He had given it away again, choosing the same ordinary generosity that had brought it to him.

I asked Thomas whether the waitress was still alive.

He thought she had retired to Maine.

We agreed not to turn the search into another obligation for someone who had already done her part.

Instead we sat together at my office’s small table, looking at a receipt worth less than a sandwich costs today.

“I don’t think he ever stopped trying to understand that night,” Thomas said.

“Neither did I,” I replied.