When I asked, he said:
“Old paperwork.”
“What old paperwork?”
“Adoption stuff.”
That made sense.
Nolan had been adopted as an infant.
He knew very little about his biological family.
His adoptive parents had both died before we met.
Years earlier, we had talked about whether he wanted to search.
He always said no.
“I had parents.”
That was his answer.
So when he said the envelope concerned adoption records, I assumed estate paperwork or a closed-file update.
I did not push.
There had also been one phone call.
Three weeks earlier.
I had come into the garage looking for scissors.
Nolan was standing near the workbench with his back to me.
His voice was quiet.
“No.”
“I understand.”
Then:
“I just need to know whether she understands what this means.”
Pause.
“Yes.”
“If it’s confirmed, I’ll come.”
