A Nurse Mentioned the Woman Visiting My Dying Husband—Then She Came to My Door With a Letter About a Five-Year-Old Boy
The track formed a loop now.
“It goes round.”
“I can see.”
He pushed it carefully, following it with his whole attention until it came back to the starting point.
I thanked Denise and left.
In the car, I cried before I turned the key.
The child had been kind, ordinary, and entirely innocent of the story I had constructed about him.
Whatever I learned next, I would have to remember that.