“I was trying to do something useful because I couldn’t stand still.”

“That’s what you always do.”

She smiled through tears.

“Somebody has to.”

Before she left, she placed a paper bag on my bed.

Inside was a worn leather notebook, the one my first wife, Elena, had given me when I started the drilling company.

I had kept it in a desk drawer for years.

“Valerie found it when she was looking for old family photos,” Connie explained.