PART 2 — THE YEARS WE LOST
We moved to a small patio around the side of the café where Nora couldn’t easily see us.
Every part of me hated it.
My daughter was alive only yards away.
I wanted to run inside.
Touch her face.
Hear her call me Mom.
But Elaine repeated the same warning.
“If you surprise her, she may panic and leave.”
That stopped me every time.
Elaine told us Nora had arrived at the shelter late one night.
She had almost nothing with her.
No phone.
Very little money.
No bag.
She was exhausted and frightened.
At first, she gave them a different name.
Weeks passed before she admitted she had family somewhere else.
Months passed before she admitted that she had disappeared when she was a teenager.
“She told you about us?” I asked.
“Eventually.”
“Then why didn’t you call the police?”
Elaine met my eyes.
“Because Nora was already an adult by the time she came to me. And she begged me not to contact anyone.”
Michael’s expression hardened.
“You knew she was a missing person.”
“Not when she first arrived.”
“But you eventually knew.”
“Yes.”
“And you did nothing?”
Elaine remained calm.
“I encouraged her to contact you. Many times.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” she admitted. “It isn’t.”
I understood Michael’s anger.
Part of me felt it too.
