On the other end, I heard a cup touch a hard surface.
Then she started crying.
“You finally found me,” she said. “I thought this day would never come.”
“Who are you?”
Rose remained silent.
Her breathing gradually steadied.
“I can’t tell you over the phone.”
“You can tell me right now.”
“No.” Her voice remained gentle. “Some truths should not arrive without a face attached to them.”
She gave me the address of a diner in the neighboring town.
I took the photograph and left before Richard returned home. My hands trembled so badly that I missed the turn twice.
Rose was waiting in the final booth.
Her hair had turned silver, but I recognized her instantly.
She held a coffee cup between both hands.
“You’re Evelyn,” she said.
Her fingers became still.
I set the photograph between us.
Rose lowered her eyes to it. Her shoulders dropped, as though a burden had suddenly become lighter.
Before she could respond, the bell above the diner entrance rang.
Richard stepped inside.
He noticed me first.
Then he saw Rose.
All the color drained from his face.
He did not resemble a husband caught meeting a lover.
He looked like a man who had finally reached the end of an old promise.
Rose started to rise, then settled back into the booth.
“I called him,” she told me.
Then she faced Richard.
“Did you keep it?”
Richard removed his coat but remained standing.
“Every day.”
He reached inside his wallet and removed a folded square of paper. Its creases were so worn they had become nearly transparent.
He placed it beside the photograph.
Rose did not reach for it.
I unfolded the note.
