Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two

“Why would she think that?”

“Because Gerald told her you threw away her childhood photos when you left,” David said.

He picked up a spoon, set it back down, and tapped the edge of his water glass.

“She believed him until three months ago.”

“What happened three months ago?”

“Clare spent three months looking for those letters before she found the drawer,” David said.

“What drawer?” I asked.

“The antique mahogany desk in Gerald’s back office on Main Street,” David said.