“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.”
My fingers stiffened around the envelope.
“What does that mean?”
He exhaled slowly.
“He made me wait until today to tell you who he really was.”
The letter inside had been 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.
Mr. Baron caught my elbow, but the letter slipped from my hand.
Two houses away.
Arthur’s workshop.
A narrow alley.
The smell of sawdust and bicycle grease.
Memory returned so suddenly that I could not breathe.
“Silver Oak Street,” I whispered.
Mr. Baron nodded.
