Or that it would introduce me to a future I had never imagined.
The invitation came on a Tuesday afternoon.
“Coffee?” Arthur had asked.
It sounded innocent enough.
I had no reason to believe that walking into his living room would change the way I understood the last twenty years of my life.
I remember the exact time.
2:17 in the afternoon.
The sunlight was falling through the windows, turning little pieces of dust into gold.
Arthur opened the door with his usual crooked smile.
“Come in. I promise the coffee is drinkable.”
“That is a very low standard.”
“I’ve known you long enough to know you prefer honesty.”
I laughed.
I stepped inside.
And then I stopped.
My purse slipped from my shoulder.
For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen.
I couldn’t hear the clock behind me.
I couldn’t even hear Arthur asking whether I was all right.
All I could see was the painting above his fireplace.
A small cottage beside a lake.
Two pine trees leaning toward the water.
A crooked wooden dock extending into still, blue-gray water.
A patch of wild grass along the shore.
And in the bottom corner, almost hidden beneath the painted blades of grass, two tiny initials.
