“Thomas and Martha were quiet folks,” Clara said.

“Kept that yard mowed twice a week until Thomas had his hip replaced in ’82.”

“Did you know about their daughter?” I asked her.

I rubbed my left thumb across my right knuckles beneath the wooden edge of the table.

“Of course I did,” Clara said.

“Sarah came to them in May of 1971.

Martha was so proud she tied a huge pink bow on the mailbox out front.”

“Was it a private adoption?” I asked.