“Just me,” she said.

“Your father doesn’t know I’m calling.”

I considered telling her no.

The instinct was strong.

For twelve years she had let silence stand in for affection, and in the courtroom she’d barely looked at me until she was required to answer a question under oath.

But I thought of Walter’s letters and how much time had vanished because people waited for perfect circumstances to speak.

“You can come Saturday afternoon,” I said.