I wondered how many small pieces of paper had carried my life forward: a bus transfer someone had paid for, a scholarship application, a grocery receipt with a discount circled in red.

Walter’s napkin was simply the latest.

I called Mr.

Dorsey.

He had retired to a small house near Warwick and answered with the suspicious voice of a man who received too many sales calls.

‘It’s Caroline Brooks,’ I said.

‘You taught my accounting class.’

He paused long enough that I worried he had forgotten me.