The bookstore event. He had walked in during the Q&A.
He had known.
I remembered complaining to him about the rich family my mother used to work for, how she came home with nothing, how she died still ashamed.
He had listened, and he had said nothing.
“We can talk about this like adults.”
***
At sunrise I strapped Nora into the car seat and drove to the address on the oldest envelope.
The house was smaller than my memory had made it. The garden was the same.
An older man opened the door – thinner than I had imagined, but the eyes told me everything.
