The morning after Bentley showed me his list, I called Detective Harris before the children came downstairs. I read him every question Bentley had written, although none of them concerned the investigation directly. The detective listened without interrupting, then asked whether Amber had mentioned any relatives who might know where Travis was staying.
“She said he had been watching her,” I replied. “She didn't give me an address, and she was barely able to speak.”
“That's understandable,” he said. “We're checking his known addresses and speaking with people connected to him. Until we know more, don't let either child leave the house without you or another trusted adult.”
I promised I wouldn't. After the call, I wrote his instructions on a sheet of paper and stuck it beside the telephone. The list looked ordinary, but seeing it there made the danger feel more real. This was no longer a troubling possibility I could dismiss by closing the curtains.
Bentley came into the kitchen wearing clean jeans and a blue sweater I'd found among the spare clothes in my guest room. He stopped when he noticed the paper.
“Is that about Travis?”
“It's about keeping everyone safe.”
“Did the police find him?”
“Not yet.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down. His fingers moved along the edge of the table, tracing a groove in the wood that Ray had made years earlier while repairing a loose drawer. Bentley had discovered that groove on his first night with us and seemed to return to it whenever he was anxious.
“Do you think he'll come back?”
“I can't know that. But we're not going to make it easy for him.”
He considered this, then asked whether he could telephone his mother. I called the hospital, and a nurse explained that Amber was resting after a difficult night. They would help arrange a conversation later in the day if her breathing remained stable.
Bentley accepted the answer without complaint. He had learned to recognize when adults were postponing something because they couldn't provide it yet. That knowledge troubled me more than any question he asked.
Maddie woke soon afterward, demanding cereal and the pink cup with the crooked handle. Bentley fetched both before I could stand. He poured the cereal carefully, tested the milk, and placed the spoon on the right side of her bowl.
“You don't have to do all that,” I told him.
“She likes it this way.”
“I can learn how she likes things.”
He glanced at me, uncertain whether he was allowed to believe that. Then he sat beside her and helped her find the tiny rabbit-shaped piece of cereal she'd dropped on the table.
I understood that caring for the children would require more than providing meals and a safe bedroom. Bentley had spent days believing that every mistake might bring another loss. He needed to discover, through ordinary repetitions, that another adult could take responsibility without demanding that he surrender his place in the family.
Around ten, Doug arrived with a folder containing the paperwork for Amber's apartment. He had contacted the utility company, arranged for the water to remain on, and confirmed that no eviction action would proceed while the immediate situation was being addressed.
“I also spoke with a housing adviser,” he said. “There are emergency funds that may cover some of Amber's overdue bills.”
“That's useful.”
“I should have checked on the children sooner.”
“Yes,” I said. “You should have.”
He accepted the answer without defending himself. That was new. Usually, Doug met criticism with explanations, as though understanding why he'd made a mistake might somehow erase the mistake itself.
He set the folder on the counter.
“I can take them to appointments when Amber comes home. And I'll help with the repairs.”
“Ask Bentley what he needs, but don't make him responsible for deciding everything.”
Doug nodded. “I understand.”
I wasn't sure he did, but at least he was listening.
By early afternoon, the hospital called back. Amber was awake and had asked specifically to speak with Bentley. I brought the telephone into the living room and placed it on speaker so she wouldn't have to hold it for long.
“Bentley?” she whispered.
He stood perfectly still.
“Mom?”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Her voice broke on the word, and his face crumpled. He leaned over the telephone as though he could shorten the distance between them by moving closer.
“I thought you were dead,” he said.
“I know, baby. I'm so sorry.”
“Why didn't you call?”
“I couldn't. I was very sick. I wasn't awake enough to understand what was happening for a long time.”
“I kept Maddie safe.”
“You did. You did more than any child should ever have to do.”
He pressed his sleeve against his eyes.
“Are you coming home?”
“As soon as my doctors say I can travel safely. I promise I'm working toward that.”
“Did you know I missed school?”
“No, sweetheart. But we're going to work it out together.”
