Ella

By Terena Elizabeth Bell

Glenn either did or did not kill his wife, presuming she was dead to begin with: Ella had gone for a walk, had gone for a think—whatever happened, she was no longer there, that’s what he told police, her cell phone and cardigan on the counter.

Their five-year-old was found crying in the kitchen, that’s what the neighbors said, then no, no, he was with his father, said another. If the father didn’t kill her, some answered back.

Either way, she was gone and as months passed by with no Ella in sight, more eyes turned to Glenn. It’s always the husband, some of them said; it’s never the husband, others. How do we know that she’s dead?

Death is easy to presume when you did not know the life, had never seen Ella in a party dress, dancing, telling the crowd she saw Salmon Rushdie in the Atlanta airport once, was on layover and knew the man, knew him the instant he stepped on that terminal train, and told him, You’ve given me so much hope Mr. Rushdie, you’ve brought my world to life, and when he asked if she’d like Glenn to take a picture of them together, Ella said, There’s no film left in the camera, then hugged him.

That’s a woman who would never leave her phone behind, no matter what Glenn told police: a never-ending chance to take picture after picture, to never miss hope again. Maybe she’s dead, maybe she’s not, but either way, he did not kill her: Ella could never die.

About the Author

Terena Elizabeth Bell is a fiction writer. Her debut short story collection, Tell Me What You See (Whiskey Tit), published December 2022. Her work has appeared in more than 100 publications, including The Atlantic, Playboy, Salamander, and Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. A Sinking Fork, Kentucky native, she lives in New York. Get one story delivered to your inbox every month by subscribing here: patreon.com/terenaelizabethbell.