“It’s a small brick house near the perimeter fence,” I said.

“It has a back porch with two chairs, but usually only one person sits there.”

“Not anymore,” Clare said quietly.

“David and I are driving out next month.

I’ve already packed my bag.”

I looked down at her hand resting on my knee, the simple gold wedding band shining under the stars.

Fifteen years of silence, built out of Gerald’s locked desk drawers and intercepted airmail, had collapsed in a single evening under the weight of plain truth.

“Bring your old photographs,” I told her.