this diatribe because of the misconceptions of others. But to understand the story, one needs to understand the aftermath, and to consider the motivations for doing the things that we do.

CHAPTER 32
    I still wouldn't mind knowing what the hell had caused that inky darkness in Randy's grandparents' house, but that opportunity is long gone. The cops never saw it in the first place, and it ceased to exist when the cops searched the place. And I guess we'll never know now because the rest of the house has been gutted and torn down. All that remains is an empty lot. I suppose someone can build a new house in its place if they want to. After all, it's a hell of a nice waterfront location. As for the darkness, we'll have to crack that up to being one of life's little mysteries.

    In the explosion's aftermath, I couldn't help but wonder what might have happened had I shown up for my initial coffee date with Randy. I mean, if I had, we wouldn't have had to reschedule for the night of the incident, and maybe there wouldn't have been an incident to refer to. Maybe I'm just supposing here, but I think people sometimes fail to care about the implications of their every action. I don't think it's human nature to second guess yourself after a major occurrence and so I can respect myself for at least caring. Moreover, I needed peace of mind.

    The more I second guess myself, the more I remind myself that Randy never knew the truth-not the whole truth anyway. When I spoke with him on the phone, he naturally wanted to know why I'd stood him up on the phone, and he surprised me with his restraint. I told him that I'd meant to come, but that I'd had cold feet because my gut had told me that the timing was wrong. But that was only the half of it. I'm glad Randy isn't here to know the truth because I should have been more forthright with him and I've lost some self-respect because of it.

    The night before the explosion, I came home, dropped my purse at the door, kicked my shoes off, cooked a respectable tortellini dinner, and relaxed with a book in the living room. I should have been getting some cleaning done, but after the crap I'd