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“My name is Mr. Baron. I was Carl’s lawyer.”
I stepped aside.
“My name is Mr. Baron. I was Carl’s lawyer.”
He remained on the porch.
“When I met him a few days ago, Carl made me promise not to come back until after his funeral. I knew he didn’t have much time left… but I never imagined that would be our last conversation.”
“Why?”
Mr. Baron opened the case and removed a sealed envelope.
“He said you needed to grieve the man you knew before learning who he had been.”
“I never imagined that would be our last conversation.”
My fingers stiffened around the envelope.
“What does that mean?”
Mr. Baron released a slow breath.
“He made me wait until today to tell you who he really was.”
“He made me wait until today.”
The letter inside was written in Carl’s careful handwriting.
Selena,
Our meeting was not an accident.
Before I became your husband, I was the awkward guy who lived two houses down and spent every autumn hoping you would stop by Arthur’s workshop.
My knees struck the floor.
Our meeting was not an accident.
Mr. Baron caught my elbow, but the letter slipped from my hand.
Two houses down.
Arthur’s workshop.
A narrow alley.
The smell of sawdust and bicycle grease.
Memory opened so suddenly that I could not breathe.
Memory opened so suddenly that I could not breathe.
“Silver Oak Street,” I whispered.
Mr. Baron nodded.
***
I had lived there until I was 14.
Then my parents died in a car accident, and I entered foster care. Strangers packed our house while I sat in a county office clutching a trash bag of clothes.
I never returned.
I had lived there until I was 14.
“I knew a guy,” I said. “Quiet. Dark hair.”