He asked about the questions on his list. Amber listened to each one, sometimes pausing to breathe before answering. She told him she wasn't angry about the missed schooldays or the food he'd taken from my pantry. She said he had never been expected to solve an adult emergency by himself.
When he reached the final question, his voice became so quiet that I almost couldn't hear him.
“Did you leave us on purpose?”
There was a long silence on the line.
“No,” Amber finally said. “Never. I would never choose to leave you and Maddie. I need you to believe that, even on the days when being scared makes it hard.”
Bentley nodded, though she couldn't see him.
“Okay.”
It wasn't a complete answer to everything he had endured, but it was honest, and he seemed to understand the difference.
Before the call ended, Amber asked to speak with me. I took the telephone into the kitchen while Bentley stayed with Maddie.
“There's something else,” she said. “Something I didn't tell the police before I was transferred.”
I waited.
“Travis didn't come to the apartment just for money. He wanted me to give him a key.”
“A key to what?”
“To a storage unit I rented years ago. I kept some of my old documents there after I left him. He knew about it, and he thought I still had the key.”
“What documents?”
“Letters. Financial records. A few things from our marriage. Nothing valuable to anyone else, but he was terrified I'd kept proof of what he'd done.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Did you give him the key?”
“No. I told him I didn't have it anymore.”
“Do you?”
“It's in a small envelope inside my old sewing tin. I brought the tin with me when I moved. It's in the apartment, in the bedroom closet.”
I looked toward the shared wall.
“Does Travis know where you keep it?”
“He might. He searched the apartment before he left.”
A cold uneasiness spread through me. Travis had come back looking for something. His visit to my porch might have been about the children, but it might also have been about those records.
“Did you tell Detective Harris?”
“Not yet. I was afraid that if I told him everything, he'd think I was making trouble. Travis always said nobody would believe me.”
“Amber, the detective needs to know. This could explain why he's still hanging around.”
“I know.” She took a strained breath. “Will you tell him for me?”
I promised I would.
After we ended the call, I contacted Harris and relayed the information. He asked me not to enter Amber's apartment or touch anything that might be connected to the search. Officers would arrange to inspect the unit and determine whether the storage records had any relevance to the case.
When I told Doug, he looked toward the other side of the duplex.
“So that's what he wanted.”
“Possibly.”
He picked up the folder from the counter, then set it down again.
“Ma, if he comes back, I'll stay here.”
“You don't need to prove anything by confronting him.”
“I know. I'll call the police.”
“Good. That is exactly what you should do.”
That evening, Bentley helped me prepare dinner. He washed the carrots while I cut them, then carried the plates to the table. Maddie insisted on sitting beside him, her stuffed rabbit propped against the back of her chair.
For a little while, the kitchen felt almost ordinary.
Then headlights swept across the front windows.
Bentley froze with a plate in his hands.
I put down the serving spoon and moved to the curtain. A dark vehicle had stopped at the end of the driveway. I couldn't make out the driver, but I recognized the shape of the truck.
“Doug,” I called.
He came from the hallway, saw my expression, and immediately took out his phone.
The truck remained stationary for several seconds. Then its headlights went dark.
Bentley placed the plate on the table with a small clatter.
“Is it him?”
“I don't know,” I said, though my heart was already pounding. “Take Maddie upstairs.”
He lifted his sister without arguing. I watched them disappear toward the stairs, then called Detective Harris.
Before I could finish explaining what I had seen, the truck's engine started again.
It rolled slowly past the house and continued down the street.
I remained at the window until its taillights disappeared. Dinner cooled on the table, untouched. Doug stood beside me, phone in hand, waiting for the detective's instructions.
For the first time, I understood that finding Amber's records might be only one part of what Travis wanted. He knew where the children lived, he knew where Amber had been taken, and he had already shown that he was willing to approach our home despite the police investigation.
The next time he came, we might not have the luxury of watching him drive away.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Envelope Hidden in Amber’s Sewing Tin Contained Evidence of the Man She Feared, but Finding It Would Mean Facing What He Had Left Behind
Every Morning, a Ten-Year-Old Boy Came to Borrow My Bathroom, Until I Realized He Was Hiding Something Far More Serious Than a Broken Toilet
Part 5 of 8
